"Most fair damosel," said he gently, "evening cometh on, and now, since
thou art no longer forlorn, I will away."
"Nay, first, I pray thee, what is thy name?"
"Pertinax, madam."
"So then doth Melissa thank Pertinax. And now--out alas! Will Pertinax
leave Melissa, having but found her?"
Sir Pertinax looked up, looked down, fidgeted with his cloak, and knew not
how to answer; wherefore she sighed again, though with eyes full merry
'neath drooping lashes and reached out to him her slender hand. "Aye me,
and shall we meet no more, poor soldier?" she questioned softly.
"This I know not," he answered.
"For thy brave rescue I do give thee my humble thanks, poor soldier."
"Thy rescue, child?" cried the old woman. "Alack and wert thou seen? Thy
rescue, say'st thou?"
"Indeed, good mother, from Sir Agramore's rough foresters. But for thee,
thou needy soldier, my gratitude is thine henceforth. Had I aught else to
give thee, that were thine also. Is there aught I may? Speak."
Now Sir Pertinax could not but heed all the rich, warm beauty of her--these
eyes so sombrely sweet, her delicate nose, the temptation of her vivid
lips--and so spake hot with impulse:
"Aye, truly, sweet maid, truly I would have of thee a--" Her eyes grew
bright with laughter, a dimple played wanton in her cheek, and Sir
Pertinax was all suddenly abashed, faint-hearted and unsure; thus, looking
down, he chanced to espy a strange jewel that hung tremulous upon her
moving bosom: a crowned heart within a heart of crystal.
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