Ashamed to profit by her reading of his feelings, he made a desperate effort to respond to her new mood. She saw the struggle and aided him. But in that hour the heart of Mary Montjoy went out for all eternity to the man before her. Change, disaster, calumny, misfortune, would never shake her faith and belief in him. He had lost in the struggle of the preceding night, but here he had won that which death only could end, and perhaps not death.
Slowly they ascended the hill together, both silent and thoughtful. He took her little hand to help her up the terraces, and, forgetting, held it until, at the gate, she suddenly withdrew it in confusion and gazed at him with startled eyes.
The tall, soldierly form of the colonel, her father, stood at the top of the steps.
"See," said Edward, to relieve her confusion, "one of the old knights guarding the castle!"
And then she called out, gayly:
"Sir knight, I bring you a prisoner." The old gentleman laughed and entered into the pleasantry.
"Well, he might have surrendered to a less fair captor! Enter, prisoner, and proclaim your colors," Edward started, but recovered, and, looking up boldly, said:
"An honorable knight errant, but unknown until his vow is fulfilled." They both applauded and the supper bell rang.