She saw a big man with unshaven cheeks come in, and stretched out her hand.

“I am Mr. Derek’s cousin, going to be married to him.  He’s been ill, but he’s getting well again now.  We knew you’d like to hear.”  And she thought:  ‘Oh!  What a tragic face!  I can’t bear to look at his eyes!’

He took her hand, said, “Thank you, miss,” and stood as still as ever.

“Please come and sit down, and we can talk.”

Tryst moved to a form and took his seat thereon, with his hands between his knees, as if playing with an imaginary cap.  He was dressed in an ordinary suit of laborer’s best clothes, and his stiff, dust-colored hair was not cut particularly short.  The cheeks of his square-cut face had fallen in, the eyes had sunk back, and the prominence thus given to his cheek and jawbones and thick mouth gave his face a savage look—­only his dog-like, terribly yearning eyes made Nedda feel so sorry that she simply could not feel afraid.

“The children are such dears, Mr. Tryst.  Billy seems to grow every day.  They’re no trouble at all, and quite happy.  Biddy’s wonderful with them.”

“She’s a good maid.”  The thick lips shaped the words as though they had almost lost power of speech.

“Do they let you see the newspapers we send?  Have you got everything you want?”

For a minute he did not seem to be going to answer; then, moving his head from side to side, he said: 

“Nothin’ I want, but just get out of here.”

Nedda murmured helplessly: 

“It’s only a month now to the assizes.  Does Mr. Pogram come to see you?”

“Yes, he comes.  He can’t do nothin’!”

“Oh, don’t despair!  Even if they don’t acquit you, it’ll soon be over. 
Don’t despair!” And she stole her hand out and timidly touched his arm. 
She felt her heart turning over and over, he looked so sad.

He said in that stumbling, thick voice: 

“Thank you kindly.  I must get out.  I won’t stand long of it—­not much longer.  I’m not used to it—­always been accustomed to the air, an’ bein’ about, that’s where ’tis.  But don’t you tell him, miss.  You say I’m goin’ along all right.  Don’t you tell him what I said.  ’Tis no use him frettin’ over me.  ‘Twon’ do me no good.”

And Nedda murmured: 

“No, no; I won’t tell him.”

Then suddenly came the words she had dreaded: 

“D’you think they’ll let me go, miss?”

“Oh, yes, I think so—­I hope so!” But she could not meet his eyes, and hearing him grit his boot on the floor knew he had not believed her.

He said slowly: 

“I never meant to do it when I went out that mornin’.  It came on me sudden, lookin’ at the straw.”

Nedda gave a little gasp.  Could that man outside hear?

Tryst went on:  “If they don’t let me go, I won’ stand it.  ’Tis too much for a man.  I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, nor nothin’.  I won’ stand it.  It don’ take long to die, if you put your mind to it.”