‘Thou’lt be able to do without her for a longer time than this without troubling thyself, by-and-by,’ said Dame Crawshay with one of her pleasant smiles.
‘When that day comes, I will say you are a prophetess of evil,’ he retorted, laughing, but with an air of affectionate respect. That was the feeling with which she inspired everybody.
‘Nay, lad; but it need not be evil, for you may be apart, surely, doing good for each other.’
‘Yes; but not without wishing we were together.’
‘Wilt ever be wishing that?’
‘For ever and ever.’
He answered with burlesque solemnity outwardly; but Madge knew that he spoke from his heart, and in the full faith of his words. She gave him a quiet glance with those soft wistful eyes, and he was very happy.
They had reached a tall row of peas, at which Dame Crawshay had been already busy that morning, as a wooden chair placed beside it indicated. Here she seated herself, and began to pluck the peas, shelling them as she plucked; then dropping the pods into her lap and the peas into a basin. She performed the operation with mechanical regularity, which did not in any way interfere with conversation.
Madge, kneeling beside her, helped with nimble fingers; and Philip, hands clasped behind him, stood looking on admiringly. The sun was shining upon them; and, darting shafts of light through the surrounding trees, made bright spots amidst the moving shadows underneath. Everything seemed to be still and sleepy. The breeze was so light that there was only a gentle rustle of leaves, and through it was heard the occasional thud of an over-ripe apple or pear as it fell, and the drowsy hum of the bees.
Light, warmth, peace. ‘Ah,’ thought Philip, ‘if we could only go on this way always! If we could fix ourselves thus as in a photograph, what a blessed Eden this would be!’