“Well, ’ee can go on a-beggin’; ’ee wun’t get no pardon from oi. A-jumpin’ out ’pon a aged man as ’ave been a-makin’ love fur ’ee till oi du be nigh black i’ the faace!” “Then I am deeply grateful, and——” “Aye, an’ oi told a mort o’ loies fur ’ee, oi did!” “Lies?” “Aye, didn’t oi tell ’er you was a-poinin’ fur ’er—an’ you ain’t! Didn’t oi tell ’er as the best o’ food sech as beef an’ pork wouldn’t nowise lay easy on your stummick arl along o’ her? Didn’t oi tell ’er as you was a foine, up-standin’, ’andsome young felley—which you ain’t—not by no manner o’ means, an’ that if she didn’t mak’ sure of ’ee, there was a mort o’ purty lasses arl ready for to snap ’ee up? Which they ain’t. An’ now ’ere be you a-doin’ your best to frouden a pore, ancient creeter into ’is grave afore ’is toime!... D’ye call that gratitood?” “Forgive me!” The Aged Soul snorted. “Arl of a trimble oi be. The next lass as you think o’ marryin’, you can woo ’er yourself—doan’t ax oi! Ah, an’ oi be glad now as she said what she did say!” “And what was that, Ancient One?” “Says as she’d wait and see which o’ they purty lasses would snap at ’ee first, she did.... An’ I rackon she’ll ’ave to wait a tur’ble long time.” “And pray, where is she now?” “A-settin’ ’long o’ my granddarter an’ Mus’ Doubleday, fur sure.” But my lady was leaning upon the old stile, and fresh from the sighful confidences of shy Ann in the little kitchen and the Corporal’s halting disparagement of the age forty-five in the little garden, was thinking only of him for whom she waited, of herself and the future; thus when hearing his step she glanced up, Sir John saw that in her look which stirred him to such joyous wonder that he yearned to clasp and kiss her then and there; but she, aware of this, drew back, so truly shy and off her guard for once that she quite forgot to act. So he turned and took the little, old man by the shoulders instead. “O Mr. Dumbrell!” quoth he rapturously; the old man snorted. “Aged Soul!” Mr. Dumbrell scowled. “Friend Hosea!” The old man stared. “To-day my respect of thee mounteth high as heaven ... thou’rt a far better wooer than I dreamed! So shall sit in comfort all thy days henceforth. And so good-night, my ancient Hosea, thou honoured, Aged Soul—good-night!” Then Sir John vaulted the stile, aided my lady over, and side by side they set out for Alfriston through a peaceful countryside glorious with sunset. Forgotten now the sinister rustling of hedges and all else under heaven save the sweet, shy droop of her lashes so new in his experience of her, for here no longer was prideful coquetry full of modish affectations, but rather the Rose-child of his dreams, and what else could matter so long as her hand lay thus within his arm and her foot trod with his the velvet ling.