It was arranged next morning at breakfast that Peter should work in the field with the farmer, and that his granddaughter should clear the remains of last year's crop of hay from the site of the stack into the loft. Peter was grateful for this division of their work; yet, again, he was strangely disappointed. Halfway through the morning, when he had done all he could for the farmer, he sat miserably in the shadow of the hedge, fighting a blind impulse to look for the girl whose presence he detested. Surely the hot sun was burning into his brain. He went towards the house, meeting on his way the farmer's wife. "I wonder if you'd tell Bess there's lunch waiting to be taken. I daren't leave the butter this half-hour." "Where shall I find her?" Peter asked. "She's in the loft, to be sure." Peter went slowly to the yard. He seemed to be two men--one lured by the echo of a song, the other hanging upon his feet, unwilling that he should move. The last of the stack had disappeared into the loft, wisps of hay lying in a trail from the foot of the ladder. The yard was empty. Peter paused at the ladder's foot. Then began slowly to climb. She was resting in a far corner, and he did not see her till he had stepped from the ladder. Then he found himself looking down at her stretched at length upon piles of sweet hay. She had fallen asleep easily as a cat, and, unconscious of her pose, was freely beautiful. Her loveliness caught at Peter. Could she but lie asleep for ever, he could for ever watch. Sleep had smoothed from her features the impudent knowledge of her power. Her beauty now lay softly upon her, held in the pure curves of her throat. Peter leaned breathlessly towards her, filling his eyes. Had he really feared this magic? Such loveliness as this his soul had caught at in scattered dreams, and now it fronted him, and he had feared to take it. Surely he had fancied that the smile of her perfect mouth was hateful, that her eyes, so beautifully lidded, had in their pride and gluttony dismayed him. Peter dropped softly beside her. She seemed too like a fairy to be rudely touched. He delicately brushed her lips in a kiss scarcely to be felt. She started and sat upright, alert in every fibre. Peter saw again the creature who had troubled him. He was looking into greedy pools where her lids had seemed as curtains to hide an intolerable purity. "You kissed me?" "It was not you," Peter muttered. "Funny boy! How long have you been here?" "I have come to say that lunch is waiting." "Peter." She sang the name in her low voice, as though she were trying the sound of it. "You kissed me, Peter. Tell me. How do I look, asleep?" Peter closed his eyes. "You are beautiful." "Even you can see that," she flashed. Peter felt she was profaning her loveliness. He kept his eyes painfully closed. She looked at him, partly in anger, partly in contempt. "Good boy. So very good," she murmured.