“Wilt go, blockhead?” I whispered to him angrily, shaking him by the shoulder.
“Yea, O my master!” he said, with something like a whimper, “but the woman—I know not what to do with her!”
“But I do!” I exclaimed grimly, “and hold your tongue about her if you would be a follower of mine.”
He gave me one of his sidelong looks and shrugged his shoulders.
“Come then,” he said, “and blame me not, if ill comes of it.”
I walked gravely up to the princess and held out my hand.
“Will you trust me?” I asked, looking her full in the face, “and go with me?”
She returned my look proudly, and she did not touch my hand.
“Take me to my father,” she repeated mechanically, her face colourless again.
“Come, then,” I said coldly, feeling the hot blood burn in mine, for I was provoked at her refusal to even touch my hand, and yet I knew, all the while, that it was a petty anger to feel, at such a time, and against a woman tried beyond all reason.