"I think it is Simon," said I uneasily; "what can have brought him? And he will never venture down into the Hollow on account of the ghost; I must go and see what he wants." "Yes, Peter," she murmured, but the clasp of her arms tightened. "What is it?" said I, looking into her troubled eyes. "Charmian, you are trembling!—what is it?" "I don't know—but oh, Peter! I feel as if a shadow—a black and awful shadow were creeping upon us hiding—us from each other. I am very foolish, aren't I? and this our wedding-day!" "Peter! Pe-ter!" "Come with me, Charmian; let us go together." "No, I must wait—it is woman's destiny—to wait—but I am brave again; go—see what is wanted." I found Simon, sure enough, in the lane, seated in his cart, and his face looked squarer and grimmer even than usual. "Oh, Peter!" said he, gripping my hand, "it be come at last—Gaffer be goin'." "Going, Simon?" "Dyin', Peter. Fell downstairs 's marnin'. Doctor says 'e can't last the day out—sinkin' fast, 'e be, an' 'e be axin' for 'ee, Peter. 'Wheer be Peter?' says 'e over an' over again; 'wheer be the Peter as I found of a sunshiny arternoon, down in th' 'aunted 'Oller?' You weren't at work 's marnin', Peter, so I be come to fetch 'ee—you'll come back wi' me to bid 'good-by' to the old man?" "Yes, I'll come, Simon," I answered; "wait here for me." Charmian was waiting for me in the cottage, and, as she looked up at me, I saw the trouble was back in her eyes again. "You must—go leave me?" she inquired. "For a little while." "Yes—I—I felt it," she said, with a pitiful little smile. "The Ancient is dying," said I. Now, as I spoke, my eyes encountered the staple above the door, wherefore, mounting upon a chair, I seized and shook it. And lo! the rusty iron snapped off in my fingers—like glass, and I slipped it into my pocket. "Oh, Peter!—don't go—don't leave me!" cried Charmian suddenly, and I saw that her face was very pale, and that she trembled. "Charmian!" said I, and sprang to her side. "Oh, my love!—what is it?" "It is—as though the shadow hung over us—darker and more threatening, Peter; as if our happiness were at an end; I seem to hear Maurice's threat—to come between us—living or—dead. I am afraid!" she whispered, clinging to me, "I am afraid!" But, all at once, she was calm again, and full of self-reproaches, calling herself "weak," and "foolish," and "hysterical"—"though, indeed, I was never hysterical before!"—and telling me that I must go—that it was my duty to go to the "gentle, dying old man"—urging me to the door, almost eagerly, till, being out of the cottage, she must needs fall a-trembling once more, and wind her arms about my neck, with a great sob. "But oh!—you will come back soon—very soon, Peter? And we know that nothing can ever come between us again—never again—my husband." And, with that blessed word, she drew me down to her lips, and, turning, fled into the cottage.