I'll put a stitch or two into that work of yours while you go to sleep." Instead of doing what I told her, she burst out crying (being very like a child in some of her ways), and hugged me so tight round the neck that she quite hurt me.

I let her go on till she had worn herself out, and was obliged to lie down.

Even then, her last few words before she dropped off to sleep were such as I was half sorry, half frightened to hear.
"I won't plague you long, Anne," she said.

"I haven't courage to go out of the world as you seem to fear I shall; but I began my life wretchedly, and wretchedly I am sentenced to end it." It was of no use lecturing her again, for she closed her eyes.
I tucked her up as neatly as I could, and put her petticoat over her, for the bedclothes were scanty, and her hands felt cold.

She looked so pretty and delicate as she fell asleep that it quite made my heart ache to see her, after such talk as we had held together.