A moment later the meeting that Sarah had dreaded came about; but the results of it were of a sort not to have been anticipated. Aggett went straight to the point of attack and his temper suffered from the outset before the more cultured man’s attitude and command of words. “You knaw full well what I’ve got to say before I sez it, I judge. I see in your face you know, Timothy Chave.” “Yes, I do. It’s about Sarah. Things that must happen, must happen. I’m glad you’ve broached this subject, Aggett. Well, it stands thus; we are not our own masters always, unfortunately.” “You can say that an’ look me in the face calm as a stone, arter what passed between us six weeks ago?” “Six weeks—is that all?” “Ess fay, though more like six years to me—six years o’ raging, roasting hell. Why do ’e bide here? Why do ’e take walks along wi’ she—skulking in the woods away from honest eyes like a fox? You’ve lied to me—” “Don’t speak quite so loud, John. I cannot help the past. It was not my doing. I never sought out Sarah. We are all tools in the hand of Fate or Providence, or whatever you like to call it; we are puppets and must dance to the tune God is pleased to play. We’re not free, any of us—not free to make promises or give undertakings. Doesn’t this prove that we’re slaves to a man? I love Sarah Belworthy with all my heart and soul. That is not a sin. There is nothing in the world for me but her. I’m frank enough to you now; and if I lied before, it was because I thought I could control what was to come. I tried to keep my word. I turned from her path many times. I begged to be allowed to go away from the Moor, but my father would not suffer me to change my mind again. I swear I did my best; but loving is another matter. I might as easily have promised not to breathe as not to love her.” “Words! An’ her—an’ me—?” “It’s cursedly hard. God knows I don’t find it easy to answer you. But think: picture yourself in her place. Imagine that you found a woman you loved better than Sarah.” “’Tis allus lifting of the burden on to other folks’ shoulders wi’ you. I ban’t agwaine to imagine vain things at your bidding. Dost hear me? I want the plain truth in plain speech. But that’s more’n you could give me, I reckon. The question I’ve got to ax, my girl’s got to answer. An’ I call her ‘my girl,’ yet, until I hear from her awn lips she ban’t my girl no more. Then—then—Christ knaws what—” “If there’s any sort of satisfaction on earth, I’d give it to you. I know better than you can tell me that I’m a weak man. And I’ve hated myself for many days when I thought of you; but there it is—a fact beyond any mending.”