Many birds came twittering round me in the gold of August; many trees showed twinkling beauty, as the sun went lower; and the lines of water fell, from wrinkles into dimples.  Little heeding, there I crouched; though with sense of everything that afterwards should move me, like a picture or a dream; and everything went by me softly, while my heart was gazing.

At last, a little figure came, not insignificant (I mean), but looking very light and slender in the moving shadows, gently here and softly there, as if vague of purpose, with a gloss of tender movement, in and out the wealth of trees, and liberty of the meadow.  Who was I to crouch, or doubt, or look at her from a distance; what matter if they killed me now, and one tear came to bury me?  Therefore I rushed out at once, as if shot-guns were unknown yet; not from any real courage, but from prisoned love burst forth.

I know not whether my own Lorna was afraid of what I looked, or what I might say to her, or of her own thoughts of me; all I know is that she looked frightened, when I hoped for gladness.  Perhaps the power of my joy was more than maiden liked to own, or in any way to answer to; and to tell the truth, it seemed as if I might now forget myself; while she would take good care of it.  This makes a man grow thoughtful; unless, as some low fellows do, he believe all women hypocrites.

Therefore I went slowly towards her, taken back in my impulse; and said all I could come to say, with some distress in doing it.

“Mistress Lorna, I had hope that you were in need of me.”

“Oh, yes; but that was long ago; two months ago, or more, sir.”  And saying this she looked away, as if it all were over.  But I was now so dazed and frightened, that it took my breath away, and I could not answer, feeling sure that I was robbed and some one else had won her.  And I tried to turn away, without another word, and go.

But I could not help one stupid sob, though mad with myself for allowing it, but it came too sharp for pride to stay it, and it told a world of things.  Lorna heard it, and ran to me, with her bright eyes full of wonder, pity, and great kindness, as if amazed that I had more than a simple liking for her.  Then she held out both hands to me; and I took and looked at them.

“Master Ridd, I did not mean,” she whispered, very softly, “I did not mean to vex you.”

“If you would be loath to vex me, none else in this world can do it,” I answered out of my great love, but fearing yet to look at her, mine eyes not being strong enough.

“Come away from this bright place,” she answered, trembling in her turn; “I am watched and spied of late.  Come beneath the shadows, John.”

I would have leaped into the valley of the shadow of death (as described by the late John Bunyan), only to hear her call me “John”; though Apollyon were lurking there, and Despair should lock me in.

She stole across the silent grass; but I strode hotly after her; fear was all beyond me now, except the fear of losing her.  I could not but behold her manner, as she went before me, all her grace, and lovely sweetness, and her sense of what she was.