"I was put out of combat the night I got it," he explained earnestly, troubled even now because he had not obeyed her summons. "I was dizzy; I could not walk."
"But now, monsieur? Does it heal?"
"It is well—almost. 'Twas but a slash on the arm."
"Oh, then have I no anxiety," she murmured, with a smile that twinkled across her lips and was gone. "I cannot perceive you to be disabled, monsieur."
"My sweeting!" he laughed out. "If I cannot hold a sword yet, I can hold my love."
"But you must not, monsieur," she cried, fear, that had slept a moment, springing on her again. "You must go, and this instant, while the others are yet away. I knew you, Blanche knew you; some other will. Oh, go, go, I implore you!"
"If you will come with me."
She made no answer, save to look at him as at a madman.
"Nay, I mean not now, past the sentry. I am not so crazy as that. But you will slip out, you will find a way, and come to me."
Silently, sadly, she shook her head. His arms loosened, and she freed herself from him. But instantly he was close on her again.