As Halfman made him no answer but continued to stare gloomily into the garden, Blaise concluded that the interest lay there which made him thus distracted. So he came down to the table and looked over Halfman’s shoulder. In the distance he saw a man and woman walking among the trees. The man was patently the Puritan prisoner, the woman was the chatelaine of Harby. The pair seemed very deep in converse. As Sir Blaise looked, they were out of sight round a turning. Halfman gave a heavy groan and spoke, more to himself, as it seemed, than to his companion.
“Look how they walk in the garden, ever in talk. Time was she would walk and talk with me, listen to my wars and wanderings, and call me a gallant captain.”
“Are you jealous of the Puritan prisoner?” Blaise asked, astonished. Halfman answered with an oath.
“Oh, God, that the siege had lasted forever, or that she had kept her word and blown us sky high.”
Blaise began to snigger.
“’Ods-life! do you dare a love for your lady?” he said. He had better not have said it. Halfman turned on him with a face like a demon’s and the plump knight recoiled.
“Why the red devil should I not,” Halfman asked, hoarsely, “if a bumpkin squire like you may do as much?”
Blaise tried to domineer, but the effort was feeble before the fierceness in Halfman’s glare.
“Are you speaking to me, your superior?” he stammered. Halfman answered him mockingly, with a voice that swelled in menace as the taunting speech ran on.