Solemnly, in severe reproof, she shook her head, from which the hood had fallen back, but there was a smile upon her lips, and laughter in her eyes. Oh! she was beautiful, and at the sight of her Peter’s heart stood still. Then, remembering what he had just said, and certain other things that Master Castell had said, he blushed so deeply that her own cheeks went red in sympathy. It was foolish, but she could not help it, for about Peter this morning there was something strange, something that bred blushes.
“For whom are you gathering violets so early,” she asked, “when you ought to be praying for that Scotchman’s soul?”
“I care nothing for his soul,” answered Peter testily. “If the brute had one, he can look after it himself; and I was gathering the violets—for you.”
She stared. Peter was not in the habit of making her presents of flowers. No wonder he had looked strange.
“Then I will help you to tie them. Do you know why I am up so early? It is for your sake. I behaved badly to you last night, for I was cross because you wanted to thwart me about seeing the king. I never thanked you for all you did, you brave Peter, though I thanked you enough in my heart. Do you know that when you stood there with that sword, in the middle of those Englishmen, you looked quite noble? Come out into the sunlight, and I will thank you properly.”
In his agitation Peter let the remainder of the flowers fall. Then an idea struck him, and he answered:
“Look! I can’t; if you are really grateful for nothing at all, come in here and help me to pick up these violets—a pest on their short stalks!”
She hesitated a little, then by degrees drew nearer, and, bending down, began to find the flowers one by one. Peter had scattered them wide, so that at first the pair were some way apart, but when only a few remained, they drew close. Now there was but one violet left, and, both stretching for it, their hands met. Margaret held the violet, and Peter held Margaret’s fingers. Thus linked they straightened themselves, and as they rose their faces were very near together and oh! most sweet were Margaret’s wonderful eyes; while in the eyes of Peter there shone a flame. For a second they looked at each other, and then of a sudden he kissed her on the lips.
CHAPTER IV.
LOVERS DEAR.
“Peter!” gasped Margaret—“Peter!”