It was with some little trepidation that I descended into the
Hollow, and walked along beside the brook, for soon I should meet
Charmian, and the memory of our parting, and the thought of this
meeting, had been in my mind all day long.
She would not be expecting me yet, for I was much before my usual
time, wherefore I walked on slowly beside the brook, deliberating
on what I should say to her, until I came to that large stone
where I had sat dreaming the night when she had stood in the
moonlight, and first bidden me in to supper. And now, sinking
upon this stone, I set my elbows upon my knees, and my chin in my
hands, and, fixing my eyes upon the ever-moving waters of the
brook, fell into a profound meditation.
From this I was suddenly aroused by the clink of iron and the
snort of a horse.
Wondering, I lifted my eyes, but the bushes were very dense, and
I could see nothing. But, in a little, borne upon the gentle
wind, came the sound of a voice, low and soft and very sweet
--whose rich tones there was no mistaking--followed, almost
immediately, by another--deeper, gruffer--the voice of a man.
With a bound, I was upon my feet, and had, somehow, crossed the
brook, but, even so, I was too late; there was the crack of a
whip, followed by the muffled thud of a horse's hoofs, which died
quickly away, and was lost in the stir of leaves.
I ground my teeth, and cursed that fate which seemed determined
that I should not meet this man face to face--this man whose back
I had seen but once--a broad-shouldered back clad in a blue coat.
I stood where I was, dumb and rigid, staring straight before me,
and once again a tremor passed over me, that came and went,
growing stronger and stronger, and, once again, in my head was
the thud, thud, thud of the hammer.
"'In Scarlet town, where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin',
Made every youth cry Well-a-way!
Her name was Barbara Allen.'"
She was approaching by that leafy path that wound its way along
beside the brook, and there came upon me a physical nausea, and
ever the thud of the hammer grew more maddening.
"'All in the merry month of May,
When green buds they were swellin',
Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.'"
Now, as she ended the verse, she came out into the open, and saw
me, and, seeing me, looked deliberately over my head, and went on
singing, while I--stood shivering: "'So, slowly, slowly rase she up
And slowly she came nigh him,
And when she drew the curtain by--
"Young man, I think you're dyin'!"'"