OftenIwasmuchinclinedtospeaktoheraboutit，andputheronherguardagainsttheapproachesofTomFaggus；butIcouldnotfindhowtobegin，andfearedtomakeabreachbetweenus；knowingthatifhermindwasset，nowordsofminewouldalterit；althoughtheyneedsmustgrieveherdeeply。Moreover，Ifeltthat，inthiscase，acertainhomelyDevonshireproverbwouldcomehometome；thatone，Imean，whichrecordsthatthecrockwascallingthekettlesmutty。Not，ofcourse，thatIcomparedmyinnocentmaidtoahighwayman；butthatAnniemightthinkherworse，andwouldbetooapttodoso，ifindeedshelovedTomFaggus。AndourCousinTom，bythistime，waslivingaquietandgodlylife；havingretiredalmostfromthetradeexceptwhenheneededexcitement，orcameacrosspublicofficers，andhavingwontheesteemofallwhosepurseswereinhispower。

　　Perhapsitisneedlessformetosaythatallthistimewhilemymonthwasrunning——orrathercrawling，fornevermonthwentsoslowasthatwithme——neitherweed，norseed，norcattle，normyownmother’sanxiety，noranycareformysister，keptmefromlookingonceeveryday，andeventwiceonaSunday，foranysignofLorna。

　　Formyheartwaseverweary；inthebuddingvalleys，andbythecrystalwaters，lookingatthelambsinfold，ortheheifersonthemill，labouringintrickledfurrows，oramongthebeadedblades；haltingfreshtoseethesunliftoverthegolden-vapouredridge；ordoffinghat，fromsweatofbrow，towatchhimsinkinthelowgraysea；beitasitwouldofday，ofwork，ornight，orslumber，itwasawearyheartIbore，andfearwasonthebrinkofit。

　　Allthebeautyofthespringwentforhappymentothinkof；alltheincreaseoftheyearwasforothereyestomark。Notasignofanysunriseformefrommyfountoflife，notabreathtostirthedeadleavesfallenonmyheart’sSpring。

　　AlthoughIhad，forthemostpart，soverystoutanappetite，thatnonebutmothersawanyneedofencouragingmetoeat，Icouldonlymanageonetruegoodmealinaday，atthetimeIspeakof。Motherwasindespairatthis，andtemptedmewiththewholeoftherack，andeventalkedofsendingtoPorlockforadruggistwhocametheretwiceinaweek；andAnniespentallhertimeincooking，andevenLizziesangsongstome；forshecouldsingverysweetly。ButmyconsciencetoldmethatBettyMuxworthyhadsomereasonuponherside。

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