"Nay; I am no priest," she answered, touching her horse with her whip.
He followed, disconcerted; but she, repenting, soon quieted her pace and turned her face to him again, serene as of wont.
"I would fain tell thee my secret, Margherita," he pleaded.
She lacked the courage to reprove him while he lingered on her name with an accent that turned it to music.
"Nay—if it be a secret, tell it not: for women have tongues."
"Have they also hearts?" he asked.
"Not those who yield them," she said; "but only those who hold them fast."
"Is my secret a secret, Margherita?"
"Your Excellency—a member of the Council of the Realm hath so reported it," she answered, laughing frankly. "Who am I, that I should question his judgment?"
"Thou art thyself," he said half banteringly—half seriously, and watching to see how she would take it. "To none other would I so defer."