“Very much,” said Major Waring.

“Was dressed in—?”

“Black, with a crimson ribbon round the collar.”

Robert waved the image from his eyes.

“I’m not going to dream of her.  Peace, and babies, and farming, and pride in myself with a woman by my side—­there!  You’ve seen her—­all that’s gone.  I might as well ask the East wind to blow West.  Her face is set the other way.  Of course, the nature and value of a man is shown by how he takes this sort of pain; and hark at me!  I’m yelling.  I thought I was cured.  I looked up into the eyes of a lady ten times sweeter—­when?—­somewhen!  I’ve lost dates.  But here’s the girl at me again.  She cuddles into me—­slips her hand into my breast and tugs at strings there.  I can’t help talking to you about her, now we’ve got over the first step.  I’ll soon give it up.

“She wore a red ribbon?  If it had been Spring, you’d have seen roses.  Oh! what a stanch heart that girl has.  Where she sets it, mind!  Her life where that creature sets her heart!  But, for me, not a penny of comfort!  Now for a whole week of her, day and night, in that black dress with the coloured ribbon.  On she goes:  walking to church; sitting at table; looking out of the window!

“Will you believe I thought those thick eyebrows of hers ugly once—­a tremendous long time ago.  Yes; but what eyes she has under them!  And if she looks tender, one corner of her mouth goes quivering; and the eyes are steady, so that it looks like some wonderful bit of mercy.

“I think of that true-hearted creature praying and longing for her sister, and fearing there’s shame—­that’s why she hates me.  I wouldn’t say I was certain her sister had not fallen into a pit.  I couldn’t.  I was an idiot.  I thought I wouldn’t be a hypocrite.  I might have said I believed as she did.  There she stood ready to be taken—­ready to have given herself to me, if I had only spoken a word!  It was a moment of heaven, and God the Father could not give it to me twice The chance has gone.

“Oh! what a miserable mad dog I am to gabble on in this way.—­Come in! come in, mother.”

Mrs. Boulby entered, with soft footsteps, bearing a letter.

“From the Park,” she said, and commenced chiding Robert gently, to establish her right to do it with solemnity.

“He will talk, sir.  He’s one o’ them that either they talk or they hang silent, and no middle way will they take; and the doctor’s their foe, and health they despise; and since this cruel blow, obstinacy do seem to have been knocked like a nail into his head so fast, persuasion have not a atom o’ power over him.”

“There must be talking when friends meet, ma’am,” said Major Waring.

“Ah!” returned the widow, “if it wouldn’t be all on one side.”

“I’ve done now, mother,” said Robert.

Mrs. Boulby retired, and Robert opened the letter.