“There!” He took his lips away, and she sank back gasping.  “You’ve ’ad yer way wi’ me;” and he heaved a sigh that was as loud as a groan.  “Oh, Mav, my girl, gi’ me yer kisses—­kiss me all night and all day—­if on’y you make me forget.”

Her hat had tumbled off in the struggle, a mesh of brown hair was dangling over her shoulder, and she was still too much out of breath to speak.  The wagon rolled heavily forward along the flat road, and the carter cracked his whip continuously to tell the horses they were nearly home.  Presently Mavis got up, perched herself beside her husband, and whispered to him jerkily.

“You’ve nothing to forget, dear.  No looking back.  But, oh, my darling, I’m going to be more than I ever was to you.  I feel it.  I know it—­an’ we’ll be happy, happy, happy, so long as we live.”

She pressed her face against the sleeve of his jacket, and stroked his knee with as much luxurious pleasure as if the rough cord breeches had been made of the softest satin velvet.

“See.  Look straight ahead,” and she raised her hand and pointed.

Vine-Pits Farm was in sight.  The stone house, the barns, the straw ricks, and the fruit trees all seeming to have clustered close together, to form a compact little kingdom of hope and joy.

“Look, dear.  How pretty—­see the sunlight on the roofs and on the ricks.  That’s luck.  All the straw is changing into gold.  My old Will is going to make heaps of golden sovereigns as big as any rick.”

“Woo then.  A-oo then.”  The carter stopped the horses outside the garden entrance.  “Will the missis get down here at th’ front door, or be us to go on into yaard?”

Mrs. Dale got down here, took the cat-basket from her husband, and went gaily up the path to the open front door.

“Don’t let th’ cat loose,” Dale called after her warningly, “or she’ll be back to Rodchurch like a streak o’ greased lightning.  She’ll need acclim’tyzing all to-morrow.”

Mavis ran through the house to the kitchen, where Mary and a courtesying old woman received her.  Then she scampered from room to room, uttering little cries of contentment.  Often as she had seen and admired the house during the last few weeks, it had never seemed so perfectly delightful as it did to-day:  with its low-ceiled cozy little rooms at the back, its high and imposing rooms in front, its broad staircase and square landing, it would be quite a little palace when all had been set to rights.

Coming hurrying back to the hall, she saw her husband in the porch, a splendid dark figure with the last rays of yellow sunlight behind him.  He paused bare-headed on the threshold, obviously not aware of her presence, and she was about to speak to him when he startled her by dropping on his knees and praying aloud.

“O merciful Powers, give me grace and strength to lead a healthy fearless life in this house.”

XIII