“Lucille!” I cried. “Lucille!” And the love in my heart surged up as do the waters at flood tide. “Then God has given you back to me, after all. Speak, love, are you mine, all mine; or has he any claim on you?” and I passed my arm about her, and looked at Sir George, as he stood there, sword in hand.
“Edward,” said Lucille, and she clung to me as a frightened bird might nestle, “most grievous has been my plight, and cruelly has Sir George Keith treated a defenseless maid, yet I will do him this justice. Though ever did he protest his love in burning words, almost to insult, yet, as I stand before you both, he gave me no dishonor. And for this I thank him, that I am restored to you, my love, true as when he lured me away. So that while he remains not entirely guiltless, the great shame is not upon him.”
“I thank you, madame,” spoke Sir George, bowing low, his hand on his sword, “most graciously do I thank you,” and his words became bitter, while his face grew cold and stern. “My poor love for you, poor in that ’tis all I have, is but my plea for that which I have done. I pray your forgiveness, though, perchance, I do not merit it. I would do again all that I have done, aye, a thousand times, if I stood but one chance of success, of even winning one loving word from you, madame.
“But you have spurned my love, as is your right, though once it was not so.”
Lucille shrank closer to me at that, and the words pierced me with a jealous anger. He saw his advantage and went on:
“Once you thought it no great task to smile with me. My words did not turn you from me then. That was----”
“Oh, my lord, I pray you to cease,” implored Lucille and Sir George became silent.
“Your pardon, madame,” he continued, after a moment’s pause, “enough of that, then. But though I have lost your love, I cannot, as I am a gentleman and a soldier, let the matter rest there. My enemy shall not thus easily steal you from me. I have two quarrels with him now from divers causes. Of the one he knows well. Of the other--well, I am ever willing to draw swords for a fair face,” and he bowed with mock courtesy.
“I would be weak, indeed,” he added, “did I give you up now after what I have gone through, and say to him, ‘welcome. Take my love from me. Take also your life which, of right, belongs to the King and to me, and go in peace!’ Nay, I have blood in my veins, not water.
“Three several times have I stood before you, Sir Francis Dane,” and he turned to address me. I marked that Lucille started at the name he gave me. “Three times you dared me to draw sword. Each time I held my hand, though my blade was ready. But I waited, for even bitter as my hate was, I had laid plans that might remove you from my path without need of open action on my part. I failed, you best know how and why. But think not that you will escape me, for the score is too heavy to forget now.”