Thus they ran and doubled, Fitzpiers warming with the chase, till the sound of their companions had quite died away.

He began to lose hope of ever overtaking her, when all at once, by way of encouragement, she turned to a fence in which there was a stile and leaped over it.

Outside the scene was a changed one--a meadow, where the half-made hay lay about in heaps, in the uninterrupted shine of the now high moon.
Fitzpiers saw in a moment that, having taken to open ground, she had placed herself at his mercy, and he promptly vaulted over after her.
She flitted a little way down the mead, when all at once her light form disappeared as if it had sunk into the earth.

She had buried herself in one of the hay-cocks.
Fitzpiers, now thoroughly excited, was not going to let her escape him thus.

He approached, and set about turning over the heaps one by one.
As soon as he paused, tantalized and puzzled, he was directed anew by an imitative kiss which came from her hiding-place, and by snatches of a local ballad in the smallest voice she could assume: "O come in from the foggy, foggy dew." In a minute or two he uncovered her.
"Oh, 'tis not Tim!" said she, burying her face.
Fitzpiers, however, disregarded her resistance by reason of its mildness, stooped and imprinted the purposed kiss, then sunk down on the next hay-cock, panting with his race.
"Whom do you mean by Tim ?" he asked, presently.
"My young man, Tim Tangs," said she.
"Now, honor bright, did you really think it was he ?" "I did at first." "But you didn't at last ?" "I didn't at last." "Do you much mind that it was not ?" "No," she answered, slyly.
Fitzpiers did not pursue his questioning.