“But will it hold to-day?”
“Ay, I think so. I think that is why the holy Sir Andrew showed it to me, knowing something of our case, for he is my confessor when I can get to him.”
“Then, sweet, you are safe!” exclaimed Hugh, with a sigh of relief.
“Ay, so safe that to-morrow Father Nicholas, the French chaplain in his train, has been warned to wed me to my lord Acour—that is, if I’m there to wed.”
“And if this Acour is here, I’ll seek him out to-night and challenge him, Eve,” and Hugh laid hand upon his sword.
“Doubtless,” she replied sarcastically, “Sir Edmund Acour, Count of Noyon, Seigneur of Cattrina, will find it honour to accept the challenge of Hugh de Cressi, the merchant’s youngest son. Oh, Hugh, Hugh! are your wits frozen like this winter marsh? Not thus can you save me.”
The young man thought a while, staring at the ground and biting his lips. Then he looked up suddenly and said:
“How much do you love me, Eve?”
With a slow smile, she opened her arms, and next moment they were kissing each other as heartily as ever man and maid have kissed since the world began, so heartily, indeed, that when at length she pushed him from her, her lovely face was as red as the cloak she wore.
“You know well that I love you, to my sorrow and undoing,” she said, in a broken voice. “From childhood it has been so between us, and till the grave takes one or both it will be so, and for my part beyond it, if the priests speak true. For, whatever may be your case, I am not one to change my fancy. When I give, I give all, though it be of little worth. In truth, Hugh, if I could I would marry you to-night, though you are naught but a merchant’s son, or even——” And she paused, wiping her eyes with the back of her slim, strong hand.