“Lud! I had forgot. You have your adieux to make to the lady. Pray do not let me hurry you,” he said urbanely, as he picked his way daintily through the mud.
When he had gone I turned to the girl.
“You shall be quit of him,” I told her. “You may rely on my friends if—if the worst happens. They will take you to Montagu Grange, and my brother Charles will push on with you to Scotland. In this country you would not be safe from him while he lives.”
Her face was like the snow.
“Iss there no other way whatever?” she cried. “Must you be fighting with this man for me, and you only a boy? Oh, I could be wishing for my brother Malcolm or some of the good claymores on the braes of Raasay!”
The vanity in me was stung by her words.
“I’m not such a boy neither, and Angelo judged me a good pupil. You might find a worse champion.”
“Oh, it iss the good friend you are to me, and I am loving you for it, but I think of what may happen to you.”
My pulse leaped and my eyes burned, but I answered lightly,
“For a change think of what may happen to him, and maybe to pass the time you might put up a bit prayer for me.”