“No,” said Charmian, still intent upon the twig, “I have neither friends nor family nor money, and so being hungry—­I came back here, and ate up all the bacon.”

“Why, I hadn’t left much, if I remember.”

“Six slices!”

Now, as she stood, half in shadow, half in moonlight, I could not help but be conscious of her loveliness.  She was no pretty woman; beneath the high beauty of her face lay a dormant power that is ever at odds with prettiness, and before which I felt vaguely at a loss.  And yet, because of her warm beauty, because of the elusive witchery of her eyes, the soft, sweet column of the neck and the sway of the figure in the moonlight—­because she was no goddess, and I no shepherd in Arcadia, I clasped my hands behind me, and turned to look down into the stream.

“Indeed,” said I, speaking my thought aloud, “this is no place for a woman, after all.”

“No,” said she very softly.

“No—­although, to be sure, there are worse places.”

“Yes,” said she, “I suppose so.”

“Then again, it is very far removed from the world, so that a woman must needs be cut off from all those little delicacies and refinements that are supposed to be essential to her existence.”

“Yes,” she sighed.

“Though what,” I continued, “what on earth would be the use of a—­harp, let us say, or a pair of curling-irons in this wilderness, I don’t know.”

“One could play upon the one and curl one’s hair with the other, and there is a deal of pleasure to be had from both,” said she.

“Then also,” I pursued, “this place, as I told you, is said to be haunted—­not,” I went on, seeing that she was silent, “not that you believe in such things, of course?  But the cottage is very rough, and ill and clumsily furnished—­though, to be sure, it might be made comfortable enough, and—­”

“Well?” she inquired, as I paused.

“Then—­” said I, and was silent for a long time, watching the play of the moonbeams on the rippling water.

“Well?” said she again at last.

“Then,” said I, “if you are friendless, God forbid that I should refuse you the shelter of even such a place as this—­so—­if you are homeless, and without money—­stay here—­if you will—­so long as it pleases you.”

I kept my eyes directed to the running water at my feet as I waited her answer, and it seemed a very long time before she spoke.

“Are you fond of stewed rabbit?”

“Rabbit!” said I, staring.  “With onions!”

“Onions?”

“Oh, I can cook a little, and supper is waiting.”

“Supper?”

“So if you are hungry—­”

“I am ravenous!”

“Then why not come home and eat it?”

“Home?”

“Instead of echoing my words and staring the poor moon out of countenance?  Come,” and, with the word, she turned and led the way to the cottage.  And behold, the candles were lighted, the table was spread with a snowy cloth, and a pot simmered upon the hob:  a pot that gave forth an odor delectable, and over which Charmian bent forthwith, and into which she gazed with an anxious brow and thrust an inquiring fork.