"It is well to be a philosopher, isn't it, Peter?"
"Hum!" said I, and once more set about lighting my pipe. Anon I rose and, crossing to the open door, looked out upon the summer night, and sighed, and coming back, sat watching Charmian's busy fingers.
"Charmian," said I at last.
"Yes, Peter?"
"Do you—ever see any—any—men lurking about the Hollow—when I am away?" Her needle stopped suddenly, and she did not look up as she answered:
"No, Peter!"
"Never?—are you—sure, Charmian?" The needle began to fly to and fro again, but still she did not look up.
"No—of course not—how should I see any one? I scarcely go beyond the
Hollow, and—I'm busy all day."
"A Eve—a Eve!" said a voice in my ear. "Eve tricked Adam, didn't she?—a Eve!"
After this I sat for a long time without, moving, my mind harassed with doubts and a hideous, morbid dread. Why had she avoided my eye? Her own were pure and truthful, and could not lie! Why, why had they avoided mine? If only she had looked at me!