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Chapter 11
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TWO:"Abbot Horton, you have had my answer," returned Skipwith, in a tone of perhaps still more vehemence than the abbot's. THREE:"His name, I think, was Stephen Holgravethe same Holgrave that was among the rebels, is it not?"
TWO:It might be, perhaps, that this similarity in their condition had attracted them towards each other; or it might be that, as Margaret had been motherless since her birth, and Edith had nursed and reared her till she grew to womanhood, from the feelings natural to long association, love had grown and strengthened in Stephen's heart. Indeed, there were not many of her class who could have compared with this young woman. Her figure was about the middle height of her sex, and so beautifully proportioned, that even the close kerchief and russet gown could not entirely conceal the symmetrical formation of the broad white shoulders, the swelling bust, and the slender waist. Plain braids of hair of the darkest shade, and arched brows of the same hue, gave an added whiteness to a forehead smooth and high; and her full intelligent eyes, with a fringe as dark as her hair, were of a clear deep blue. The feminine occupation of a sempstress had preserved the delicacy of her complexion, and had left a soft flickering blush playing on her cheek. Such was Margaret the belovedthe betrothedwhom Holgrave was now hastening to invite, with all the simple eloquence of honest love, to become the bride of his bosomthe mistress of his home."Ah! well," said Holgrave; "if she was fool enough to trust a dusty-foot, she must look to it. I care not what you did so long as you kept your hand from blood: so come up this way." He then took one of the branches that were still blazing on the hearth, and conducted the fugitive to the loft. THREE:She shrank back on the sofa, folding her arms over her breast and gripping her shoulders.
TWO:"Quite so, Squire. But it ?un't the cow as I'm vrothered about so much as these things always happening. This ?un't the first 'rag,' as he calls it, wot he's had on my farm. I've complained to you before." THREE:"Will you not look at the little babe?" said Margaret, anxious to turn the current of her husband's thoughts.
TWO:"Let's go home," she said faintly"it's getting late." THREE:"I paint a little myself," said Alice"when I've time."
Top Oakley, as Calverley ceased speaking, looked at him for a moment very earnestly, and an intelligence passed across his face, as if some new light had broken in upon him; but suddenly, with a sort of smile,His nostrils were always full of the smart of lime, and the stench of those horrible furnaces belching away on the slopes of the Moor. Would that burning never be done? For days the yellowy white pennons of destruction had flown on Boarzell, and that acrid reek polluted[Pg 299] the harvest wind. Boarzell was nothing but a huge funeral pyre, a smoking hell.... "And the smoke of her went up for ever and ever."It was all rather ugly and ridiculous, and as before at Mockbeggar, the crowd began to straggle. This time there was no public-house to swallow up strays, but the marsh spread far and wide, a Land of Promise for lovers, who began to slink off two by two into the mists. Some who were not lovers formed themselves into noisy groups, and bumped about the laneswaking the farmers' wives from Bosney to Marsh Quarter."Wot," said Reuben, "you eat flowers?"
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