Meynell made him drink a little more brandy, and then he went out to the person standing motionless on the stairs. "What did you want, sir?" said Mrs. Bateson, under her breath. "Mrs. Bateson--he begs you to come to him! He's sorry for his conduct--he says you can see for yourself that he can't wrong you any more. Come--and be merciful!" The woman paused. The Rector could see the shiver of her thin shoulders under her print dress. Then she turned and quietly descended the cottage stairway. Half way down she looked up. "Tell him I should do him nowt but harm. I"--her voice trembled for the first time--"I doan't bear him malice; I hope he'll not suffer. But I'm not comin'." "Wait a moment, Mrs. Bateson! I was to tell you that in spite of all, he loved you--and he wanted your love." She shook her head. "It's no good talkin' that way. It'll mebbe use up his strength. Tell him I'd have got Lizzie Short to come an' nurse 'im, if I could. It's her place. But he knows as she an' her man flitted a fortnight sen, an' theer's no address." And she disappeared. But at the foot of the stairs--standing unseen--she said in her usual tone: "If there was a cup o' tea, I could bring you, sir--or anythin'?" Meynell, distressed and indignant, did not answer. He returned to the sick-room. Bateson looked up as the Rector bent once more over the bed. "She'll not coom?" he said, in a faint voice of surprise. "Well, that's a queer thing. She wasn't used to be a tough 'un. I could most make her do what I wanted. Well, never mind, Rector, never mind. Sit tha down--mebbe you'd be wanting to say a prayer. You're welcome. I reckon it'll do me no harm." His lips parted in a smile--a smile of satire. But his brows frowned, and his eyes were still alive and bright, only now, as the watcher thought, with anger. Meynell hesitated. "I will say the church prayers, if you wish it, Bateson. Of course I will say them." "But I doan't believe in 'em," said the sick man, smiling again, "an' you doan't believe in 'em, noather, if folk say true! Don't tha be vexed--I'm not saying it to cheek tha. But Mr. Barron, ee says ee'll make tha give up. Ee's been goin' roun' the village, talkin' to folk. I doan't care about that--an' I've never been one o' your men--not pious enough, be a long way--but I'd like to hear--now as I can't do tha no harm, Rector, now as I'm goin', an' you cawn't deny me--what tha does really believe. Will tha tell me?" He turned, open-eyed, impulsive, intelligent, as he had always been in life. The Rector started. The inward challenge had taken voice. "Certainly I will tell you, if it will help you--if you're strong enough." Bateson waved his hand contemptuously. "I feel as strong as onything. That sup o' brandy has put some grit in me. Give me some more. Thank tha ... Does tha believe in God, Rector?" His whimsical, half-teasing, yet, at bottom, anxious look touched Meynell strangely. "With all my life--and with all my strength!"