Yet why should this wench dare to judge upon a matter so far beyond her, and form opinions which she knew better than declare before mother?  But with me she had no such scruple, for I had no authority over her; and my intellect she looked down upon, because I praised her own so.  Thus she made herself very unpleasant to me; by little jags and jerks of sneering, sped as though unwittingly; which I (who now considered myself allied to the aristocracy, and perhaps took airs on that account) had not wit enough to parry, yet had wound enough to feel.

Now any one who does not know exactly how mothers feel and think, would have expected my mother (than whom could be no better one) to pet me, and make much of me, under my sad trouble; to hang with anxiety on my looks, and shed her tears with mine (if any), and season every dish of meat put by for her John’s return.  And if the whole truth must be told, I did expect that sort of thing, and thought what a plague it would be to me; yet not getting it, was vexed, as if by some new injury.  For mother was a special creature (as I suppose we all are), being the warmest of the warm, when fired at the proper corner; and yet, if taken at the wrong point, you would say she was incombustible.

Hence it came to pass that I had no one even to speak to, about Lorna and my grievances; for Captain Stickles was now gone southward; and John Fry. of course, was too low for it, although a married man, and well under his wife’s management.  But finding myself unable at last to bear this any longer, upon the first day when all the wheat was cut, and the stooks set up in every field, yet none quite fit for carrying, I saddled good Kickums at five in the morning, and without a word to mother (for a little anxiety might do her good) off I set for Molland parish, to have the counsel and the comfort of my darling Annie.

The horse took me over the ground so fast (there being few better to go when he liked), that by nine o’clock Annie was in my arms, and blushing to the colour of Winnie’s cheeks, with sudden delight and young happiness.

“You precious little soul!” I cried:  “how does Tom behave to you?”

“Hush!” said Annie:  “how dare you ask?  He is the kindest, and the best, and the noblest of all men, John; not even setting yourself aside.  Now look not jealous, John:  so it is.  We all have special gifts, you know.  You are as good as you can be, John; but my husband’s special gift is nobility of character.”  Here she looked at me, as one who has discovered something quite unknown.

“I am devilish glad to hear it,” said I, being touched at going down so:  “keep him to that mark, my dear; and cork the whisky bottle.”

“Yes, darling John,” she answered quickly, not desiring to open that subject, and being too sweet to resent it:  “and how is lovely Lorna?  What an age it is since I have seen you!  I suppose we must thank her for that.”

“You may thank her for seeing me now,” said I; “or rather,”—­seeing how hurt she looked,—­“you may thank my knowledge of your kindness, and my desire to speak of her to a soft-hearted dear little soul like you.  I think all the women are gone mad.  Even mother treats me shamefully.  And as for Lizzie—­” Here I stopped, knowing no words strong enough, without shocking Annie.