“John,” said my lady breathlessly, “why d’ye look so?... Ah, what is it?” And he winced beneath the pressure of her fingers upon his wounded arm.
“Pray loose me!” he whispered, and slipped hand into pocket.
“John,” she breathed, “tell me what cometh yonder?”
“Nay, this I must discover,” he answered, and loosed her hands, for now, plain to hear, was a faint rustling amid the brush.... And then she had leapt between Sir John and this scarce-heard, unseen thing, had twined strong arms about him, holding him so close that he might sense all the fragrant warmth of the soft and pliant body that shielded his; thus stood they awhile, her soft cheek against his, and now he could feel the heavy beating of her heart against his own. The stealthy rustling came again, crept nearer, paused, crept past them, died away, and nothing to be heard except the melodious murmur of the brook hard by. And then my lady spoke, her voice low but undismayed:
“’Tis gone, I think, and.... O John!”
His arms were about her, straining her closer yet, and when he spoke his voice was strangely hoarse and shaken:
“O thou dear, brave soul! Thou very woman!... Yon creeping terror hath shown thee greater, nobler than I dared dream thee!... When, when wilt marry me?”
“Nay, John,” she answered gently, “how may I tell thee this till thou ask Herminia?... Go to her, John, seek and woo the poor, despised, solitary soul.”
“Aye, I will—but when? Where?”
“To-morrow afternoon, John, at the cottage ... and come as Sir John Dering.”