"I don't want you." "Yes you do." "Kindly go at once, or I shall call someone." "Rose!" Once more she fell back into her state of terror and delight. His coolness seemed to paralyse her--she could not act. She could only lie and watch him, trembling. Why had he changed so?--he, who had never faltered in his attitude of stiff respect under her most outrageous and flirtatious digs. "Rose," he said again, and his voice quivered as he said it, "you do want me a liddle bit now." "What--what makes you think so?" He shrugged his shoulders--there must have been some foreign streak in his yokel's blood. "I döan't think it--I know. A year agone you dudn't want me, so I kipt back, I wurn't a-going to mäake you suffer. You wur frightened of that kiss...." He had spoken it--her terror. "Don't!" she cried. "You wur frightened, so I saw you wurn't ready, and I tried to mäake you feel as naun had happened." "Yes, I thought you were a gentleman," she said with a sudden rap of anger. "I äun't that. I'm just a poor labouring man, wot loves you, and wot you love." She tried to speak, but the words burnt up in her mouth. "And a labouring man you love's worth more than a mäaster you döan't love, I reckon." She shrank back on the sofa, folding her arms over her breast and gripping her shoulders. "You needn't look so frightened. I'm only saying it. It wöan't mäake no difference--unless you want it to." "How dare you speak to me like this?" "Because I see you're justabout miserable, and I thought I'd say as how I'm beside you--only that." "How--how d'you know I'm miserable?" "Plain enough." The sky had faded behind him and a crimson moon looked over his shoulder. "Plain enough," he repeated, "but you needn't be scared. I'll do naun you döan't want; I'll come no nearer you than I am now--unless you call me." She burst into tears. He did not move. His head and shoulders were now nothing but a dark block against the purple and blue of the sky. The moon hung just above him like a copper dish. "Döan't cry," he said slowly--"I'm only looking in at the window." She struggled to her feet, sobs shaking and tearing her, and stumbled through the darkness to the door. Still sobbing she dragged herself upstairs, clinging to the rail, and every now and then stopping and bending double. Her loud sobs rang through the house, and soon the womenfolk were about her, questioning her, soothing her, and in the end putting her, still weeping, to bed. While outside in the barn Reuben watched in agony beside a sick cow. § 16. When late the next morning a woman ran out of the house into the cow-stable, and told Reuben that his wife had given him a fine boy, he merely groaned and shook his head.