"No, no; we might put up with this so long as it don't go on," agreed Reuben, slowly. "We want a bit of rain after all that dry weather. You didn't get your water-pipes laid on in time for the dry weather, did you, Master Harrod? begging your pardon," asked the old man, slyly.
"No; some mischievous persons took a childish delight in putting them out of order," said the bailiff, turning round sharply; "but I have my eye on them."
"They're dreadful brittle things, them china things, for such work," said Reuben, in a slow, sleepy voice. "I doubt you'll never get the water to go just as you fancy. They do say there's another broke down by Widow Dawes," he added, with a grin.
Harrod turned round, with a muttered imprecation.
"But there, I'm thinking you won't want no water round about for some while to come, mister. The Lord'll do it for ye."
"I tell you the weather hasn't broken up, man. This rain is nothing," growled Harrod again, striding up the bank as he spoke.
"Right, right," agreed Reuben, nodding his head; "we must trust the Lord, we must. Though, for my part, I'd sooner trust Him with anything rather than a few gardens of 'ops." Reuben sighed as he looked out across the valley that was so rich now with the tall and graceful growths. "They're a fine sight now," said he, "but the Lord can lay 'em low." And with that comforting reflection, he turned his back on me and went down the path.
Luckily for Reuben, I had not leisure just then to think of him or his words; my thoughts were elsewhere. Trayton Harrod had reached the top of the slope. He was nearly out of ear-shot. I watched his figure grow longer and longer upon the softening sky, that was slowly clearing with the coming twilight.
How could I bear to let him go from me like that? Was it for this that we had had those good times together, those happy, happy hours, that lived in my memory like stars upon a bright sky? Was it for nothing that he had held my hands in his and tuned his voice to gentleness in speaking to me? Was it for nothing that my heart beat wild and hot, so full of longing, so full of devotion? Oh, and yet it was I who had made this foolish quarrel! How could I have allowed my unreasonable temper to get the better of me like that? It was my fault, all my fault! What devil had taken possession of me to fill my heart with wicked and unjust fancies, to imbitter all that was but a little while ago so sweet?
My heart was heavy, the tears came into my eyes. If he loved me he would forgive me, I said to myself, and I forgot all of what I had been wont to consider proper pride, and ran after him.