n'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? Only now, when I wake up from it, I'm a crawling
wretch at her feet. If I had her feet to kiss! I've never kissed
her--never! And no man has kissed her. Damn my head! here's the ache
coming on. That's my last oath, mother. I wish there was a Bible handy,
but I'll try and stick to it without. My God! when I think of her, I
fancy everything on earth hangs still and doubts what's to happen. I'm
like a wheel, and go on spinning. Feel my pulse now. Why is it I can't
stop it? But there she is, and I could crack up this old world to know
what's coming. I was mild as milk all those days I was near her. My
comfort is, she don't know me. And that's my curse too! If she did,
she'd know as clear as day I'm her mate, her match, the man for her. I
am, by heaven!--that's an oath permitted. To see the very soul I want,
and to miss her!