“And you,” he retorted, “too little.”
“I? I do not ride at all. You know we have no horses.”
“It will be necessary for you to ride,” he said.
“Why so?” she asked him. “Haven’t I proved that I can walk?”
“Still,” he said, “I shall have horses brought tomorrow. Will you have me for riding master?”
“To ride I should need a habit.”
“Which I provide.”
She held her breath. For what was it “necessary” for her to ride if not that he was thinking of a future for her that jumped giddily with her ambition? Still, she kept her head; still, she sensed the value of offering this man persistent opposition, and all she said was “Are you rested now?”
He rose, to find himself aware of strange tremblings, not to be accounted for by tiredness, of a dampness on his brow, and, when he spoke, of a thickened voice. “You shall have the habit to-morrow,” he promised her.
“They burned warlocks once,” she mocked him. A warlock is a wizard. “Habits do not come in a day except by magic.”