"That moves you," said Harding, "but I will move you more. The Proud Rosalind is not your woman. She is mine. She was mine from the moment her eyes fell. She was only a child then, but I knew she was mine as surely as I knew this hart was mine and no other's, when first I saw it as a calf drink at its pool. But I was patient and waited till he, my calf, should become a king, and she, my heifer, a queen. And I am her man because I am of king's stock in my own land, and she of king's stock in hers. And I am her man because for a year I have kept her, without her knowledge, with the pence I earned by my sweat, that were earned for a different purpose. And I am her man because the hart you have defended so ill, and hampered for a month, was saved to-day by my arrows, not yours. It was my arrows slew the hounds from the top of the cliff. It was my arrows split the bows of the seven knights. And it is my arrow now that will kill the White Hart that in all men's sight I may give her the antlers to-morrow, and hear my Proud Rosalind called queen among women." And as he spoke Harding drew back suddenly, and fitted a shaft to his string as though he would shoot the hart where it lay. But the Rusty Knight sprang forward and caught his hands crying, "Not my Hart! you shall not shoot my Hart!" And he tore off his casque, and the great tawny mantle of Rosalind's hair fell over her rags, and her face was on fire and her bosom heaving; and she sank down murmuring, "I beg you to spare my Hart." But Harding, uttering a great laugh of pride and joy, caught her up before she could kneel, saying, "Not even to me, my Proud Rosalind!" And without even kissing her lips, he put her from him and knelt before her, and kissed her feet. ("Will you be so good, Mistress Jane," said Martin, "as to sew on my button?" "I will not knot my thread, Master Pippin," said Jane, "till you have snapped yours." "It is snapped," said Martin. "The story is done." Joscelyn: It is too much! it is TOO much! You do it on purpose! Martin: Oh, Mistress Joscelyn! I never do anything on purpose. And therefore I am always doing either too much or too little. But in what have I exceeded? My story? I am sorry if it is too long. Joscelyn: It was too short--and you are quibbling. Martin: I?--But never mind. What more can I say? It is a fault, I know; but as soon as my lovers understand each other I can see no further. Joscelyn: There are a thousand things more you can say. Who this Harding was, for one. Joyce: And what he meant by saying his pennies had kept her, for another. Jennifer: And for what other purpose he had intended them. Jessica: And you must describe all that happened at the last tourney. Jane: And what about the ring and the girdle and the circlet and the silver gown? "I would so like to know," said little Joan, "if Harding and Rosalind lived happily ever after. Please won't you tell us how it all ended?"