"I had it of my godmother," Merrylips answered, and she was almost too faint to notice what she said. "My godmother, with whom I dwelt at Larkland—Lady Sybil Fernefould—she for whom I am named."
Rupert let his hands fall from the cord with which he was fumbling. In blank surprise he looked at her, and suddenly from his face she knew what she had said. In her dismay she roused from her faintness.
"Oh, Rupert!" she cried, and hid her hot face in her hands. "And I promised not to tell—and I have told!"
It seemed to her a long time that she sat with her face hidden and grieved for her broken promise. Then she heard Rupert say in a puzzled voice, but quite gently:—
"Lady Sybil—for whom thou art named? But then—Why, Tibbott, is it true thou art not Tibbott—that thou art a little maid?"
"Ay!" she answered with her face hidden.
Presently she felt her two hands found and taken into Rupert's hands.
"Prithee, look up!" he said. "And be not sorry. My word, I might ha' guessed it—only no one of all the men mistrusted! 'Twas because thou wast a maid, belike, thou hadst so tender a heart, even for the pestilent rebels. And I mocked at thee for it. I am right sorry, mistress."
She looked up at Rupert then. She felt that at last they knew each other and would be friends. She was so glad that she smiled at him, and he too laughed as he knelt before her.
"How thou didst trick us all!" he cried. "Why, Tibbott—mistress, I mean—"