Perigal had told her that if he could get the sum he wanted from his father, he would shortly be going somewhere near Cardiff, where he would be engaged in the manufacture of glazed bricks with a partner.  The news had frightened her.  She felt as if she had been dragged to the edge of a seemingly bottomless abyss, into which it was uncertain whether or not she would be thrown.  To escape the fate that threatened, she threw off her lethargy, to resume her fishing and avoid rather than seek Perigal.  Perhaps he took the hint, or was moved by the same motive as Mavis, for he too gave up frequenting the meadows bordering the river.  His absence hurt Mavis more than she could have believed possible.  She became moody, irritable; she lost her appetite and could not sleep at night.  To ease her distress of mind, she tried calling on her old friends, the Medlicotts, and her new ones, the Trivetts.  The former expressed concern for her altered appearance, which only served to increase her despondency, while the music she heard at Pennington Farm told of love dreams, satisfied longings, worlds in which romantic fancy was unweighted with the bitterness and disappointment of life, as she now found it, all of which was more than enough to stimulate her present discontent.

She had not seen or heard anything of Perigal for two weeks, when one July evening she happened to catch the hook of her line in her hand.  She was in great pain, her efforts to remove the hook only increasing her torment.  She was wondering what was the best way of getting help, when she saw Perigal approaching.  Her first impulse was to avoid him.  With beating heart, she hid behind a clump of bushes.  But the pain in her hand became so acute that she suddenly emerged from her concealment to call sharply for assistance.  He ran towards her, asking as he came: 

“What’s the matter?”

“My hand,” she faltered.  “I’ve caught the hook in it.”

“Poor dear!  Let me look.”

“Please do something.  It hurts,” she urged, as she put out her hand, which was torn by the cruel hook.

“What an excellent catch!  But, all the same, I must get it out at once,” he remarked, as he produced a pocket knife.

“With that?” she asked tremulously.

“I won’t hurt you more than I can help, you may be sure.  But it must come out at once, or you’ll get a bad go of blood poisoning.”

“Do it as quickly as possible,” she urged.

She set her lips, while he cut into the soft white flesh.

However much he hurt her, she resolved not to utter a sound.  For all her fortitude, the trifling operation pained her much.

“Brave little Mavis!” he said, as he freed her flesh from the hook, to ask, as she did not speak, “Didn’t it hurt?”

“Of course it did.  See how it’s bleeding!”

“All the better.  It will clear the poison out.”

Mavis was hurt at the indifference he exhibited to her pain.