Part 13 (2/2)
”Do you hear the ripple of the water among the sedges?” she whispered.
”It sets me dreaming; and you--do you ever dream, Michael?”
The soft cadences of her words stole like soothing music to his throbbing heart.
”One dream I have,” he answered huskily, ”and only one. Yet when I dream it I pray never to awake.”
”Tell it to me,” she demanded, smiling as she turned her face half from him.
”I dare not.”
”I thought you brave. But is it so ill a fancy, then, that comes to you in your sleep?”
”Rather so fair that I would never look away.”
”Then I would see it too. Tell me of it.”
”'Twere easier for you to look in your mirror, mistress, for tongue of mine could never tell half the charms of which I dare to dream.”
She laughed again, laying her hand on his shoulder very lightly.
”I am glad you are my knight,” she said, with the whimsical frankness of a child. ”For when you say your pretty speeches they sound true, and not hollow, like those of the others.”
Vaguely jealous, he was yet grateful.
”Your knight,” he answered, in that deep, low voice of his which rang with suppressed feeling, ”to pluck aside the thorns and s.h.i.+eld my lady with my life.”
Her lips were parted, smiling at a picture his words conveyed.
Yet her eyes challenged his.
”But you have other work to do, that takes you away from your lady's side.”
He drew a sharp breath.
”Aye,” he answered more sternly. ”Pray G.o.d I may not forget.”
”Forget?”
”That of which you reminded me yourself, my lady.”
She flushed a little over the two last words.
”Your other work?”
”The honour of Berrington.”
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