But he went to his wife’s bower. ‘My heart,’ saith he, ‘I must leave thee this night—I am called to town. God knoweth the end of the adventure. Read, my soul, read, and then advise.’
She read the French slowly, he behind her, his face almost touching her cheek, prompting her with a word or two; but so eager as he was, he was always in front, and had to come back for her, mastering his impatience. At the end she sat quietly, looking at her hands. His excitement was not to be borne.
‘Well, my girl, well?’
‘Go to her, my lord.’
‘You say that!’
She replied calmly, ‘No, it is she that says it—it is veiled in these lines.’
He took her face between his hands. ‘But it is thou that sendest me—hey? Be very sure now what thou art about. If I go, I go to the end. I stay never when I ride out o’ nights until I have the cattle in byre.’
Her deep eyes met his without faltering. ‘Let her have of you what she will. I have what I have.’
Now she had made him wary. He could not be sure what she was at—unless it were one thing.