arish: my aid must be of the humblest sort.
And if you are inclined to despise the day of small things, seek some
more efficient succour than such as I can offer."

"She has already said that she is willing to do anything honest she can
do," answered Diana for me; "and you know, St. John, she has no choice of
helpers: she is forced to put up with such crusty people as you."

"I will be a dressmaker; I will be a plain-workwoman; I will be a
servant, a nurse-girl, if I can be no better," I answered.

"Right," said Mr. St. John, quite coolly. "If such is your spirit, I
promise to aid you, in my own time and way."

He now resumed the book with which he had been occupied before tea. I
soon withdrew, for I had talked as much, and sat up as long, as my
present strength would permit.

CHAPTER XXX

The more I knew of the inmates of Moor House, the better I liked them. In
a few days I had so far recovered my health that I could sit up all day,
and walk out sometimes. I could join with Diana and Mary in all their
occupations; converse with them as much as they wished, and aid them when
and where they would allow me. There was a reviving pleasure in this
intercourse, of a kind now tasted by me for the first time--the pleasure
arising from perfect congeniality of tastes, sentiments, and principles.

I liked to read what they liked to read: what they enjoyed, delighted me;
what they approved, I reverenced. They loved their sequestered home. I,
too, in the grey, small, antique structure, with its low roof, its
latticed casements, its mouldering walls, its avenue of aged firs--all
grown aslant under the stress of mountain winds; its garden, dark with
yew and holly--and where no flowers but of the hardiest species would
bloom--found a charm both potent and permanent. They clung to the purple
moors behind and around their dwelling--to the hollow vale into which the
pebbly bridle-path leading from their gate descended, and which wound
between fern-banks first, and then amongst a few of the wildest little
pasture-fields that ever bordered a wilderness of heath, or gave
sustenance to a flock of grey moorland sheep, with their little mossy-
faced lambs:--they clung to this scene, I say, with a perfect enthusiasm
of attachment. I could comprehend the feeling, and share both its
strength and truth. I saw the fascination of the locality. I felt the
consecration of its loneliness: my eye feasted on the outline of swell