“Never doubt it will. Think of my mascot.”
“What mascot?”
“That to which I owe my immortality—Cinderella’s slipper.”
Two arms came lovingly about his neck, and the tiniest cooing laugh was smothered there.
“What tickles you, you rogue?”
“I do not know. It was either that or crying, and the laugh came first. Shall we not exchange talismans? My lord, will you give me your jack-boot to keep?”
“So you will wear it in your bosom. In very truth, Isabel, I should have died but for it.”
“I believe—I am sure. Yet it did not save you this.” Very pitifully her fingers fluttered over the scar on his temple. “Ah, love!” she sighed, “how could you leave me so?”
For a minute she held him close, with little murmurs like a dove; then looked up fearfully:
“The trees draw nearer. Is it not deadly still? Indeed you must be going.”