Book Two The Woman - Chapter 22 In Which The Ancient Discourses on Love

I am forging a bar for my cottage door: such a bar as might give
check to an army, or resist a battering-ram; a bar that shall
defy all the night-prowlers that ever prowled; a stout, solid
bar, broad as my wrist, and thick as my two fingers; that,
looking upon it as it lies in its sockets across the door,
Charmian henceforth may sleep and have no fear.

The Ancient sat perched on his stool in the corner, but for once
we spoke little, for I was very busy; also my mind was plunged in
a profound reverie.

And of whom should I be thinking but of Charmian, and of the
dimple in her shoulder?

"'Tis bewitched you be, Peter!" said the old man suddenly,
prodding me softly with his stick, "bewitched as ever was," and
he chuckled.

"Bewitched!" said I, starting.

"Ah!--theer you stand wi' your 'ammer in your 'and--a-starin' an'
a-starin' at nobody, nor nothin'--leastways not as 'uman eye can
see, an' a-sighin', an' a-sighin'--"

"Did I indeed sigh, Ancient?"

"Ah--that ye did--like a cow, Peter, or a 'orse 'eavy an' tired
like. An' slow you be, an' dreamy--you as was so bright an'
spry; theer's some--fools, like Joel Amos, as might think as
'twere the work o' ghostes, or demons, a-castin' their spells on
ye, or that some vampire 'ad bit ye in the night, an' sucked your
blood as ye lay asleep, but I know different--you 'm just
bewitched, Peter!" and he chuckled again.