A Clerk of Oxford, and His Adventures in the Barons' War

by Evelyn Everett-Green

Linda drew away yet a little farther, and glanced round the room as though seeking some way of exit. The excitement in Rogers manner was unpleasant, and the claim he was making upon her was revolting. She had always disliked this braggart, even though treating him with civility as her brother's friend. Of late she had come to dislike him more and more, and to shrink from his approach as one shrinks from the proximity of some noisome reptile. She had fancied that her sister had of late been seeking the society of Roger with pleasure; which thing rather perplexed her, because in private Lotta never masked her dislike and contempt for the bully and swaggerer, and of late had been more severe in her strictures than ever.

The very thought of what had taken place under the greenwood trees upon Midsummer Eve brought a flush to Linda's brow and a throb to her heart. Was it not then and there that Hugh le Barbier had breathed into her ears some words so full of music that the echo of them had never left them since? She had scarce dared to think what those words might imply. She was content to dream rather than to think, and she had lived in dreamland almost ever since. To be spoken to thus was unendurable, and the spirit of the maiden was roused.

"Methinks, sir, that thou hast been drinking, and hast overheated thy blood," she said, rising as if to leave the room. "I spoke scarce three words to thee upon that Midsummer Eve. I have done nothing and said nothing to warrant the claim thou dost make. Prithee let me go; I have had enough of this."

But Roger planted himself before the door, his sombre eyes glowing with passion.

"Beshrew me if thou be not a false and fickle jade! But I will brook none such answer from thee. See here—behold the token! Wilt thou dare to look upon it and tell me it was never thine?"

Linda looked, and started slightly. It was indeed a little trinket that had belonged to her for years. As a child she used to carry it as a charm about her neck; but latterly she had ceased to do this. She had not even missed it from the box where she kept it together with a few more little keepsakes and girlish treasures. How it had come into the possession of Roger she could not imagine. He saw her start, and his eyes gleamed.

"So!—thou dost not dare to deny the witness of thine eyes!"

"The heart was once mine," answered Linda quietly, "but I have not seen it for many weeks. I never gave it thee. It must have fallen into the hands of another, and so have come to thine. Let me pass, sir; we have had something too much of this already."

"What!" he cried furiously, "thou dost own to the trinket, but dost deny the gift? Thinkest thou that I will endure to be flouted thus?"

"I flout thee not, sir; I do but speak sooth. I gave thee no trinket—I gave thee no kiss. I have never bestowed upon thee aught save that meed of friendship which my brother's friend has a right to look for."