"Nay, Little Marie," he said, smiling sadly. "There is no one whom I love, no one who cares in the least to hear of me or of my welfare."
The girl stood still, plucking at the lace on her black sleeve, and looking down.
"Run home now, Little Marie," said Wat, kindly. "I am glad you have left the Hostel of the Coronation. Do not go back there any more."
The girl stood still in her place beneath the window.
At last she said, without looking up, "There is one whom you do not love, who cares much that you are in prison and alone!"
"And who may that be, Marie--old Jack Scarlett, mayhap?"
The girl looked up for a moment--a sudden, flashing look through blinding tears.
"Only bad-hearted Little Marie--that would die for you!" she said, brokenly.
And without caring even to wipe away her tears, she walked slowly down the midst of the Street of the Prison, seeing no one at all, and answering none of the greetings that were showered upon her.
Kate stood at her favorite window, looking down upon five little boys playing barley break in a solemn plantigrade Dutch fashion in the dust of Zaandpoort Street by the canal. Opposite her stood Barra. He was dressed in his customary close-fitting suit of black velvet, and his slim waist was belted by the orange sash of a high councillor, while by his side swung a splendid sword in a scabbard of gold. A light cape of black velvet was about his shoulders, and its orange lining of fine silk drooped gracefully over his arm.
"Listen to me, dear lady," he was saying. "I am a soldier, and not a courtier. I have not glozing words to woo you with. No more than a plain man's honest words. I love you, and from that I shall never change. At present I can offer you but a share of the exile's bitter bread. But when the prince comes to his own, there shall be none in broad Scotland able to count either men or money with Murdo, Earl of Barra and of the Small Isles."
"My Lord Barra," said Kate, "I thank you for your exceeding courtesy. I feel your surpassing condescension. But I cannot marry you now nor yet again. If I loved you at all I should be proud and glad to take you by the hand and walk out of the door with you into the wide world--for you renouncing friends, fame, wealth, all, as if they were so many dead leaves of the autumn. But since I do not and cannot love you, believe that the proffer of great honor and rank can never alter my decision. This, indeed, I have told you before."