“Nay, out alack, my lord!” sighed Sir Pertinax. “For though I do love her, she, by reason o' my ill-favoured looks, the which, woe's me, I may not alter, loveth not me, as I do judge.”
“How judge ye this?”
“Lord, she giveth me hard names. She, all in a breath, hath pictured me thus: 'Hooked of nose, fierce-eyed, of aspect grim—ungentle, unlovely, harsh o' tongue, dour o' visage, hard o' heart, flinty o' soul and of manners rude.'”
“Good! But was this all, my Pertinax?”
“Nay, lord, and with a wannion—there was more to like purpose.”
“Excellent, my lovely knight—let hope sing in thee. For look now, if she named thee hooked of nose, fierce-eyed and of aspect grim—she speaketh very truth, for so thou art, my Pertinax. Now truth is a fair virtue in man or maid, so is she both virtuous and fair! Nay, puff not, sighful Pertinax, but for thy comforting mark this—she hath viewed and heeded thy outward man narrowly—so shall she not forget thee soon; she with woman's eye hath marked the great heart of thee through sorry habit and rusty mail, and found therein the love thy harsh tongue might not utter; and thus, methinks, she hath thee in mind—aye, even now, mayhap. Lastly, good, lovely blunderbore—mark this! 'Tis better to win a maid's anger than she should heed thee none at all. Let love carol i' thy heart and be ye worthy, so, when ye shall meet again, 'tis like enough, despite thy hooked nose, she shall find thine eyes gentle, thy unloveliness lovely, thy harsh tongue wondrous tender and thy flinty soul the soul of a man.”
“Why, faith, lord,” quoth Pertinax, his grim lips softening to a smile, “despite her words, she spake in voice full sweet, and her eyes—ah, messire, her eyes were wondrous kind—gentle eyes—aye, her eyes were—”
“Eyes, my Pertinax—black eyes!”
“And gentle! By which same token, lord, she did give to me this token—this most strange trinket.”
But all at once, was the creak of hinges, and the ponderous door opening, Ranulph o' the Axe appeared, followed by divers of the warders bearing torches.