nce; whispers_). My voice--my
figure--my heart--my face....

(_A silence. B. 's face gradually lights up. Directly H. speaks,
expression of hopeful attention_.)

Harry (_From railings_). The old man seems to have gone to sleep waiting
for that to-morrow of his.

Bessie. Come away. He sleeps very little.

Harry (_Strolls down_). He has taken an everlasting jamming hitch round
the whole business. (_Vexed_.) Cast it loose who may. (_Contemptuous
exclamation_.) To-morrow. Pooh! It'll be just another mad today.

Bessie. It's the brooding over his hope that's done it. People teased
him so. It's his fondness for you that's troubled his mind.

Harry. Aye. A confounded shovel on the head. The old man had always a
queer way of showing his fondness for me.

Bessie. A hopeful, troubled, expecting old man--left alone--all alone.

Harry (_Lower tone_). Did he ever tell you what mother died of?

Bessie. Yes. (_A little bitter_.) From impatience.

Harry (_Makes a gesture with his arm; speaks vaguely but with feeling_).
I believe you have been very good to my old man....

Bessie (_Tentative_). Wouldn't you try to be a son to him?

Harry (_Angrily_). No contradicting; is that it? You seem to know my dad
pretty well. And so do I. He's dead nuts on having his own way--and I've
been used to have my own too long. It's the deuce of a fix.

Bessie. How could it hurt you not to contradict him for a while--and
perhaps in time you would get used. ..

Harry (_Interrupts sulkily_). I ain't accustomed to knuckle under.
There's a pair of us. Hagberd's both. I ought to be thinking of my
train.

Bessie (_Earnestly_). Why? There's no need. Let us get away up the road
a little.

Harry (_Through his teeth_). And no money for the fare. (_Looks up_.)
Sky's come overcast. Black, too. It'll be a wild, windy night... to walk
the high road on. But I and wild nights are old friends wherever the
free wind blows.

Bessie (_Entreating_). No need. No need. (_Looks apprehensively at
Hagberd's cottage. Takes a couple of steps up as if to draw Harry
further off. Harry follows. Both stop_.)

Harry (_After waiting_). What about this tomorrow whim?

Bessie. Leave that to me. Of course all his fancies are not mad. They
aren't. (_Pause_.) Most people in this town would think what he had
set his mind on quite sensible. If he ever talks to you of it, don't
contradict him. It would--it would be dangerous.

Harry (_Surprised_). What would he do?

Bess