22  
WHY JESUS WEPT. 
MOLLY. 
 
Dear me !  The young gentleman’s ill too.  What a nice 
boy it is !  I must go and help him.  Why did he call to me ?  
(Goes back.) I was afraid — Yes, but I must go.  Something 
calls me.  Is anything the matter, sir ?  (He does not answer.  She lifts 
his head to her lap.) How pale he is !  Poor boy !  Shall I run to 
the Hall and get help, I wonder ?  (Puts him gently down and half 
rises.  His eyes open.) 
 
SIR PERCY. 
 
Oh !  I am but a coward.  I am not ill, I was awake.  I 
let you hold me.  Forgive me ! 
 
MOLLY. 
 
Forgive you, sir ?  I am a poor girl of the dale. 
 
SIR PERCY. 
 
Your voice is like an empress — no, a nightingale.  You 
do not speak like a daleswoman. 
 
MOLLY. 
 
I was at school, sir, at — 
 
SIR PERCY. 
 
O but I love you ! 
There is none above you, 
Not God !  I renounce Thee, 
O maker !  Dissolve,