"Aye! I had rather 'twas myself than yon evil rogues—nay forget them," says I, seeing her shiver, "plague on me for reminding you."
"Hush, Martin!"
"Why then, forget them—and I have their weapons to cope with 'em should they return."
"Now thank God!" cries she, clasping my hand in both of hers. "Thank God, Martin! I feared you had killed them all!"
"Why, I did my best," I sighed, shaking my head, "but they were too strong for me! Would to God I had indeed slain—"
"Hush, Martin, O hush!" And here she claps her pretty hand to my lips, where I straightway 'prisoned it to my kisses. "Though truly," says she the whiles this was a-doing, "from your raving I feared them all slain at your hand, so do I rejoice to know you innocent of their deaths!" Here, her hand released, she fell a-laughing (albeit a little tremulously) to see my face all patched with flour; and so, back to her labour.
"But, Martin," says she, turning to glance at me in a while, "You must be very terrible to drive away these four great men, and very brave!"
"Here was no bravery!" quoth I, "Methought you surely dead and I meant them to slay me also."
"Did you—miss me—so greatly?" she questioned and not looking at me.
"Yes!"