There was silence between them for a spell, while the boy looked straight before him, frowning and a little white. Presently his companion spoke, caressingly and almost timidly:-- ‘You are not angry with me, Brion, are you?’ ‘Why should I be angry?’ ‘Dear’--she leant a thought nearer to him--‘I don’t mind if you _are_ a bustard.’ He nodded his head, setting his teeth:-- ‘Gramercy for that! You mean very well--though I will not ask you what you mean. What I desire to know is Sir John’s charge against my Uncle.’ ‘No charge, bless the boy--only a conjuncture.’ ‘What--conjuncture?’--his lips twitched, though he kept his frown. ‘I’m afraid to tell that face. Make it kinder, Brion, or I dare not.’ ‘There!’ ‘That he hath gone into hiding, fearing an impeachment.’ ‘An impeachment? For what?’ ‘Nay, I know not.’ ‘Nothing?’ ‘Only that he is whispered to be a Papist at heart, and to have been disbenched for favouring a Papish suitor.’ The boy considered; then said quietly:-- ‘It may be. Withal, I see no disgrace in that.’ ‘No, Brion,’ was the meek answer. ‘Do you, Joan?’ ‘I am going to borrow your eyes from this time, Brion. Let me look into them. They are very kind and true, i’faith--a little sober for me, but they will be good to smile to in the glass. Well, I see now there is no harm in being a Papist.’ ‘Of course there is not--though I am none myself. How quick and jestingly you answer; yet methinks your activity is most in your tongue.’ ‘How do you mean?’ ‘Are you fond of exercise, Joan?’ ‘Not very.’ ‘So I should have guessed. You remind me of a white rabbit I once had--warm and soft and cuddlesome. It liked to lie in my arms.’ ‘You are an outrageous boy--and very insulting. I think I shall have to hate you.’ ‘That is a pity, because I wanted you to love me.’ ‘Did you, i’faith? In any case we are over-young to love.’ ‘It is good practice to begin young. Will you be my white rabbit, Joan?’ ‘By my troth, no. How my back aches, sitting thus upright.’ ‘Is that better?’ ‘Ye--yes. Brion, will you always love me?’ ‘O, Joan, till I die!’ ‘Yet you know not what you love.’ ‘I am content. I will not ask, since you put a seal upon my lips. Shall we meet here every day?’ ‘Not for worlds! Well, you must keep it a secret.’ ‘Marry, will I! How do you come?’ ‘The way you came; or, when I ride Gritty, over the hill. We are much in company, sweet dear, and much alone together.’ ‘You found this bower by chance?’ ‘Yes, by chance. What brought you here?’ ‘Why, you.’ ‘Silly! how could you know?’ ‘Like a diviner, by the rod, I suppose. That is one of the rewards of fishing.’ ‘You speak from knowledge? Ah, you are but a willy-wisp, I fear me.’ ‘So God mend me, I am not, Joan. Thou are the first love of mine, as thou shalt be the last.’ ‘Not omitting Alse?’ ‘Alse!’ (scornfully) ‘She was but a baby.’ ‘Well, I will believe you.’