"Be my own goddess Diana, and let me worship you as such."
"Why, then, let me go, Peregrine, for your goddess has the supper to prepare!" Reluctantly I obeyed her, and coming back, found the Tinker seated upon his anvil, lost in a profound meditation.
"What is it, Jerry?" I asked him, for he had sighed deeply.
"Ah, Peregrine," said he, without lifting his head, "oh, lad, lad—I've missed more than I thought—Love's a wonderful thing, far better and more beautiful than I ever dreamed it; pain and grief lose half their bitterness when Love looks at us from a woman's eyes and Death itself would come kinder—less dreadful, for the touch o' the loved hand, the sound o' the loved voice when the shadows gather. And—I might ha' had this blessing once—for the takin'—ah, Peregrine—if I'd only known, lad, if I'd only known!"
O joyous season of sweet simplicity, of homely kindliness and good-fellowship! Would to God this carpet beneath my feet might change to velvet moss and springy turf, these walls to the trees and whispering boskage I grew to love so well, this halting pen to the smooth shaft of sledge hammer or the well-worn crank of the Tinker's little forge, if I might but behold again she who trod those leafy ways with the stately, vigorous grace of Dian's very self, she who worked and wrought and sang beside me with love for me in her deep eyes and thrilling in the glory of her voice; she who sped light-footed to greet me in the dawn, who clung to kiss me "good night" amid the shadows. O season of joy so swiftly sped, to-day merging into yesterday (how should I guess you were so soon to end?), gone from me ere I had fully realised.
A hot, stilly afternoon full of the drowsy hum of insects and droning bees; birds chirped sleepily from motionless tree and thicket; even the brook seemed lulled to a slumberous hush.
Jessamy was away hard on the track of his Satanic antagonist, the Tinker had driven off to buy fresh provisions, and I sat watching Diana's dripping hands and shapely brown arms where she scrubbed, wrung out, and hung up to dry certain of our garments, for it was washing day.
"Dear," said I at last, "when shall we be married?"
"Lord, Peregrine, how sudden you are!" she answered, as if I had never broached the subject before.
"Shall it be next week?"