"Your grace misjudges me," said Prue proudly. "I come, as you should know, of right loyal stock, and nothing is further from my wishes than to hinder his departure. I but claim the right to go wherever he goes."
"The right! What right?" sneered the duke.
"The right, in the sight of God and man, of a wife to follow her husband," said Prue unflinchingly.
As she stood there so beautiful and undaunted, the love-light in her glorious eyes seemed to irradiate her whole face with indescribable tenderness and dignity. Even the angry duke dropped his eyes, abashed, and his tone was sensibly lowered when he exclaimed, "Wife? Husband? De Cliffe, what is the meaning of this midsummer madness?"
"Oh! Prue," cried Robin, "you know not what you say; how could you dream of sharing the fortunes of an exile—an outlaw?"
She raised her eyes to his, brimming with tears. "Because I love you, Robin," she sighed pathetically but bravely, "and life without you is worthless to me." Then, with a sudden change to petulance, "Oh! why do you leave me to do all the love-making? Is it not shame enough that I was a petitioner for your hand, but that now I must come as a beggar for your heart? Sure, I did think you loved me—a little," and she buried her face in her hands.
"Sweetheart, it is because I love you so dearly that I am loath to let you throw away your beauty and sweetness on a poor soldier of fortune," said Robin, scarcely less agitated than she.
"Who is apparently ready to ruin himself for the idle caprice of a frivolous coquette!" interposed the duke, with asperity.
The carriage which had followed Sir Geoffrey's had arrived while the duel was in progress, and drawn up unnoticed at the bend of the road. Its sole occupant alighted, and lingering in the shadow of the trees, became an interested spectator, himself unobserved.
"De Cliffe," continued the duke, "time presses and you must not linger. Think only of your duty and be firm."