\'Mother，\'saidhe，\'Iwaswrong。I\'mfrettedbymanythings。Ishouldn\'tha\'spokenso。Itwasill—doneofme。\'
\'Oh，mylad！\'saidshe，lookingupandputtingherthinarmonhisshoulderashestooped，\'Satanisdesiringafteryo\'thathemaysiftyo\'aswheat。
Bideatwhoam，bideatwhoam，andgonotafterthemascarenoughtforholythings。Whyneedyo\'gotoHaytersbankthisnight？\'
Philipreddened。Hecouldnotandwouldnotgiveitup，andyetitwasdifficulttoresistthepleadingoftheusuallysternoldwoman。
\'Nay，\'saidhe，withdrawinghimselfeversolittlefromherhold;\'myauntisbutailing，they\'remyownfleshandblood，andasgoodfolksasneedsbe，thoughtheymayn\'tbeo\'our——o\'yourwayo\'thinkingina\'things。\'