A man was leaning in the shadow of a tree, looking down into the

Hollow.

I could not see him very distinctly because, though evening had

scarcely fallen, the shadows, where he stood, were very dense,

but he was gazing down into the Hollow in the attitude of one who

waits. For what?--for whom?

A sudden fit of shivering shook me from head to foot, and, while

I yet shivered, I grew burning hot; the blood throbbed at my

temples, the small hammer was drumming much faster now, and the

cool night air seemed to be stifling me.

Very cautiously I began creeping nearer the passive figure, while

the hammer beat so loud that it seemed he must hear it where he

stood: a shortish, broad-shouldered figure, clad in a blue coat.

He held his hat in his hand, and he leaned carelessly against the

tree, and his easy assurance of air maddened me the more.

As he stood thus, looking always down into the Hollow, his neck

gleamed at me above the collar of his coat, wherefore I stooped

and, laying my irons in the grass, crept on, once more, and, as I

went, I kept my eyes upon his neck.

A stick snapped sharp and loud beneath my tread, the lounging

back stiffened and grew rigid, the face showed for an instant

over the shoulder, and, with a spring, he had vanished into the

bushes.

It was a vain hope to find a man in such a dense tangle of boughs

and underbrush, yet I ran forward, nevertheless; but, though I

sought eagerly upon all sides, he had made good his escape. So,

after a while, I retraced my steps to where I had left my irons

and brackets, and taking them up, turned aside to that precipitous

path which, as I have already said, leads down into the Hollow.

Now, as I went, listening to the throb of the hammer in my head,

whom should I meet but Charmian, coming gayly through the green,

and singing as she came. At sight of me she stopped, and the

song died upon her lip.

"Why--why, Peter--you look pale--dreadfully pale--"

"Thank you, I am very well!" said I.

"You have not been--fighting again?"

"Why should I have been fighting, Charmian?"

"Your eyes are wild--and fierce, Peter."

"Were you coming to--to--meet me, Charmian?"

"Yes, Peter." Now, watching beneath my brows, it almost seemed

that her color had changed, and that her eyes, of set purpose,

avoided mine. Could it be that she was equivocating?

"But I--am much before my usual time, to-night, Charmian."




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