But it was all no use, as he could easily see. Mr. Bates raised his eyes, moved his feet, and then spoke gently but proudly.
"I thank you, William, for your well-meant intentions. I have listened to what you wished to say. Now shall we talk of something else?"
"Yes--but with just this one proviso added. Will you remember that I am your banker, for the full half of what the banker's worth? If the pinch comes, draw on me."
"I thank you again, William. But I shan't need help."
"I think you will."
"Then to speak quite truly, I couldn't take help, William, I really couldn't."
"Why not? Think of all you've done for me. Don't deny me the pleasure of doing something for you."
"I'll consider, William. Please let it rest there."
Dale could say no more and they both sat silent for a little while. Then old Bates spoke again.
"William," he said, "if you'll excuse me, I really won't stay. You have--to tell the truth--agitated me."
"Indeed I'm sorry, sir. But don't punish me by going."
"I am not quite up to merry-making."
Just then Norah arrived, carrying the lamp, and Dale turned to her for aid.
"Norah, speak for me. Mr. Bates says he won't stay. Tell him how disappointed we shall be."
"Oh, do stay, Mr. Bates," said Norah. "It'll be such a disappointment to Mr. Dale."
"Some other evening, Miss--ah, Norah. But you must excuse me this time."
And, having picked up his hat and stick, Mr. Bates bade them good night.
Dale and Norah went out into the road and watched him as he walked away.
"There, Norah;" and Dale, slipping his arm within hers, drew her closer to his side. "Look with all your eyes. You'll never see a better man than that."
They watched him till he disappeared in the gathering darkness; and he seemed just like a pilgrim with his staff, slowly approaching the end of a cruelly long journey.