the mornin', an' told me Uncle Wilson was out an' off to town, an' the news was abroad that I 'd run away with Cousin William. 'E went over to the Beck Farm, then, like a man crazed with jealousy. An' my aunt railed out on me—an' there was no one workin' in the peat bog—an' 'e saw that all was safe. 'Is father, out o' pity for 'im, said naught of goin' back to his studies that day. An' in the night, 'e came to me with clothes of 'is own, an' a sheep shears to cut my 'air, an' money in 'is pocket for our passage. An' when I was dressed like a lad, an' our clothes in a bundle together, we fled away across the moors."
The nurse, stiff and silent, her eyes averted, sat as if in judgment on guilt, not knowing what to say. And the old woman went on:
"At first, it was all 'orror an' grief to me, like a bad dream. An' my feet blistered with the 'eavy clogs I wore. An' my legs were wrung with pain, miss. But when I thought that we 'd done nothing wrong—unless the money that 'Arry took, an' I made 'im promise 'e 'd send that back from America—an' there we were, all alone in the world together, an' 'im lovin' me an' carryin' me in 'is arms when I could walk no further—why, miss, I said to myself: '’E 'll be caught an' taken from me, some day, an' I 'll be 'appy now while I 'ave 'im.' An' so we were. We 'id by day in the 'edges an' waste places, an' walked by night barefooted with our bundles. An' it was sweet to 'ave 'im with his arm about me, an' sweet to lie on 'is shoulder sleepin' in the grass.
