I would not stay beneath yon roof to be starved in soul and body and spirit.

O father, father!" The cry was one of exceeding bitterness, and yet in it spoke a patience that moved Cuthbert strangely.
"Sister, my sister!" he cried, in accents of suppressed agitation, "I know not how to leave thee here.

Petronella, why not forth with me to the forest?
Sure I could protect thee there and give thee a better home beneath the greenwood trees than our father does beneath yon grim walls.

And, sister, I could take thee to our uncle, Martin Holt.

Sure he would give thee asylum with him, as he gave to me.