Lie you down here.

God bless you, my boy, give your poor mother a kiss.' 'Good-night, mother, or rather good morning,' said the son, bending down carelessly to be embraced by the parent who would sacrifice her life for him.
When Mrs Jenkins had left the room, Howel hastily collected the gold that was scattered about, and tossed it, without counting it, into the box already mentioned, which he locked, and put the key in his pocket.
He then lay down on the bed without undressing, and tried to sleep.

In vain, no sleep would come to 'steep his senses in forgetfulness.' The bed in the next room, with its grim, gaunt inmate, was constantly before his eyes.

If he dozed for a moment, the miser, his father, and the gold he had for years longed to obtain possession of, haunted him, and made him start like a thief, as if taken in the act of stealing the coin now by inheritance his own.
'Cursed gold!' he exclaimed at last, jumping from the bed, 'what shall I do with it?
Pay my debts, and turn a sober man?
I will try.

If 'Netta will have me, perhaps I may; indeed I am sure I could.