His voice vibrated, and when she answered hers was responsive.
"You, too, have your burden?"
"Could you but know how your touch lightens it!" said he.
She blushed to the brown hair that was visible beneath the mob-cap.
"Are we very far now from my Aunt Wotherspoon's?" she asked. Whereupon Jeremy, abashed, took refuge in the commonplace.
The open gate through which she had strayed was reached all too quickly. When she had passed through she made him a curtsey and held out her hand. He touched it with his lips as if it were sacramental bread. She avowed herself much beholden to his kindness.
"Shall I ever see you again, Mistress Barbara?" he asked in a low voice, for an old servant was hobbling down from the house to meet her.
"My Aunt Wotherspoon is bed-ridden and receives no visitors."
"But I could be of no further service to you?" pleaded Jeremy.
She hesitated and then she said demurely: