"But how can I leave her?"

"I must loose her stays--you'll find a brook t' other side the hedge--in your hat!"

Scarcely were the words uttered than the gentleman was over the hedge and as quickly back again, slopping water right and left from his modish, curly-brimmed hat in his frantic haste; this he set down at Diana's command and, turning away, began to stride up and down, muttering agitated anathemas upon himself and scowling ferociously at the two horses, which I had taken the opportunity to hitch to an adjacent gatepost.

At last in his restless tramping he seemed to become aware of me where I sat, for I had climbed back into the cart, and he now addressed me, though with his anxious gaze bent towards the unconscious form of his companion.

"Good G.o.d, man--this is pure d.a.m.nation! If you can't do anything, since I can't do anything, can't you suggest something I can do?"

"Only that you strive for a little patience, sir."

At this he turned to stare at me, then his grey eyes widened suddenly, and he leapt at me with both hands outstretched.

"Vereker!" he cried. "Peregrine--Perry, by all that's wonderful."

"Anthony!" said I, as our hands gripped.

"Peregrine--O Perry, we--we were married--not an hour ago--Barbara and I--and now--"

"Look!" said I and nodded where Barbara sat, her pale check pillowed on Diana's bosom.

"Anthony!" she called softly. And then he was beside her on his knees, his head down-bent, her arm about his neck.

"Perry!" he called suddenly. "Come here, man, come here! Sure you haven't forgot the angel who stooped to a miserable dog, who trusted a desperate-seeming rogue and lifted him back to manhood and self-respect--you remember my Barbara? And you, dearest, recall my friend Peregrine--the gentle, immaculate youth who was willing to trust and bestow his friendship upon the same miserable dog and desperate rogue--aye, and fed him into the bargain--"

"How should I ever forget?" said Barbara. "Indeed, Mr. Vereker, we have talked of you often--though always as 'Peregrine'--"

"Mrs. Vere-Manville," I began.

"It was Barbara at the 'Jolly Waggoner'!" she reminded me, smiling and nestling closer into her husband's encircling arm.

"Barbara--Anthony," said I, "it is my happy privilege to introduce Diana--Miss Lovel--who is to honour me by becoming my wife shortly--"

Anthony bowed to Diana, laughed, and drew his wife a little closer all in the same moment, it seemed; then Barbara turned to look into the vivid, dark beauty of Diana's down-bent face where she knelt, and for a long moment eyes of blue stared up into eyes of grey, a long, questioning look.

"May I kiss you?" said Barbara at last.

Swiftly, almost eagerly, Diana leaned forward, then hesitated, drew away, and glanced swiftly upon each of us in turn with a troubled look.

"Lady," said she in her rich, soft voice, and speaking with careful deliberation, "Peregrine has not told you--all. Please look at me--my dress--"

"Very pretty, I think, and quaint--like a gipsy's--"

"I am a gipsy, lady--one Peregrine met by the roadside! 'T is best you should know this--first--before--before--"

The soft, sweet voice faltered and stopped and there fell a silence, a long, tense moment wherein I held my breath, I think, and was conscious of the heavy beating of my heart, but with every throb I loved and honoured Diana the more. Slowly and gently Barbara loosed her husband's clasping arm and rose to her knees.

"Now--I _must_ kiss you, Diana!" she said.

"O lady!" sighed Diana.

"Barbara, my dear! Barbara ever and always!"

"Barbara!" murmured Diana. And then they were in each other's arms and Anthony was on his feet and tucking his arm in mine led me where the horses stood tethered, with such disconnected mutterings as:

"Come away, Perry--true blue, 'egad--leave 'em together--angels of heaven both--too good for me--or even you--not a doubt of it--"

"Agreed!" quoth I.

"Peregrine," said he, pausing suddenly to grasp me by the shoulders in his well-remembered way, "O Peregrine, she is the loveliest, sweetest, tenderest creature that ever made a man wish himself better--"

"Anthony," quoth I, "she is the bravest, n.o.blest, purest maid that ever taught a man to be better!"

"She is, Peregrine!"

"They are, Anthony!"

"For one frightful moment I thought she--was killed, Perry!"

"But G.o.d is good and--Diana was there, Anthony."

"A wonderful creature, your Diana, Perry, as capable as she is handsome!"

"She is beyond all description, Anthony!"

"Yes, I can find no word for Barbara, damme!"

Now as he looked down on me, his handsome face radiant, his powerful form set off by the most elegant attire, I could not but contrast him with the forlorn, down-at-heels outcast he had been.

"It seems I have much to congratulate you upon," said I.

"G.o.d, yes, Peregrine! And I owe you a guinea--here it is! My curmudgeonly uncle (Heaven rest him!) had the kindness to choke himself to death in a fit of pa.s.sion. And to-day, Perry, to-day--we gave 'the Gorgon' the slip (Barbara's aunt)--got married and are now on our way to outface her father--a regular Tartar by all accounts--and there's the situation in a word."

"You haven't lost much time, Anthony."

"Nor have you for that matter, Perry. And I've ten thousand things to tell you, and questions to ask you and--Ha, thank G.o.d, she's on her feet! Look at 'em--did ever mortal eyes behold two lovelier creatures?" And away he strode impetuous towards where they stood, the dark and the fair, with arms entwined, viewing each other's beauteousness glad-eyed.

"My brave girl! How are you now?"

"Better--oh, much better, dear Anthony, though I fear I cannot ride--"

"Not to be thought of, my sweet--Gad, no--not for a moment!"

"Diana has offered to drive me in the cart, Anthony."

"Excellent! We can hire a chaise at Hadlow!"

So very soon, behold us jolting along in the Tinker's cart very merrily, Anthony and I perched upon the tailboard, the two horses trotting behind a little disdainfully, as it seemed to me, judging by the flirting of their tails, head-shakings and repeated snorts.