“I could not beg from a girl.”
She looked out over the river. The moon now shone upon it, spreading a glittering track of light. A myriad clocks seemed chiming the hour.
“I have less pride,” she said.
“Joan.”
“It is I who have brought this shame and poverty upon you. I can plead with my own father.”
He looked at her in silence and his hand tightened upon hers. The river glittered, a black band streaked with silver; roof and spire glimmered under the moon. The lessening roar of the great loom of life rose upon the night breeze. As for Joan, she was dreaming of the Mallan water, the green woods, and the roses that would crimson her old home. The trees would be flowering in the orchard; the almond had waved its pink pennons athwart the blue. There would be a thousand violets purpling the grass.
“I will go to Rilchester,” she said. “I will see my father; there were mellow seasons in him when the sun shone warm. There may be justice left within his heart.”
“I doubt it,” Gabriel answered her, watching the moonlight on the river.
“Nevertheless, I will try,” she said. “I will go to him alone.”