e the worth of ye, for
it's a born lady you ought to marry."

"Just feel in my pockets, mother, and you won't be so ready with your
talk of my marrying. And now I'll get up. I feel as if my legs had to
learn over again how to bear me. The old dad, bless his heart! gave me
sound wind and limb to begin upon, so I'm not easily stumped, you see,
though I've been near on it once or twice in my life."

Mrs. Boulby murmured, "Ah! are you still going to be at war with those
gentlemen, Robert?"

He looked at her steadily, while a shrewd smile wrought over his face,
and then taking her hand, he said, "I'll tell you a little; you deserve
it, and won't tattle. My curse is, I'm ashamed to talk about my feelings;
but there's no shame in being fond of a girl, even if she refuses to have
anything to say to you, is there? No, there isn't. I went with my dear
old aunt's money to a farmer in Kent, and learnt farming; clear of the
army first, by--But I must stop that burst of swearing. Half the time
I've been away, I was there. The farmer's a good, sober, downhearted
man--a sort of beaten Englishman, who don't know it, tough, and always
backing. He has two daughters: one went to London, and came to harm, of a
kind. The other I'd prick this vein for and bleed to death, singing; and
she hates me! I wish she did. She thought me such a good young man! I
never drank; went to bed early, was up at work with the birds. Mr. Robert
Armstrong! That changeing of my name was like a lead cap on my head. I
was never myself with it, felt hang-dog--it was impossible a girl could
care for such a fellow as I was. Mother, just listen: she's dark as a
gipsy. She's the faithfullest, stoutest-hearted creature in the world.
She has black hair, large brown eyes; see her once! She's my mate. I
could say to her, 'Stand there; take guard of a thing;' and I could be
dead certain of her--she'd perish at her post. Is the door locked? Lock
the door; I won't be seen when I speak of her. Well, never mind whether
she's handsome or not. She isn't a lady; but she's my lady; she's the
woman I could be proud of. She sends me to the devil! I believe a woman
'd fall in love with her cheeks, they are so round and soft and kindly
coloured. Think me a fool; I am. And here am I, away from her, and I feel
that any day harm may come to her, and she 'll melt, and be as if the
devils of hell were mocking me. Who's to keep harm from her when I'm
away? What can I do but drink and forget?