Duke
Jocelyn lifted woeful head and saw her standing tall and shapely amid
the leaves, fresh and sweet as the morn itself, with laughter within her
dream-soft eyes and laughter on her vivid lips and the sun bright in the
braided tresses of her hair wherein she had set wild flowers like jewels.
"Yolande!" he murmured, coming to his knees "Yolande--how glorious thou
art!"
"Nay," she laughed, yet flushing to the worship of his eyes, "and my habit
woefully torn of wicked bramble-thorns, and my hair ill-braided and all
uncombed and--"
"Ah, Yolande, I thought thee fled and I left to loneliness, and my pain was
very sore."
"Then am I avenged thy mockery, Joconde, and thy song of 'Derry down.'
'Twas for this I stole away! But now, if thou 'rt hungry man, come this
ways." And she reached him her hand. So she brought him to a little dell
where burned a fire of sticks beneath a pot whence stole right savoury
odour.
"O most wonderful!" quoth he. "Whence came these goodly viands?"
"Where but from the wallet behind thy horse's saddle, Joconde?" Then down
sat they forthwith side by side and ate heartily and were very blithe
together; and oft-times their looks would meet and they would fall silent
awhile.
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