CHAPTER IX.
When she opened the kitchen-door there was the same small, mizzling rain that had obscured the light for weeks, and now it seemed to obscure hope.
She clambered slowly (for indeed she was very feeble) up the Fell-Lane, and threw herself under the leafless thorn, every small branch and twig of which was loaded with rain-drops.

She did not see the well-beloved and familiar landscape for her tears, and did not miss the hills in the distance that were hidden behind the rain-clouds, and sweeping showers.
Mrs.Browne and Edward sat over the fire.

He told her his own story; making the temptation strong; the crime a mere trifling, venial error, which he had been led into, through his idea that he was to become Mr.Buxton's agent.
"But if it is only that," said Mrs.Browne, "surely Mr.Buxton will not think of going to law with you ?" "It's not merely going to law that he will think of, but trying and transporting me.

That Henry he has got for his agent is as sharp as a needle, and as hard as a nether mill-stone.

And the fellow has obtained such a hold over Mr.Buxton, that he dare but do what he tells him.