Come forth, Pertinax, thou only one beloved of me for no
reason but that thou art thou and I am I--as is ever the sweet, mad way of
True-love--come forth, my dear-loved, poor soldier!" Out from the trees
strode Pertinax but, beholding his face, Friar John scowled and, viewing
his rich surcoat and goodly armour, fell to perspiring wonder and amaze.
"Now by the sweet Saint Amphibalus!" quoth he. "Surely these be the arms of
Sir Agramore, dread Lord of Biename?"
"Most true, dear Friar John," answered Melissa, "and by this same token Sir
Agramore lieth sore bruised e'en now."
"Aha!" quoth the Friar, mopping moist brow. "'T is well--'t is very well,
so shall these two ears of mine, with eighteen others of lesser account,
scathless go and all by reason of this good, tall fellow. Howbeit, I do
know this same fellow for fellow of none account, and no fit mate for thee,
noble daughter, love or no. A fierce, brawling, tatterdemalion this, that
erstwhile tramped in company with long-legged ribald--a froward jesting
fellow.
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