"Ah, it is sweet--sweet," she murmured. "I was a child once--a child--and they gave me love--both hands they gave me full of love--and it was always spring, I think, with warmth like this and song of birds. But I'm old now; older than anybody knows, and sad. I think it is because I did some one a great wrong. What was it? Down in the meadows, when he came and tried to kill me with his hard grey eyes--the eyes that stared at me afterward from the bier. Nay, he could not forgive me, even in death--I think he knew that I had never loved him."
For a moment longer she struggled with memory; then her face grew empty as of old, and she picked up her flowers and fell to talking babe-talk to them. But her witless moods held lighter sway nowadays; reason was coming slowly back, and day by day her mind returned more often from childishness into the piteous strife of sanity. She got to her feet soon, and threw the flowers from her, and looked with troubled eyes toward Marshcotes.
"I might go and find Sexton Witherlee," she said, halting with one finger on her lip; "he is so wise, and he may tell me what I want to learn. Yes, I must find the Sexton."
A crackling of twigs came from up the Dene, and turning affrightedly she saw Shameless Wayne striding along the narrow path.
"Why, little bairn, what art doing here?" he cried, as she ran to him with hands outstretched in welcome.
"Thinking, Ned--always thinking. I want to remember--oh, I want to remember--but the thoughts will never stay still enough for me to put my hand on them. I have been trying to catch the little fish in the stream yonder, and it was just the same; they stayed till I had all but caught them, and then they glanced and flickered, flickered and glanced, until I could not see them for the splashes which they made."
"Bide awhile, bairn," he said kindly; "thy thoughts will come tame to hand one day, never fear."
"Art going home, Ned?" she said, after a silence. "I was crossing to Marshcotes kirkyard, but if thou'lt come into the fields with me, and talk, I'll ask naught better."
"I'm going to Marsh, but only to get to saddle and be off again. Better talk to the Sexton this morning, and I'll walk with thee after dinner.--Nay! Never look so downcast. 'Tis only that there's work to be done up at Bents Farm, and I shall scarce get there and back as 'tis by dinner-time."