The Lord Gro lay back, clasping his slender hands behind his head. “Stand, I pray thee,” said he, “o’ the other side of me, that I may see thy face.” She did so, still threatening him with the sword. And he said smiling, “Divine lady, all my days have I had danger for my bedfellow, and peril of death for my familiar friend; whilom leading a delicate life in princely court, where murther sitteth in the wine-cup and in the alcove; whilom journeying alone in more perilous lands than this, as witness the Moruna, where the country is full of venomous beasts and crawling poisoned serpents, and the divels be as abundant there as grasshoppers on a hot hillside in summer. He that feareth is a slave, were he never so rich, were he never so powerful. But he that is without fear is king of all the world. Thou hast my sword. Strike. Death shall be a sweet rest to me. Thraldom, not death, should terrify me.” She paused awhile, then said unto him, “My Lord Gro, thou didst do me once a right great good turn. Surely I may build my safety on this, that never yet did kite bring forth a good flying hawk.” She shifted her hold on his sword, and very prettily gave it him hilt-foremost, saying, “I give it thee back, my lord, nothing doubting that that which was given in honour thou wilt honourably use.” But he, rising up, said, “Madam, this and thy noble words hath given such rootfastness to the pact of faith betwixt us that it may now unfold what blossom of oaths thou wilt; for oaths are the blossom of friendship, not the root. And thou shalt find me a true holder of my vowed amity unto thee without spot or wrinkle.” • • • • •