‘Durnd kiss me, mother,’ cried the affrighted girl, stepping back; ‘durnd kiss me. Thaa munnot dirty thy lips wi' touchin' mine. If thaa knew all, thaa'd spurn me more like.’
‘'Manda,’ replied the woman, in the desperation of her love, ‘I'll kiss thee if thaa kills me for't. I connot help it; thaa'rt mine.’
‘I wor once, I wor once, but nod now.’
‘Yi! lass, but thaa art. Thaa wor mine afore th' devil geet howd on thee, and thaa's bin mine all th' time he's bed thee, and now he's done wi' thee, I mean to keep thee all to mysel.’
And afresh the mother bathed the still beautiful face of Amanda with her tears.
But Amanda was firm. Old as her mother was, she knew that mother's innocence, and shrank from the thought that one so pure, so womanly, should hang on those lips so sorely blistered by the breath of sin; and, once more stretching out her arm, she said:
‘Durnd touch me, mother—durnd!’
‘'Manda,’ cried the mother, defiantly and grandly, all the passion of maternity rising in her heart, ‘'Manda, thaa cornd unmother me. I carried thee and suckled thee and taught thee thi prayers in that cheer, and doesn'd ta think as Him we co'd “Aar Faither” is aar Faither still?’
‘Happen He's yours, mother; but He's noan o' mine.’
‘Well, 'Manda, if thaa'rt noan His child, thaa'rt mine, and naught shall come 'tween me and thee.’