She came and put her hand upon his breast. She felt him draw slightly back from her. She stood away herself and her dark eyes pierced him; she sighed. Presently she said, “Thou, too! thou, too! Well, out of common decency, counsel me!”
He cogitated. “While there is yet time you might get secretly away—to London or elsewhere.”
“Oh, I want not to go! This is home. I should miss my river and my garden.”
“Montjoy?”
“In old days he might—because that I look like that Isabel who looked like Our Lady in the Silver Cross picture. But now I know not that he would shield, nor that he could. He hath put himself awry with all the folk.”
Somerville laughed. “Aye, I have seen that! Let him speak now against rising zeal at his peril! Out upon him will rush the hive!”
He sat regarding her with very bright eyes. “Man lives to learn! Until this moment I knew not that of Montjoy, nor that you are like—as now I see you are like—that picture! Why did you never tell me that?”
“I know not. I have some grace—like a little star, far, far away!”
He regarded her meditatively. “You are a mixture! A hand shakes the phial until the dregs are on top.”
“I wish they were skimmed off and thrown away. But all of me might then be gone, oh, all of me! Tell me what I am to do, Robert!”