“God knows I did not desire.... I mean... do you not see that I tried to do what was right at a cost?... Why be so angry with me?” “Because I do not really care what any person in this town or all Yorkshire says about me, but I do care and cannot endure that you should turn against me, and be content to see me Crashaw's wife or any other man's.” And she drove the minister across the room in her wrath--he had never seen her so beautiful--till he stood with his back to the door, and she before him as a lioness robbed of her cubs. “It has been my mistake, for I understand not women,” he said, with proud humility. “I beg your pardon, and am more than ever... your servant.” She looked at him stormily for ten seconds; then she turned away. “If that is all you have to say, you need not come again to this house.” IV “You will excuse me sending a verbal message by the doctor, for, as you see, I am past writing, and... the time is short I wanted to speak with you, Mrs. Arkwright, once before... I died.” And Egerton thought of the day she had stood by her husband's deathbed as now she stood by his, only that the nurse had left the room and there was no third person to be an embarrassment “Do not suppose I forget your words to me the last time we met in private,” he continued, as she did not speak nor look at him, beyond one swift glance as she came into the room; “and believe me, I would not have forced myself on you, nor would I have asked this favour, had it not been that... I have something of which I must deliver my soul.” “You are not dying; you were a strong man, and a few days' illness couldn't... be fatal,” she burst out, and it seemed as if Mrs. Arkwright for once was going to lose control and fall a-weeping. Then she mastered herself, and said almost coldly, “Had I known you were so ill, I would have called to inquire; but nothing was said of pneumonia, only a bad cold.” “You forgive me, then, that ill-judged interference, Mrs. Arkwright, and anything else in which I have offended you or failed in... my brother's part?” “Do not speak like that to me unless you wish to take revenge; it is I who ask your pardon for my evil temper and insolence that day, and other times; but you are too... good, else you would have understood.” “You did not, then, hate me, as I supposed?” and his voice was strained with eagerness. “When you were prepared to approve my engagement to Mr. Crashaw? Yes, I did, and I could have struck you as you bore witness to his character--whom you detested. Conscientious and unselfish... on your part, very. And yet at the same time I... did not hate you; I could have... you are a dull man, Mr. Egerton, and I am not a saint. Is it milk you drink?” And when she raised his head, her hands lingered as they had not done before on her husband's. “Are you really dying?” She sat down and looked at him, her head between her hands. “You and I are, at least, able to face the situation.”