‘After all, Mistress Lorna,’ I said, pretending to be gay, for a smile might do her good; ‘you do not love me as Gwenny does; for she even wanted to eat me.’

‘And shall, afore I have done, young man,’ Gwenny answered laughing; ‘you come in here with they red chakes, and make us think o’ sirloin.’

‘Eat up your bit of brown bread, Gwenny. It is not good enough for your mistress. Bless her heart, I have something here such as she never tasted the like of, being in such appetite. Look here, Lorna; smell it first. I have had it ever since Twelfth Day, and kept it all the time for you. Annie made it. That is enough to warrant it good cooking.’

And then I showed my great mince-pie in a bag of tissue paper, and I told them how the mince-meat was made of golden pippins finely shred, with the undercut of the sirloin, and spice and fruit accordingly and far beyond my knowledge. But Lorna would not touch a morsel until she had thanked God for it, and given me the kindest kiss, and put a piece in Gwenny’s mouth.

I have eaten many things myself, with very great enjoyment, and keen perception of their merits, and some thanks to God for them. But I never did enjoy a thing, that had found its way between my own lips, half, or even a quarter as much as I now enjoyed beholding Lorna, sitting proudly upwards (to show that she was faint no more) entering into that mince-pie, and moving all her pearls of teeth (inside her little mouth-place) exactly as I told her. For I was afraid lest she should be too fast in going through it, and cause herself more damage so, than she got of nourishment. But I had no need to fear at all, and Lorna could not help laughing at me for thinking that she had no self-control.

Some creatures require a deal of food (I myself among the number), and some can do with a very little; making, no doubt, the best of it. And I have often noticed that the plumpest and most perfect women never eat so hard and fast as the skinny and three-cornered ones. These last be often ashamed of it, and eat most when the men be absent. Hence it came to pass that Lorna, being the loveliest of all maidens, had as much as she could do to finish her own half of pie; whereas Gwenny Carfax (though generous more than greedy), ate up hers without winking, after finishing the brown loaf; and then I begged to know the meaning of this state of things.

‘The meaning is sad enough,’ said Lorna; ‘and I see no way out of it. We are both to be starved until I let them do what they like with me.

‘That is to say until you choose to marry Carver Doone, and be slowly killed by him?’

‘Slowly! No, John, quickly. I hate him so intensely, that less than a week would kill me.’

‘Not a doubt of that,’ said Gwenny; ‘oh, she hates him nicely then; but not half so much as I do.’

I told them that this state of things could be endured no longer, on which point they agreed with me, but saw no means to help it. For even if Lorna could make up her mind to come away with me and live at Plover’s Barrows farm, under my good mother’s care, as I had urged so often, behold the snow was all around us, heaped as high as mountains, and how could any delicate maiden ever get across it?

Then I spoke with a strange tingle upon both sides of my heart, knowing that this undertaking was a serious one for all, and might burn our farm down,—

‘If I warrant to take you safe, and without much fright or hardship, Lorna, will you come with me?’

‘To be sure I will, dear,’ said my beauty, with a smile and a glance to follow it; ‘I have small alternative, to starve, or go with you, John.’

‘Gwenny, have you courage for it? Will you come with your young mistress?’