“You are sure that you will be safe now?”
“If you have no fresh accident with your firearms,” she laughed. “Please be careful.”
She nodded, and turned and tripped away. But she had hardly left him, she had not passed ten paces beyond the bridge, before her mood changed. The cloak of playfulness fell from her, reaction did its work. The color left her cheeks, her knees shook as she remembered. She felt again the hot blast on her cheek, lived through the flash, the shock, the onset of faintness. Again she clung to the stile, giddy, breathless, the landscape dancing about her. And through the haze she saw his face, white, drawn, terror-stricken—saw it and strove vainly to reassure him.
And now—now he was soothing her. He was pouring out his penitence, he was upbraiding himself. Presently she was herself again; her spirits rising, she was playing with him, chiding him, exercising a new sense of power, becoming the recipient of a man’s thoughts, a man’s hopes and ambitions. The color was back in her cheeks now, her knees were steady, she could walk. She went on, but slowly and more slowly, full of thought, reviewing what had happened.
Until, near the garden door, she was roughly brought to earth. Miss Peacock, visiting the yard on some domestic errand, had discerned her. “Josina!” she cried. “My certy, girl, but you have been quick! I wish the maids were half as quick when they go! A whole afternoon is not enough for them to walk a mile. But you’ve not brought the eggs?”
“I didn’t go,” said Josina. “I was frightened by a gun.”
“A gun?”
“And I felt a little faint.”
“Faint? Why, you’ve got the color of a rose, girl. Faint? Well, when I want galeny eggs again I shan’t send you. Where was it?”
“Under the Thirty Acres—by the stile. A gun went off, and——”