Must be Sir Everards lady. And my fears
At being caught a-trespassing were quick.
XIV
He looked so rueful that she laughed out loud. You
are forgiven, Mr. Deane. Even more,
I offer you the fishing, and am proud That you should find
it pleasant from this shore.
Nobody fishes now, my husband used To angle daily, and I too
with him.
He loved the spotted trout, and pike, and dace. He
even had a whim
That flies my fingers tied swiftly confused
The greater fish. And he must be excused,
Love weaves odd fancies in a lonely place.
XV
She sighed because it seemed so long ago, Those
days with Everard; unthinking took
The path back to the orchard. Strolling so She walked,
and he beside her. In a nook
Where a stone seat withdrew beneath low boughs, Full-blossomed,
hummed with bees, they sat them down.
She questioned him about the war, the share Her
husband had, and grown
Eager by his clear answers, straight allows
Her hidden hopes and fears to speak, and rouse
Her numbed love, which had slumbered unaware.
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