“No, no, never!” she cried brokenly; then in a curiously hard voice and with a sudden flash in her eyes--“What do I care if he does? He’s nothin’ to me now--nothin’. He’s gone an’ left me wi’out so much as a word--just took an’ walked off. And he’ve never wrote either--not so much as a word. He mid be dead only I do know he bain’t.” Formby continued to contemplate her, still stroking that fine yellow beard of his. “Poor lass! poor lass!” he said at last. “And ’tis a comfort to you, is it, to coom walkin’ here? Well, see you, my dear, you can coom here as often as ye like about this time. I’m pretty often here mysel’ then, and ’twouldn’t be same thing as if you was trespassin’. Ye mustn’t bring no young chaps here, though,” he added after a pause. “I doubt they’ll want to come, however little you might want them. You’re a bonny lass--as bonny a lass as ever I see in all my days!” She heaved an impatient sigh. “I did tell ’ee plain as I don’t want nobody,” she cried. “Much good it do do me to be nice when----” “Is there no other man at all i’ th’ world?” inquired Robert. “Not for me,” returned Rebecca. Kneeling up, she began hastily to collect the tea-things, and Robert, leaning forward, pushed them towards her with willing clumsy hands. Then he rose to his feet. “I’m fain to hear ye say there’s no other man, my wench,” he said, “but p’r’aps somebody ’ull coom.” “What d’ye mean?” “Somebody ’ull begin coortin’ ye afore long,” he returned with conviction; “it might just as well be me as another. If there’s nobody else, why not me?” Rebecca now rose to her feet. “I don’t want anybody,” she said. “Somebody ’ull coom,” reiterated Robert, “an’ why not me? Coom, my lass, I ax ye straight. Will ye give me the first chance? Honest now! I like ye very well, an’ I doubt I’ll soon like ye better. ’Tisn’t in nature as a lass same as you can be for ever thinkin’ of a chap as has showed no more feelin’ nor your chap has. Ye must tak’ another soon or late. Tak’ me--ye’ll not rue it.” “I can’t settle to do such a thing all in a hurry,” cried Rebecca petulantly. “I’ve never set eyes on you before.” “Nor me on you,” returned Robert, “but I feel as if I could like ye very well. Give me first chance--I don’t ax for nought else. Let’s walk a bit an’ see how we get on; but you must give me your word not to take up wi’ nobody else while I’m on trial.” “Oh, I can do that,” said she, and suddenly began to laugh. The little white teeth which had already called forth Robert’s admiration, showed bewitchingly; a dimple peeped out near the lip, another in the chin. Robert gazed at her rapturously. “I like ye very well. Eh, my word, that I do! ’Tis a bargain--a proper bargain!” He had possessed himself of one of her little sunburnt hands, and was shaking it up and down; as she laughed on, he drew her to him suddenly; but at that she started back, striking out at him like a little wild cat.