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“I tell you the truth, Denise, because——”

She looked up at him suddenly, and their eyes met. Denise saw the deeper truth, that great mystery of life that cannot hide itself from the eyes of a woman.

“Lord, what shall I say to you?”

He spread his arms.

“Say nothing. Do what I, Grimbald, all, desire. I have good friends at Winchelsea. You will be safe there. The King wishes to win the Cinque Ports over. He will not be rough with them, as yet. They are too precious to be ravaged.”

Denise looked at the sky beyond the boughs of the beech trees, letting her hands hang over her knees.

“Lord,” she said, “I am still obstinate. I have lived among you all.”

“Denise, I also am obstinate.”

“I would not have you otherwise. And yet, how can I shirk the truth that I shall be deserting you all the moment trouble comes?”

He smiled at her, and shook his head.

“Should we be the happier if you fell into the hands of Peter of Savoy? No. That is unthinkable! I would rather see you—dead like Waleran’s boy—before they carried you into Pevensey! Good God, you, to be touched by such hands!”