t, when
he talked of bees seeking honey on his lady's lips. That fancy isn't so
artificial as it seemed.'

'That's all very pretty'--she spoke between quick breaths, and tried to
laugh--'but you have thrown my hat on the ground. Give it me, and take
the ivy for yourself.'

'I am no Bacchus.' He tossed the wreath aside. 'Take the hat; I like you
in it just as well.--You shall have a girdle of woodbine, instead.'

'I don't believe your explanation,' said Nancy.

'Not believe me?'

With feigned indignation, he moved to capture her again; but Nancy
escaped. Her hat in her hand, she darted forward. A minute's run brought
her into the open space, and there, with an exclamation of surprise, she
stopped. Tarrant, but a step or two behind her, saw at almost the same
moment the spectacle which had arrested her flight. Before them stood
two little donkeys munching eagerly at a crop of rosy-headed thistles.
They--the human beings--looked at each other; Tarrant burst into
extravagant laughter, and Nancy joined him. Neither's mirth was
spontaneous; Nancy's had a note of nervous tension, a ring of something
like recklessness.

'Where can they come from?' she asked.

'They must have strayed a long way. I haven't seen any farm or
cottage.--But perhaps some one is with them. Wait, I'll go on a little,
and see if some boy is hanging about.'

He turned the sharp corner, and disappeared. For two or three minutes
Nancy stood alone, watching the patient little grey beasts, whose
pendent ears, with many a turn and twitch, expressed their joy in the
feast of thistles. She watched them in seeming only; her eyes beheld
nothing.

A voice sounded from behind her--'Nancy!' Startled, she saw Tarrant
standing high up, in a gap of the hedge, on the bank which bordered the
wood.

'How did you get there?'

'Went round.' He showed the direction with his hand. 'I can see no one,
but somebody may come. It's wonderful here, among the trees. Come over.'

'How can I?--We will drive the donkeys away.'

'No; it's much better here; a wild wood, full of wonderful things. The
bank isn't too steep. Give me your hand, and you can step up easily,
just at this place.'

She drew near.

'Your sunshade first.'

'Oh, it's too much trouble,' she said languidly, all but plaintively.
'I'd rather be here.'

'Obey!--Your sunshade--'

She gave it.

'Now, your hand.'

He was kneeling on the top of the bank. With very little exertion,
Nancy found hers