He strutted to the gate, and was gone. In a moment, Millicent was by Ravenshaw's side; neither of the two thinking to fasten the gate after the knight's departure.
"I see we must be quick," said Ravenshaw. "Your only escape from this marriage is to run away from it. Your only refuge, you once thought, was your uncle's house. But now that seems closed to you."
"I am not sure. My uncle wrote me so, when he was fresh from his mishap in London. But if he found me at his door, he might not have the heart to thrust me away."
"No doubt; but your father would seek you at your uncle's. You think you could be hid there; but if your father is the man he seems, and your uncle is the man _he_ seems, your father would soon have you out of hiding; he would have the house down, else. Is it not so?"
"Now there is a way whereby it may be possible for you to find refuge elsewhere; or whereby you may e'en go to your uncle's and defy your father when he comes after you."
"Troth, have you ne'er thought on't? If you were already married--but not to Sir Peregrine or any such kind of stockfish--might not your husband take you to his own house? or if he took you to your uncle's, what good were your father's claim upon you against your husband's?"
She looked at him timidly but sweetly, and trembled a little.
"What?" quoth she, with pretended gaiety. "Escape a husband by seeking a husband?"
"By accepting, not seeking, one--one less unfit--one that a maid might find to her liking."
"Why, in good sooth--I hope I am not a bold hussy for saying so--but rather than be bound to that odious Sir Peregrine, I think I would choose blindfold any husband that offered! And if he were, as you say, to my liking--"
"I said he might be to the liking of some maids. Have you ever considered what manner of man your fancy might rest upon?"
He covered the seriousness of the question with a feigned merriment. She, too, wore a smile; in her confusion, she fingered the low-hanging apple-blossoms, and avoided his eyes, but, watching him furtively, she noticed how familiarly his hand reposed on his sword-hilt; ere she bethought herself, she answered:
"Oh, a man of good wit, a better wit than face, and yet a middling good face, too; a man that could handle a rapier well--yes, certainly a good swordman; and as for--"