Many a day, oop on t' fell-top, t'
thought o' ye's nigh driven me daft, and I've left my shepherdin' jest
t' set on a cairn in t' mist, picturin' an' broodin' on yer face. Many
an evenin' I've started oop t' vicarage, wi' t' resolution t' speak
right oot t' ye; but when it coomed t' point, a sort o' timidity seemed
t' hould me back, I was that feared t' displease ye. I knaw I'm na
scholar, an' mabbe ye think I'm rough-mannered. I knaw I've spoken
sharply to ye once or twice lately. But it's jest because I'm that mad
wi' love for ye: I jest canna help myself soomtimes--'
He waited, peering into her face. She could see the beads of sweat above
his bristling eyebrows: the damp had settled on his sandy beard: his
horny fingers were twitching at the buttons of his black Sunday coat.
She struggled to summon a smile; but her under-lip quivered, and her
large dark eyes filled slowly with tears.
And he went on:
'Ye've coom t' mean jest everything to me. Ef ye will na hev me, I care
for nought else. I canna speak t' ye in phrases: I'm jest a plain,
unscholarly man: I canna wheedle ye, wi' cunnin' after t' fashion o'
toon folks.
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