Part 7 (1/2)
”Sweet flowers for sweeter wearer,” he said. ”Would I were indeed your knight, little mistress, so should you ever walk on primrose paths.”
She looked at him from over the great posy she held in her hands.
”Nay,” she replied, ”I think the primrose path would soon be left if you were no more faithful than you have been these ten years. Alas! I remember now the tears I shed watching vainly day by day under the shadow of the old wall for my playmate.”
”You watched?”
”And wept.”
”I thought----”
”And so did I--that you had vowed to be my true knight.”
”It was before you knew my name--or understood.”
”Understood what?”
She was plucking at green leaves and would not spare him.
”That your father would not have had you speak to a traitor's son.”
”Bah! But my father died four years ago.”
”The traitor's son remains.”
”We cannot answer for our fathers' sins. As long as _you_ are not a traitor, what matter?”
For answer he silently raised her little hand to his lips.
She was smiling as presently she withdrew it. So, after all, the lover had come.
”You will be my friend?” she asked simply; but her eyes, under veiled lashes, flashed with coquetry.
”To death if you will have me.”
”In life I should prefer it. I need a friend, sir.”
”I am sure so fair a lady must have many.”
”Not one.”
”Not one? But you have a brother?”
”Morry! There! I must not be scornful, for I love him devoutly--when he's sober. But the Prince of Wales has admitted him into his most select circle. You understand, sir?”
Understand! The Prince of Wales's debts, extravagances, follies, and empty-headed good-nature were the gossip of every ale-house throughout England!
Yes, Michael Berrington understood.
”There is only old Nurse Bond,” sighed Gabrielle. ”My father had no kin and my mother's are in Brittany. Sometimes I vow that I will go out to them for protection.”