D. Richmond

“ More heart folks have, longer life for ’em, for ’tain’t so soon broken and worsted. Heart makes folk live, and do, and forget; if ane prop breaks down, it clings round ’tother, and ay, Amyce, a true heart allus looks up to the sun, that’s to God, honey, an’ it don’t care then for a trampling heel, not it.”
Rude as was Butterworth’s consolation, it was genuine and wholesome, and, re-invigorated by it, I dare venture to my uncle’s room, and assure him by a silent kiss, that my life’s happiness had not been seriously impaired by a dream of love. ”

“ Only those who like myself have been brought up in perfect seclusion, know the intense pain and awkwardness of such a moment to a young girl who has no lady friend to support her. I dared not raise my eyes; I felt my elbows and shoulders everywhere but in their proper positions, my cheeks burning, my whole appearance twice as ungainly as it usually was; and worse still, I knew from that ominous way in which Uncle John was clearing his throat that he was displeased with my awkwardness, and wished to give me a hint to retrieve my character. ”

“ Well, such is life, woman’s life at least; her reason invariably takes its colour from her heart!
One morning, post-time brought to me untold happiness. There was a short note in Mr. Charlton’s handwriting, proffering his company at the Towers for a few days during the following week, if convenient to myself and uncle. Convenient to me? it was delightful, and I went about the house all that morning singing like a lark!—to my uncle?—I suppose so, for his lips relaxed with a rare smile, and he drew me to his heart, and kissed me again and again. ”

“ I began to mope, to tire of novel-reading, even of my own self, and hour by hour to sit lazily at the oriel window of the boudoir, dreaming idle day-dreams or reading my favourite “Idylls,” and feasting on the associations they conjured up. ”

“ Why that yon Rose had flirted wi’ him, and made him no end of fine promises, an’ then turned him over cool as a cucumber when t’other came. Well, she’ll keep any man alive as gets her, I’ll awand her. She’s as full of creases as an onion.”
“Don’t—don’t—I can’t bear it—oh, Butterworth, I think my heart will break!”
The old woman’s manner changed. She clapped me on the back, and adopted the half-scolding tone by which she was wont to manage my uncle.
“Break! Stuff an’ nonsense, it will none break; hold your noise, Amyce Cloyse, one would think nobody had iver had a bit o’ trouble afore ye. ”

“ An infirm old woman lived in the cottage in the lane; she was a wretched object, bedridden with rheumatism; poor, friendless, helpless. I put her down as the first candidate for my projected hospital, and shut my ears to suggestions that a timely visit, a few verses of Scripture read in an audible voice, gifts of flannel, coal and other cottage comforts, or even a word of sympathy, or a morsel of pudding from my own luncheon-table would have been acceptable kindnesses. ”

“ So—but what are women-friends in this narrow-hearted world!
“You are not looking well, Amyce,” Hedworth Charlton observed; “you have lost your colour, and grown thin. I fear you have been over-done during Sir John’s illness. Couldn’t I help you in any way while I am here? Do not hesitate to tell me if I can; you know I am always your friend, and shall be doubly so by-and-by, I hope—” His smiling eyes were resting on Rose.
His friend! I started away ungraciously and hurried home. His friend!—the friend of Rose Carmichael’s husband—never! never! ”

“ I had carte blanche to go into society, and take the foremost place to which my position entitled me. Did I wish friends at home? there was a certain widowed cousin of his, who would be only too happy to come and bear me company. But Butterworth warned me against her. She said there “was never no getting Mrs. Arundel out o’ t’ house when she wor once in, and for her part (Butterworth’s) , she was allus wary o’ folks wha left their hats i’ the hall:” so I acted on her hint, and assured my uncle I was perfectly content to remain where, and as I was. ”

“ It’s allus the way wi’ woman folks and childer, they mun hev measles, and cowpox, and love-fits, an’ get over ’em, it’s in the natur’ on ’em, and it’s a good thing done wi’. ’Tain’t many as love carries off—lor’, no!—not half so many as die o’ King cough, an’ those few, why they’re better gone, they’re poor weak criturs as has no constitutions. ”