But her tears flowed softly, and though he stroked her cheek to dry them, they flowed still and her body shook with her grief.
“Tell me ye’ve faith in me, dear?” whispered he. “Tell me ye feel as ye can trust me?”
She did not answer; the sobs that she strove against would not be stilled.
“Why, Bess!” whispered he again, half frightened. “Ye’ll never be afraid to trust me?”
Then she understood and raised her head.
“Trust ye?” she echoed bravely, and her eyes shone in the moonlight. “Trust ye? D’ye think I take ye for a blackguard?”
He kissed her passionately and she dried her eyes.
“It ain’t that,” said she, and tried to smile. “It’s only as Lady Day’s a long way off.”
The moon had topped the tallest tree that bent and quivered in the wind; she might have been hurrying herself, so wildly the clouds hurried past her, so cruelly the moments hurried onward.
“They’ll be waitin’ supper for me,” said the girl with a little shudder, looking up at the trees. “Father’s been to market. He was to be late ’ome, but ’e’ll ’ave been back long afore this. Oh dear!”