Smith, coming upon him near the farm, promised to break his head for him if he found him about again. But he twisted his little black moustache with such a bellicose air and rolled such big, black fierce eyes at Smith that this promise came to noth-ing. Smith, however, told the girl that she must be mad to take up with a man who was surely wrong in his head. All the same, when she heard him in the gloaming whistle from beyond the orchard a couple of bars of a weird and mournful tune, she would drop whatever she had in her hand--she would leave Mrs. Smith in the middle of a sentence --and she would run out to his call. Mrs. Smith called her a shameless hussy. She answered noth-ing. She said nothing at all to anybody, and went on her way as if she had been deaf. She and I alone all in the land, I fancy, could see his very real beauty. He was very good-looking, and most graceful in his bearing, with that something wild as of a woodland creature in his aspect. Her moth-er moaned over her dismally whenever the girl came to see her on her day out. The father was surly, but pretended not to know; and Mrs. Finn once told her plainly that 'this man, my dear, will do you some harm some day yet.' And so it went on.
They could be seen on the roads, she tramping stol-idly in her finery--grey dress, black feather, stout boots, prominent white cotton gloves that caught your eye a hundred yards away; and he, his coat slung picturesquely over one shoulder, pacing by her side, gallant of bearing and casting tender glances upon the girl with the golden heart. Iwonder whether he saw how plain she was. Perhaps among types so different from what he had ever seen, he had not the power to judge; or perhaps he was seduced by the divine quality of her pity.
"Yanko was in great trouble meantime. In his country you get an old man for an ambassador in marriage affairs. He did not know how to pro-ceed. However, one day in the midst of sheep in a field (he was now Swaffer's under-shepherd with Foster) he took off his hat to the father and de-clared himself humbly. 'I daresay she's fool enough to marry you,' was all Foster said. 'And then,' he used to relate, 'he puts his hat on his head, looks black at me as if he wanted to cut my throat, whistles the dog, and off he goes, leaving me to do the work.' The Fosters, of course, didn't like to lose the wages the girl earned: Amy used to give all her money to her mother. But there was in Foster a very genuine aversion to that match. He con-tended that the fellow was very good with sheep, but was not fit for any girl to marry. For one thing, he used to go along the hedges muttering to himself like a dam' fool; and then, these foreign-ers behave very queerly to women sometimes. And perhaps he would want to carry her off somewhere --or run off himself. It was not safe. He preached it to his daughter that the fellow might ill-use her in some way. She made no answer. It was, they said in the village, as if the man had done something to her. People discussed the matter. It was quite an excitement, and the two went on 'walking out' together in the face of opposition.
Then something unexpected happened.
"I don't know whether old Swaffer ever under-stood how much he was regarded in the light of a father by his foreign retainer. Anyway the rela-tion was curiously feudal. So when Yanko asked formally for an interview--'and the Miss too' (he called the severe, deaf Miss Swaffer simply Miss)--it was to obtain their permission to marry.
Swaffer heard him unmoved, dismissed him by a nod, and then shouted the intelligence into Miss Swaffer's best ear. She showed no surprise, and only remarked grimly, in a veiled blank voice, 'He certainly won't get any other girl to marry him.'
"It is Miss Swaffer who has all the credit of the munificence: but in a very few days it came out that Mr. Swaffer had presented Yanko with a cot-tage (the cottage you've seen this morning) and something like an acre of ground--had made it over to him in absolute property. Willcox expe-dited the deed, and I remember him telling me he had a great pleasure in making it ready. It re-cited: 'In consideration of saving the life of my beloved grandchild, Bertha Willcox.'
"Of course, after that no power on earth could prevent them from getting married.
"Her infatuation endured. People saw her go-ing out to meet him in the evening. She stared with unblinking, fascinated eyes up the road where he was expected to appear, walking freely, with a swing from the hip, and humming one of the love-tunes of his country. When the boy was born, he got elevated at the 'Coach and Horses,' essayed again a song and a dance, and was again ejected.
People expressed their commiseration for a woman married to that Jack-in-the-box. He didn't care.
There was a man now (he told me boastfully) to whom he could sing and talk in the language of his country, and show how to dance by-and-by.
"But I don't know. To me he appeared to have grown less springy of step, heavier in body, less keen of eye. Imagination, no doubt; but it seems to me now as if the net of fate had been drawn closer round him already.
"One day I met him on the footpath over the Talfourd Hill. He told me that 'women were fun-ny.' I had heard already of domestic differences.
People were saying that Amy Foster was begin-ning to find out what sort of man she had married.
He looked upon the sea with indifferent, unseeing eyes. His wife had snatched the child out of his arms one day as he sat on the doorstep crooning to it a song such as the mothers sing to babies in his mountains. She seemed to think he was doing it some harm. Women are funny. And she had ob-jected to him praying aloud in the evening. Why?
He expected the boy to repeat the prayer aloud after him by-and-by, as he used to do after his old father when he was a child--in his own country.
