"Pray, sir, call me Peregrine if you will: and, sir," said I, grasping his worn left sleeve, "I beg you to advise me in this matter, for you are so wise--"

"Never heed him, old pal!" cried Diana, grasping his right sleeve.

"Peregrine only thinks he ought to marry me because he bought me and folks talk and--"

"Pardon me, dear child, but how and where may one purchase a G.o.ddess?"

his lordship enquired. "You said 'bought', I think?"

"Yes, he bought me for fourteen guineas, a florin, one groat and three pennies!" and in two breaths, or thereabouts, she had recounted the whole incident.

"Admirable!" exclaimed his lordship, glancing from one to other of us with shining eyes. "Ridiculous! Magnificent!"

"And that's the only reason he wants to marry me--"

"There you are wrong, Diana, and most unjust!" said I indignantly.

"You know my chief purpose in wedding you is to take you from this wandering life and shield you from all hardship and coa.r.s.eness."

"And what of love, Peregrine?" enquired his lordship, gently. At this I hesitated, glanced down at the gleaming buckles of my new shoes, glanced up at the blue serenity of heaven, and finally looked at Diana, to find her watching me beneath scowling brows.

"And there you have it!" said she in disdainful mimicry, "he--he don't know!"

The Ancient Person smiled and laid his small, white hand upon Diana's brown fingers.

"But then, dear child with the wise, woman's eyes--you have seen and surely know." Now at this Diana glanced swiftly from him to me and then, to my amazement, flushed hotly and drooped her head. "Ah, yes,"

sighed his lordship, "I see you know, child, so what matter?"

"Sir," said I, "what do you mean?"

"Peregrine, I touch upon an abstract theme and therefore one better sensed than described, so I will not attempt it." Here, to my further surprise, Diana nestled closer to him and whispered something in his ear.

"I believe," said the Ancient Person, after Diogenes had plodded some little distance, "I believe you are camping with Jessamy Todd?"

"Yes, sir, but pray, how did you learn this?"

"Well, I know the redoubtable Jessamy rather well."

"We'm settled in the wood beyond Wyvelstoke Park," added Diana, "along by the stream."

"I know it," nodded his lordship, "I have killed many a fine trout along that same stream. I shall do myself the pleasure of finding you one of these days, if I may?"

"Pray do sir," said I eagerly, "you will find Jeremy Jarvis the most wonderful tinker in the world and one who writes poetry besides mending kettles and shoeing horses."

"This has been a truly memorable occasion," said his lordship, "I feel myself honoured by your confidence, it has given me a new interest in my solitary life."

"And why are you so solitary?" questioned Diana.

"Because old age is usually solitary, and because in my youth, when Love came to me, I was a coward, by reason of worldly considerations, and let it plead in vain, alas! And thus, although my friends were many in those days, my empty heart was always solitary, and now--my friends are mostly dead, and I am--a childless, lonely old man!"

The white head drooped disconsolate, the slender, delicate hands wrung each other, and then about these bowed and aged shoulders Diana clasped protecting arm and stooped soft cheek to his.

"Ah, poor old soul, don't grieve!" she murmured. "Here's Peregrine and me will be your friends and pals, if you'll have us, and if you're ever very lonely or in want, come to us--wait!" Then, opening her gipsire, and before I could prevent, into those slender fingers she thrust a bright, new guinea; for a long moment his lordship stared down at the coin while I grew alternately hot and cold. When at last he lifted his white head I saw his keen eyes dimmed with unshed tears.

"Why, child?" he murmured. "Generous girl--"

"No, don't!" she smiled. "Don't say anything! Only let me be your friend to cheer your loneliness an' help you now an' then."

Lord Wyvelstoke stared at the coin in his palm as if it had been a very rare and curious object, then, having deposited it carefully within an inner pocket, he bared his head in his courtly fashion.

"Diana," said he, "sweet friend, you have given me something precious as my vanished youth and more lasting; accept a once solitary old man's grat.i.tude. Mr. Vereker--Peregrine, you who stand perhaps where I stood years ago with the best of all things in your reach--grasp it, boy, follow heart rather than head, and may you find those blessings I have never known. Here, I think, is the advice you sought of me--for the rest, you are a Vereker, sir, and carry honour in your name. And now is good-bye for a time; my way lies yonder," said he, pointing towards a by-lane. So here we stopped and down sprang I to aid our Ancient Person to alight.

"You'll come soon and let me patch your coat?" said Diana, giving him her hand.

"a.s.suredly!" he answered, with his quick, decisive nod. "Meantime, G.o.d be kind to you both, your friendship has lifted much of the heaviness of years from my heart and I shall walk the lighter henceforth!" So saying, he bent and kissed Diana's hand, shook mine vigorously and limped away.

"A dear old man!" said Diana, looking after him gentle-eyed.

"I wonder," said I, "I wonder what he meant by that talk regarding my 'head and heart'--"

"How should I know?"

"But what do you think?"

"That you'd better get in if you're goin' to!" Obediently I clambered into the cart, whereupon Diana prodded the somnolent Diogenes into motion.

"Where did you meet his l--that Ancient Person, Diana?"

"At the fair. Hooky Sam and two pals tried to rob him, an' him such a poor, lonely old soul, only I stood 'em off, made 'em cut their stick, I did."

"But he had a pistol--"

"What--him? Well if so, he didn't have t' use it, my little _churi_ was enough."

"Indeed, you are far braver than I was, Diana--"

"Tush! There's few men as won't cut and run from a female if she's got a knife--an' means t' use it."

"This was why he named you Penthesilea."

"Who's she?"

"She was a Queen of the Amazons and fought at Troy--"

"What's Amazons?"

"Fierce, terrible women who hated men and loved to fight."

"Well, I hates a fight, so don't you go calling me Penthe--whatever her name was."

"No, Diana, I would have you her very opposite, if possible."