“The Forest would be sweeter.”
“True, dear sister; but shall we be frightened by having to sleep on musty straw with fellow Christians who wash under the pump but once a week? I trust not. Besides, I have to see the Flemming to-night.”
Her pride was in revolt, the pride of a kestrel put to perch with flea-ridden hens.
“Had I known this I would have chosen to cross the sea in some other dress.”
Her brother shrugged his shoulders, and then sat down beside her on the stone steps of the cross.
“I’m sorry, Kate, but what would you? We have begun this game in cap and bells, and we must go through with it—or pay forfeit. And the forfeit may be our lives. Crooked Dick shows no mercy.”
He was right, and she knew it. There could be no turning back.
“What must be—must be. I shall not fail you, brother.”
“That’s brave; but one word more, Kate.”
“Speak out.”