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When he entered the house-place, she was sitting before the fire,
looking into its embers. She did not hear him come in: for some
time she had lost her quick perception of outward things.
"Mother! what's this about going to Manchester?" asked he.
"Oh, lad!" said she, turning round, and speaking in a beseeching
tone, "I must go and seek our Lizzie. I cannot rest here for
thinking on her. Many's the time I've left thy father sleeping in
bed, and stole to th' window, and looked and looked my heart out
towards Manchester, till I thought I must just set out and tramp over
moor and moss straight away till I got there, and then lift up every
downcast face till I came to our Lizzie. And often, when the south
wind was blowing soft among the hollows, I've fancied (it could but
be fancy, thou knowest) I heard her crying upon me; and I've thought
the voice came closer and closer, till at last it was sobbing out,
'Mother!' close to the door; and I've stolen down, and undone the
latch before now, and looked out into the still, black night,
thinking to see her--and turned sick and sorrowful when I heard no
living sound but the sough of the wind dying away. Oh, speak not to
me of stopping here, when she may be perishing for hunger, like the
poor lad in the parable." And now she lifted up her voice, and wept
aloud.
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