One Day At Arle | Page 3

now,
when she slipped down upon the door-step with her back turned to the
wretched man within--when it came upon her that, traitor as he was,
she herself had given him the right to take her bright-faced lover's place,
and usurp his tender power--when the fresh sea-breeze blew upon her
face and stirred her hair, and the warm, rare sunshine touched her, even
breeze and sunshine helped her to the end, so that she broke down into
a sharp sob, as any other woman might have done, only that the
repressed strength of her poor warped nature made it a sob sharper and
deeper than another woman's would have been.

"Yo' mought ha' left me that!" she said. "Yo' mought ha' left it to me!
There wur other women as would ha' done yo', there wur no other man
on earth as would do me. Yo' knowed what my life had been, an' how it
wur hand to hand betwixt other folk an' me. Yo' knowed how much I
cared fur him an' what he wur to me. Yo' mought ha' let us be. I nivver
harmed yo'. I wouldna harm yo' so sinful cruel now."
"Wilt ta listen?" he asked, laboring as if for breath.
"Aye," she answered him, "I'll listen, fur tha conna hurt me worser. Th'
day fur that's past an' gone."
"Well," said he, "listen an I'll try to tell yo'. I know it's no use, but I
mun say a word or two. Happen yo' didna know I loved yo' aw' yore
life--happen yo' didna, but it's true. When yo' wur a little lass gatherin'
sea-weed on th' sands I watched yo' when I wurafeared to
speak--afeared lest yo'd gi' me a sharp answer, fur yo' wur ready enow
wi' 'em, wench. I've watched yo' fur hours when I wur a great lubberly
lad, an' when yo' gettin' to be a woman it wur th' same thing. I watched
yo' an' did yo' many a turn as yo' knowed nowt about. When yo' wur
searchin' fur drift to keep up th' fire after th' owd mon deed an' left yo'
alone, happen yo' nivver guessed as it wur me as heaped little piles i' th'
nooks o' th' rocks so as yo'd think 'at th' tide had left it theer--happen
yo' did n't, but it wur true. I've stayed round the old house many a neet,
feared summat mought harm yo', an' yo' know yo' niwer gave me a
good word, Meg. An' then Dan comn an' he made way wi' yo' as he
made way wi' aw th' rest--men an' women an' children. He niwer
worked an' waited as I did--he niwer thowt an' prayed as I did;
everything come easy wi' him--everything allus did come easy wi' him,
an' when I seed him so light-hearted an' careless about what I wur
cravin' it run me daft an' blind. Seemt like he couldna cling to it like I
did an' I begun to fight agen it, an' when I heerd about that lass o'
Barnegats I towd yo', an' when I seen yo' believed what I didna believe
mysen, it run me dafter yet, an' I put more to what he said, an' held
back some, an' theer it wur an' theer it stands, an' if I've earnt a curse,
lass, I've getten it, fur--fur I thowt yo'd been learnin' to care fur me a bit
sin' we wur wed, an' God knows I've tried to treat yo' fair an' kind i' my

poor way. It wurna Dan Morgan's way, I know--his wur a better way
than mine, th' sun shone on him somehow--but I've done my best an'
truest sin'."
"Yo've done yo're worst," she said. "Th' worst yo' could do wur to part
us, an' yo' did it. If yo'd been half a mon yo' wouldna ha' been content
wi' a woman yo'd trapped with sayin' 'Aye,' an' who cared less for yo'
than she did fur th' sand on th' sea-shore. What's what yo've done sin' to
what yo' did afore? Yo' conna wipe that out and yo' conna mak' me
forget. I hate yo', an' th' worse because I wur beginnin' to be content a
bit. I hate mysen. I ought to ha' knowed"--wildly--"he would ha'
knowed whether I wur true or false, poor chap--he would ha' knowed."
She rocked herself to and fro for a minute, wringing her hands in a
passion of anguish worse than any words, but a minute later she turned
on him all at once.
"All's o'er betwixt yo' an' me," she said with fierce heat; "do yo' know
that? If yo' wur half a mon yo' would."
He sat up and stared at her humbly and stupidly.
"Eh?" he said at last.
"Theer's not a mon