know I should stay too, but I cannot stay in peace so near--her--without
craving to see her--Susan Palmer, I mean."

"Has the old Mr. Palmer thou telled me on a daughter?" asked Mrs. Leigh.

"Ay, he has. And I love her above a bit. And it's because I love her I
want to leave Manchester. That's all."

Mrs. Leigh tried to understand this speech for some time, but found it
difficult of interpretation.

"Why shouldst thou not tell her thou lov'st her? Thou'rt a likely lad,
and sure o' work. Thou'lt have Upclose at my death; and as for that, I
could let thee have it now, and keep mysel' by doing a bit of charring.
It seems to me a very backwards sort o' way of winning her to think of
leaving Manchester."

"Oh, mother, she's so gentle and so good--she's downright holy. She's
never known a touch of sin; and can I ask her to marry me, knowing what
we do about Lizzie, and fearing worse? I doubt if one like her could
ever care for me; but if she knew about my sister, it would put a gulf
between us, and she'd shudder up at the thought of crossing it. You
don't know how good she is, mother!"

"Will, Will! if she's so good as thou say'st, she'll have pity on such as
my Lizzie. If she has no pity for such, she's a cruel Pharisee, and
thou'rt best without her."

But he only shook his head, and sighed; and for the time the conversation
dropped.