Less than a week after the above conversation, Dorothy, Madge, and I were riding from Yulegrave Church up to the village of Overhaddon, which lies one mile across the hills from Haddon Hall. My horse had cast a shoe, and we stopped at Faxton's shop to have him shod. The town well is in the middle of an open space called by the villagers "The Open," around which are clustered the half-dozen houses and shops that constitute the village. The girls were mounted, and I was standing beside them in front of the farrier's, waiting for my horse. Jennie Faxton, a wild, unkempt girl of sixteen, was standing in silent admiration near Dorothy. Our backs were turned toward the well. Suddenly a light came into Jennie's face, and she plucked Dorothy by the skirt of her habit.
"Look, mistress, look! Look there by the well!" said Jennie in a whisper. Dorothy looked toward the well. I also turned my head and beheld my friend, Sir John, holding a bucket of water for his horse to drink. I had not seen him since we parted at The Peacock, and I did not show that I recognized him. I feared to betray our friendship to the villagers. They, however, did not know Sir John, and I need not have been so cautious. But Dorothy and Madge were with me, and of course I dared not make any demonstration of acquaintanceship with the enemy of our house.
Dorothy watched John closely, and when he was ready to mount she struck her horse with the whip, and boldly rode to the well.
"May I ask you to give my mare water?" she said.
"Certainly. Ah, I beg pardon. I did not understand," answered Sir John, confusedly. John, the polished, self-poised courtier, felt the confusion of a country rustic in the presence of this wonderful girl, whose knowledge of life had been acquired within the precincts of Haddon Hall. Yet the inexperienced girl was self-poised and unconfused, while the wits of the courtier, who had often calmly flattered the queen, had all gone wool-gathering.
She repeated her request.
"Certainly," returned John, "I—I knew what you said—but—but you surprise me."
"Yes," said brazen Dorothy, "I have surprised myself."
John, in his haste to satisfy Dolcy's thirst, dashed the water against the skirt of Dorothy's habit, and was profuse in his apologies.
"Do not mention it," said Dorothy. "I like a damp habit. The wind cannot so easily blow it about," and she laughed as she shook the garment to free it of the water. Dolcy refused to drink, and Dorothy having no excuse to linger at the well, drew up her reins and prepared to leave. While doing so, she said:—