'Ah, will you truly?' she asked, and sighed. Then she was silent for a moment but drew not away her hand, which I took of be a good omen.
'No, you must not—you must not. It would not be fair!' she said.
'I love you with all my heart!' I whispered, trying to reach her hand; but somehow, though it was very near, I could not again take it in mine.
She seemed not to hear me speak.
'Well,' she said at last, as if to herself, 'perhaps it will be good for the lad.'
I could not conceive what she meant.
'Launcelot,' she continued, and her voice had music in it such as I never heard in any kirk or quire, at matins or at laud,—'Launcelot, do not think of me, I pray you—at least, not if you can help it—'
'Help it I cannot,' answered I; 'it is far beyond that!'
And so I thought at the time.
'But, Launcelot, my sweet squire,' she said again, 'hast thou already forgotten thy vow? It is better for thee to be a squire of arms than a squire of dames! At least,' she added, smiling, 'till you win your spurs.'