“Nor will I ride, Joconde,” she murmured happily, “rather will I trudge beside thee, my hand in thine—thus!”
So, hand in hand, they went close-guarded by their captors yet heeding them not at all, having eyes but for each other. And oft her cheek flushed rosy beneath his look, and oft he thrilled to the warm, close pressure of her fingers; and thus tramped they happy in their captivity.
The sun rose high and higher, but since for them their captors were not, neither was fatigue; and, if the way was rough there was Jocelyn's ready hand, while for him swamps and brooks were a joy since he might bear her in his arms. Thus tramped they by shady dingle and sunny glade, through marshy hollows and over laughing rills, until the men began to mutter their discontent, in especial a swart, hairy wight, and Will, glancing up at the sun, spake:
“Two hours, lads, judge I.”
“Nigher three, Tanner, nigher three!” growled the chief mutterer.
“Why so much the better, Rafe, though two was the word. Howbeit we be come far enow, I judge, and 'tis hot I judge, so hey for Robin—and a draught o' perry!”
“Art thou weary, my Yolande?”
“Nay, is not thy dear arm about me!”
“And—thou dost love me indeed?”
“Indeed, Joconde! Mine is a love that ever groweth—”