Yes, John Derringham had seemed to love her--not seemed--no--it was
real--he _had_ loved her. And she would never believe but that he loved
her still. This was only a wicked turn of those bad forces which she
knew were abroad in the world. Had she not seen evil once in a man's
face crouching in the bracken, as he set a trap for some poor hare one
dark and starry night? And she had passed on, and then, when she thought
he would be gone, she had returned and loosened the spring before it
could do any harm. That poacher had evil forces round him. They were
there always for the unwary, and had fastened upon John. She would never
doubt his love, and she herself could never change, and she would pour
upon him all her tender thoughts, and call to the night winds to help
her to do her duty.
So presently she remembered Cheiron, and turned round to see him far
away still, sitting quietly beneath a giant elm stroking his long,
silver beard.
"My dear, kind master!" she exclaimed to herself, and went rapidly back
to him.
"That is a charming girl--your young friend," he said to her, as he got
up to stroll to the gate; "full of life and common sense.
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