“Your love, Vaga; at least your esteem.”
“Eustace! How could you think that?”
“From having lost my own, along with my character as a soldier. To be taken as in a trap.”
“Never that, dearest! All knew there was treason. If you were taken so might a lion, with such numbers against you. And how you delivered yourself!”
She had learnt all the particulars of his escape—a deed of daring to be proud of. And proud was she of it.
“Do you know, Eustace,” she continued, without waiting his rejoinder, “that you spared me a journey, and perhaps some humiliation?”
“A journey! Whither?”
“To Goodrich Castle first; and it might have been anywhere after.”
“But why?”
“To throw myself at Sir Henry Lingen’s feet, and crave mercy for you.”