“I will not let thee go until thou dost consent,” she cried with some of her old wilfulness. “Oh, Edward, do say yes.”
Devereaux looked at her thin hands, her face so pale and worn, so different from its former sauciness, and all the chivalry of his nature rose up.
“When thou dost speak so, Francis,” he said gently, “I can deny thee nothing.”
“And thou wilt?” cried she with shining eyes.
“Yea, Francis; but consider well the danger. If we fail it may mean death.”
“We will not fail,” declared the girl with positiveness. “If we do, is not death better than imprisonment? I promise that I will kill at least one Spaniard.” 290
“I will hold thee to that vow,” laughed Devereaux. “But thy woman comes, Francis. I will inform thee of the plan when I fix on one. Fare you well.”
“Fare you well,” returned Francis.
“Thine enemy’s converse hath done thee good,” commented Mrs. Shelton waggishly on their return to the upper chamber of the Bell Tower.
Francis looked at her a moment and then said with dignity: