The Hollow amid the Ferns

The hill opposite Bathsheba's dwelling extended, a mile off, into an uncultivated tract of land, dotted at this season with tall thickets of brake fern plump and diaphanous from recent rapid growth, and radiant in hues of clear and untainted green.

At eight o'clock this midsummer evening, whilst the bristling ball of gold in the west still swept the tips of the ferns with its long luxuriant rays, a soft brushing-by of garments might have been heard among them, and Bathsheba appeared in their midst, their soft, feathery arms caressing her up to her shoulders. She paused, turned, went back over the hill and half way to her own door, whence she cast a farewell glance upon the spot she had just left, having resolved not to remain near the place after all.

She saw a dim spot of artificial red moving round the shoulder of the rise. It disappeared on the other side.

She waited one minute - two minutes - thought of Troy's disappointment at her non-fulfilment of a promised engagement, till she again ran along the field, clambered over the bank, and followed the original direction. She was now literally trembling and panting at this her temerity in such an errant undertaking; her breath came and went quickly, and her eyes shone with an infrequent light. Yet go she must. She reached the verge of a pit in the middle of the ferns. Troy stood in the bottom, looking up towards her.

`I heard you rustling through the fern before I saw you,' he said, coming up and giving her his hand to help her down the slope.

The pit was a saucer-shaped concave, naturally formed, with a top diameter of about thirty feet, and shallow enough to allow the sunshine to reach their heads. Standing in the centre, the sky overhead was met by a circular horizon of fern: this grew nearly to the bottom of the slope and then abruptly ceased. The middle within the belt of verdure was floored with a thick flossy carpet of moss and grass intermingled, so yielding that the foot was half-buried within it.

`Now,' said Troy, producing the sword, which, as he raised it into the sunlight, gleamed a sort of greeting, like a living thing; `first, we have four right and four left cuts; four right and four left thrusts. Infantry cuts and guards are more interesting than ours, to my mind; but they are not so swashing. They have seven cuts and three thrusts. So much as a preliminary. Well, next, our cut one is as if you were sowing your corn - so.' Bathsheba saw a sort of rainbow, upside down in the air, and Troy's arm was still again. `Cut two, as if you were hedging - so. Three, as if you were reaping - so. Four, as if you were threshing - in that way. Then the same on the left. The thrusts are these: one, two, three, four, right; one, two, three, four, left' He repeated them. `Have `em again?' he said. `One, two--

She hurriedly interrupted: `I'd rather not; though I don't mind your twos and fours; but your ones and threes are terrible!'

`Very well. I'll let you off the ones and threes. Next, cuts, points and guards altogether.' Troy duly exhibited them. `Then there's pursuing practice, in this way.' He gave the movements as before. `There, those are the stereotyped forms. The infantry have two most diabolical upward cuts, which we are too humane to use. Like this - three, four.'

`How murderous and bloodthirsty!'

`They are rather deathy. Now I'll be more interesting, and let you see some loose play - giving all the cuts and points, infantry and cavalry, quicker than lightning, and as promiscuously - with just enough rule to regulate instinct and yet not to fetter it. You are my antagonist, with this difference from real warfare, that I shall miss you every time by one hair's breadth, or perhaps two. Mind you don't flinch, whatever you do.'

`I'll be sure not to!' she said invincibly.