“Are you bent on plaguing me, Matilda, or is it that you truly believe I am seeking some pretense to go away under a false flag?” he demanded fiercely.
“I cannot tell you, Roger. You know best yourself. Why should I complain? I owe my life, and many days of happiness, to you and to your good friend. Whether you go or stay may the Lord watch over you, and bring you safely to that pleasant home in the North of which you have so often spoken to me! I think I have seen it in my dreams, and the notion pleases me.”
She caught his hand and would have pressed it to her face, but he was too quick for her. Before she well knew what was happening she was lifted to her feet, and Roger had kissed her heartily on the lips.
“That is a quittance for the chain,” he cried. “When I want another for the money I shall bring thee, be not surprised if I discharge the debt in like fashion.”
Woman-like she glanced hastily around, all aglow with sudden embarrassment, to learn if others had observed his action. Certainly the eyes of some of the Portuguese captives were turned curiously towards them. Making a tremendous effort, she laughed gaily.
“Your English leave-taking is very nice, but somewhat unusual to our ideas,” she cried. “Nevertheless, I am glad to have your promise to return.”
“I swear it, by the cross of Osmotherly!” vowed Roger, and with this mighty oath the Countess was satisfied, though, as a good Catholic, she might have been surprised if she knew that the giant’s favorite expletive only referred to a crossroad on the summit of a Yorkshire hill, where King Oswald is supposed to lie buried by the side of his mother, whence the name Osmotherly: “Oswald-by-his-mother-lay.”
There was some dubiety among the remaining Europeans when they saw the Englishmen ride off with Fra Pietro and the Rajputs. So might sheep feel in a wolf-infested land, if the shepherds and dogs were withdrawn.
“What is to become of us,” they asked, “and why have our protectors taken the friar alone?”
But the Countess bade them be of good cheer.