nse? Everything belongs to you; and so, I hope, your children do.
And you, in turn, belong to us; as you have proved ever since--oh, ever
since we can remember. Why do you make Annie cry so? You ought to know
better than that."

Mother upon this went over all the things she had done before; how many
times I know not; neither does it matter. Only she seemed to enjoy it
more, every time of doing it. And then she said she was an old fool; and
Annie (like a thorough girl) pulled her one grey hair out.

CHAPTER XXXV

RUTH IS NOT LIKE LORNA

[Illustration: 292.jpg Carver Doone]

Although by our mother's reluctant consent a large part of the obstacles
between Annie and her lover appeared to be removed, on the other hand
Lorna and myself gained little, except as regarded comfort of mind, and
some ease to the conscience. Moreover, our chance of frequent meetings
and delightful converse was much impaired, at least for the present;
because though mother was not aware of my narrow escape from Carver
Doone, she made me promise never to risk my life by needless visits.
And upon this point, that is to say, the necessity of the visit, she was
well content, as she said, to leave me to my own good sense and honour;
only begging me always to tell her of my intention beforehand. This
pledge, however, for her own sake, I declined to give; knowing how
wretched she would be during all the time of my absence; and, on that
account, I promised instead, that I would always give her a full account
of my adventure upon returning.

Now my mother, as might be expected, began at once to cast about for
some means of relieving me from all further peril, and herself from
great anxiety. She was full of plans for fetching Lorna, in some
wonderful manner, out of the power of the Doones entirely, and into her
own hands, where she was to remain for at least a twelve-month, learning
all mother and Annie could teach her of dairy business, and farm-house
life, and the best mode of packing butter. And all this arose from my
happening to say, without meaning anything, how the poor dear had longed
for quiet, and a life of simplicity, and a rest away from violence!
Bless thee, mother--now long in heaven, there is no need to bless thee;
but it often makes a dimness now in my well-worn eyes, when I think of
thy loving-kindness, warmth, and romantic innocence.

As to stealing my beloved from that vile Glen Doone, the deed itself was
not impossible, nor be