Godness, you know. We can't be all to any one person. Do what we
will, we can't let anybody see into us even. We are all in bits and
spots. But I fancy it's a sign that we come of God that we don't
like it. How gladly I would help you, Mr. Lingard, and I can do
nothing for you.--I'm afraid your beautiful sister thinks me very
forward. But she don't know what it is to lie awake all night
sometimes, think-thinking about my beautiful brothers and sisters
that I can't get near to do anything for."

"What an odd creature!" thought Helen, to whom her talk conveyed
next to nothing. "--But I daresay they are both out of their minds.
Poor things! they must have a hard time of it with one thing and
another!"

"I beg your pardon again for talking so much," concluded Rachel,
and, with a courtesy first to the one then to the other, walked
away. Her gait was no square march like her uncle's, but a sort of
sidelong propulsion, rendered more laborious by the thick grass of
the meadow.






CHAPTER XX.

THE BLOOD-HOUND.