Nigel glanced at her in surprise and dismay. "Surely, Edith,"said he at last, "you have overmuch regard for my honor that you should wish me to break the word that I have given?""Your honor belongs to you, and my likings belong to me," said she. "You hold fast to the one, and I will do the same by the other."They rode in silence through Thursley village. Then a thought came to her mind and in an instant her anger was forgotten and she was hot on a new scent.
"What would you do if I were injured, Nigel? I have heard my father say that small as you are there is no man in these parts could stand against you. Would you be my champion if I suffered wrong?""Surely I or any man of gentle blood would be the champion of any woman who had suffered wrong.""You or any and I or any - what sort of speech is that? Is it a compliment, think you, to be mixed with a drove in that fashion?
My question was of you and me. If I were wronged would you be my man?""Try me and see, Edith!"
"Then I will do so, Nigel. Either Sir George Brocas or the Squire of Fernhurst would gladly do what I ask, and yet I am of a mind, Nigel, to turn to you.""I pray you to tell me what it is."
" You know Paul de la Fosse of Shalford?""You mean the small man with the twisted back?""He is no smaller than yourself, Nigel, and as to his back there are many folk that I know who would be glad to have his face.""Nay, I am no judge of that, and I spoke out of no discourtesy.
What of the man?"
"He has flouted me, Nigel, and I would have revenge.""What - on that poor twisted creature?"
"I tell you that he has flouted me!"
"But how?"
"I should have thought that a true cavalier would have flown to my aid, withouten all these questions. But I will tell you, since Ineeds must. Know then that he was one of those who came around me and professed to be my own. Then, merely because he thought that there were others who were as dear to me as himself he left me, and now he pays court to Maude Twynham, the little freckle-faced hussy in his village.""But how has this hurt you, since he was no man of thine?""He was one of my men, was he not? And he has made game of me to his wench. He has told her things about me. He has made me foolish in her eyes. Yes, yes, I can read it in her saffron face and in her watery eyes when we meet at the church door on Sundays.
She smiles - yes, smiles at me! Nigel, go to him! Do not slay him, nor even wound him, but lay his face open with thy riding-whip, and then come back to me and tell me how I can serve you."Nigel's face was haggard with the strife within, for desire ran hot in every vein, and yet reason shrank with horror. "By Saint Paul! Edith," he cried, "I see no honor nor advancement of any sort in this thing which you have asked me to do. Is it for me to strike one who is no better than a cripple? For my manhood Icould not do such a deed, and I pray you, dear lady, that you will set me some other task."Her eyes flashed at him in contempt. "And you are a man-at-arms!"she cried, laughing in bitter scorn. "You are afraid of a little man who can scarce walk. Yes, yes, say what you will, I shall ever believe that you have heard of his skill at fence and of his great spirit, and that your heart has failed you! You are right, Nigel. He is indeed a perilous man. Had you done what I asked he would have slain you, and so you have shown your wisdom."Nigel flushed and winced under the words, but he said no more, for his mind was fighting hard within him, striving to keep that high image of woman which seemed for a moment to totter on the edge of a fall. Together in silence, side by side, the little man and the stately woman, the yellow charger and the white jennet, passed up the sandy winding track with the gorse and the bracken head-high on either side. Soon a path branched off through a gateway marked with the boar-heads of the Buttesthorns, and there was the low widespread house heavily timbered, loud with the barking of dogs.
The ruddy Knight limped forth with outstretched hand and roaring voice "What how, Nigel! Good welcome and all hail! I had thought that you had given over poor friends like us, now that the King had made so much of you. The horses, varlets, or my crutch will be across you! Hush, Lydiard! Down, Pelamon! I can scarce hear my voice for your yelping. Mary, a cup of wine for young Squire Loring!"She stood framed in the doorway, tall, mystic, silent, with strange, wistful face and deep soul shining in her dark, questioning eyes. Nigel kissed the hand that she held out, and all his faith in woman and his reverence came back to him as he looked at her. Her sister had slipped behind her and her fair elfish face smiled her forgiveness of Nigel over Mary's shoulder.
The Knight of Duplin leaned his weight upon the young man's arm and limped his way across the great high-roofed hall to his capacious oaken chair. "Come, come, the stool, Edith!" he cried.
"As God is my help, that girl's mind swarms with gallants as a granary with rats. Well, Nigel, I hear strange tales of your spear-running at Tilford and of the visit of the King. How seemed he? And my old friend Chandos - many happy hours in the woodlands have we had together - and Manny too, he was ever a bold and a hard rider - what news of them all?"Nigel told to the old Knight all that had occurred, saying little of his own success and much of his own failure, yet the eyes of the dark woman burned the brighter as she sat at her tapestry and listened.
