“This is a very rough place for you,” said I, and sighed.

We were sitting on the bench before the door, and Charmian had laid her folded hands upon my shoulder, and her chin upon her hands.  And now she echoed my sigh, but answered without stirring: 

“It is the dearest place in all the world.”

“And very lonely!” I pursued.

“I shall be busy all day long, Peter, and you always reach home as evening falls, and then—­then—­oh!  I sha’n’t be lonely.”

“But I am such a gloomy fellow at the best of times, and very clumsy, Charmian, and something of a failure.”

“And—­my husband.”

“Peter!—­Peter!—­oh, Peter!” I started, and rose to my feet.

“Peter!—­oh, Peter!” called the voice again, seemingly from the road, and now I thought it sounded familiar.

Charmian stole her arms aboat my neck.

“I think it is Simon,” said I uneasily; “what can have brought him?  And he will never venture down into the Hollow on account of the ghost; I must go and see what he wants.”

“Yes, Peter,” she murmured, but the clasp of her arms tightened.

“What is it?” said I, looking into her troubled eyes.  “Charmian, you are trembling!—­what is it?”

“I don’t know—­but oh, Peter!  I feel as if a shadow—­a black and awful shadow were creeping upon us hiding us from each other.  I am very foolish, aren’t I? and this our wedding-day!”

“Peter!  Pe-ter!”

“Come with me, Charmian; let us go together.”

“No, I must wait—­it is woman’s destiny—­to wait—­but I am brave again; go—­see what is wanted.”

I found Simon, sure enough, in the lane, seated in his cart, and his face looked squarer and grimmer even than usual.

“Oh, Peter!” said he, gripping my hand, “it be come at last —­Gaffer be goin’.”

“Going, Simon?”

“Dyin’, Peter.  Fell downstairs ‘s marnin’.  Doctor says ’e can’t last the day out—­sinkin’ fast, ‘e be, an’ ‘e be axin’ for ’ee, Peter.  ‘Wheer be Peter?’ says ‘e over an’ over again; ’wheer be the Peter as I found of a sunshiny arternoon, down in th’ ’aunted ‘Oller?’ You weren’t at work ‘s marnin’, Peter, so I be come to fetch ‘ee—­you’ll come back wi’ me to bid ‘good-by’ to the old:  man?”

“Yes, I’ll come, Simon,” I answered; “wait here for me.”

Charmian was waiting for me in the cottage, and, as she looked up at me, I saw the trouble was back in her eyes again.

“You must—­go leave me?” she inquired.

“For a little while.”

“Yes—­I—­I felt it,” she said, with a pitiful little smile.

“The Ancient is dying,” said I. Now, as I spoke, my eyes encountered the staple above the door, wherefore, mounting upon a chair, I seized and shook it.  And lo! the rusty iron snapped off in my fingers—­like glass, and I slipped it into my pocket.

“Oh, Peter!—­don’t go—­don’t leave me!” cried Charmian suddenly, and I saw that her face was very pale, and that she trembled.