“The fall o’ man came from that same plaguey apple-tree that’s been my undoing!” said the sexton, ruefully.
“Nay, Zachary,” said the Vicar, with a smile, “both falls came from lack of self-control. Don’t blame the apple-tree. But we must not waste time. I think, Gabriel, I had best not wait for the arrival of your father and mother, but wed you at daybreak, and speed you on your journey before Bosbury is astir.”
“Can you be ready, dear heart?” said Gabriel, glancing at Hilary.
She did not reply, her eyes were fixed on the narrow window, and a look of horror was on her face.
“What is it, child?” said the Vicar, puzzled by her expression.
“We are watched,” she faltered. “I saw eyes peering betwixt the ivy leaves.”
“I see naught,” said Gabriel. “But, maybe ’twas the white owl that lives among the bells, it flies past often enough.”
“It was Waghorn,” she said, shivering.
“I’ll catch the villain, then, and pound his cropped head for him,” said Zachary, scrambling down the ladder. “Spiteful, scheming gossip that he is! I’ll teach him what comes of playing tricks on the parish clerk.”
“We must surely have heard him had he climbed up by the ivy,” said Gabriel.