He surveyed her swiftly.
"It must be something I can wear on my helm without fear of its tattering," he explained. "I know not——"
"My glove?" she offered.
"Ay, the very thing!"
She stripped it from her right hand and gave it to him. Hugh bent low as he received it, then stood in his stirrups and waved it high in air.
"A pledge to you, Edith," he cried. "I swear to you by St. James, my father's patron saint and mine, that whilst I have this token no barriers shall keep me from you, if you call me to your aid. I will be a true knight to you, and serve you diligently in all that you require."
Her eyes shone.
"That was finely spoken, Hugh, and I know there was never knight so true as you will be."
"Ay, when I have won knighthood," rejoined Hugh, a trifle moodily, his first enthusiasm past. "We forget I have yet to earn the accolade—at an age when many men are warriors of name and fame."
"Fear not," she reassured him. "You will make your name, Hugh. How often have Uncle Godwin and Robin Fletcher said you would turn out such a man of your hands as your father was?"