Presently she spoke, slow, softly, as one speaks looking backward into memory:—
“In Devon I said,—he hath a mind, inward, like to Stephen's mind. But if this were Stephen he 'd never cease to speak to me of love; so he 'd be discovered. But thou didst never speak to me of love. In Cheshire I said,—he hath given his all to buy the horn; presently he will ask for my love to repay him. I was afeared. I said, I could love him—were there no—Ah, 't is no matter what I said! At Yorkshire, at the manor-house, 't was lonely. I—I thought on thee, and yet 't was strange, I could not dispart thee from Stephen in my thought. I said,—I know he will presently woo me, and what shall I say? Then I began to see Stephen in thy face—and I was 'wildered sore. When I was wearied with wanhope, 't was thou upheld the quarrel of the people. Ah,—how couldst thou know how to do this if thou art Stephen? Stephen is a squire in the King's palace! I said—what shall I do?—Did ever maid love”—She hushed hastily and the colour flamed to her cheeks; she made as to rise, but the peddler had her hands, he was on his knees before her, looking in her eyes.
“Nay,—m-make an end to 't!” he whispered. “Did ever a maid—what?”
“I will not!”—she answered. “Let be!”
“Wh-which is 't thou l-lovest? Speak!”
“Wherefore wilt thou still mock me?” she cried in sudden anger, freeing her hands. “Have done with thy halting speech!”
He hung his head and knelt mute a moment,—then in a low voice, very sorrowful, and painfully stammering, he said:—
“A-a-alas, mistress!—I c-cannot be rid of 't n-now. T-taketh me unaware. If it of-fendeth thee, then indeed a-am I undone.”
She waited, aghast, watching him, but he knelt silent in his dejection.
“It doth not offend me,” she said at last, wistfully; and he, looking up, beheld her eyes full of tears.