'I wish, sir, to tell you all I have been
thinking about,' she continued. 'I am
sure, sir, that Master Richard loved me
once--I am sure he did not think to
deceive me; but there were bad, hard-
hearted people about him, and his family
were all rich and high, and I am sure he
wishes NOW that he had never, never seen
me. Well, sir, it is not in my heart to blame
him. What was _I_ that I should look at
him?--an ignorant, poor, country girl--
and he so high and great, and so beautiful.
The blame was all mine--it was all my
fault; I could not think or hope he would
care for me more than a little time. Well,
sir, I thought over and over again that
since his love was gone from me for ever,
I should not stand in his way, and hinder
whatever great thing his family wished for
him. So I thought often and often to write
him a letter to get the marriage broken,
and to send me home; but for one reason,
I would have done it long ago: there was
a little child, his and mine--the dearest,
the loveliest.' She could not go on for a
minute or two. 'The little child that is
lying there, on that bed; but it is dead
and gone, and there is no reason NOW why
I should delay any more about it.'