"I care not to proclaim my adventure with the outlaws. It would make
me a merry jest in the hall."
"I understand--and yet, wounded and without bonnet or doublet, you will
not pass unnoted; an explanation will be obligatory."
"The wound is easy," he said; "my own dagger made it, you remember--but
the doublet and bonnet, particularly the doublet, are bothersome."
She looked at him with quick decision.
"I will manage that," she said; "your squire shall bring both to you
here."
De Lacy's face lighted with sudden pleasure, and he put out his hand
toward hers--then drew it sharply back and bowed.
"Still bowing?" she said naively.
"I have no words to speak my gratitude," he said.
"And I no ears that wish to hear them, if you had," she laughed. "This
morning you have had much trouble--I much pleasure--the scales are
balanced--the accounts canceled. We will forget it all. Never will I
mention it to you--nor you to me--nor either to another. When we meet
again it will be as though to-day had never been. . . Nay, sir, it
must be so. You have been unfortunate, I unconventional--it is best
for both we start afresh."
"But am I not even to know your name?" he protested.
She shook her head. "Not even that, now, and I ask your word not to
seek to know it--until we meet again."
"You have it," said he, "until we meet again--to-morrow."
She smiled vaguely. "It will be a far to-morrow . . . good-bye, my
lord," and rode away--then turned. "Wait for your squire," she called.
"And for to-morrow," he cried.
But she made no answer, and with a wave of her hand was gone, the dog
leaping in front of her and baying loud with joy.