All except the blue-eyed
page; he bent forward instead, so that his long locks fell softly about his
face.
The Lord of Ivarsdale shook his head indolently against the cushion. "No wood
lass for me, friend Celric," he said. "The lady of my love shall be a
high-born maid who knows no more of the world's roughness than I of woman's
ways. Nor shall she follow me at all, but stay modestly at home with her maids
and keep herself gentle and fair against my return. Deliver me from your
sun-browned, boy-bred wenches!"
"I am consenting to that, lord!" a voice cried from the benches; and a hubbub
of conflicting opinions arose. Only the page neither spoke or moved.
The henchman would not be downed; again his voice rose above the others. "In
soft days, my lord, in soft days, it might easily be so. But bear in mind such
times as these, when grief happens to a man oftener than joy. Methinks your
lily-fair lady would swoon at the sight of your blood; and tears would be the
best answer you would get, should you seek to draw comfort out of her."
White as a star at dawn, the page's face was raised while his wide eyes hung
on his master's; and from the little reed wound between his brown fingers, the
juice began to ooze slowly as though some silent force were crushing the life
out of its green heart.
But the young noble laughed with gay scorn: "Tears would be in all respects a
better answer than I should deserve, should I whimper faint-hearted words into
a maiden's ear.
Pages:
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150