pretty woman should not have that easy grace; she should have exchanged
it for a matronly bearing by this time, and independence should have
yielded to subservience--to the male, to him. With her vivid hair and
eyes and her swift slenderness, Hazel had a fawn-like air as she
traversed the wavering shadows. She passed his tree without seeing him,
and stood listening. Then she began to plead with the truant. 'What for
did you run away, Foxy, my dear? Where be you? Come back along with me,
dear 'eart, for it draws to night!'

Reddin stepped from his tree and spoke to her.

With a stifled scream she turned to run away, but he intercepted her.

'No. I've waited long enough for this. So you're married to the parson,
after all?'

'Ah.'

'You'll be sorry.'

'What for do you come tormenting of me, Mr. Reddin?'

'You were meant for me. You're mine.'

'Folk allus says I'm theirs. I'd liefer be mine.'

'As you wouldn't marry me, Hazel, the least you can do is to come and
talk to me sometimes.'

'Oh, I canna!'