“Was it thou, Edward Devereaux?” demanded Francis.
“Well, what if it were thine enemy, Francis? What then? Wouldst still cherish his name?”
“Surely it was not thee, Edward Devereaux?”
“It was even I, Francis Stafford.”
“But why, why?” asked she in bewilderment. “You are mine enemy and the son of my father’s enemy. Why then shouldst thou show such favor to me?”
“I robbed thee of that deer, Francis. ’Twas fitting that I should amend the theft if possible.” 283 A merry twinkle crept into Edward’s eye. “And thou hast still to forgive me the blow I struck thee in our encounter.”
“I should thank thee, Master Devereaux,” said Francis constrainedly. “I do thank thee from my heart, though I see no cause yet for thy action. At another season perchance I may be able to thank thee in manner more befitting the courtesy. I thought it from a friend, and it grieves me that I find it otherwise. Pray you pardon me that I can do no more than say, I thank you.”
“’Tis enough,” answered Edward. “At another season perchance thou mayst find it in thy heart to say, ’Ned, I forgive thee the deer; I forgive thee the blow that thou gavest me, and I forgive thee that thou art mine enemy.’”
“It may be,” said the girl coldly. “Come, good mistress, ’tis time that we did go in. And so fare you well, Master Devereaux.”
“Fare you well, mistress,” answered Devereaux courteously.