Nay, even of the sound of my own voice I am afraid, lest
whomsoever is hearing it--for all that he speak me fair--be twisting the words
in his mind into evils I have not dreamed of. Sebert, I do not reproach you
with it! I think it all the fault of my own blunders, -- and therein I find a
new terror. That one should suffer for wrong-doing is to be looked for, but if
one is to be dealt with so unsparingly only for making mistakes, who knows
where his position is or what to expect? Oh, my best friend, make me brave or
I am likely to die only through fearing to live! With my ignorance my boldness
went from me, until now my courage is lowly as a willow leaf. Love, make me
brave again!" Trusting, in her very declaration of distrust, she clung to him
to save her from herself.
It was in the briar-pricked fingers, which he was pressing against his cheek,
that he found his answer. Suddenly he spread them out in his palm before her,
laughing with joyful lightness. "Randalin, the thorns wounded your hands the
while that you stripped yonder hedge, but did you stop for that? If I can
prove to you that all these dark days you have been but plucking roses, can
you not bravely bear with the pricks?"
Putting her gently from him, he gathered up the spoils she had let fall,
picking from among them with great care the fairest of either kind, while she,
catching his mood, watched him April-faced.
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