what is't?'

Heedless of him, she continued to rock herself to and fro, crooning in
her distress:

'Oh! I wish I were dead!... I wish I could die!'

--'Wish ye could die?' he repeated. 'Why, whatever can't be that's
troublin' ye like this? There, there, lassie, give ower: it 'ull all
coom right, whatever it be--'

'No, no,' she wailed. 'I wish I could die!... I wish I could die!'

Lights were twinkling in the village below; and across the valley
darkness was draping the hills. The girl lifted her face from her hands,
and looked up at him with a scared, bewildered expression.

'I must go home: I must be getting home,' she muttered.

'Nay, but there's sommut mighty amiss wi' ye.'

'No, it's nothing... I don't know--I'm not well... I mean it's
nothing... it'll pass over... you mustn't think anything of it.'

'Nay, but I canna stand by an see ye in sich trouble.'

'It's nothing, Mr. Garstin, indeed it's nothing,' she repeated.

'Ay, but I canna credit that,' he objected stubbornly.

She sent him a shifting, hunted glance.

'Let me get home... you must let me get home.'

She made a tremulous, pitiful attempt at firmness. Eyeing her keenly, he
barred her path: she flushed scarlet, and looked hastily away across the
valley.

'If ye'll tell me yer distress, mabbe I can help ye.'

'No, no, it's nothing... it's nothing.'

'If ye'll tell me yer distress, mabbe I can help ye,' he repeated, with
a solemn, deliberate sternness. She shivered, and looked away again,
vaguely, across the valley.

'You can do nothing: there's nought to be done,' she murmured drearily.

'There's a man in this business,' he declared.

'Let me go! Let me go!' she pleaded desperately.

'Who is't that's bin puttin' ye into this distress?' His voice sounded
loud and harsh.

'No one, no one. I canna tell ye, Mr. Garstin.... It's no one,' she
protested weakly. The white, twisted look on his face frightened her.

'My God!' he burst out, gripping her wrist, 'an' a proper soft fool
ye've made o' me. Who is't, I tell ye? Who's t' man?'

'Ye're hurtin' me. Let me go. I canna tell ye.'

'And ye're fond o' him?'

'No, no. He's a wicked, sinful man. I pray God I may never set eyes on
him again. I told him so.'

'But ef he's got ye into trouble, he'll hev t' marry ye,' he persisted
with a brutal bitterness.

'I will not. I hate him!' she cried fiercely.

'But is he _willin'_ t' marry ye?'

'I don't know ... I don't care ... he said so