Whose lover both feal and true,
Came riding forth from the sullen north
Her sweet white hand to woo.”
As the simple words were borne to their ears they both smiled.
“Apt words,” whispered Gerard gently, as he captured Gabrielle’s hand and carried it to his lips.
“How shall I thank you, Gabrielle?”
“You are not yet free, monsieur,” she answered, withdrawing her hand.
“Monsieur?” he whispered. “Was it not you who once reproved me for calling you mademoiselle?”
“If I think of you as Gerard, yet do I not know how to call you now.”
“I am Gerard, in truth.”