only answered by drawing her close to me again. I was afraid of crying if I spoke. My tears do not flow so easily as they ought— they come almost like men’s tears, with sobs that seem to tear me in pieces, and that frighten every one about me.
“I have thought of this, love, for many days,” she went on, twining and twisting my hair with that childish restlessness in her fingers, which poor Mrs. Vesey still tries so patiently and so vainly to cure her of—“I have thought of it very seriously, and
“Let us go on with what we were talking about. Tell me how long you stayed with Mrs. Clements in London, and how you came here.”
“How long?” she repeated. “I stayed with Mrs. Clements till we both came to this place, two days ago.”
“You are living in the village, then?” I said. “It is strange I