“Her never loved me—never—never,” he said to the night. “To leave me arter what I said—to leave me now knowin’—’Tis enough. I be tired—I be weary of the whole earth. Her lied to me through it all; but I won’t lie to she.”
He flung down the belt, then picked it up again and removed a little bag that was fastened to it and contained a few shillings in silver. This he placed beside his bundle. Then he flung the long snaky coil of the girdle upon the ground and stood staring at it.
Elsewhere, Sarah, hastening down the hill five minutes after John had noted Timothy at the gate of the hayfield, similarly saw and recognised him. His presence reminded her of a fact entirely forgotten during the recent storm and stress. He was there by appointment and eager to hear the first rustle of his sweetheart’s approach. Now her heart flogged at her breast and she felt her knees weaken. But she kept steadily on with averted face and instinct quick to find concealment in every shadow. She drew her hood about her and walked upon the grass by the wayside.
The man heard and turned, waking from a reverie. He saw his sweetheart even as she passed him by.
“Sally! It is Sally!” he cried.
She did not answer, though his voice shook her to the well-springs of her life; and he, supposing that she was about some lover’s pretty folly, laughed joyously and came after her. Then she hastened the more, and he did likewise.
“A starlight chase! So be it, sweetheart; but you’ll have to pay a heavy penalty when I catch you!”
Still she could not speak; then, perceiving that he must speedily overtake her, she found her tongue.
“For Christ’s sake, doan’t ’e follow me! ’Tis life—life an’ death. Ban’t no time for play. Turn back, Tim, turn back if you ever loved me.”
Her tone alarmed him and he hesitated a moment, then came steadily on again, calling to Sarah to stop.