"Nay, lady, verily I—"
"O, indeed me thinks she must contemn thee in her heart, poor, gentle soul—aye, scorn and despise thee woefully for running away; indeed, 'tis beyond all doubt, messire!"
"Lady," quoth Beltane, flushing in the dark, "you know naught of the matter—"
"Why then shalt thou tell me of it, messire—lo, I am listening." So saying, she settled herself more aptly within his encircling arm.
"First, then," said Beltane, when they had ridden awhile in silence, "she is a duchess, and very proud."
"Yet is she a woman, messire, and thou a man whose arms be very strong!"
"Of what avail strong arms, lady, 'gainst such as she?"
"Why, to carry her withal, messire."
"To—to carry her!" quoth Beltane in amaze.
"In very truth, messire. To lift her up and bear her away with thee—"