She started when she
looked up and saw him behind her, and shrank from him in a pitiful
blending of fright and questioning astonishment as he drew a chair near
to hers and sat down.
"What do you want, man?" she asked, looking towards the kitchen door,
as if she hoped Mrs. Bradley would appear.
"I want to talk to you, Mrs. Dawson," he said. "I don't want you to
hate me any longer. I am awfully sorry for you; I did you a big
injury, but I didn't do it on purpose. I did not dream it would end
like it did. I have suffered over it night and day. It will stick to
me the rest of my life."
The old woman was rapidly regaining her self-possession and with it her
hatred of him; her eyes flashed in the firelight. The sad expression
he had surprised on her face was gone.
"She's in 'er grave," she snarled. "Give 'er back an' I'll git down on
my knees to you, as much as I hate you!"
"You know I'm helpless to undo what's been done," he said, regretfully.
"Well, take yorese'f out'n my sight then. You've made a' ol' woman
perfectly miserable; go on an' marry, an' be happy, ef you kin.
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