"Yes, Charmian."

"And worship her--for her--spotless purity?"

"I dreamed a paragon--perfect and impossible; I was a fool!" said I.

"Impossible! Oh, Peter! what--what do you mean?"

"She was only an impalpable shade quite impossible of realization--a bloodless thing, as you said, and quite unnatural --a sickly figment of the imagination. I was a fool!"

"And you are--too wise now, to expect--such virtues--in any woman?"

"Yes," said I; "no--oh, Charmian! I only know that you have taken this phantom's place--that you fill all my thoughts --sleeping, and waking--"

"No! No!" she cried, and struggled in my arms, so that I caught her hands, and held them close, and kissed them many times.

"Oh, Charmian! Charmian!--don't you know--can't you see--it is you I want--you, and only you forever; whatever you were --whatever you are--I love you--love you, and always must!

Marry me, Charmian!--marry me! and you shall be dearer than my life--more to me than my soul--" But, as I spoke, her hands were snatched away, her eyes blazed into mine, and her lips were all bitter scorn, and at the sight, fear came upon me.

"Marry you!" she panted; "marry you?--no and no and no!" And so she stamped her foot, and sobbed, and turning, fled from me, out of the cottage.

And now to fear came wonder, and with wonder was despair.

Truly, was ever man so great a fool!

CHAPTER XXX

CONCERNING THE FATE OF BLACK GEORGE

A broad, white road; on either hand some half-dozen cottages with roofs of thatch or red tile, backed by trees gnarled and ancient, among which rises the red conical roof of some oast-house. Such, in a word, is Sissinghurst.

Now, upon the left-hand side of the way, there stands a square, comfortable, whitewashed building, peaked of roof, bright as to windows, and with a mighty sign before the door, whereon you shall behold the picture of a bull: a bull rolling of eye, astonishingly curly of horn and stiff as to tail, and with a prodigious girth of neck and shoulder; such a snorting, fiery-eyed, curly-horned bull as was never seen off an inn-sign.

It was at this bull that I was staring with much apparent interest, though indeed, had that same curly-horned monstrosity been changed by some enchanter's wand into a green dragon or griffin, or swan with two necks, the chances are that I should have continued sublimely unconscious of the transformation.

Yet how should honest Silas Hoskins, ostler, and general factotum of "The Bull" inn, be aware of this fact, who, being thus early at work, and seeing me lost in contemplation, paused to address me in all good faith?

"A fine bull 'e be, eh, Peter? Look at them 'orns, an' that theer tail; it's seldom as you sees 'orns or a tail the like o'

them, eh?"

"Very seldom!" I answered, and sighed.

"An' then--'is nose-'oles, Peter, jest cast your eye on them nose'oles, will ye; why, dang me! if I can't 'ear 'im a-snortin'

when I looks at 'em! An' 'e were all painted by a chap--a little old chap wi' gray whiskers--no taller 'n your elber, Peter!

Think o' that--a little chap no taller 'n your elber! I seen 'im do it wi' my two eyes--a-sittin' on a box. Drored t' bull in wi' a bit o' chalk, first; then 'e outs wi' a couple o' brushes; dab 'e goes, an' dab, dab again, an'--by Goles! theer was a pair o' eyes a-rollin' theirselves at me--just a pair o' eyes, Peter.

Ah! 'e were a wonder were that little old chap wi' gray whiskers!

The way 'e went at that theer bull, a-dabbin' at 'im 'ere, an'

a-dabbin' at 'im theer till 'e come to 'is tail--'e done 'is tail last of all, Peter. 'Give un a good tail!' says I. 'Ah! that I will,' says 'e. 'An' a good stiff un!' says I. 'Ye jest keep your eye on it, an' watch!' says 'e. Talk about tails, Peter!

'E put in that theer tail so quick as nigh made my eyes water, an'--as for stiffness--well, look at it! I tell 'ee that chap could paint a bull wi' 'is eyes shut, ah, that 'e could! an' 'im such a very small man wi' gray whiskers. No, ye don't see many bulls like that un theer, I'm thinkin', Peter?"

"They would be very hard to find!" said I, and sighed again.

Whereupon Silas sighed, for company's sake, and nodding, went off about his many duties, whistling cheerily.

So I presently turned about and crossed the road to the smithy.

But upon the threshold I stopped all at once and drew softly back, for, despite the early hour, Prudence was there, upon her knees before the anvil, with George's great hand-hammer clasped to her bosom, sobbing over it, and, while she sobbed, she kissed its worn handle. And because such love was sacred and hallowed that dingy place, I took off my hat as I once more crossed the road.

Seeing "The Bull" was not yet astir, for the day was still young (as I say), I sat me down in the porch and sighed.

And after I had sat there for some while, with my chin sunk upon my breast, and plunged in bitter meditation, I became aware of the door opening, and next moment a tremulous hand was laid upon my head, and, looking round, I beheld the Ancient.

"Bless 'ee, Peter--bless 'ee, lad!--an' a old man's blessin' be no light thing--'specially such a old, old man as I be--an' it bean't often as I feels in a blessin' sperrit--but oh, Peter!

'twere me as found ye, weren't it?"

"Why, to be sure it was, Ancient, very nearly five months ago."

"An' I be allus ready wi' some noos for ye, bean't I?"

"Yes, indeed!"

"Well, I got more noos for 'ee, Peter--gert noos!"

"And what is it this time?"

"I be allus full up o' noos, bean't I?" he repeated.

"Yes, Ancient," said I, and sighed; "and what is your news?"

"Why, first of all, Peter, jest reach me my snuff-box, will 'ee?

--'ere it be--in my back 'ind pocket--thankee! thankee!" Hereupon he knocked upon the lid with a bony knuckle. "I du be that full o' noos this marnin' that my innards be all of a quake, Peter, all of a quake!" he nodded, saying which, he sat down close beside me.

"Peter."

"Yes, Ancient?"

"Some day--when that theer old stapil be all rusted away, an'

these old bones is a-restin' in the churchyard over to Cranbrook, Peter--you'll think, sometimes, o' the very old man as was always so full o' noos, won't 'ee, Peter?"

"Surely, Ancient, I shall never forget you," said I, and sighed.

"An' now, Peter," said the old man, extracting a pinch of snuff, "now for the noos--'bout Black Jarge, it be."

"What of him, Ancient?" The old man shook his head.

"It took eight on 'em to du it, Peter, an' now four on 'em's a-layin' in their beds, an' four on 'em's 'obblin' on crutches--an'

all over a couple o' rabbits--though theer be some fules as says they was pa'tridges!"