“I have given her two days’ holiday,” Anna answered. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. She let go of him and stood up, straightening herself. His mother used to live i' this village, just down yonder; but when her son took to bad ways, she went distracted,—and now she's i' Bedlam, I've heerd. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. You are always doing something for nothing, and that is why I love you.
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