of the humblest positions a man can take up.  I would do journeyman’s work of any sort or kind until I had won what in the finer walks of life we call the spurs.  Not to be behind me in effort, Virginia would work also.  I hesitated for some time between the carpenter’s and the gardener’s profession, for both of which I had always had an aptitude; but the former had my choice.  Virginia ultimately chose for laundry-work, because that took her more into the open air, which she dearly loved.

I remember that we came to these decisions, after a day or two of talk about them, upon the grassy ramparts which overlooked the beautiful city on one side and the green meads of the Serchio, with their background of purple hills, on the other.  It was there that Virginia, holding my hand in hers, spoke in this manner.  “Francis,” said she, “my lord and master, I have never yet asked you why you paid me the extreme honour of making me your wife, when, as you know very well, I was yours to dispose of in any other way you pleased; and I shall never ask you.  It is enough for me that you have raised a poor girl out of the mire and made her a proud woman.  But proud as I am—­or because I am proud—­I shall not forget to be humble.  Don’t suppose that I think myself raised to your degree because you have taken me in your arms; no, indeed, I am a little peasant and shall always be a little peasant.  If I was found good in your eyes—­as I am bound to believe I was—­it was for that reason.  Such as I am, for such as you have taken me, I shall never fail you.  I will work the flesh off my bones for you, I will lie, cheat, steal, commit any sin under the sky if you bid me.  I am utterly yours to take or put away, to live or die, for Heaven or Hell—­you have only to require of me.  It is in my power to sink for your pleasure, for we can always go lower than our best; but I cannot rise without you.  If you ask me to set up for a lady, I tell you plainly I cannot.  Have patience with me, Francis; do not condemn me to fail you.  If I cannot rise, you must stoop.  If I cannot be a fine lady, you must be content to do without your gentlehood.  If I am a peasant, you must be a peasant.  As such I shall please you—­I am certain of it.  In any other way you will stab me at every turn of your head.  I shall break my back for you—­and do well in my own way; but in yours I shall break my heart—­and not advantage you one inch.  Remember this too, that you may abandon me whenever you please, and get no reproaches from me.”

She spoke modestly, courageously, and well.  I kissed her, saying, “You are a good wife to me, Virginia.  I agree with everything you say.  Come, my dear, kiss me.  I think we shall be happy.”