Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 3 — page 38: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

320 | ‘ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. er. On the way I unsheathed my sword, son. If I go, sweet Mistress Jeyce, wilt although why I should have done 30 I de promise me this: wilt summon me if need not know, save that I was young and of arise?” heraic temperament in those days.. “That I promise,” she replied quickly, With the naked blade in my right hand “ should need of any champion arise. And I stood at the entrance to the little rustic you will promise me one thing, too?” house and spoke before she was aware of ‘“‘ Anything!” I whispered joyously out my presence. of the sheer intoxication of her’ nearness. “ Mistress Eveleigh,” I said, “I see you “‘ That you will tell no man of what you ill beset with trouble and grief. In what may have heard or seen in this garden? way can an honest gentleman serve? My That you will tell no man that you were wil] and my sword are yours to command.” here, or even know of such a place?” She looked up and gave a little cry of Instantly I thought of John Bunyan. fright at my appearing, although not so He had been here. He knew of much that ~ much, I now know, at the unexpectedness had transpired. But I need tell him noth- of it. She glanced quickly at the manor, ing further than he already knew. and then, to my surprise, laid a hand upon ‘* Promise, Master Brooke!” my left arm and drew me into the shadows “I promise,” I whispered, drunk with of the bower. the sweet wine of her vaice, her gaze, the “Master Brooke!” she cried at the pitch thrill of her fingers on my hard. of a whisper. “Go, then,” she said. “Go as you ‘“ Aye, Mistress Joyce. And to ha’ dane came, unseen of any eyes. Indeed, I shall with child’s play, I am no tinker’s appren- ever hold thee in even more grateful re- tice, as I think you know, but son of a membrance.” gentleman, and not myself wholly without I went by the wall,-wpon the parapet of right to champion any lady. I will confess which I looked back far one mare sight of that I did overhear much fram my hid- her dear eyes. But she had appeared, ing in that tree there; but think me not a_ either within the bower or toward spy or anenemy. I did so act only that I manor. might learn how to serve.”’ Presently I was walking as in a pleasent For a moment she gazed into my face dream toward Naseby. At first my with gentle, grateful eyes. The fingers thoughts were all of her — her eyes, a4 upon my arm seemed to tighten and cling voice; the touch of her fingers still sensed for a moment. Then the great fear toak upon my hand. possession again, and she cried in the same Then the intoxication of June fancy tense whisper: turned to the inevitable reverse of the mat- ‘“Go! Ob, I prithee, go! If you love ter—principally that uncle of hers who, I me, sir—that is, if you have regard for my began to suspect, was no uncle at all, but peace—would truly serve me—go this nn? clandestine lover! And that lover had stamt. Leave this garden and do not re- turn!” lips but for her—what was it? Coquetry, “Nay! Not until—”’ : or fear of observing eyes, or amply that “As a gentleman you will—you must!” she did not leve the man? : she pleaded. “I knew without words you I thought of him, wondered about him. were that. Now a lady asks a gentleman I would be glad to hear John’s opinion of to retire. Surely you will’ not ask me to the man. But this I might not ask without explein?”’ endangering my promise. The less I dis- As she said it the fingers on my arm cussed the matter with Bunyan the less crept to my left hand and lingered there, difficult it would be to avoid John’s natu- as delicate as an angel’s touch in sleep. ral questioning about what happened after “IT must even then obey,” I said; ‘“ yet his departure. —'tis hard to leave thee with tears still un- Bunyan, too, was held by something of dried on thy cheeks, knowing not the rea- a promise to Ruth. Perhaps he, too, would ZA kissed her cheek, would have kissed her — (CO