She freed one hand and laid it over his mouth.
“Ssst, you wild forester. Speak softly. Who knows what the wood holds?”
The fingers of her hand were like a spell set upon his lips. He looked into her eyes and was dumb.
“Now, are you cautious?”
She took her hand away, yet almost with a caress.
“Isoult, what is this hedge priest to you?”
“Nothing—less than nothing.”
“And what are these ditch scrapings and plough-boys?”
“A little more than Merlin.”
“Your pride is as good as mine. I’ll not go, Isoult, unless——”