“Nay, nay, 'tis nought,” said he good-humouredly, mistaking.
“Denys?”
“Well?—But—Hallo! How know you my name is—”
“Denys of Burgundy!”
“Why, ods bodikins! I know you not, and you know me.”
“By Gerard's letter. Crossbow! beard! handsome! The divell is dead.”
“Sword of Goliah! this must be she. Red hair, violet eyes, lovely face. But I took ye for a married wife, seeing ye—-”
“Tell me my name,” said she quickly.
“Margaret Brandt.”
“Gerard? Where is he? Is he in life? Is he well? Is he coming? Is he come? Why is he not here? Where have ye left him? Oh tell me! prithee, prithee, prithee, tell me!”