Well, then, we'd best be goin'. I'll send my missis down first thing in the morning. It's a bad job, a bad job, it is. You'll be a' right then?
[_The Manager, followed by the two bearers, goes out, closing the door._
It's like this, missis. I never should ha' gone, if he hadn't wanted us to.
No. If there's owt, missis, as you want--
Well--good-night--we've worked i' the same stall ower four years now--
[_The Grandmother all this time has been rocking herself to and fro, moaning and murmuring beside the dead man. When Rigley has gone Mrs. Holroyd stands staring distractedly before her. She has not yet looked at her husband._
Haven't you put him by a pair o' white stockings, nor a white shirt?
He's got a white cricketing shirt--but not white stockings.
Then he'll have to have his father's. Let me look at the shirt, Lizzie. (_Mrs. Holroyd takes one from the dresser drawer_) This'll never do--a cold, canvas thing wi' a turn down collar. I s'll 'ave to fetch his father's. (_Suddenly_) You don't want no other woman to touch him, to wash him and lay him out, do you?
Then I'll fetch him his father's gear. We mustn't let him set, he'll be that heavy, bless him. (_She takes her shawl_) I shan't be more than a few minutes, an' the young fellow can stop here till I come back.
No. _You_ couldn't find the things. We'll wash him as soon as I get back, Lizzie.
[_She watches her mother-in-law go out. Then she starts, goes in the scullery for a bowl, in which she pours warm water. She takes a flannel and soap and towel. She stands, afraid to go any farther._
He'd have come up with the others, if he hadn't felt--felt me murdering him.
MRS. HOLROYD (_looking at him--then indicating her husband_) I daren't see him.
If he hadn't felt, if he hadn't _known_, he wouldn't have stayed, he'd have come up with the rest.
Well, and even if it was so, we can't help it now.
I don't love him. Now he's dead. I don't love him. He lies like he did yesterday.
No--but _do_ go. (_They look at each other_)
[_Mrs. Holroyd stands very stiff, as if afraid of the dead man. Then she stoops down and begins to sponge his face, talking to him._
My dear, my dear--oh, my dear! I can't bear it, my dear--you shouldn't have done it. You shouldn't have done it. Oh--I can't bear it, for you. Why couldn't I do anything for you? The children's father--my dear--I wasn't good to you. But you shouldn't have done this to me. Oh, dear, oh, dear! Did it hurt you?--oh, my dear, it hurt you--oh, I can't bear it. No, things aren't fair--we went wrong, my dear. I never loved you enough--I never did. What a shame for you! It was a shame. But you didn't--you didn't try. I _would_ have loved you--I tried hard. What a shame for you! It was so cruel for you. You couldn't help it--my dear, my dear. You couldn't help it. And I can't do anything for you, and it hurt you so! (_She weeps bitterly, so her tears fall on the dead man's face; suddenly she kisses him_) My dear, my dear, what can I do for you, what can I? (_She weeps as she wipes his face gently_)