"Well," said the girl, beginning her laggard narrative, "after we saw--saw him at Overhaddon, you know, I went to the village on each of three days--"
"How did you--but never mind. I did not see him, and when I returned home I felt angry and hurt and--and--but never mind that either. One day I found him, and I at once rode to the well where he was standing by his horse. He drew water for Dolcy, but the perverse mare would not drink."
"A characteristic of her sex," I muttered.
She continued: "He seemed constrained and distant in his manner, but I knew, that is, I thought--I mean I felt--oh, you know--he looked as if he were glad to see me and I--I, oh, God! I was so glad and happy to see him that I could hardly restrain myself to act at all maidenly. He must have heard my heart beat. I thought he was in trouble. He seemed to have something he wished to say to me."
"He doubtless had a great deal he wished to say to you," said I, again tempted to futile irony.
"I was sure he had something to say," the girl returned seriously. "He was in trouble. I knew that he was, and I longed to help him."
"Oh, I don't know. I forgot to ask, but he looked troubled."
"Doubtless he was troubled," I responded. "He had sufficient cause for trouble," I finished the sentence to myself with the words, "in you."
"What was the cause of his trouble?" she hastily asked, turning her face toward me.
"I do not know certainly," I answered in a tone of irony which should have pierced an oak board, while the girl listened and looked at me eagerly; "but I might guess."
"What was it? What was it? Let me hear you guess," she asked.
"Yes, you," I responded with emphasis. "You would bring trouble to any man, but to Sir John Manners--well, if he intends to keep up these meetings with you it would be better for his peace and happiness that he should get him a house in hell, for he would live there more happily than on this earth."
"That is a foolish, senseless remark, Malcolm," the girl replied, tossing her head with a show of anger in her eyes. "This is no time to jest." I suppose I could not have convinced her that I was not jesting.
"At first we did not speak to each other even to say good day, but stood by the well in silence for a very long time. The village people were staring at us, and I felt that every window had a hundred faces in it, and every face a hundred eyes."