alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me.

I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone.

‘It is very bold in me,’ said Agnes, looking up again, ‘who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood, — in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you.

It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right.