“Anne here?” John replied in bewilderment.
“Yes, I suspect it is that bewitching damsel. Have an eye upon Wingfield. Watch over her whenever possible.”
With his heart palpitating between love and fear of his reception, the young carpenter hastened to the cabin of Mrs. Forrest, where he found Anne looking through the window at the excited men and wondering what the trouble was.
“Anne, Anne!” he cried, his rugged face beautiful with the strength of his great love.
“Good-day to you, Master John Laydon,” responded Anne, eyeing with disfavor his coarse woolen jerkin and rough, toil-worn hands.
“Is that all you have to say to me, Anne, after our long separation?” he pleaded, a hurt look creeping into his eyes. “My girl, I have dreamed of you day and night out here under the stars and glare of the sun. At first I longed to have you with me; but when cold and starvation killed off our men, and many died at the hands of the savage, I thanked God you were safe in England.”
“You do me too much honor, Master Laydon,” replied the damsel, imitating in manner and gesture the carriage of her mistress.
“‘Master Laydon, Master Laydon,’” echoed the indignant John. “Your tone smacks too much of the fine lady, child.” Then changing his tone to one of persuasion, he drew nearer and attempted to take her hand. “It used to be ‘John’ and ‘Anne,’ when we strolled through the lanes at home.” Snatching away her hand, and drawing her little body up, Anne scornfully replied:
“A child does many things which it leaves off when it comes to know better. I must bid you good-by, as my time is of too much importance to idle it away.”
Turning away with a haughty inclination of her head, she went into another room and made straight for a window where she could see the disconsolate John moving away.