 | Dorothy |  |
Gone? He was gone; and she stood gazing after him out of the doorway,
All in a trance, as it were; scarce knowing how she got there!
But when she came to herself, she held up her hand to the lantern,
Look'd at its hard grey palm, kiss'd it—the very same place—
Kiss'd it, and fray'd her soft lips with the touch of its rough rugged edges;
Kiss'd it, and thought, ‘What a hand, this, to have kisses from him!’
Ay, and with that came tears; not of shame for a thing so unsightly,
No, nor of love—not quite: but of great joy, and of pride:
Pride, that she was not despised; that even a hand such as hers was
Thus had been kiss'd, and by him—by Mr. Robert, you know!
Joy, too, great joy, at his words: he had said that she never should mind it,
Nay, should be proud, he had said, both of her work and her hands;
And (for in spite of herself, 'twas a thing she was fain to rejoice in)
Said he was coming back soon; said, he should do it again!
She had thought thus of her work, but seldom had ventured to speak it;
Knowing what others would say—chiefly, that pert little Poll;
Now, it was true! he had said: and she held them both up, in her folly,
Held up her two coarse hands, look'd at them fondly—and sigh'd!
Sigh'd—for she thought, after all, they could never be fit to be his hands,
Even if he—and she paused: ‘Oh, what a silly am I!’—
All in a trance, as it were; scarce knowing how she got there!
But when she came to herself, she held up her hand to the lantern,
Look'd at its hard grey palm, kiss'd it—the very same place—
Kiss'd it, and fray'd her soft lips with the touch of its rough rugged edges;
Kiss'd it, and thought, ‘What a hand, this, to have kisses from him!’
Ay, and with that came tears; not of shame for a thing so unsightly,
No, nor of love—not quite: but of great joy, and of pride:
Pride, that she was not despised; that even a hand such as hers was
Thus had been kiss'd, and by him—by Mr. Robert, you know!
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Nay, should be proud, he had said, both of her work and her hands;
And (for in spite of herself, 'twas a thing she was fain to rejoice in)
Said he was coming back soon; said, he should do it again!
She had thought thus of her work, but seldom had ventured to speak it;
Knowing what others would say—chiefly, that pert little Poll;
Now, it was true! he had said: and she held them both up, in her folly,
Held up her two coarse hands, look'd at them fondly—and sigh'd!
Sigh'd—for she thought, after all, they could never be fit to be his hands,
Even if he—and she paused: ‘Oh, what a silly am I!’—
Whether it was—who knows? that her conscience was pricking within her,
Or 'twas her mistress's voice, hurriedly calling her name;
Sudden she dropp'd her hands, and rush'd to the pump in the corner;
Cool'd her wet eyes and her face, made herself sprightly again;
Ran to the kitchen door, but open'd it slowly and calmly,
Making as if it was naught, all that had happen'd just now:
All she had heard and seen, the tumult and whirl of her feelings—
Making as if was naught: Ah, what a hypocrite, she!
‘Dolly, where have you been?’ said the Missis, half rising to meet her;
‘Master's been calling o' you, wanting the key o' the beer!
‘Why, all the folks has just gone, and nobody here to attend 'em!
‘What was you doing, and why didn't you answer afore?’—
‘I never heard, ma'am, I sure! I never heard Master a-calling,
‘I never thought it was time—surely I haven't been long?
‘I've been a-fetching of beer—Mr. Robert, he sent me to draw it—
‘Said he could do with a glass—told me to get it—and so,
‘So, ma'am, I fill'd him the jug—I knew you and Master 'ud wish it;
‘Brought it, and waited a bit—just till he'd drunk it and gone.’—
Such was her story; and oh, how many a story of passion
Wears such a probable face, is so untruthfully true!
Simpletons, not to have seen that her face was redder than ever,
And that her eyes look'd down while she was telling the tale!
But, as they both knew well she was honest and good, they believed her:
Only, they thought it strange, he should have kept her so long.
‘Beer?’ said her master, ‘of course! you was right to get beer for him, Dolly,
‘Still, I do wonder, wife, he never ax'd it o' me!’
‘Tut! never mind,’ said the dame: ‘get along, get along to your work, girl!
‘Put out the lights—lock the doors—quick, and be off to your bed!
‘Things may be left all night; but mind you're up early to-morrow—
‘Oh, what a clearing there 'll be! Oh, what a mess they have made!’—
Thankfully, Dolly obey'd; did her work, and ran up to her attic;
Lightly undress'd, said her prayers, jump'd into bed, and lay down;
Lay in her small truckle bed, with the sloping roof just above her;
Lay for a moment, and then—then, was asleep, like a child.
Or 'twas her mistress's voice, hurriedly calling her name;
Sudden she dropp'd her hands, and rush'd to the pump in the corner;
Cool'd her wet eyes and her face, made herself sprightly again;
Ran to the kitchen door, but open'd it slowly and calmly,
Making as if it was naught, all that had happen'd just now:
All she had heard and seen, the tumult and whirl of her feelings—
Making as if was naught: Ah, what a hypocrite, she!
‘Dolly, where have you been?’ said the Missis, half rising to meet her;
‘Master's been calling o' you, wanting the key o' the beer!
‘Why, all the folks has just gone, and nobody here to attend 'em!
‘What was you doing, and why didn't you answer afore?’—
‘I never heard, ma'am, I sure! I never heard Master a-calling,
‘I never thought it was time—surely I haven't been long?
‘I've been a-fetching of beer—Mr. Robert, he sent me to draw it—
‘Said he could do with a glass—told me to get it—and so,
‘So, ma'am, I fill'd him the jug—I knew you and Master 'ud wish it;
‘Brought it, and waited a bit—just till he'd drunk it and gone.’—
Such was her story; and oh, how many a story of passion
Wears such a probable face, is so untruthfully true!
22
And that her eyes look'd down while she was telling the tale!
But, as they both knew well she was honest and good, they believed her:
Only, they thought it strange, he should have kept her so long.
‘Beer?’ said her master, ‘of course! you was right to get beer for him, Dolly,
‘Still, I do wonder, wife, he never ax'd it o' me!’
‘Tut! never mind,’ said the dame: ‘get along, get along to your work, girl!
‘Put out the lights—lock the doors—quick, and be off to your bed!
‘Things may be left all night; but mind you're up early to-morrow—
‘Oh, what a clearing there 'll be! Oh, what a mess they have made!’—
Thankfully, Dolly obey'd; did her work, and ran up to her attic;
Lightly undress'd, said her prayers, jump'd into bed, and lay down;
Lay in her small truckle bed, with the sloping roof just above her;
Lay for a moment, and then—then, was asleep, like a child.
| Dorothy | |