some obstacle.

"Sh-sh!" she enjoined, "Janet is within yonder room and will hear
thee; she may already be awake and prying about to know what is astir
upon the terrace!"

"Indeed, I think thou hadst better hide me!"

"Nay, I cannot; I know of no place. Dost thou not know of a safe
hiding?"

"I am safest here in thy chamber, I am sure. I know of no other place.
And if Janet come--which I hardly think possible--thou must fly to her
lighted taper and blow it out, and tell some sweet fib,--say the light
pains thine eyes."

"A ruse holds not good with Janet. I cannot play upon her wit."

"Then, Sweet, I will lock the door and--"

"Nay, nay, she will hear thee, and will come to see if I have been
awakened."

"Then I had best keep quiet and wait to see what will happen."

"There is naught else for thee to do, for surely thou canst not go
below, thou wouldst be seen, and--"

"--and, what, Sweet?"

"--and be taken prisoner."

"And wouldst thou be pained, Sweet?" He drew her close, his dark curls
swept her face as he bent his head. Nor did he wait for an answer, but
plied her with another question that the moment and the closeness gave
license to. "Wilt give, Sweet, the nuptial kiss--'tis my due?" She
raised her head from his shoulder ever so slightly to answer him, but
the words came not, for his lips were upon hers. She was thrilled with
his tenderness; 'twas more than she ever could have thought. And as
he held her close, she, not unwilling, declared separation would be
instant death. She wondered how she ever could have withstood love so
long. And he kissed her again and again, saying heaven could not offer
greater favour. "Dost feel happy now, Sweet?"

She answered not, but stood, her head leant against the rare and
scented lace of his steenkirk, held captive, trembling with an ecstasy
too sweet to be accounted for.

"Thou dost tremble, Kate; has thy fear not left thee yet?"

"Nay," came soft and breathless from her full red lips. "I am still
afraid."

"But what dost thou fear now, so close wrapped?"

"I know not; 'tis a strange fear. If thou shouldst be taken from me,
I should die; 'tis this I fear most of all, and even for a
separation--nay, nay, I could not live."

"Oh, Sweet, 'tis excess of gladness that thou art wife--wife, the word
alone fills me with rapturous exaltation. Wouldst be glad if we had
never met thus, should separation come?"

"Nay, a thousand times, nay, these moments are worth