“She is indeed,” cried Alleyne from his heart, all tingling at this sudden turn of the talk.
“And good?”
“As an angel.”
“And yet she loves you not?”
“Nay, I cannot say that she loves another.”
“Then you have hopes?”
“I could not live else.”
“Then must you strive to be worthy of her love. Be brave and pure, fearless to the strong and humble to the weak; and so, whether this love prosper or no, you will have fitted yourself to be honored by a maiden's love, which is, in sooth, the highest guerdon which a true knight can hope for.”
“Indeed, my lord, I do so strive,” said Alleyne; “but she is so sweet, so dainty, and of so noble a spirit, that I fear me that I shall never be worthy of her.”
“By thinking so you become worthy. Is she then of noble birth?”