“I don’t see whatever I can do else, Bess,” said he, pressing her closer than ever to his side. “Father won’t never give me no proper share in the farm, I know. There’s Ben to come afore me, and if ever he had a soft place for me, it’s pretty nigh froze over since that row last night. That’s what ’ave made my mind up, ye see?” “Tell me about it, dear,” said she, lifting her face. “I don’t see as that’ll do no good,” answered he, kissing her face instead. “I’d sooner know,” she sighed. “Well, there, ’e said as if ever ’e caught me a-courtin’ of ye, ’e’d turn me out neck and crop that very day, and never a penny of ’is should I see. It’s real onnat’ral it is, ’ow them two old blokes keep up that ’ere old row over a darned bit o’ land that was sold away a year ago. They must ’ave a real mind to quarrel, they must. So, ye see, as ’e said ’e’d turn me out neck and crop, says I to myself, the best way for me is to turn myself out first and save trouble. There’ll be no bones broke that way. For it’s sartin’ sure I ain’t goin’ to give ye up.” And then he kissed her again more passionately than before. For a few minutes neither spoke; there was no need. They were together, the world was far and parting was near and love sang aloud with triumphant and commanding voice. But at last she sighed and with infinite tenderness whispered simply: “And I won’t never give you up neither, Charley. No, not if I was to die for it.” “I know ye won’t,” said he, “I ain’t a bit afraid, else I wouldn’t go.” He paused a moment, looking into her eyes. A ray of moonlight filtered through the trees and lit her face; it made it white as the face of death. But the lips were parted in wondering rapture, and after a few moments he laughed a little laugh and repeated dreamily: “No, I ain’t a bit afraid. Ye’d never give me up.” Then he sighed too, and in a different tone, striving for cheeriness, added: “And it won’t be so bad, ye know, arter all, darlin’. I’ll be bound I shall get on. Where there’s a will there’s a way, they say, and there ain’t no mistake about the will, is there? Besides, I’m a man now—twenty-one last March—and I’m strong, and school-master used to say I’d got a precious good head-piece when I’d a mind. I _’ave_ got a mind now, ye see, though I never ’ad before. I’ll soon come back and fetch you, you bet. It ain’t so much as we shall want.” “No,” said she eagerly, “a very little ’d do to keep me on. I don’t eat much, and I’m very quick at things and real hearty, though some might think I _looked_ a bit slim. Why, I could do a bit of earnin’ too,—take in needlework or some such-like, though I’d rather work out-doors, with you. Oh, Charley,” cried she again entreating, “I don’t see why we shouldn’t just be wed now, somewheres on the quiet, and me go away with you wherever you be bound for. It’d be much safer, and they won’t never say ‘yes’ to us, not if we was to wait till Doomsday.”