“Did he mean it? Or was it only mocking of me? I am sure I do not think so myself, though others have told me the same. I wish it were fair, instead of dark, like that of Mistress Marion Wade. Then perhaps, it would be beautiful?
“Blue don’t become me, he says. Lie there despised colour! Never more shall blue blossom be seen in the hair of Bet Dancey.”
As she said this she plucked the bunch of hare-bells from behind her comb, and flung the flowers at her feet.
“It was Will that gave them to me,” she continued. “He only gathered them an hour ago. What if he were to see them now? Ah! what care I? What should I care? I never gave him reason—not the least bit. They were worn to-day, not to please him; but in hopes of pleasing one I do care for. Had I thought that that one liked not blue, there were plenty of red ones in the old garden of Stone Dean. I might have gathered some as I came through it. What a pity I didn’t know the colour he likes best!”
“Ha!” she exclaimed, starting forward upon the path, and bending down over the spot where the flowers had fallen—and where the dust shewed signs of having been recently disturbed. “That is not the track of his horse. That little shoe—I know it—Mistress Marion Wade!”
For a second or two, the speaker preserved her stooping attitude, silently regarding the tracks. She saw they were fresh—that they had been made that morning—in fact, within the hour.
Her father was a forester—a woodman by calling—at times, a stealer of deer. She had been born in the forest—brought up under the shadow of its trees. She was capable of interpreting that sign—too capable for the tranquillity of her spirit.
“Mistress Marion has been here!” she muttered. “Of late, often have I seen these tracks; and twice the lady herself. What brings her along this lonely road? What has she been doing here this morning?—Could it be to meet him?”
She had no time to conjecture a response to this self-asked interrogatory. As the words passed from her lips, her attention was attracted to the sound of hoofs—a horse moving at a gallop along the main road.
Could it be the cavalier coming back?