"That's th' best way," I said, and my arm now was where it should be, and Mary reckoned not to know. I'd looked up th' road an' down th' road an' nobody was coming. "When aw got in, 'oo dusted a chair wi her apron, an' not afore it wanted it. Th' house wer' like a pig-stye. But I sat down, an' 'oo stood afore me an' looked me up an' down same as if 'oo wer' vallyin' me. 'Aw hope yo'll know me again next time yo' see me, an' that won't be soon if I've my way' aw thowt, but said nowt. 'An' so yo'r Mary o' Mally's?' 'oo said at last. 'At yo'r service,' aw said. 'Yo're not much to look at,' 'oo said. 'Thank yo' kindly,' aw answered as polite as never were. 'But yar Ben's a reight to ha' his own way now he's a gentleman.' 'A what?' aw cried. 'A gentleman. A real gentleman at can ha' th' pick o' th' country side. He's nowt to do but howd up his finger naa. It'll be whistle an' aw'll come to yo', mi lad.' 'He's altered strangely,' aw said. 'Aye, two thousand p'un' does mak' a differ,' says th' owd hag. "And then aw remembered about th' notice in th' paper. 'It'll do him no good,' aw says. 'It's blood money. There'll be a curse on it.' 'It's good gold, lass!' 'oo says. 'Good gold, leastways it will be when th' 'sizes is ovver. An then yar Ben's off to 'Meriky, an' nowt 'll suit him but yo' mun go wi' him.' 'Then he'll noan be suited,' aw says. 'Hoity-toity, mi fine wench,' 'oo cries. 'Don't thee be too sure o' that. Yo'r happen thinkin' o' ta'in up wi' Ben Bamforth. Leastways that's what yar Ben heerd just afore he wer' off to Chester. That's what aw've sent for yo' for.' 'What's it to him, who aw wed?' I asked, but aw wer' all of a tremble. 'It's this. It'll be yar Ben or nobody sin he's set on it. 'See her yoursen, mother,' he said, an' these were awmost his last words afore he set off wi' Justice Radcliffe, two gentlemen together. 'See her yo'rsen, an' tell her that th' same tongue 'at's teed a rope round George Mellor's neck can tee' one round Ben Bamforth's, an' will too, unless she speaks the word that'll stop my mouth.' Now, what's ta say, mi fine lass?' "And what could I say, Ben," sobbed Mary, hiding her face on my shoulder. "Aw saw she meant it. She gay' me a month to think on it, an' if aw don't say yes 'oo swears Ben Walker 'll give thee up to th' law, an' it's a hangin' job, sure an' certain." "What did yo' say, Mary?" "At first I towd her aw wouldn't wed their Ben if there weren't another man i' all England. Aw'd rayther wed a toad, aw said, an' aw meant it. But oh, Ben, tha'rt i' their power, an' aw'm noan worth hangin' for. And what would yo' have me do, Ben? Aw mun tell her in a month." "There's one thing tha shalln't do," I cried. "Aw'd rayther hang a million times ovver nor tha should ha' a thing like him. Let her do her worst. Not if it would save me from ten thousand times ten thousand base deaths shall Ben Walker call thee wife. That aw'm fixed on. What say'st ta, Mary?"