I looked toward Dickon’s farmstead as we passed, thinking that Beauty might have been there.  I did see the girl, who was plainly watching us.  She stood in the doorway of the cottage, withdrawn into the shade, and, I fancied, anxious to escape observation.  When we had passed on a little, I was confirmed in that belief by seeing her run down the footpath which led from the rear of the farm-yard in the direction contrary to that in which we were moving.

‘So,’ I thought, ‘poor Meg falls from me!’

Mary Quince and I rambled on through the wood, till we reached the windmill itself, and seeing its low arched door open, we entered the chiaro-oscuro of its circular basement.  As we did so I heard a rush and the creak of a plank, and looking up, I saw just a foot—­no more—­disappearing through the trap-door.

In the case of one we love or fear intensely, what feats of comparative anatomy will not the mind unconsciously perform?  Constructing the whole living animal from the turn of an elbow, the curl of a whisker, a segment of a hand.  How instantaneous and unerring is the instinct!

‘Oh, Mary, what have I seen!’ I whispered, recovering from the fascination that held my gaze fast to the topmost rounds of the ladder, that disappeared in the darkness above the open door in the loft.  ’Come, Mary—­come away.’

At the same instant appeared the swarthy, sullen face of Dickon Hawkes in the shadow of the aperture.  Having but one serviceable leg, his descent was slow and awkward, and having got his head to the level of the loft he stopped to touch his hat to me, and to hasp and lock the trap-door.

When this was done, the man again touched his hat, and looked steadily and searchingly at me for a second or so, while he got the key into his pocket.

’These fellahs stores their flour too long ‘ere, ma’am.  There’s a deal o’ trouble a-looking arter it.  I’ll talk wi’ Silas, and settle that.’

By this time he had got upon the worn-tiled floor, and touching his hat again, he said—­

‘I’m a-goin’ to lock the door, ma’am!’

So with a start, and again whispering—­

’Come, Mary—­come away’—­

With my arm fast in hers, we made a swift departure.

‘I feel very faint, Mary,’ said I.  ’Come quickly.  There’s nobody following us?’

’No, Miss, dear.  That man with the wooden leg is putting a padlock on the door.’

‘Come very fast,’ I said; and when we had got a little farther, I said, ‘Look again, and see whether anyone is following.’

‘No one, Miss,’ answered Mary, plainly surprised.  ’He’s putting the key in his pocket, and standin’ there a-lookin’ after us.’

‘Oh, Mary, did not you see it?’

‘What, Miss?’ asked Mary, almost stopping.

‘Come on, Mary.  Don’t pause.  They will observe us,’ I whispered, hurrying her forward.

‘What did you see, Miss?’ repeated Mary.