"That is true!" said Elspeth. "There is no need to keep it secret from you, though I dare not tell Melchior Rad. He would never understand."
"As to that," said her companion, "I cannot advise you. You know the pastor. But your eyes have a most eloquent speech of their own, and are not easily veiled, and, when he and I carried you to your chamber, your eyes sought the captain's, and I could have sworn your pastor marked it."
"Oh dear!" said Elspeth. "And he is so harsh; well, not exactly harsh, but you know what I mean."
"These good men are hard in judgment!" said the other. "Like diamonds for rarity and hardness. As for sparkle ... well, I should not say Pastor Rad sparkles, but never mind."
"This is Thursday!" said Elspeth. "Well, it was on Tuesday night and nearly midnight. I had been sitting watching my uncle in too great anxiety to leave the dear old man, and went down into the kitchen to make him a warm posset.
"As I crept into the kitchen in my night-rail and slippers, my hair down even, imagine, Ottilie, with a candle in my hand, a man stood there in the outer doorway. He seized my hands in his and looked me straight in the face, the candle-light between us.
"'No word, maiden!' he said in a low tone. 'Give me food! Give me a couch to lie upon! I am wearied to death!'
"His face was blackened with smoke and streaked with sweat. His cloak and doublet and gauntlets were stained with I know not what. His voice was hoarse and weak. He was clearly wellnigh done for. I was frightened out of my life, but not out of all pity. And he was young and had fine eyes, Ottilie. What could I do?"
"And what did you do?"