“For thy brave rescue I do give thee my humble thanks, poor soldier.”
“Thy rescue, child?” cried the old woman. “Alack and wert thou seen? Thy rescue, say'st thou?”
“Indeed, good mother, from Sir Agramore's rough foresters. But for thee, thou needy soldier, my gratitude is thine henceforth. Had I aught else to give thee, that were thine also. Is there aught I may? Speak.”
Now Sir Pertinax could not but heed all the rich, warm beauty of her—these eyes so sombrely sweet, her delicate nose, the temptation of her vivid lips—and so spake hot with impulse:
“Aye, truly, sweet maid, truly I would have of thee a—” Her eyes grew bright with laughter, a dimple played wanton in her cheek, and Sir Pertinax was all suddenly abashed, faint-hearted and unsure; thus, looking down, he chanced to espy a strange jewel that hung tremulous upon her moving bosom: a crowned heart within a heart of crystal.
“Well, thou staid and sorry soldier, what would'st have of me?” she questioned.
“Verily,” he muttered, “I would have of thee yon trinket from thy bosom.” Now at his words she started, caught her breath and stared at him wide-eyed; but, seeing his abashment, laughed and loosed off the jewel with quick, small fingers.
“Be it so!” said she. But hereupon the old woman reached out sudden hand.
“Child!” she croaked, “Art mad? Mind ye not the prophecy? Beware the prophecy—beware!
'He that taketh Crystal Heart,
Taketh all and every part!'