“Consequently, George, sic’ influence as I possess—whilk is sma’—and a’ my money—whilk is no’ sae muckle as I could wish—I will joyfully adventure to get ye safe awa’! Our first conseederation must be tae get ye ower tae France.” “Aye, but wherefore France, sir?” “Ye’ll be safe there, man.” “Mebbe, sir, but I can’t speak the lingo, d’ye see, an’ I dunno as I like furrineers; ’sides, sir, I’ve made my plans to bide nice an’ quiet in Alfriston——” “But, ye muckle fule,” cried Sir Hector, “ye ken the man Sayle means tae hunt ye doon?” “Aye, I do, sir; this be why I’ll bide along in Alfriston; poor Potter’ll be safest theer. Lord bless ’ee, there bean’t a Sussex man, woman nor child as would give Potter away! An’ there’s plenty o’ hiding-places I knaws on wheer nobody will never find poor Potter nowhen an’ nohow——” Here Mr. Potter paused to drink as my lady reappeared; she, taking her leave forthwith, Sir John did the same, and together they stepped forth into the sunshine. CHAPTER XXXII TELLETH HOW SIR JOHN DERING WENT A-WOOING Upon the Down a soft wind met them, a gentle breath sweet with wild thyme and fresh with ocean, a wind that touched them like a caress; insomuch that my lady removed hat and cap the better to feel it, and, sinking upon the smooth, turfy bank beside the path, sat to behold the beauties of teeming earth and radiant heaven, yet very conscious of him who stood beside her, wherefore she presently bade him be seated. Thus, side by side, they remained awhile, and never a word between them. “Rose,” said he at last, “most sweet and fragrant maid, thou canst be so nobly kind, so tender, so brave and womanly that there be times love doth so enthral me, I would thou hadst never known Herminia.” “Indeed, sir! And is Herminia so bitter, so hard, so cowardly, so altogether evil?” “She is—Herminia!” “And you,” cried she, ablaze with sudden anger, “what are you, despite your foolish play-acting, but that same ‘Wicked Dering’ whose name is a byword—even here!” “So it is, child, that I would be the good John Derwent a little longer, for thy sake and my sake. For as John Derwent I do so love thee, my Rose, I would John Dering had never been. In John Derwent is all John Dering’s better self ... to reverence thee with such a love that, yearning to possess thee, scarce dare touch thy hand.” As he spoke, his voice took on a deeper note, his pale cheek flushed, and in his eyes shone a light she had never seen there before; and, beholding him thus moved, her breath quickened and she glanced away lest he should read the triumph in her face. “Can such love truly be?” she asked softly. “So long as thou art Rose,” he answered. “And what o’ poor Herminia?” “Do but love me, Rose, and I will strive to love her for thy dear sake.”