It was September and there was a mist in the air, which thickened as they climbed to high ground. It hung like diamond drops on the hedges giving a fresh bloom to the wild guelder roses and a velvet coat to the plums of the blackthorn. Spiders' webs were festooned over the bells of the wild fuchsias which flourished in the road-side hedges. The silence was only broken by the clop-clop of their horses'
hoofs or the cries of the gulls, mournful as they always seemed on such days.
Caroline glanced over her shoulder at Melisande who always seemed to enjoy everything more than normal people did. Now she was revelling in the mist which the others would deplore.
They were riding two abreast and Fermor was beside Melisande, John Collings with Caroline. Caroline heard Fermor teasing Melisande, provoking that sudden joyous laugher.
John Collings was saying that he hoped Caroline would soon be able to come to parties again and that he would see her in the hunting field. They missed her.
Caroline angrily felt that he was sorry for her, that he was as aware as she was of the pleasure the two behind found in each other's company. She was not listening to John Collings; her attention was focussed on Melisande and Fermor.
"The mist grows thicker," said Melisande.
"It'll be dense on the moor," said Fermor.
"What if we are lost in it?"
"The piskies will carry you off. They set a ring round you and, hey presto! they appear in their hundreds. Fee-faw-fum! I smell the blood of an English. . . . No, no, of a little Mamazel, as they call her in these here parts ..."
Caroline could not resist breaking in. "He knows nothing about it, Mademoiselle St. Martin. He is not a Cornishman and he makes fun of our legends. And his attempt to imitate the dialect is very poor indeed."
"That's not quite true, Caroline. I don't make fun. I fear the piskies, the knackers and the whole brood. I bow my head when I pass old Tammy Trequint's shack, for fear she should ill-wish me."
"She would not do that!" cried Melisande. "She is a good witch. A white witch, she is called. She does not ill-wish. She will charm away your warts and cure your whooping cough ... or give you a love potion."
"Interesting," he said. "Now I have no warts, no whooping cough . . ."
Melisande said quickly: "Mrs. Soady has told me of her. Mrs. Soady comes from a pellar family and is the sister of a footling."
"What nonsense the servants talk!" interrupted Caroline. "They should not say such things to you."
"But I like to hear. It is such an excitement. I feel a delight. To live so near us. A white witch! There are so many interesting things to learn in the world, are there not?"
Fermor leaned towards her slightly. He said: "There are many interesting things for a young lady to learn, but Caroline means—
and I agree with her—that Mrs. Soady may not be the one to teach you such things, pellar family though she may have, and whatever it is that unnatural sister of hers may 06."
"But I would learn from all. Everyone has something to teach. Is that not so? It is different things we learn from different people.''
"You see, Caro," said Fermor. "She is wiser than we are. She leaves no cup untasted in her thirst for knowledge."
John Collings said: "There's a lot of superstition about here, Mademoiselle St. Martin. Particularly among the servant class. You mustn't judge us all by them."
"As a matter of fact," said Fermor, "these Cornish are all superstitious . . . every one of them. You and I, Mademoiselle, do not belong here. I am as much a foreigner as you are. We may snap our fingers at the piskies. They daren't touch us."
He began to sing in a loud and tuneful tenor voice:
"On the banks of Allan Water, When the sweet spring time did fall, Was the miller's lovely daughter, Fairest of them all . . ."
And his merry eyes sought those of Melisande as he sang.
Caroline, setting her lips firmly, thought: Why does he? And before me! Doesn't he care at all? Is he clearly telling me that when we are married he will make no attempt to be faithful ?
She began to talk to John Collings. How much easier life might have been if she had been affianced to someone like John. He had not town ways, town manners; he did not possess the allure of Fermor; yet how much happier she might have been.
He was still singing and he had reached the end of the song as they came near the outskirts of Liskeard.
"On the banks of Allan Water, When the winter snow fell fast, Still was seen the miller's daughter, Chilling blew the blast. But the miller's lovely daughter, Both from cold and care was free, On the banks of Allan Water There a corpse lay she."
Melisande could not refrain from laughing at the mock pathos in his voice. "But it is so sad," she protested.
"And I cannot forgive myself for making you sad!" declared Fermor. "It is just a song. There is no miller's daughter, you know."
"But there are many millers' daughters," said Melisande. "The one in the song . . . she is just in a song . . . just in the mind of the song writer. But many have loved and died for love, and that song is of them."
Caroline said: "The girl was a fool in any ease. She should have known the soldier was false; she should not have believed in that winning tongue of his."
"But how could she know?" asked Melisande.
"One can tell."
"She could not."
"Then, as I say, she was a fool."
"In my opinion," said John Collings, "she might have waited until a more suitable time of the year. I mean to say . . . drowning herself when the snow was falling! Why could she not wait until the spring!"
"She was so unhappy. She did not wish to live until the spring," said Melisande. "That was a long time ahead. She was so sad that the snow was of no importance to her."
"What a controversy my little song has aroused!" said Fermor.
"When," put in Caroline, "it is intended as nothing more than a warning to foolish young women who listen to the honied tongues of deceivers!"
"All lovers have honied tongues," said Melisande.
"A provision of nature!" agreed Fermor. "Like a thrush's song or a peacock's tail."
"But how should a young woman judge between the true and the false?"
"If she cannot, she must take the consequences," said Caroline.
"I will sing you another song," declared Fermor, "to show you that it is not always the young women who must take care."
Immediately he began:
"There came seven gipsies on a day, Oh, but they sang bonny, O! And they sang so sweet and they sang so clear, Down came the earl's lady, O.
They gave to her the nutmeg, And they gave to her the ginger; But she gave to them a far better thing, The seven gold rings off her fingers."
He sang on, of how the earl came home to find that his lady had gone off with the gipsies; and with mock feeling sang of the earl's pleading and of the lady's refusal to return to him.
"The Earl of Cashan is lying sick; Not one hair I'm sorry; I'd rather have a kiss from his fair lady's lips Than all his gold and his money."
They were all laughing—even Caroline—as they came into the town.
"Three cheers for the lovelorn Earl of Cashan for chasing away the gloom of that corpse—the tiresome miller's daughter!" cried Fermor.