They walked towards Callows Farm, and Anna yearned:
'Dear boy,' she said, 'This road is dull to-day,
Suppose we turn and walk the other way.'
They turned, she sighed. 'What makes you sigh?' he asked.
'Thinking,' she said, 'thinking and grieving, too.
Perhaps some wicked woman will come masked
Into your life, my dear, to ruin you.
And trusting every woman as you do
It might mean death to love and be deceived;
You'd take it hard, I thought, and so I grieved.'