“And yet should be easily resolved betwixt us, John.”
“Nay, but the Duchess called Sir Hector an ogre, and he blenches at mere mention of her name....”
“To be sure, John, the situation is very promising and needeth but a little dexterous management. You will prompt Sir Hector, I’ll plague my aunt ... is’t agreed, John?”
“It is!” he laughed. “And now—come, kiss me?” But she held him off, viewing him grave-eyed.
“John,” said she solemnly, “to-day old Penelope was monstrous strange and full of foreboding on your account ... ’twas as she knew some danger threatened. But it is all so sweetly peaceful, what should harm you here?”
“What indeed?” he answered, glancing furtively towards the lengthening shadows behind them.
“And yet old Penelope was so awesome o’ speech and look.... I can mind her every word: ‘He hath raised what only blood can lay!’ said she. Sounds not this dreadful, John? And then: ‘Bid him beware the peril o’ solitary places,’ quo’ she, ‘of things that creep i’ the dark! Day and night bid him look behind him wherever——”
My lady paused suddenly, for Sir John was indeed glancing back over his shoulder.
They had crossed the stile beyond the little footbridge and were following a path bordered by dense underbrush and shaded by tall trees. Sir John’s quick ear had caught a faint creak such as a stealthy foot might make on the rickety planking of the bridge; moreover, his eyes had glimpsed a vague shape that flitted unheard among the brush.