“Nay, nay; arise, Sweet; he is unworthy thy solicitude.  Come with me.  I gave him but a puny thrust.  The Chaplain will look after him.”  He put his arm about her and raised her up and drew her away, saying, much out of breath,—­“I must not be seen, dost know?” She took fright, fearing her lord’s danger.  Quickly they traversed the terrace and reached the stair leading to Katherine’s chamber.  As she laid her hand upon the railing, she said timourously,—­“I would hear how serious is the wound before I go inside!”

“But, Katherine,” he whispered, “’twas no more than the prick of a pin; beside, dost not thou have anxiety for thy lover’s freedom; hast forgotten our lord’s temper when he finds I have so disgraced his house by fighting ’neath the very windows?  And if the fellow can talk and tells of the marriage, why, I’m undone, and they will begin a search.”  All the while he led her further up the stair, she unwitting, until they stood fairly inside the threshold and his foot struck against some obstacle.

“Sh-sh!” she enjoined, “Janet is within yonder room and will hear thee; she may already be awake and prying about to know what is astir upon the terrace!”

“Indeed, I think thou hadst better hide me!”

“Nay, I cannot; I know of no place.  Dost thou not know of a safe hiding?”

“I am safest here in thy chamber, I am sure.  I know of no other place.  And if Janet come—­which I hardly think possible—­thou must fly to her lighted taper and blow it out, and tell some sweet fib,—­say the light pains thine eyes.”

“A ruse holds not good with Janet.  I cannot play upon her wit.”

“Then, Sweet, I will lock the door and—­”

“Nay, nay, she will hear thee, and will come to see if I have been awakened.”

“Then I had best keep quiet and wait to see what will happen.”

“There is naught else for thee to do, for surely thou canst not go below, thou wouldst be seen, and—­”

“—­and, what, Sweet?”

“—­and be taken prisoner.”

“And wouldst thou be pained, Sweet?” He drew her close, his dark curls swept her face as he bent his head.  Nor did he wait for an answer, but plied her with another question that the moment and the closeness gave license to.  “Wilt give, Sweet, the nuptial kiss—­’tis my due?” She raised her head from his shoulder ever so slightly to answer him, but the words came not, for his lips were upon hers.  She was thrilled with his tenderness; ’twas more than she ever could have thought.  And as he held her close, she, not unwilling, declared separation would be instant death.  She wondered how she ever could have withstood love so long.  And he kissed her again and again, saying heaven could not offer greater favour.  “Dost feel happy now, Sweet?”

She answered not, but stood, her head leant against the rare and scented lace of his steenkirk, held captive, trembling with an ecstasy too sweet to be accounted for.