“’Tis well nigh whole now, sweet mistress,” said Stephen, complying however, for it was too sweet to have those little fingers busy about him, for the offer to be declined. “How gatst thou the blow?” asked Dennet. “Was it at single-stick? Come, thou mayst tell me. ’Twas in standing up for some one.” “Nay, mistress, I would it had been.” “Thou hast been in trouble,” she said, leaning on the baluster above him. “Or did ill men set on thee?” “That’s the nearest guess,” said Stephen. “’Twas that tall father of mine aunt’s, the fellow that came here for armour, and bought poor Master Michael’s sword.” “And sliced the apple on thine hand. Ay?” “He would have me for one of his Badgers.” “Thee! Stephen!” It was a cry of pain as well as horror. “Yea, mistress; and when I refused, the fellow dealt me a blow, and laid me down senseless, to bear me off willy nilly, but that good old Lucas Hansen brought mine uncle to mine aid—” Dennet clasped her hands. “O Stephen, Stephen! Now I know how good the Lord is. Wot ye, I asked of Tibble to take me daily to St. Faith’s to crave of good St. Julian to have you all in his keeping, and saith he on the way, ‘Methinks, mistress, our dear Lord would hear you if you spake to Him direct, with no go-between.’ I did as he bade me, Stephen, I went to the high Altar, and prayed there, and Tibble went with me, and lo, now, He hath brought you back safe. We will have a mass of thanksgiving on the very morn.” Stephen’s heart could not but bound, for it was plain enough for whom the chief force of these prayers had been offered. “Sweet mistress,” he said, “they have availed me indeed. Certes, they warded me in the time of sore trial and temptation.” “Nay,” said Dennet, “thou _couldst_ not have longed to go away from hence with those ill men who live by slaying and plundering?” The present temptation was to say that he had doubted whether this course would not have been for the best both for himself and for her; but he recollected that Giles might be at the gate, and if so, he should feel as if he had rather have bitten out his tongue than have let Dennet know the state of the case, so he only answered— “There be sorer temptations in the world for us poor rogues than little home-biding house crickets like thee wot of, mistress. Well that ye can pray for us without knowing all!” Stephen had never consciously come so near love-making, and his honest face was all one burning glow with the suppressed feeling, while Dennet lingered till the curfew warned them of the lateness of the hour, both with a strange sense of undefined pleasure in the being together in the summer twilight.