‘He said!’ cried Bagott. ‘A prating magpie, lacking tact and sense! No more a Judge, quotha? I’ll bridle him, by God!’ He fumed and rocked, muttering incoherences. ‘What further?’ he said presently.
The boy faced the question steadily.
‘Only that you would love me,’ said he, ‘if I would love you—as I will.’
The other put his knife from him, leaning back in his chair. A wonderful new softness had come to his face.
‘Thou wilt?’ said he. ‘Then that’s a bargain with us. Shall we be done henceforth with subterfuge? I like thy trusty eyes. They are thy—heart, but we’ll be friends! What if I am no longer Judge? You’ll love me none the less?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘That’s sweet and well. What other question put and answered? Whither we go?’
‘He told me ’twas to a house, the Moated Grange, where you was used to dwell in Devon.’
‘A fair country, Brion, where we may live in peace and comfort, forgetting all the plots and hateful toils that stretch to snare men’s feet in these cursed warrens of the town. Harlequin is to take you.’
‘Harlequin?’