I do never see nought of my Protection of a Sunday, but all other days meet I him now (whenas I can) in the little copse that lieth Thirlmere way, not so far from Nanny’s hut. Last even was he essaying to win me for to wed him (as he hath done afore) without Father and Mother knowing. I have ever held off till now: but I am not so sure I shall do it much longer. He saith he wist a Popish priest that should do it: and it so done, Father and Mother must needs come in and give us leave to be wed rightly in church. But I will consider of the same a day or twain longer.
As to setting down what we do of a Sunday, ’tis alway the same o’er again, so it should be to no good. Once is enough for all.
Selwick Hall, November ye last.
Such a fright have I had this morrow, I may scantly hold my pen. I set forth for the copse where I do meet with my Protection, and had well-nigh reached it,—verily, I could discern him coming through the trees to meet me—when from Nanny’s hut, right upon us, who should come out save Father, and Mother, and Edith, their own selves. I cast but a glint to him that he should not note me, and walked on to meet them.
“Why, Milly!” saith Mother. “I wist not thou wert coming this way, child.”
“Under your pleasure, Mother, no more did I of you,” said I.
“Why, Milly, do but look at yon gentleman!” saith Edith, as he passed by us, taking no note of us at all. “Is it not the same we met on Saint Hubert’s Isle?”
“Is it so?” said I, making believe to look after him, the rather since it gave me an excuse to turn my back on them. “He bears a green jerkin,—otherwise—”
Wherein I am very sure I said no falsity, as whatso Father might say.
“I do think it is the same,” saith Edith. “Came he ever to speak with you, Father?”