Chapter Four.
In By-Path Meadow.
“I thought that I was strong, Lord,
And did not need Thine arm;
Though dangers thronged around me,
My heart felt no alarm:
I thought I nothing needed—
Riches, nor dress, nor sight:
And on I walked in darkness,
And still I thought it light.”
Selwick Hall, November ye xv.
I have but now read o’er what I writ these last few days, and have meditated much whether I should go on to tell of Sir Edwin, for it shall ne’er serve to have folk read the same. And methinketh it best for to go straight on, and at the end, if need be, tear out the leaves. For it doth me a mighty pleasure to write and think upon the same: and I can make some excuse when I come to it.
Though Mistress Nell,
I guess right well,
Of neatness should be heedful:
Yet I will tear
The leaves out fair,
If it shall so be needful.
There! who saith I cannot write poesy?
This morrow again (I being but just without the garden gate), I met with my Protection, who doffed his plumed bonnet and saluted me as his most fair Amiability. I do see him most days, though but for a minute: and in truth I think long from one time to another. Coming back, I meditated what I should say to Mistress Nell (that loveth somewhat too much to meddle) should she have caught sight of him: for it shall not serve every time to send him to Kirkstone. Nor, of course, could I think to tell a lie thereabout. So I called to mind that he had once asked me what name we called the eye-bright in these parts, though it were not this morrow, but I should not need to say that, and it should be no lie, seeing he did say so much. Metrusteth the cushion should not prick me for that, and right sure am I there should be no need.
Selwick Hall, November ye xvii.
Truly, as saith the old saw, ’tis best not to halloo till thou be out of the wood. This very afternoon, what should Edith say, without one word of warning, as we were sat a-sewing, but—