So, by her window-square we stood; ay, with our lanterns there we
stood,
And he along with us,—not singing, waiting for a sign;
And when we’d quired her carols three a light was lit and out looked
she,
A shawl about her bedgown, and her colour red as wine.
V
And sweetly then she bowed her thanks, and smiled, and spoke aloud her
thanks;
When lo, behind her back there, in the room, a man appeared.
I knew him—one from Woolcomb way—Giles Swetman—honest as the day,
But eager, hasty; and I felt that some strange trouble neared.