"Faith," he confided to Alt Pikker, "the wench is her father all over again. If I had gone a step further, I swear she would have beat me with the flat of my own sword. I saw her eye full on the hilt of it."
"Faith, I too, wished that I had been better helmeted!" chuckled Alt Pikker.
"Well," said Werner, like one who makes the best of ill fortune, "we must keep the closer to her, you and I, that in the stress of battle she come not to a mischief. Yet I confess that I am not deeply sorry. I began to fear that Isle Rugen had sapped our lass's spirit. To my mind, she seemed somewhat over content to abide there."
"Ah," nodded Alt Pikker, "that is because, after all, our Joan is a woman. No one can know the secret of a woman's heart."
"And those who think they know most, know the least!" concurred the much experienced Werner.
For a moment, after the door closed upon the men, Joan and Margaret stood in silence regarding each other.
"I must go and make me ready," said Margaret, speaking like one who is thinking deeply. Joan stood still, conscious that something was about to happen, uncertain what it might be.
"I shall see you before I depart," Margaret was saying, with her hand on the latch.
Suddenly she dropped the handle of the door and ran impulsively to Joan, clasping her about the neck.