"Merely arrest you! and send you back to—prison, I suppose?"
"Why, 'tis likely; and then, in a few days, you would be free—to marry some one you love."
"I have had enough of marrying," she said petulantly. "Besides, had I loved one man, I would not have married another, even in jest."
"Even in jest," he repeated. "Well, have a little patience and you may laugh as heartily as you please at this merry jest. When you are free, will you—" he hesitated—"I owe you a chance to make a better use of your freedom next time, yet it irks me to think that you will very likely throw it away again upon one who is not worthy of you."
"Do you mean Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert?" she said. "Do not fear, I shall never marry him."
"You will not?" he exclaimed eagerly. "You do not love him? Oh! you give me new life; I care little what becomes of me, if I am sure you will not marry Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert."
"Hush-sh," she whispered, peering round in the dim twilight of their retreat; "I thought I heard a movement; suppose any one had overheard you!"
He clapped his hand on his sword, but everything was still except the distant music and the approaching voices of another pair in search of solitude.
"Let us go," said Prue, rising in a tremor and adjusting her mask. "I would not, for the world, have anything happen to you, and I fear you are not safe here; we have been incautious—prithee, begone from this house—"
"Do not be uneasy, dear Lady Prudence; I am safe here," said Robin, devouring her with his eyes. "I may never see you again; do not banish me—"