“No, not him.”
“Who then?”
“Giles Chudley. That’s who it was. He did not think I saw him, but I did; and he means mischief.”
“Who cares for an idle, good-for-nothing like that?”
“Come back, Master Philip; come back, as you love your poor Nell. For her sake come back.”
“Come back to where?”
“To the ‘Lion.’ Don’t go home to-night. I am a poor, weak fool—weak as water. I’ve no head or heart of my own when your eyes be a-shinin’ on my face, and when your words be a-whisperin’ in my ears. Oh, Master Philip, ye know well enough how silly, how miserably foolish I’ve been.”
The young farmer was touched; he reproached himself at that moment, and would have gladly recalled the past, if that had been possible.
“I can ill bear reproaches, Nell, although I well deserve them; but no man is wise at all times, and the most prudent women are not always as careful as they might be, and to say the truth they mostly pay the penalty, which is hard.”
He leant forward over the side of his horse, and placed his hands on her forehead. Then he said, in a voice of touching sweetness—