“I have lived with you all in the sunshine,” she said. “And now that trouble comes you would have me run away!” “What man would not wish it?” “But you——” “I—I am the worst of all.” She dropped her head suddenly as though hiding the light and colour that had rushed into her eyes and face. “I am not afraid,” she said. “I am”—and he shut his lips on the words—“it is human to be afraid. If you knew this scum of Gascons, Flemings, and what not, you would wish them well beyond the sea. Would to God that we could whip them out of the land. But what would you! We cannot pull down such a rock as Pevensey with our hands. These castles that the King’s men hold for him are too strong for us to meddle with. It is they who will do the meddling, and what do these hired men care for what we honour? You will be on the edge of a pit here. Women are best away when swords are out.” He bent towards her, looking down into her face, his manhood shining out on her, strong and honest, denying itself the right of a romantic beast. “Come with me, and I will guard you against all Christendom.” A weaker and vainer man might have spoken in such heroics. Aymery knew what he knew. Denise would be safer away from him when such men as Waleran were to be his brethren-in-arms. “I tell you the truth, Denise, because——” She looked up at him suddenly, and their eyes met. Denise saw the deeper truth, that great mystery of life that cannot hide itself from the eyes of a woman. “Lord, what shall I say to you?” He spread his arms. “Say nothing. Do what I, Grimbald, all, desire. I have good friends at Winchelsea. You will be safe there. The King wishes to win the Cinque Ports over. He will not be rough with them, as yet. They are too precious to be ravaged.” Denise looked at the sky beyond the boughs of the beech trees, letting her hands hang over her knees. “Lord,” she said, “I am still obstinate. I have lived among you all.” “Denise, I also am obstinate.” “I would not have you otherwise. And yet, how can I shirk the truth that I shall be deserting you all the moment trouble comes?” He smiled at her, and shook his head. “Should we be the happier if you fell into the hands of Peter of Savoy? No. That is unthinkable! I would rather see you—dead like Waleran’s boy—before they carried you into Pevensey! Good God, you, to be touched by such hands!” Denise understood all that was in his heart. She crossed herself as though against the evil things of the world. “Lord,” she said, “let there be this promise between us. If Goldspur is threatened, then—I will do what you desire. When the people take to the woods, I shall feel less of a coward. They shall not say that I fled from a shadow.” And thus it was agreed between them, Aymery riding back through the woods towards Goldspur, the face of Denise more wonderful to him than it had ever seemed before. Aymery had come by the truth that morning, and the world had a mystery—the mystery of the tenderness of spring.