“I will give thee a weary chase for me some day. I will frighten thee now.”
And, with a bound, she darted from column to column, and was out of sight. Vexed and troubled, Lovel flew after her. He was swift as a deer, but could not overtake her; and in the midst of the chase, she stole behind and touched him on the shoulder, laughing merrily at his fears.
“Promise me, sweetheart,” said he, “thou wilt never fly from me again, till thou spread thy white wings for Heaven. Even Ban lost his breath trying to follow thee.”
“I will not promise,” she said, shaking her sunny ringlets. “I love to tease too well. Ban says my feet have wings, and with them I find hiding-places where no one can follow.”
“I fear thou wilt be lost in some of these dark passages; no one living understands all their windings; but I’ll hide thee next Christmas!”
“Where, my Lord? In the donjon keep, behind the iron gratings?”
“A safer place than that. In my heart, sweet love. There I’ll shut thee up, and keep thee safe forever and a day.”
Then he gave a close kiss, and did not take his eyes off her till it was time to part.
When the night was far spent, a strange minstrel came to the door, and begged to look, if but for one moment, on the Lady Ginevra.
He was old and poor, and shook with cold. Room was made for him by the fire; and when he had eaten and drank, he lifted his harp, and, moving back from the crowd, passed under the mistletoe. Now, it was a great slight for one to do this and not be kissed, and, of course, nobody wanted to kiss an old beggar. He heard the laugh and jeer, and, looking up, saw the green branch; then his head sunk on his breast with shame. Ginevra saw it, and snatched an ivy wreath, and stepped toward him, saying playfully,