Martin moved to and fro, but all his thoughts were with Mellis, and her gathering of the fern. She had taken the sword and had cut more bracken. The thick green riding-cloak that had been strapped behind her saddle served to carry the stuff; she spread the cloak on the ground, piled bracken on it, drew the two ends together, and carried the bundle to the oak tree. Mellis made a dozen such journeys to and fro, till she had built up a deep bed of the soft green fronds.
Martin saw her spread her cloak on the bracken and set Fulk de Lisle’s sword in the ground at the head thereof.
He turned away, and as he turned she called to him.
“Martin, are you still thinking?”
“Yes.”
“And it is all so simple!”
He heard her sigh, and his heart smote him.
Then she said:
“I am lonely. And I still have a fear that in the night men will break in and take you away.”
“If God wills it, it will be so,” he answered her with obstinate sententiousness.