“This is the place,” said Cuthbert at length, as the underwood grew thick and tangled and the path became almost lost.  “And see, yonder is a lady’s palfrey tethered to a tree.  Mistress Kate is the first at the tryst.  Go down thither to her, and I will wait here and guard her steed; for there be many afoot in the forest this day, and all may not be so bent on pleasure taking that they will not wander about in search of gain, and a fair palfrey like yon would be no small prize.”

Culverhouse readily consented to this arrangement, and for some time Cuthbert was left to a solitary enjoyment of the forest.  He caressed the horse, which responded with great gentleness and goodwill; and then he lay down in luxurious ease, his hands crossed behind his head, his face turned upwards towards the clear blue of the sunny sky, seen through the delicate tracery of the bursting buds of elm and beech.  It was a perfect feast for eye and ear to lie thus in the forest, listening to the songs of the birds, and watching the play of light and shadow.  Fresh from the roar and the bustle of the city, Cuthbert enjoyed it as a thirsty traveller in the desert enjoys a draught of clear cold water from a spring.  He was almost sorry when at last the sound of voices warned him that the lovers’ stolen interview was at an end, and that they were approaching him at last.

Kate’s bright face was all alight with happiness and joy as she appeared, holding fast to her lover’s arm.  She greeted Cuthbert with the prettiest air of cousinly affection, asked of himself and his welfare with undisguised interest, and then told them of some rustic sports being held at a village only three miles distant, and begged Culverhouse to take her to see the spectacle.  She had set her heart upon it all day, and there would be no danger of her being seen in the crowd sure to be assembled there to witness the sights.  Her sisters had no love for such shows, and nobody would be greatly troubled at her hardihood in escaping from the escort of her servants.  She was always doing the like, and no harm had ever befallen her.  Her father was wont to call her his Madcap, and her mother sometimes chided, and feared she would come to ill by her wild freaks; but she had always turned up safe and sound, and her independent ways had almost ceased to excite comment or uneasiness.  On May Day, when all the world was abroad and in good humour, they would trouble still less on her account.  Kate had no fear of being overtaken and brought back, and had set her heart on going with Culverhouse to this village fete and fair.  She had heard much of it, yet had never seen it.  Sure this was the very day on which to go.

Culverhouse would have gone to the moon with her had she asked it—­or would at least have striven to do so—­and his assent was cordially given.  Cuthbert knew the place well; and Kate was quickly mounted on the palfrey, Culverhouse walking at her bridle-rein, whilst Cuthbert walked on ahead to choose the safest paths, and warn them of any peril in the road.  He could hear scraps of lover-like dialogue, that sent his heart back to Cherry, and made him long to have her beside him; but that being impossible, he gave himself up to the enjoyment of the present, and found pleasure in everything about him.