They left her to her grief until at last she grew calmer and Sethher sobs died away into silence. Then she rose and approaching Langley, who stood at the door, spoke to him, scarcely raising her tear-stained eyes. “I ha' summat to tell yo' an' sum-mat to ax yo',” she said, “an' I mun tell it to yo' alone. Will yo' coom out here?”
He followed her, wondering and sad. His heart was heavy with the pain and mystery the narrow walls inclosed. When they paused a few yards from the house, the one face was scarcely more full of sorrow than the other, only that the woman's was wet with tears. She was not given to many words, Bess Janner, and she wasted few in the story she had to tell. “Yo' know th' secret as she carried,” she said, “or I wouldna tell yo' even now; an' now I tell it yo' that she may carry the secret to her grave, an' ha' no gossiping tongue to threep at her. I dunnot want foak starin' an' wonderin' an' makkin' talk. She's borne enow.”
“It shall be as you wish, whether you tell me the story or not,” said Langley. “We will keep it as sacred as you have done.”
She hesitated a moment, seemingly pondering with herself before she answered him. “Ay,” she said, “but I ha' another reason behind. I want summat fro' yo': I want yo're pity. Happen it moight do her good even now.” She did not look at him as she proceeded, but stood with her face a little turned away and her eyes resting upon the shadow on the mountain. “Theer wur a lass as worked at th' Deepton mines,” she said--“a lass as had a weakly brother as worked an' lodged wi' her. Her name wur Jinny, an' she wur quiet and plain-favored. Theer wur other wenches as wur well-lookin', but she wasna; theer wur others as had homes, and she hadna one; theer wur plenty as had wit an' sharpness, but she hadna them neyther. She wur nowt but a desolate, homely lass, as seemt to ha' no place i' th' world, an' yet wur tender and weak-hearted to th' core. She wur allus longin' fur summat as she wur na loike to get; an' she nivver did get it, fur her brother wasna one as cared fur owt but his own doin's. But theer were one among aw th' rest as nivver passed her by, an' he wur th' mester's son. He wur a bright, handsome chap, as won his way ivverywheer, an' had a koind word or a laugh fur aw. So he gave th' lass a smile, an' did her a favor now and then--loike as not without givin' it more than a thowt--until she learned to live on th' hope o' seein' him. An', bein' weak an' tender, it grew on her fro' day to day, until it seemt to give th' strength to her an' tak' it both i' one.”