"Your love, Philippa," he said, in a voice that was now become very tender and solemn, "is a pearl of price so great that but yesterday it was all I asked of Heaven. But shall this jewel be set in a filthy copper ring? I know, sweetheart," he went on, "that you have found me churlish this morning. But since I awoke I have one only thought in my mind, that I did wrong last night, with my honor thus overshadowed, to tell you of my love." "Nay," I said, "there was no telling; and there needed none." "Did I not tell you--" he began. But from over his shoulder I gently clapped hand upon his mouth, crying: "Hush, dear Ned! 'T was this way that it befell. Listen, for all else is what you have dreamed." And I took here the tone and manner of one that tells to a child the sweetest fairy-tale he knows. "Two did ride in the night. The two had each a heart, and the heart of one was sore hurt. Now of the other the heart was well and safely lodged behind a little secret door. And this door was never opened, though there was one did know the way to it, and at his knock it had been wont of old to move somewhat ajar on the hinge. But in that dark night the heart that was hurt did cry aloud, and--and that small door did fly open, and now, Ned----" "Ay, sweetheart?" he said, as I paused; and he tried to look round at me: but I would not let him. "And now, Ned," I continued, "the door is closed forever; but the heart is abroad, and hath no home but here." And here I slipped to my knees by his side, leaning with hands tight clasped in supplication against his breast. "My lord," I said, "must even keep his promise to his handmaid, who will gladly bear all that she may share with him. But, without his presence and his love, the sun will be darkened to her eyes all the days of her life." And so there was an end; for his arms came about me and ended all strife between us even to this moment of writing. CHAPTER XVIII And thus my father surprised us, by which accident we were not a little taken aback. My lover, however, rose bravely to the occasion, and very plainly and without any mincing of the matter asked him for my hand in marriage; saying in conclusion, however, that he was aware his present state and condition might well justify Sir Michael's refusing to grant his request: "Which, sir," said he, "I had not made until cleared of all suspicion of treason to His Highness, but for you knowing me innocent, and the recent avowal of my affection being by surprise, as it were, wrung from me." "Indeed, sir," I broke in, hoping by a little boldness to cover my confusion the better, "there was no surprise but this same gad-about daughter of yours. It was through no fault of his, for none but I did wring from Captain Royston that offer of alliance he now seems minded to repent."