"No, no," I said, "let there be no buts. I cannot bear that you should turn away from me now. I have loved you for many weary, weary days--hopelessly, hopelessly. I dared not tell you till now--but do not repulse me." "And do you want me--really want me? That is, you--you do not despise me because----" "Mistress Nancy--Nancy, my dear one," I said, growing bolder each moment, although I wot not what to say, for truly my love made me as foolish as a child, "all my life is bound up in you; I care for naught but you, and I mind nothing now you are near me. Even my wound hurts me not one whit now." "Your wound?" she cried. "What wound?" "Oh, it is nothing," I answered, vexed with myself for being such a fool as to mention it; "my side was only grazed by the pistol-shot." "What pistol-shot? When? Where?" "It was only a scratch--this morning--when--when Otho fired at me this morning." "Then you are hurt, you are wounded?" "No, not now. O my love, will you not come to me?" Then she rushed to me. "But, but you are not--that is, you are not----" She did not finish the sentence, for she lay sobbing on my shoulder again, just as a babe might sob on its mother's breast. "And do you care?" I said again. "Oh, will you not speak to me once more? Will you not tell me what--what I long to hear?" "You are safe--that is, you are sure you are not hurt--that is very badly?" "No, no; I mind nothing. I am quite well. I shall be happier than words can tell if you--you will only tell me you love me." "I--I am afraid I told you too soon," and this she said with a laugh that had a sob in it, but the sob contained no sorrow, and still I was not satisfied. "But my love, tell me," I cried, "tell me really, for I shall never be content until I hear the words from your own lips." "Oh, I cannot, I am so ashamed," she sobbed. "I did not mean you should know until you--had first told me--that is,--O Roger, I am so happy!" And after that I could doubt no longer, for she lay in my arms contentedly and as if she knew no fear, and then I cared for nothing. The dangers which surrounded me I minded no more than the old knight in armour might mind the threats of children, for although I was homeless and nearly friendless, my heart throbbed with a joy which until then I never believed possible. "Roger," she said again presently, "I am so ashamed, but I could not help it, and--and I _am_ happy; but--but--tell me again what you told me just now." CHAPTER XXVI. I FALL INTO OTHO KILLIGREW'S HANDS.