She said urgently: 'Be still. Wouldst thou woo me again to the grunting of hogs?' 'Aye, would I,' he answered. 'Thou didst....' She moved convulsively in her chair. He grasped her more tightly. 'Thou yieldest, I know thee!' he cried triumphantly. He staggered to his feet, still holding her hand. 'Thou shalt come to Paris. Sha't be lodged like a Princess. Sha't see great sights.' She sprang up, tearing herself from him. 'Get thee gone from here,' she shivered. 'I am done with starving with thee. I know thy apple orchard wooings. Get thee gone from here. It is late. I shall be shamed if a man be seen to leave my room so late.' 'Why, I would not have thee shamed, Kat,' he muttered, her strenuous tone making him docile as a child. 'Get thee gone,' she answered, panting. 'I will not starve.' 'Wilt not come with me?' he asked ruefully. 'Thou didst yield in my arms.' 'I do bid thee begone,' she answered imperiously. 'Get thee gold if thou would'st have me. I have starved too much with thee.' 'Why, I will go,' he muttered. 'Buss me. For I depart towards Dover to-night, else this springald cardinal will be gone from Paris ere I come.' IV 'Men shall make us cry, in the end, steel our hearts how we will,' she said to Margot Poins, who found her weeping with her head down upon the table above a piece of paper. 'I would weep for no man,' Margot answered. Large, florid, fair, and slow speaking, she gave way to one of her impulses of daring that covered her afterwards with immense blushes and left her buried in speechless confusion. 'I could never weep for such an oaf as your cousin. He beats good men.' 'Once he sold a farm to buy me a gown,' Katharine said, 'and he goes to a sure death if I may not stay him.' 'It is even the province of men--to die,' Margot answered. Her voice, gruff with emotion, astonished herself. She covered her mouth with the back of her great white hand as if she wished to wipe the word away. 'Beseech you, spoil not your eyes with sitting to write at this hour for the sake of this roaring boy.' Katharine sat to the table: a gentle knocking came at the door. 'Let no one come, I have told the serving knave as much.' She sank into a pondering over the wording of her letter to Bishop Gardiner. It was not to be thought of that her cousin should murder a Prince of the Church; therefore the bishop must warn the Catholics in Paris that Cromwell had this in mind. And Bishop Gardiner must stay her cousin on his journey: by a false message if needs were. It would be an easy matter to send him such a message as that she lay dying and must see him, or anything that should delay him until this cardinal had left Paris.