"Then wherein lieth the ill—Damaris? Is it that you do yearn so mightily for England?"
"There lieth my home, Martin!"
"Is home then so dear to you?" Here, finding no answer, she grew troubled. "Or is it," says I, bending my staff across my knee and beginning to frown, "or is it that there waits some man yonder that you love?"
"No, Martin, have I not told you—"
"Why then," says I, "is it that you grow a-weary of my unlovely ways and would be quit of me?"
"No, Martin—only—only—" Here she fell silent and I saw her flush again.
"Or is it that you fear I might grow to love you—in time?"
"To—love me!" says she, very softly, and now I saw her red lips dimple to a smile as she stooped to cull a flower blooming hard by. "Nay!" says she lightly, "Here were a wonder beyond thought, Martin!"
"And wherefore should this be so great wonder?" I demanded.
"Because I am Joan Brandon and you are a man vowed and sworn to vengeance, Martin."