‘By my troth, no. How my back aches, sitting thus upright.’
‘Is that better?’
‘Ye—yes. Brion, will you always love me?’
‘O, Joan, till I die!’
‘Yet you know not what you love.’
‘I am content. I will not ask, since you put a seal upon my lips. Shall we meet here every day?’
‘Not for worlds! Well, you must keep it a secret.’
‘Marry, will I! How do you come?’
‘The way you came; or, when I ride Gritty, over the hill. We are much in company, sweet dear, and much alone together.’
‘You found this bower by chance?’