"Mamma is very pretty still. Poor mamma!"
"Now don't ye set off again, or I shall give way at last" (whimpering). "You'll never stand master's coming home, and questioning, at this rate. Go out and take a walk, and come in something like. Many's the time I've longed to walk it off--the thought of what was the matter with her, and how it must all end."
"Oh, Dixon!" said Margaret, "how often I've been cross with you, not knowing what a terrible secret you had to bear!"

'Mamma is very pretty still. Poor mamma!'
'Now don't set off again. Go out and take a walk, and come in something like. Many's the time I've longed to walk it off - the thought of her illness, and how it must all end.'
'Oh, Dixon!' said Margaret, 'how often I've been cross with you, not knowing what a terrible secret you had to bear! 