s
within him, not without. In the daytime he hardly saw the family; and
when Megan brought in his meals she always seemed too busy in the house
or among the young things in the yard to stay talking long. But in the
evenings he installed himself in the window seat in the kitchen, smoking
and chatting with the lame man Jim, or Mrs. Narracombe, while the girl
sewed, or moved about, clearing the supper things away. And sometimes,
with the sensation a cat must feel when it purrs, he would become
conscious that Megan's eyes--those dew-grey eyes--were fixed on him with
a sort of lingering soft look which was strangely flattering.

It was on Sunday week in the evening, when he was lying in the orchard
listening to a blackbird and composing a love poem, that he heard the
gate swing to, and saw the girl come running among the trees, with the
red-cheeked, stolid Joe in swift pursuit. About twenty yards away the
chase ended, and the two stood fronting each other, not noticing the
stranger in the grass--the boy pressing on, the girl fending him off.
Ashurst could see her face, angry, disturbed; and the youth's--who would
have thought that red-faced yokel could look so distraught! And
painfully affected by that sight, he jumped up. They saw him then.
Megan dropped her hands, and shrank behind a tree trunk; the boy gave an
angry grunt, rushed at the bank, scrambled over and vanished. Ashurst
went slowly up to her. She was standing quite still, biting her lip-very
pretty, with her fine, dark hair blown loose about her face, and her eyes
cast down.

"I beg your pardon," he said.

She gave him one upward look, from eyes much dilated; then, catching her
breath, turned away. Ashurst followed.

"Megan!"

But she went on; and taking hold of her arm, he turned her gently round
to him.

"Stop and speak to me."

"Why do you beg my pardon? It is not to me you should do that."

"Well, then, to Joe."

"How dare he come after me?"

"In love with you, I suppose."

She stamped her foot.

Ashurst uttered a short laugh. "Would you like me to punch his head?"

She cried with sudden passion:

"You laugh at me-you laugh at us!"

He caught hold of her hands, but she shrank back, till her passionate
little face and loose dark hair were caught among the pink clusters of
the apple blossom. Ashurst raised one of her imprisoned hands and put
his lips to it. He felt how chivalrous he was, and superior to that clod
Joe--just brus