"You have shown most excellent judgment and a most catholic taste!" said I. "You loves books, too!" she nodded. "I sees that by the way you handles 'em. And I keeps these six here because I can read them over and over and never tires, though there's a lot I don't understand." "That," said I, looking upon my companion with new vision, "that is because each of these books shrines some part of undying Truth which can never weary and never die. I think," said I, setting the books back in their accustomed place, "I think I will call you Diana, if I may?" "Very well." "And my name is Peregrine." "You seemed to like your supper," said she, beginning to clear away the platters. "More than words can express!" "So did I," she nodded, "and that was worth a little risk." "What risk, Diana?" "Well, I tells you the duck was not bought with any of the beast's money, didn't I?" "Yes. Pray, how did you come by it?" "Prigged it!" "Great heaven! You mean that you--" "Yes. I goes to a farmhouse as I knows of to get some milk an' eggs, an' spies four ducks on the kitchen table, trussed an' stuffed all ready for the oven, so I brings one away--only one, though I might ha' nabbed two just as easy--" "But this was burglary!" I gasped. "But 'twas a dainty supper!" "This is frightful!" I exclaimed. "But the duck was very tender--you said so." "Oh, girl," I cried, "don't you know it is very wicked to steal? Are you aware you have broken one of God's commandments, contravened the law and made yourself liable to arrest and imprisonment--indeed, people have been hanged for less! O Diana, how could you do a thing so shameful, so unworthy your womanhood--how could you--how could you?" But instead of answering or paying the least heed to this so earnest appeal, she continued her business of clearing away supper things and table, and thereafter begun to make herself a couch of hay in the corner remotest from mine, and all without so much as a glance in my direction. "And now," said she at last, "if you're quite ready, I'll blow out the candle." "Whenever you will," I answered, stretching myself upon my hay-pile. Almost as I spoke the light vanished, and in the pitchy gloom my hearing seemed to grow the more acute; I heard her light, assured tread, the fall of her shoes as she kicked them off, the rustle of the hay that was her bed, a long-drawn, sleepy sigh. These sounds at last subsiding, I spoke: