"They'll manage it somehow. The Rough—did you see his eyes when you—? ho, ho! he'll cross it somehow."
"He can't," the boy muttered. "The April tide's too strong. He will drown in the flood."
"And she," said Old Gerard.
"Perhaps she will swim on the flood," said Young Gerard faintly. And he sighed and sank back on the earth.
"Ay, you'll be sore," chuckled the old man. "You had your salve before you had your drubbing. Lie there. I must be gone on business."
He took up his staff and went down the hill for the last time to Combe Ivy, to purchase his freedom.
But Young Gerard lay with his face pressed to the turf. "And that was the bridegroom," he said, and shook where he lay.
"Young shepherd," said a voice beside him. He looked up and saw the hooded crone, come out of the hut. "Why do you water the earth?" said she. "Have not the rains done their work?"
"What work, dame?"
"You've as fine a cherry in flower," said she, "as ever blossomed in Gay Street in the season of singing and dancing."