Forgetting where I was, or that anyone might come up the
ladder, I had my prick out, and with a struggle got my hand on her
cunt. "You won't tell, really now?" "Not if you let me." A little more
scuffling, and I had her down. She was quiet, and I was fucking with
all the delight and energy which a fresh woman gives a man, when I heard
"Molly, Molly" shouted out. With a violent start she uncunted me, and I
spent over her motte. "Where are you such a long time Molly?" "There
is a hen up here," said Molly who had started up, "and I think she has
laid, but can't find the egg." And Molly disappeared down the ladder.
"You're wanted up in the Hall," said the voice,--it was Pender's;--their
voices died away. How pleased Pender would have been had she known the
condition of Molly's motte!

Nothing is so irritating as spending outside a long coveted cunt, when
another thrust or two would have left the sperm up it,--it is maddening.
I could think of nothing but the girl; although I had barely felt, and
had seen nothing of her charms, she seemed to me perfection. For a day
or two I got no chance, so I wrote on a bit of paper, "You will get
into a mess, unless you meet me to-night; I'll be in the barn at eight
o'clock; come in through the wicket,"--or something to that effect. It
was intended to frighten her, for she avoided me. I pushed the note into
her hands at the Hall.

I walked through the farm-yard, afterwards and saw her, she shook
her head as I passed. I said rapidly,--Pender was in sight,--"You had
better." In the evening I hid myself in the loft, allowed the barndoors
to be closed, and should have had to stay all night there if some one
had not undone one of the wickets; they fastened them outside.

I had been there a long time, it was dark. "I am in here till to-morrow
morning," I thought, and walked up and down barely restraining
myself from frigging, such was my state of lust. It was possible that
circumstances might prevent her from coming, and I had given up hope,
when the wicket opened, It was she; she came up into the loft; I caught
her in my arms.

"What do you want?--you ain't a going to tell?--you ain't heard anybody
say anything?" said she. I could not see, but felt her tears, reassured
her, told her I loved her: who would know but us two? "What harm have
I done you?" said the poor girl, "Giles is going to marry me, that's
different,--oh I don't know." I had pushed her on to some hay,
threatening her one m