Aline was very impatient to have Ian by himself and was glad when he turned to go, after giving a brief account of his imprisonment and the outline of his main adventures, avoiding all details.
The Earl accompanied them to the inn and then took his leave, promising to send Ian an outfit such as more became his station and, at Ian’s special request, everything that under the circumstances could be procured befitting a page of gentle birth.
Aline was pleased to find no one in the hostel. Ian was tired and his wounds hurt him, although Aline had attended to them regularly. He sat down by the fire and sighed.
It was a cold day and Aline crouched at the hearth-stone by his feet. She put her hand on his knee and looked up. Ian’s eyes were full of tears. Aline had never seen anything like this; she stood up, stroking his head with her delicate hand and kissed him on the forehead.
He did not speak, but drew her gently to him. The child threw both her arms about his neck and seated herself on his knee. “Oh, I wish I could comfort you,” she said.
It was too much for Ian and two great tears actually rolled down his cheek. “My Father,” was all that he said. Then making an effort, he controlled himself and looked at Aline’s beautiful sympathetic little face. A curious feeling passed through him. He had lost his father; and his father had never been kind to him, and he had gained this child, who was devoted to him. Was this God’s recompense?
He passed his fingers through her short locks. “What have you done with all the glory you cut off?” he said.
“It is upstairs. I plaited it in four plaits.”
“May I have some?” he asked.
“You may have it all if you like.”