“It is very neglected and unkempt,” said the girl gravely. “There is work for two men here for many days; and then the soil would want well manuring, to make it fruitful.”
He laughed. His careless eye roved over her charms luxuriously. Suddenly, child of his new-found tenderness, a great pity awoke in his heart for this poor lamb, so treacherously shepherded.
“Betty,” he said gently, “have you no mother?”
She smiled with a little falling sadness.
“Oh, your honour, she died before I can remember.”
“Or father?”
Betty looked sheepish.
“Father was shot by the Preventive in ’91,” she murmured.
“H’m! and he there—has he brought you up and cared for you?”
“Ever since? Yes.”