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He watched her closely as she wrote word after word and rubbed them out again, unable to satisfy herself. At last he stretched out his hand and seized the slate, just as she was again about to rub out the sentence. "Our Simon'd marry her to-morrow," was written upon it. Old Marlowe sat looking at the words without raising his eyes or making any sign.
"I haven't, Master, and I feel fair lost without the dear babe. A rare good child she was never see a better. The Black Ladies of Hedingham has got her, and I'm all to pieces afeard they'll not tend her right way. Eh dear! they'd better have left her with me. I'd have taken to her altogether, if Simon'd have let me and I think he would after a bit. And she'd have done well with me, too."
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