"An' we 'm goin' to fetch un--we be goin' to see Squire--"

"W'at--you, Old Un? You see Squire--haw! haw!"

"Ah, me!--an' Peter, an' Simon, 'ere--why not?"

"_You_ see 'is Worship Sir Peregrine Beverley, Baronet, an' Justice o' the Peace--you? Ecod! that's a good un--danged if it ain't!

An' what might you be wishful to do when ye see 'im--which ye _won't?_"

"Fetch back Jarge, o' course."

"Old Un, you must be crazed in your lead, arter Jarge killin'

four keepers--Sir Peregrine's own keepers too--shootin' 'em stone dead, an' three more a-dyin'--"

"John," said the Ancient, shaking his head, "that's the worst o'

bein' cursed wi' ears like yourn--"

"My ears is all right!" returned John, frowning.

"Oh, ah!" chuckled the old man, "your ears is all right, John --prize ears, ye might call 'em; I never seed a pair better grow'd--never, no!"

"A bit large, they may be," growled John, giving a furtive pull to the nearest ambush, "but--"

"Large as ever was, John!" nodded the Ancient--"oncommon large!

an', consequent, they ketches a lot too much. I've kep' my eye on them ears o' yourn for thirty year an' more, John--if so be as they grows any bigger, you'll be 'earin' things afore they're spoke, an'--"

John gave a fierce tug to the ambush, muttered an oath, and, lashing up his horse, disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust.

"'Twere nigh on four year ago since Black Jarge thrashed John, weren't it, Simon?"

"Ah!" nodded Simon, "John were in 'The Ring' then, Peter, an' a pretty tough chap 'e were, too, though a bit too fond o' swingin'

wi' 'is 'right' to please me."

"'E were very sweet on Prue then, weren't 'e, Simon?"

"Ah!" nodded Simon again; "'e were allus 'anging round 'The Bull'--till I warned 'im off--"

"An'-'e laughed at 'ee, Simon."

"Ah! 'e did that; an' I were going to 'ave a go at 'im myself; an' the chances are 'e'd 'ave beat me, seein' I 'adn't been inside of a ring for ten year, when--"

"Up comes Jarge," chuckled the Ancient. 'What's all this?' say Jarge. 'I be goin' to teach John 'ere to keep away from my Prue,' says Simon. 'No, no,' says Jarge, 'John's young, an' you bean't the man you was ten years ago--let me,' says Jarge. 'You?'

says John, 'you get back to your bellers--you be purty big, but I've beat the 'eads off better men nor you!' 'Why, then, 'ave a try at mine,' says Jarge; an' wi' the word, bang! comes John's fist again' 'is jaw, an' they was at it. Oh, Peter! that were a fight! I've seed a few in my time, but nothin' like that 'ere."

"And when 'twere all over," added Simon, "Jarge went back to 'is 'ammer an' bellers, an' we picked John up, and I druv 'im 'ome in this 'ere very cart, an' nobody's cared to stand up to Jarge since."

"You have both seen Black George fight, then?" I inquired.

"Many's the time, Peter."

"And have you ever--seen him knocked down?"

"No," returned the Ancient, shaking his head, "I've seed 'im all blood from 'ead to foot, an' once a gert, big sailor-man knocked 'im sideways, arter which Jarge got fu'rus-like, an' put 'im to sleep--"

"No, Peter!" added Simon, "I don't think as there be a man in all England as could knock Black Jarge off 'is pins in a fair, stand-up fight."

"Hum!" said I.

"Ye see--'e be that 'ard, Peter!" nodded the Ancient. "Why, look!" he cried--"look 'ee theer!"

Now, looking where he pointed, I saw a man dart across the road some distance away; he was hidden almost immediately, for there were many trees thereabouts, but there was no mistaking that length of limb and breadth of shoulder.

"'Twere Black Jarge 'isself!" exclaimed Simon, whipping up his horses; but when we reached the place George was gone, and though we called and sought for some time, we saw him no more.

So, in a while, we turned and jogged back towards Sissinghurst.

"What be you a-shakin' your 'ead over, Old Un?" inquired Simon, after we had ridden some distance.

"I were wonderin' what that old fule Amos'll say when we drive back wi'out Jarge."

Being come to the parting of the ways, I descended from the cart, for my head was strangely heavy, and I felt much out of sorts, and, though the day was still young I had no mind for work.

Therefore I bade adieu to Simon and the Ancient, and turned aside towards the Hollow, leaving them staring after me in wonderment.

CHAPTER XXXIII

IN WHICH I FALL FROM FOLLY INTO MADNESS

It was with some little trepidation that I descended into the Hollow, and walked along beside the brook, for soon I should meet Charmian, and the memory of our parting, and the thought of this meeting, had been in my mind all day long.

She would not be expecting me yet, for I was much before my usual time, wherefore I walked on slowly beside the brook, deliberating on what I should say to her, until I came to that large stone where I had sat dreaming the night when she had stood in the moonlight, and first bidden me in to supper. And now, sinking upon this stone, I set my elbows upon my knees, and my chin in my hands, and, fixing my eyes upon the ever-moving waters of the brook, fell into a profound meditation.

From this I was suddenly aroused by the clink of iron and the snort of a horse.

Wondering, I lifted my eyes, but the bushes were very dense, and I could see nothing. But, in a little, borne upon the gentle wind, came the sound of a voice, low and soft and very sweet --whose rich tones there was no mistaking--followed, almost immediately, by another--deeper, gruffer--the voice of a man.

With a bound, I was upon my feet, and had, somehow, crossed the brook, but, even so, I was too late; there was the crack of a whip, followed by the muffled thud of a horse's hoofs, which died quickly away, and was lost in the stir of leaves.

I ground my teeth, and cursed that fate which seemed determined that I should not meet this man face to face--this man whose back I had seen but once--a broad-shouldered back clad in a blue coat.

I stood where I was, dumb and rigid, staring straight before me, and once again a tremor passed over me, that came and went, growing stronger and stronger, and, once again, in my head was the thud, thud, thud of the hammer.

"'In Scarlet town, where I was born, There was a fair maid dwellin', Made every youth cry Well-a-way!

Her name was Barbara Allen.'"

She was approaching by that leafy path that wound its way along beside the brook, and there came upon me a physical nausea, and ever the thud of the hammer grew more maddening.