y, and the very winds of heaven, could not help
but know the meaning of my words."

She put her free hand to his face, upturned to hers, and stroked it.

"Thou poor one!" she said with gentle pity. "Is it that thou art ill
to-night? Thy face burns hot, like fire. Is all well with thee?"

Nicanor suddenly bowed his head forward on her knees.

"Nay," he answered huskily. "It is not well."

She sat a moment, her hand resting idle on his rough black head.

"I am sorry!" she said then, simply. "Is there--is there aught that I
could do? When my lord father is ill, he will have me sometimes to
stroke his head, to ease the pain. Wilt thou that I should stroke thy
head also?--Nay, do not move! See, I will touch it so, and so, and soon
thou shalt be cured."

She bent over him, as he leaned against her, her soft hands slowly
stroking his forehead with touch as light as the brushing of a
rose-leaf. Nicanor stood it as long as he could. Then he crushed her
hands in his, and kissed them passionately, many times, and rose to his
feet.

"Dear little hands, that would cure all the pain and sorrow of the world
an they might! They have healed me, sweet, and made me sane--ay, and
wounded deeper than they healed! Go now, quickly, dear heart, while I
have courage and will to say it."

"But--" she began, hesitating. He interrupted, fiercely.

"Go, child, go! Or I'll not give thee the chance again!"

"But thy head--" she persisted.

"It is cured," he answered. As she turned away, surprised at his sudden
brusqueness, he took a step beside her.

"Hast heard that thy lord father will leave Britain for Rome?" he asked
abruptly.

"Leave Britain? But it is not so!" she exclaimed. "Why should he do
that? He would not leave without me, and I--I will not go. I will stay
here; I will not go to Rome! And thou,--" she came closer to him,--"wilt
thou come to-morrow and tell me tales? Last night I waited for thee, and
when thou didst not come I was lonely. Do not let me be lonely again, I
pray thee!"

Nicanor looked at her for a time.

"Ay," he said finally, in a hushed voice. "I will come."

She turned from him and started across the grass. He watched her, and
his hands slowly clenched. She looked back once over her shoulder, her
face glimmering white in the starlit darkness. It was enough. In a
stride he was after her; in a heart-beat she was in his arms, her face
hidden against his breast.

"I love thee--I love thee!" he whispered