Part 43 (1/2)
”True, for the moment.”
”We--you won't be married to-night,” she laughed, with rising colour, and turning away as though a tuft of rank gra.s.s by her had caught her attention and for some hidden reason much deserved it.
”By G.o.d's help we've come out of that snare,” said I gravely.
She said nothing for a moment or two; then she turned to me again, asking,
”If your friend furnishes money, can we reach London in two days?”
”I'm sorry,” I answered, ”but the journey will need nearer three, unless we travel at the King's pace or the Duke of Monmouth's.”
”You needn't come all the way with me. Set me safe on the road, and go where your business calls you.”
”For what crime is this punishment?” I asked with a smile.
”No, I'm serious. I'm not seeking a compliment from you. I see that you're sad. You have been very kind to me, Simon. You risked life and liberty to save me.”
”Well, who could do less? Besides, I had given my promise to my lord your father.”
She made no reply, and I, desiring to warn her against every danger, related what had pa.s.sed at the cottage, omitting only Monmouth's loudmouthed threats against myself. At last, moved by some impulse of curiosity rather than anything higher, I repeated how the Duke had said that, sooner than lose her altogether, he would have married her, and how my Lord Carford had been still his humble servant in this project as in any other. She flushed again as she heard me, and plucked her tuft of gra.s.s.
”Indeed,” I ended, ”I believe his Grace spoke no more than the truth; I've never seen a man more in love.”
”And you know well what it is to be in love, don't you?”
”Very well,” I answered calmly, although I thought that the taunt might have been spared. ”Therefore it may well be that some day I shall kiss the hand of her Grace the d.u.c.h.ess.”
”You think I desire it?” she asked.
”I think most ladies would.”
”I don't desire it.” She sprang up and stamped her foot on the ground, crying again, ”Simon, I do not desire it. I wouldn't be his wife. You smile! You don't believe me?”
”No offer is refused until it's made,” said I, and, with a bow that asked permission, I took a draught of the ale.
She looked at me in great anger, her cheek suffused with underlying red and her dark eyes sparkling.
”I wish you hadn't saved me,” she said in a fury.
”That we had gone forward to Calais?” I asked maliciously.
”Sir, you're insolent.” She flung the reproof at me like a stone from a catapult. But then she repeated, ”I wouldn't be his wife.”
”Well, then, you wouldn't,” said I, setting down the jug and rising.
”How shall we pa.s.s the day? For we mustn't go to Dover till nightfall.”
”I must be all day here with you?” she cried in visible consternation.