So thinking, I sighed and went out into the dawn; as I closed the door behind me its hollow slam struck me sharply, and I called to mind how she had called it a bad and ill-fitting door.  And indeed so it was.

With dejected step and hanging head I made my way towards Sissinghurst (for, since I was up, I might as well work, and there was much to be done), and, as I went, I heard a distant clock chime four.

Now, when I reached the village the sun was beginning to rise, and thus, lifting up my eyes, I beheld one standing before “The Bull,” a very tall man, much bigger and greater than most; a wild figure in the dawn, with matted hair and beard, and clad in tattered clothes; yet hair and beard gleamed a red gold where the light touched them, and there was but one man I knew so tall and so mighty as this.  Wherefore I hurried towards him, all unnoticed, for his eyes were raised to a certain latticed casement of the inn.

And, being come up, I reached out and touched this man upon the arm.

“George!” said I, and held out my hand.  He turned swiftly, but, seeing me, started back a pace, staring.

“George!” said I again.  “Oh, George!” But George only backed still farther, passing his hand once or twice across his eyes.

“Peter?” said he at last, speaking hardly above a whisper; “but you ’m dead, Peter, dead—­I killed—­’ee.”

“No,” I answered, “you didn’t kill me, George indeed, I wish you had—­you came pretty near it, but you didn’t quite manage it.  And, George—­I’m very desolate—­won’t you shake hands with a very desolate man?—­if you can, believing that I have always been your friend, and a true and loyal one, then, give me your hand; if not—­if you think me still the despicable traitor you once did, then, let us go into the field yonder, and if you can manage to knock me on the head for good and all this time—­why, so much the better.  Come, what do you say?”

Without a word Black George turned and led the way to a narrow lane a little distance beyond “The Bull,” and from the lane into a meadow.  Being come thither, I took off my coat and neckerchief, but this time I cast no look upon the world about me, though indeed it was fair enough.  But Black George stood half turned from me, with his fists clenched and his broad shoulders heaving oddly.

“Peter,” said he, in his slow, heavy way, “never clench ye fists to me—­don’t—­I can’t abide it.  But oh, man, Peter! ’ow may I clasp ‘ands wi’ a chap as I’ve tried to kill—­I can’t do it, Peter—­but don’t—­don’t clench ye fists again me no more.  I were jealous of ‘ee from the first—­ye see, you beat me at th’ ‘ammer-throwin’—­an’ she took your part again me; an’ then, you be so takin’ in your ways, an’ I be so big an’ clumsy—­so very slow an’ ’eavy.  Theer bean’t no choice betwixt us for a maid like Prue she allus was different from the likes o’ me, an’ any lass wi’ half an eye could see as you be a gentleman, ah! an’ a good un.