“Aye, do!” he pleaded, and reached for her hands. But she laughed instead, and bade him show her where she must sleep. Therefore Sir John tossed off his cloak, and by dint of some labour had soon burrowed a niche in the stack where she might lie softly couched on fragrant hay.
Being within this niche and Sir John going to cover her with his long riding-cloak, she would have none of it unless he shared it with her; so at last down they lay side by side.
“Close your eyes and go to sleep, child!” he murmured. “Sleep you secure ... for I ... will watch ... awhile....” But, even as he spoke, his eyes closed and he sank to heavenly slumber. Yet after some while he awoke, conscious of an intolerable unease, and, groping for the cause, found himself lying upon a pistol. The day was breaking, and by the gathering light he saw this pistol for none of his; a small, silver-mounted weapon, very apt for concealment—say in the folds of a long grey cloak.
She lay deep-plunged in slumber, her face concealed by the hood of this same grey cloak and naught to see of her save one hand, a slim, shapely hand, very white and delicate; observing which hand, its pink, soft palm, its long, taper fingers and rosy, polished nails, Sir John’s eyes grew suddenly keen, his lips grim as, lying down again, he stared on the brightening dawn; slowly his grim look vanished and, smiling enigmatically, he fell asleep again.
And presently up came the sun to transform a myriad dewdrops into so many scintillating gems and make a glory of the world; to rouse the birds and fill them with the gladness of a new day; to kiss the slumberous eyes of her who stirred sighfully in the comfort of her grey cloak, and waking to a glory of sunshine and carolling birds, sat up suddenly, peering eager-eyed at him who lay beside her very fast asleep and with a faint, enigmatic smile upon his lips.
CHAPTER VII
WHICH INTRODUCES MY LORD SAYLE AND THE CLASH OF STEEL
Sir John rubbed the sleep from his eyes to behold his companion approaching, evidently fresh from her morning ablutions; moreover, her sprigged petticoat, if a little rumpled, looked surprisingly trim, her square-toed, flat-heeled shoes were innocent of dust and she had even contrived to comb and dress her hair—black, glossy hair, he noticed, that fell in wanton curls on either white temple. And, seeing her so neat and trig from top to toe, he immediately became supremely conscious of his own rumpled garments, his unshaven chin and the haystalks entwined in the tangled ringlets of his peruke. None the less, he rose and bowed with his usual grace, giving her a cheery “Good morning.”
“’S heart, child!” he exclaimed, “you walk proud as Dian’s self or lady o’ high degree, God save your ladyship!” And he bowed again with an exaggerated flourish, at which she frowned and answered sullenly:
“You’m asleep and dreaming, I think!”