"
"Nay, out alack, my lord!" sighed Sir Pertinax. "For though I do love her,
she, by reason o' my ill-favoured looks, the which, woe's me, I may not
alter, loveth not me, as I do judge."
"How judge ye this?"
"Lord, she giveth me hard names. She, all in a breath, hath pictured me
thus: 'Hooked of nose, fierce-eyed, of aspect grim--ungentle, unlovely,
harsh o' tongue, dour o' visage, hard o' heart, flinty o' soul and of
manners rude.'"
"Good! But was this all, my Pertinax?"
"Nay, lord, and with a wannion--there was more to like purpose."
"Excellent, my lovely knight--let hope sing in thee. For look now, if she
named thee hooked of nose, fierce-eyed and of aspect grim--she speaketh
very truth, for so thou art, my Pertinax. Now truth is a fair virtue in man
or maid, so is she both virtuous and fair! Nay, puff not, sighful Pertinax,
but for thy comforting mark this--she hath viewed and heeded thy outward
man narrowly--so shall she not forget thee soon; she with woman's eye hath
marked the great heart of thee through sorry habit and rusty mail, and
found therein the love thy harsh tongue might not utter; and thus,
methinks, she hath thee in mind--aye, even now, mayhap.
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