“A truce, my liege.”
“Granted, and any thing else, to the half of my kingdom.”
Rizpah startled the birds in the shrubbery to premature morning song, with a merry laugh. It was a finishing charge, that laugh, by which she carried her point, for the knight quickly questioned “Why this?”
“I was only thinking how odd thou wouldst appear if thou didst wear away my pepelum. Thy subjects would think their king mad, if he met them veiled as a woman.”
“Pardon, queen, I’ve been so absorbed, I forgot myself—” So saying, he gracefully transferred from his shoulder to hers the shawl she had permitted him for the night to wear. As the maiden adjusted it, something fell out of its folds, glittering to her feet.
“Findings keepings;” she laughed, and stooped to pick up the object. As she arose she turned it slowly toward the setting moon the better to inspect the find.
The knight was alarmed, but it was too late to prevent her examination now of his Teutonic cross and chain.
At a glance, Rizpah saw it was an emblem, of all others, hated by her people, and with a low, startled cry she made a motion as if to hurl it from her, but she checked herself with a powerful effort; suddenly turning her black, piercing eyes upon her companion she took a step back. She stood there the embodiment of an imperative question.
The knight quietly said: “Be calm, dear maid.”
Over her countenance passed a cloud which to the man all too plainly said: “How darst thou use such terms to me?” and then the face hardened again to imperative interrogation.