‘O, Joan, you are an artless darling! What shall I say; what can I do!’ He clutched at his young forehead. ‘I may not ask: my tongue is tied: I will not know; yet, not knowing, how can I answer? “Maids must come to marry,” quotha! But whom, whom? Not a wild man’s loathed alternative? Whom did you mean, Joan? And must it be he or death? Ah, that we two were of an age to wed!’ ‘Well, I will wait for you, an you ask me.’ ‘Will you wait? Will you dare? May he not force you?’ ‘He will not--no, never. I will throw myself from the _Lover’s Leap_ first.’ This was a great sheer crag on the Buckland side of Holne Chase, and known by name and sight to Brion. ‘Will you, Joan?’ he said. The threat was wild and tragic, yet he could not associate this loveling, so gentle-soft, with such a deed. Nor could she herself, it seemed, in grim earnest; for she added:-- ‘But he will not force me--his way is colder. It will be, at the worst, “Take him, or never see my face again. I parley with no wilful child.” Then, an he drive me from his door, I will come to you.’ ‘He could not be so base! The hard oak would refuse to close upon you; the skies would weep a flood to cast you back.’ The girl laughed, a little tearfully; and Brion laughed ruefully in response. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘he is your father, and, such as he appears, no figure of my conjuring. I have asked no questions of you, Joan, have I?’ ‘No, Brion.’ ‘Nor must, of that other, that villain suitor, I suppose?’ ‘Nay, do not, I prithee. It were my shame to clepe him.’ The boy sighed:-- ‘Well, we are together yet!’ And so for long time they sat in silence, their arms linked about one another, innocence in their caresses, since a common emotion had broken down the last reserves between them. Presently Joan spoke:-- ‘You will always be my true knight, Brion?’ ‘On my soul, Joan.’ ‘Then, whatever may part us now, we shall keep one in love and faith?’ ‘Why do you talk of parting? You are not going to leave me?’ ‘Alack! the end comes always--even to summer days. I have heard talk of London; but I know not--only fear. Brion, will you never forget me?’ ‘I live only for you, Joan, and ever shall. Your very name is music to my ears.’ She bent her head down, not answering for awhile. ‘Would you--would you love me even as now, if----’ ‘If what?’ ‘If you came to find me in some sort other than the blameless maid of your fancy?’ ‘To be blameless is, methinks, to be insipid. I do not want you blameless, Joan, but only to be my loving dear.’ ‘I shall always be that, Brion, if I live to a hundred.’ They were loath to part; but clung to one another and to these last moments, as if in some indefinite way they felt in them the running out of the golden sands. But the end had to come, and when at last they rose, each to go its road, in a passionate impulse the boy flung his arms about his comrade’s neck, and set his lips to hers in a long kiss which this time she made no effort to resist or to withdraw from.