So Mary and I stood, looking very foolish at one another. This was the
first restraint I had experienced since Milly and I had been refused a
passage through the Windmill paling. The rule, however, on which Crowle
insisted I felt confident could not have been intended to apply to me. A
word to Uncle Silas would set all right; and in the meantime I proposed to
Mary that we should take a walk--my favourite ramble--into the Windmill
Wood.
I looked toward Dickon's farmstead as we passed, thinking that Beauty might
have been there. I did see the girl, who was plainly watching us. She stood
in the doorway of the cottage, withdrawn into the shade, and, I fancied,
anxious to escape observation. When we had passed on a little, I was
confirmed in that belief by seeing her run down the footpath which led from
the rear of the farm-yard in the direction contrary to that in which we
were moving.
'So,' I thought, 'poor Meg falls from me!'
Mary Quince and I rambled on through the wood, till we reached the windmill
itself, and seeing its low arched door open, we entered the chiaro-oscuro
of its circular basement.
Pages:
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657