"There!" sighed Diana tragically.
"What of it?" said I, and kissed her. "Why will you kiss me so seldom,
Diana?"
"I ought to have done the washing in the brook like I always do."
"Don't you like me to kiss you, Diana?"
"Yes--and you've spilt all the water--"
"I'll bring you more. But why will you so seldom suffer me to--"
"Because--and take the large pail, Peregrine, and take it now--here's
these four shirts ought to be hanging out to dry--so hurry, hurry! Get
the water from the pool beyond the big tree, the stream runs clearer
there!"
This pool was at some little distance, but away I went, happy in her
service, swinging the heavy bucket and humming to myself, as care-free
and light-hearted as any youth in Christendom, and presently reached
the pool. I was stooping, in the act of filling the bucket, when I
paused, arrested by a sudden, vague indefinable sound that puzzled me
to account for and set me idly speculating whence it came and what it
might be; so I filled the bucket and then, all in a moment, though why
I cannot explain, puzzlement changed to swift and sudden dread and,
dropping the bucket, I began to run, and with every stride my alarm
grew, and to this was added horror and a great passion of rage.
Panting, I reached the dingle at last to behold Diana struggling in
the arms of a man, and he that same fine gentleman who had accosted
her at "The Chequers." They were swaying together close-grappled, her
knife-hand gripped in his sinewy fingers, his evil face smiling down
into hers; and I burned with wilder fury to see her tumbled hair
against his coat and her garment wrenched from throat and white
shoulder.
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