“Talk not of blood and battles, naughty one!” she cried. “Think not to leave thy old grannam lone and lorn and helpless—nor this our fair maid. Shame on thee, Lob, O shame!” saying the which she cuffed him again and soundly.
“Master,” he sighed, “thou seest I may not go,
Since that my grand-dam will not have it so.”
“Good mother, wise mother,” said the maid, viewing Sir Pertinax smilingly askance, “why doth poor soldier go bedight in fine linen 'neath rusty hauberk? Why doth poor soldier wear knightly chain about his neck and swear by knightly oath? Good mother, wise mother, rede me this.”
The old woman viewed Pertinax with her bright, quick eyes, but, ere she could answer, he sheathed sword, drew ragged mantle about him, and made to go, but, turning to the maid, bent steel-clad head.
“Most fair damosel,” said he gently, “evening cometh on, and now, since thou art no longer forlorn, I will away.”
“Nay, first, I pray thee, what is thy name?”
“Pertinax, madam.”
“So then doth Melissa thank Pertinax. And now—out alas! Will Pertinax leave Melissa, having but found her?”
Sir Pertinax looked up, looked down, fidgeted with his cloak, and knew not how to answer; wherefore she sighed again, though with eyes full merry 'neath drooping lashes and reached out to him her slender hand. “Aye me, and shall we meet no more, poor soldier?” she questioned softly.
“This I know not,” he answered.