‘I don’t doubt it, my good Philip; thy devotion was early on women rather than on Holy Church. But I mean the wench with black eyes and raven hair, and dressed in a right comely, yellow kirtle.’ ‘Marry, sir, I was that occupied with the matter of my devotions that I did not mark her.’ ‘My good Philip, thou art lying. The girl, who sat opposite thee, across the aisle?’ ‘Ah, now I know whom thou meanest. The girl is Alice, the Franklin’s daughter.’ ‘What, the daughter of the rich Franklin? By the Virgin, but a fair wench, as pretty a piece of woman’s flesh as I have seen in France or yet in Italy.’ Sir Gilbert thoughtfully stroked his beard. ‘After all,’ he said, ‘England breeds the best horses and the bonniest women.’ II Alice sat in the orchard. The boughs of the old apple-tree overshadowed her with a roof of emerald green and radiant snow. A warm air blew out of the south and toyed with the jet black curls hanging loose round her shoulders. The sunlight, piercing through the leafage, fell in vivid splotches upon her face and bare arms, as she bent busily over her embroidery. Suddenly a long low whistle came from the hedge, repeated three times. At the first whistle Alice raised her head attentively, at the second she smiled and a swift look of joy shot into her dark eyes, at the third she threw down her work and ran to the hedge. It was as she had thought. Philip had climbed the hedge. The next moment he held her in his arms. ‘My darling,’ he said, ‘I am right glad to find thee here. I guessed I should.’ ‘Oh Philip,’ she answered, ‘this is a sight for my poor eyes. But I didn’t hope that thou wouldst dare come. Oh, and if my father finds us together, he will be mad with rage.’ ‘I dare anything for thy sake, pretty Alice,’ he answered, kissing her. ‘But cheerly, my dearest, there’s no chance of your father happening upon us, for I watched him into town a half an hour ago.’ ‘Praise Mary,’ said Alice. ‘If he caught us he would buffet me sorely, and he would tell Sir Gilbert, and then woe to thee, poor Philip.’ The young squire groaned and bit his underlip fiercely. ‘I would to God the old knight were lying in his grave,’ he said. ‘Sh-sh,’ said Alice, putting her little fingers over his tense mouth. ‘Tell me now,’ quoth he, ‘canst thou not persuade thy father against this iniquitous marriage, or at least thy mother? It is a shameful and wicked thing to wed a young maid like thee against her will, and especially to a greybeard like old Sir Gilbert, a notorious villain and ribald to boot.’ Alice sighed deeply. ‘I would by Our Lady I might. But father says that Sir Gilbert has bonny lands and castles and gold and silver in great plenty, nay, he is the lord of all these parts. Mother says the match is God’s own fortune, and I shall have many pretty gowns to wear and go in a great chariot and folk shall call me “My Lady.”’