"Do you love me then so much?" she asked, looking up at him frankly once more.
"'Sblood! lass," he burst out, "could iron and stone help loving such a little flower? I love you more than my sword, and more than my horse—ay, and more than the King himself."
"Ah! then," she said, "I can give you all the King's orders. I did not like to before."
He could feel her trembling in his embrace, and his voice was very gentle as he answered, "Why, pretty one," he said, "what were they?"
"He said," she answered, bravely meeting his passionate gaze, "that I should never be safe from my persecutors till I was some brave fellow's wife."
"And he said that I was to be the man?" cried Pertinax eagerly.
"But I could not give you his order," she answered shyly.
"Heaven bless him! Heaven bless you!" he said, with feeling, and kissed her again, and pressed her to him so fondly that she began to feel very peaceful and reconciled. She continued to beguile him with such pretty talk as she never could find for the King, and the big soldier was beside himself with love and tenderness. He begged her to tell him when she would marry him. Once more he thought she shuddered in his embrace, but it might have been fancy; for directly afterwards she put her hand in his, and looked up at him tenderly as she answered. "When we reach the castle," she said. "There is no need to wait. The priest shall do it in the little chapel at the foot of the hills. It is better so; for then all will be safe, and we can wait till the King comes, and journey onward all in one company."
Vainly Kophetua and Héloise sought for Penelophon when the time came to set out. Not a trace of her could they find, and the Titanic walls of the cañon flung back their cries unanswered. They looked one at the other guiltily, and made their search far apart and in different directions. At last the abbot told them he had seen her climbing the bridle-path that led out of the cañon. There was no time to lose. The journey could not be delayed. So the King lifted Héloise on to his horse, and himself going on foot, led it up the ravine in pursuit.
Not a word he spoke, but looked resolutely onward, trying to catch a glimpse of the grey rags. Nor did she seek to break the silence or attract his attention. She saw well his agitation at being thus alone with her, and she sat upon the horse with downcast eyes, as though she too were ashamed. She was resolved to do no treason to the girl she had wronged. The self-respect for which she longed told her it was best, and love told her that resignation was the only means to turn to her the heart for which she pined.