His eyes, hard and curious, softened; so did the imperious voice.
“How did you keep them out?”
“Keep them out?”
She was beautiful, but she was dull.
“My kinsfolk, from the castle.”
Pomona stood like a child caught in grave fault.
“They do not know,” she answered, at last.
It was his turn to ejaculate in amazement. “Not know!”
“I did not want them,” said she, then, doggedly. “I did not want any fine ladies about, nor physicians with their lancets. When my father was cut with the scythe, they sent a leech from the castle, who blooded him, and he died. I did not want you to die.”
She spoke the last words almost in a whisper, then she waited breathlessly. There came a low sound from the pillows. His laugh that had been music to her a minute ago now stabbed her to the heart. She turned, the blood flashing into her cheeks; yet his face grew quickly grave; he spoke, his voice was kind.