He represented himself as worked to death and without a moment for his private concerns; it was out of the question for him to marry for a few weeks yet.

He would write to Emma, and would send her all the money she could possibly need to supply the sick girl with comforts.

She must keep up her courage, and be content to wait a short while longer.

He was quite sure she did not complain; it was only his mother's fancy that she was in low spirits, except, of course, on Jane's account.
Another fortnight went by.

Skies were lowering towards winter, and the sides of the valley showed bare patches amid the rich-hued death of leaves; ere long a night of storm would leave 'ruined choirs.' Richard was in truth working hard.