He covered his face, as a spasm contracted his heart. Joyce had touched
too recent a wound for him to endure the touch without shrinking. Joyce
saw that he was in pain. She went to him, and, kneeling at his feet,
drew his hands away from his face, and looked into it; then shook her
head.
'Her don't belong to you yet then?'
'No, and never will.' He spoke with bitterness.
'You be changed, maister dear. I never seed you afore like as you be
now. You look just about a score of years older than what you was once.
Is it the Whiteface has done it, or what be it, maister darling? Tell
your own Joyce, and see if her won't go through ice and snow to serve
you any day, if her can.'
'You can do nothing for me.'
Still she looked at him, holding his hands, trying to read his secret in
his face, with eyes full of earnestness. Then, suddenly, there came a
revulsion in his thoughts.
'God forgive me for what I have said! You do nothing for me!--Joyce,
dear Joyce, you have done for me this night more than you are aware of.
You saved my life once before, you have saved my life again to-night,
and something more than my life.'
She did not understand him. How could she?
'Maister,' she said, 'put thicky gashly old gun away; it frightens me.'
He rose at once and obeyed, putting the gun back in its old place on the
crooks.
'You be coming back to West Wyke?' she asked.
'Yes, to-morrow.'
'You'll be better there. There the old Squire be fond of you, and you
be so kind to me; and there be Miss Cicely, too, her's a pining
likewise, acause you be so long away; and there be I,' she looked down
at his feet, 'knitting stockings as fast as I can knit for you. If I
can do nothing more, I can do that.'
'Oh, Joyce! Joyce!' He could say no more, his heart was full. Here at
Welltown--wretchedness, coldness, repulsion; there at West Wyke--not
happiness indeed, but rest, warmth, and love.
'And, maister dear, you'll larn me the kinkum-kum. I wouldn't let Miss
Cicely larn me. Her began to laugh when I said kinkum-kum. But when I
were bad wi' my broken arms, and I asked you to say it, you didn't
laugh, but you tooked off your hat and said it as good as a Methody.
And now, I'll tell'y, that night when I drayed you out of the road into
the wood, and thought you was going to die, and I didn't know what ever
to do, I got such a pain here,' she put her hand to her heart, 'as I
could scarce abear it. And then I went down on my knees, just the same
as I be now, and I put up my hands over where you lay, and I cried that
same kinkum-kum, and him as I knows nort about, he heard me, and he did
what he could, I reckon. He made you better, and he set my pain and
trouble at rest. There, maister darling, I can see you be in pain and
trouble now. Just you do the same; go down on your knees, and say the
same right on end, and the rest from pain and trouble will come
sure-ly.'
'Joyce!'
She was still looking in his face, desiring something, with a great
distress in her eyes. Now, a smile broke in her eyes.
'O rallaluley!' she exclaimed. 'Your face were at first like Cosdon
when hard frozen, but now the springs be breaking.'
The lines in his face had softened, his lips quivered, and his eyes
filled. Then, all at once, he fell on his knees beside Joyce, and held
up his hands as she had taught him, and said in broken tones and slowly,
'Our Father.' Joyce repeated the words.
'Which art in heaven--hallowed be thy name.'