‘Oh, no, Masther Richard, keep it—­maybe you’d want it yourself.’

’No, child, don’t vex me—­there—­I’ll have money in a week or two, and I’ll send you some more, Nan—­I’ll not forget you.’  He said this in a sadder tone; ’and, Nan, I’m a changed man.  All’s over, you know, and we’ll see one another no more.  You’ll be happier, Nan, for the parting, so here, and now, Nan, we’ll say good-bye.’

’Oh! no—­no—­no—­not good-bye; you couldn’t—­couldn’t—­couldn’t—­your poor wild Nan.’

And she clung to his cloak, sobbing in wild supplication.

‘Yes, Nan, good-bye, it must be—­no other word.’

‘An’ oh, Masther Richard, is it in airnest?  You wouldn’t, oh! sure you wouldn’t.’

’Now, Nan, there’s a good girl; I must go.  Remember your promise, and I’ll not forget you, Nan—­on my soul, I won’t.’

’Well, well, mayn’t I chance to see you, maybe? mayn’t I look at you marching, Masther Richard, at a distance only?  I wouldn’t care so much, I think, if I could see you sometimes.’

’Now, there, Nan, you must not cry; you know ’tis all past and gone more than a year ago.  ’Twas all d——­d folly—­all my fault; I’m sorry, Nan—­I’m sorry; and I’m a changed man, and I’ll lead a better life, and so do you, my poor girl.’

’But mayn’t I see you?  Not to spake to you, Masther Richard.  Only sometimes to see you, far off, maybe.’  Poor Nan was crying all the time she spoke.—­’Well, well, I’ll go, I will, indeed, Masther Richard; only let me kiss your hand—­an’ oh! no, no, don’t say good-bye, an’ I’ll go—­I’m gone now, an’ maybe—­just maybe, you might some time chance to wish to see your poor, wild Nan again—­only to see her, an’ I’ll be thinking o’ that.’

The old feeling—­if anything so coarse deserved the name—­was gone; but he pitied her with all his heart; and that heart, such as it was—­though she did not know it—­was bleeding for her.

He saw her, poor creature, hurrying away in her light clothing, through the sharp, moonlight chill, which, even in the wrapping of his thick cloak, he felt keenly enough.  She looked over her shoulder—­then stopped; perhaps, poor thing, she thought he was relenting, and then she began to hurry back again.  They cling so desperately to the last chance.  But that, you know, would never do.  Another pleading—­another parting—­So he turned sharply and strode into the thickets of the close brushwood, among which the white mists of night were hanging.  He thought, as he stepped resolutely and quickly on, with a stern face, and heavy heart, that he heard a wild sobbing cry in the distance, and that was poor Nan’s farewell.