‘Will you marry me, Brion?’
‘O, Joan, you are an artless darling! What shall I say; what can I do!’ He clutched at his young forehead. ‘I may not ask: my tongue is tied: I will not know; yet, not knowing, how can I answer? “Maids must come to marry,” quotha! But whom, whom? Not a wild man’s loathed alternative? Whom did you mean, Joan? And must it be he or death? Ah, that we two were of an age to wed!’
‘Well, I will wait for you, an you ask me.’
‘Will you wait? Will you dare? May he not force you?’
‘He will not—no, never. I will throw myself from the Lover’s Leap first.’
This was a great sheer crag on the Buckland side of Holne Chase, and known by name and sight to Brion.
‘Will you, Joan?’ he said. The threat was wild and tragic, yet he could not associate this loveling, so gentle-soft, with such a deed. Nor could she herself, it seemed, in grim earnest; for she added:—
‘But he will not force me—his way is colder. It will be, at the worst, “Take him, or never see my face again. I parley with no wilful child.” Then, an he drive me from his door, I will come to you.’
‘He could not be so base! The hard oak would refuse to close upon you; the skies would weep a flood to cast you back.’
The girl laughed, a little tearfully; and Brion laughed ruefully in response.