"At Sundridge you made me believe that you loved me," continued Frances,
unmindful of the interruption. "And now since you would not come to me,
nor send me word in all this long weary time, I could not restrain
myself, but, all unmaidenly, have come to you because I can in no way put
my love from my heart, pray and try as I will."
She reached forth her hand in the dark and touched him. She had not
underestimated her strength when she believed that by a word she could
drive doubt from his heart and bring him to her feet, for in a breath she
who had scorned the love of a king, and had laughed at the greatest
nobles in England, was in the arms of a man on whose life the king had
set a price. Her head fell back into the bend of his elbow, her willing
lips gave him their sweetness, her arm was clasped about his neck, and
she had forgotten all save love and the man she loved.
George said nothing, so after a little time, Frances continued: "Tell me
that you know I am not the creature evil-minded persons pretend to
believe I am. I might have been a duchess, with grand estates, by gift
from the king, but I am not, nor ever shall be. I loathe him, and so
great is my sense of contamination that when he touches my hand in
dancing, I almost feel that it is a thing of evil."
"And you, whom I hear the king would marry, who, I am told, might pick
and choose a husband from among the richest and noblest of the land, for
whom it is said the Duke of Tyrconnel is longing, come here to this hole
and throw yourself away on me, an outcast; one who makes his daily bread
by labor at a printing-press, one on whose life the king has set a price?
You come here to give yourself to me!" cried George, almost stunned by
surprise and joy.
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