The Broad Highway

"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.

"Charmian!" said I, and sprang to her side. "Oh, my love!--what

is it?"

"It is--as though the shadow hung over us--darker and more

threatening, Peter; as if our happiness were at an end; I seem to

hear Maurice's threat--to come between us--living or--dead. I am

afraid!" she whispered, clinging to me, "I am afraid!" But, all

at once, she was calm again, and full of self-reproaches, calling

herself "weak," and "foolish," and "hysterical"--"though,

indeed, I was never hysterical before!"--and telling me that I

must go--that it was my duty to go to the "gentle, dying old

man"--urging me to the door, almost eagerly, till, being out of

the cottage, she must needs fall a-trembling once more, and wind

her arms about my neck, with a great sob.