“My heart?”
“I have that already,” she answered mischievously. “The amber heart, please; I must bind it to the chain.”
“Where did you learn that song?”
“I made it up all by myself,” said Helena triumphantly, dangling the chain before him. “Do you think that only Crispin is a poet?”
“No, my Sappho.”
“There is a chain of my hair and a talisman attached to keep you from harm, so bend your head, my knight, and I will give it to you.”
Maurice, entering into the spirit of her charming humor, bowed his head, over which she flung the slender chain of hair, then, kissing him on the forehead, leaned back and clapped her hands gayly.
“There! now you are safe. Nothing can harm you while you wear that.”
“Nothing can harm me while I think of you,” he whispered tenderly, taking her in his arms; “your love is my safeguard both in peace and war.”
“Oh dear me!” sighed Helena, as she pillowed her head on his shoulder; “what nonsense it is, Maurice! Still, it’s very pleasant nonsense.”