been gold: a tatter of Chantilly lace hung by a thread: it is another of the relics that I have unearthed in the writing of this narrative.
“I thought men never noticed dresses?” my love said suddenly, a pleased light in her eyes (I thought) in spite of all. “Do you really remember it?”
“I remember every one of them,” I said indignantly; and so I did.
“You will wonder why I wear it,” said Eva, quickly. “It was the first that came that terrible night. They have given me many since. But I won’t wear one of them - not one!”
We were walking away together. We turned on the top of the bank. And there the old clergyman was planted on the moorside, and watching us intently from under his hollowed hands.
“Well, I’m hanged!” exclaimed Rattray, as the hands fell and their owner beat a hasty retreat. My companion said no more;