Eld. [Aside] He's lookin' softer now. Well a day, this is a world. Here they brought me and the lady Glaia to make sure we would be safe, and now they're taking us back for the same reason. Ay me, and a lonely, dreary place it is we're goin' to, with never a civil gentleman like yourself to sit out the night wi' a stoop o' ale an' cakes o' my own raisin'.
Ste. My good madam, if you will give me the tip o' the road, I'll not be a slow traveller when the business of war will let an honest soldier course to his liking.
Eld. O, 'tis secret, sir. My lady is hid away for some reason of God or the devil, and I'll not be so false as to let a stranger on the track.
Ste. Am I a stranger, madam? Did not my good arm no more than an hour ago procure me warrant for better treatment? Come! As you say, there'll be lonely times, and a discreet companion who knows how to keep his tongue behind his teeth will not come amiss on a rainy day.
Eld. [Aside] How can it be harm to tell my own man when the good priest said we were one flesh? 'Twill only be tellin' my own ears. Well, sir, if you'll swear by St. Peter's thumb and the crucifix you'll never let anybody know——
Ste. By St. Peter's thumb and the crucifix—and your black eyes, too—I swear!
Eld. Then take the straight road to—O, I'm afraid!
Ste. Courage, my pretty! There's not a cricket to hear you.
Eld. The straight road to Greenot woods, and two miles in the forest where the brook crosses, ride up the stream half a mile to a tall red ash standin' alone, and three miles by the path to the right brings you to the place you'll find me. Now I've done it! No, don't thank me for bein' a fool.
Ste. Nay, a woman, dearie.