It was a silent meal, but Mellis had her way. She did not trouble him with words, or by watching him with questioning eyes. He was like a restive horse, or a thing in pain, to be soothed and calmed and rescued from its own restlessness. Her mood seemed as calm and as tranquil as the brown dusk that was beginning to fill the woods while the western sky still blazed. When they had ended their meal she knelt up and drew the linen out of her saddle-bag. “The light is going. Come here to me, Martin.” He looked at her almost with fear. “What would you?” “That wounded shoulder must be cared for. You will carry the mark of it, always, for my sake.” He did not move, and she went to him on her knees, reaching for the pitcher and the wine. He raised a hand as though to repulse her, but she put it gently aside. Yet all the while that she was busy with his shoulder he sat with bowed head, silent, brooding, not even wincing when she cleaned the raw wound, and poured in wine. His eyes stared at the grass; the only pain he felt was the mystical anguish that her soft hands caused him. “There!” She knelt facing him of a sudden, her eyes looking steadily into his face. “Now, you may speak to me, Martin Valliant. There can be no silence between us. Tell me all that is in your heart.” His head seemed to sink lower. “Are you afraid of me, Martin—you who would fear no man? What am I but a woman?” “It is the woman I fear.” “Oh! man—man!” He answered her sullenly. “I was on the way to sin against you. What am I but an outcast? What can I give you?” “What do I ask of life?” “It is I who must ask for you, think for you, face God for you.” She caught his hands. “Martin, look into my eyes.” He obeyed her. “Tell me, what do you see in them?” His face shone with a strange light. “I see—something—something that is too good and great for me, a sacred thing that I must not touch.” She drew her breath deeply. “Oh, my man, what has come to you? Will you not think of me as the woman, the woman to be saved from other men?” “Mellis!” His voice was hoarse, and she felt the muscles in his arms quivering. “Yes, you cannot shirk that truth. But what is in your mind? You spoke of Swartz and Gawdy Town.” He steadied himself. “That is ended. Is there no right of sanctuary in the land?” “Sanctuary?” She had begun to tremble a little. “The nuns of Lilburn Minster are good women; you could take sanctuary there—till the times mended. No man could harm you.” “Martin, you are offering me death!” “Death?” “Oh, man—man! Have we not suffered enough together? Are you turning to stone? Is it for my sake? I would rather die than do this thing! My heart will have none of it!” He bowed his head over her hands. “May I be strong—for your sake!” “Strong—to wound me—to the death.” She let go of his hands, drew aside, and knelt staring at the grass. Presently she spoke, and her voice accused him.