"Begad, Perry, old fellow, all's well at last, eh?" exclaimed Anthony, grasping my hand. "What I mean to say is—will ye look at 'em, begad! Did mortal eyes ever see so much dooced loveliness and beauty begad? What I say is no—damme if they did! And here's his lordship to say as much."
"Ah, Peregrine," said the Earl, limping forward, "if this is a happy day for you, to me it is no less so. How say you, friend Jarvis—and you, Jessamy Todd?"
"Peregrine," said Barbara, as we came within sight of the dingy tent, "has she told you—has Diana told you how nobly she stood my friend and at what cruel cost—has she?"
"Not a word!" said I, beginning to tremble.
"Ah—that was so like you, Di—so very like you, my brave, dear girl."
"There was no need, Barbara. Peregrine's love is such that—though he doubted, being human—he loved me still!"
"Then I'll tell him—here and now! No, over yonder by the brook. And you, Tony—Anthony dear, you must come and help me."
"Yes, tell him, Barbara," quoth his lordship; "tell him, as you told me, that Peregrine may know how brave and generous is she who honours him to-day."
And so, with Barbara's hand on one arm and Anthony's on the other, I came to that leafy bower beside the stream where I had known Diana's first kiss.
"You will remember," began Barbara, seated between us, "you will remember, Peregrine, how, when first we met, I was with Captain Danby? I fled with him to escape a worse man, I mean Sir Geoffrey Devereux or Haredale, as his power somehow, for even while I was at school he gave me to understand it was his wish I should marry his friend Haredale. I was very young, my mother long dead, and flattered by the attentions of a man so much older than myself, I wrote him letters—silly, girlish letters very full of romantic nonsense—Anthony has seen them. But the oftener I met Sir Geoffrey, the less I liked him, until my feeling changed to dread. Captain Danby, seeing this, offered his help, and deceiving his friend would have deceived me also, as you will remember—"