So presently she come to her point, and, fingering that scroll she had, very downcast and blushful, said: “You are a good knight, Sir Stranger, and strong and experienced in arms.”
“Your Ladyship’s description wakes my ambition to deserve your words.”
“And generous, I have noticed, and as indulgent to page and squire of tender years as you are the contrary to stronger folk.”
“And if this were so, Madam,” I asked, “what then?”
“Oh! only,” she said, wondrous shy and frightened, “that I have here a cartel from a friend of mine, a youth of noble family, who has heard of thee, and would go to the wars in your company—as your comrade, I mean: that is, if you would take him.”
“Why, damsel, the wars are free to every one; but I am in no mood just now to tutor a young gallant in slitting Frenchmen’s throats!”
“But this one, Sir, very particularly wishes to travel with you, of whose prowess he is so convinced. He has, alas! quarreled with those at whose side he should most naturally ride—he will be no trouble; for my sake you must take him. And,” said the cunning girl, standing on tiptoe to be the nearer to my ear, “he is rich, though friendless by a rash love—he will gladly see to both your horses and disburse your passage over to France, even for the honor of remembering that he did it.”
Now, this touched me very nearly. One by one my rings had gone, and that morning, after paying scores and largess, in truth I had found my wallet completely empty once again! If this youth had money, even though it were but sufficient to buy corn for our chargers on the way, and pay the ferry over to yonder fair field of adventure, why, there was no denying he would be a very convenient traveling companion, and it would go hard but that I could teach him something in return. Thinking this, I lifted my eyes, and found those of Isobel watching the workings of my face with pretty cunning.
“In truth, maid, if thy friend has so much gold as would safely land us with King Edward in Flanders, why, I must confess that just at present that does greatly commend him to me. What sort of a man is he?”
This question seemed to overwhelm the lady, who blushed and hung her head like a poppy that has stood a week’s drought.