"And you think," she questioned softly, "you believe I was there to meet—him, at such an hour?"
"Betty—Betty—God help me—what am I to think?"
"What you will!" she answered. "Therein shall be your punishment!" And turning she would have left him, but he caught at her habit.
"My lady," he pleaded, "for God's sweet sake be merciful and deny it. Tell me I dreamed—say that my eyes saw falsely, tell me so in mercy and I'll believe."
"No!" she said dully, "No! Were I to swear this on my knees yet deep within your heart this evil doubt would still rear its head——"
"Nay, nay—I vow—I swear!"
"You have been so swift to spy out evil in me from the first," she went on in the same passionless voice, "first you thought me a wild hoyden, then unvirginal, now—now, a sly wanton! So will I make your evil thoughts so many whips to scourge you for all your cruel doubt of me!"
Saying which, she broke from him and crossing the orchard on flying feet reached the ladder set for her there by the Sergeant's willing hands, she mounted, then paused to glance back over her shoulder but seeing how the Major remained meekly where she had left him, his head bowed humbly between clasping hands, she frowned, bit her lip, then gathering up the voluminous folds of her riding-habit climbed back very dexterously over the wall, frowned at him again, shook her head at him and vanished.
But then—ah then, being hid from all chance of observation she leaned smooth cheek against the unfeeling bricks and mortar of that old weather-beaten wall and fell to a silent passion of grief.
"O John!" she whispered, "O foolish, blundering, cruel John dear—I wonder if you'll ever know—how much I yearned—to kiss your dear, sad, tired eyes!"