"You're very silent, Peregrine; does aught grieve ye?" enquired the Tinker.

"Did I shake ye up a bit too much, brother?" enquired Jessamy anxiously.

"No, no, indeed," I answered, "it is only that I am a--a little thoughtful this morning."

And so, in a while, breakfast being done, Jessamy rose.

"An' now for another go at Old Nick!" quoth he.

"Where are ye for to-day?" questioned the Tinker.

"Tonbridge--'tis market day an' Nick'll be busy in every tavern an'

inn, as usual. What'll I bring back for supper?"

"Well, a chicken's tasty," mused the Tinker, "but then so's lamb, or there's liver an' bacon--"

"A shin o' beef!" said Diana in voice of finality.

"Stooed!" nodded the Tinker. "Stooed wi' plenty o' vegetables. A shin o' beef or say a couple--oh, prime! An' it's my turn to pay, Jessamy."

"No, it's mine!" quoth Diana.

"Pray allow me!" said I, reaching for my purse.

"Lord bless us, we're all that rich!" laughed Jessamy. "Come, let's toss for it." The which we did and the lot fell to Jessamy. "A couple o' shins o' beef, loaves an' what vegetables?"

"Get some of all sorts!" nodded the Tinker.

"We've plenty o' potatoes an' onions!" said Diana. "And bring 'em as early as possible, Jess; a shin o' beef ought to simmer for hours."

"Cheerily it is, Ann!" and catching up the canvas bag, Jessamy flourished his hat and strode off.

"How does Jessamy contrive to live?" I enquired.

"Lord, Peregrine," answered the Tinker, "Jessamy's rich--or was--made a fortun' wi' his fists, though I reckon he's give most of it away, like the tender-hearted cove he is."

And now, while Diana busied herself in matters culinary, Jeremy and I lighted the forge and got us to work. And very often above the ring and clamour of our hammers would rise the wonder of her voice singing some wild air of the Zingari or plaintive old ballad; so often and so gloriously she sang that at last, as I blew the fire for another heat, Jeremy bade me hush, and silent thus we stood to hearken.

"Peregrine," said he at last, "I knew Ann's voice was a wonder, but I never heard her sing so blithe an' happy-'earted. I wonder why?"

"Perhaps it is this wonderful morning," said I, watching the flutter of her gown amid the thickets across the little glade.

"Aye, most likely, for 't is surely a day o' glory, lad, a glory as is a-shining at me this moment out o' your eyes, Peregrine, singing in your voice--"

"Jeremy," said I, reaching out to grasp his grimy hand, "O Jeremy, you are right. Love found me in the dawn and this morning Diana promised to be my--wife. G.o.d make me worthy!"

"Amen, lad, amen!" said the Tinker.

And then from the shade of the willows that bordered the stream limped the small and shabby yet stately form of Lord Wyvelstoke.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

THE n.o.bLE ART OF ORGAN-PLAYING

Catching sight of me as I hurried towards him, Lord Wyvelstoke advanced, a vigorous man despite his lameness and silvery hair.

"Peregrine--who was it?" he enquired, slipping his hand within my arm and glancing round the glade. "Who was it sang so divinely--can it be, is it--our Diana? But of course it is--"

"Yes, sir," said I, wondering at his eagerness.

"She has a peerless, a wonderful voice, but more--she sings with that divine intuition that is genius. I must speak with her--meantime, pray present your friend."

"This, sir, is my good and kind friend, Jeremy Jarvis; Jerry, his Lordship, the Earl of Wyvelstoke."

The Earl bowed to the Tinker with his usual grave courtesy, and the Tinker (albeit a little disquieted) knuckled sooty eyebrow and bobbed tousled head to the Earl, humbly respectful yet with a simple dignity all his own.

"You seem very happily situated here," said his lordship, sweeping the shady dingle with his keen gaze.

"Why, as to that, sir--my lord," said Jeremy with unwonted diffidence, "I fear we'm a-trespa.s.sing on your land, but my friend Todd--Jessamy a.s.sured me--"

"Rest a.s.sured, friend Jarvis! None of my keepers shall disturb you--"

"Peregrine--O Jerry, dinner! Come while it's hot and come quick!"

called Diana from those boskages that screened our little camp.

"It's liver and bacon," said she, busy at the fire, but beholding our companion, she set down the frying pan and hastened to welcome him with both hands outstretched.

"Why, 't is my old pal!" she cried, whereupon Jeremy blinked and seemed to swallow hard.

"You're just in time for a bit o' liver an' bacon. Bring another plate, Jerry."

"But, Ann," said he, hesitating and much at a loss, "p'raps his lordship won't care t' eat off a tin plate an'--"

"Who?" demanded Diana, turning, with the frying pan in her hand.

"His lordship! What, don't ye know this gentleman's the Earl o'

Wyvelstoke?" Diana set down the frying pan and turned upon his lordship with a frown.

"Is this true?" she demanded. "Are you a lord?"

"I am, Diana."

"An earl?"