"
"Heaven knows, and you know, Emlyn, 'tis not for want of love."
"Heaven may know, but I don't."
"I gave my solemn word."
"And you have kept it these ten years, and all is changed." Then
altering her tone, "There now, I know it takes an hour to beat a
notion into that slow brain of yours, and here we be at home, and I
shall have madam after me. I'll leave you to see the sense of it,
and if I do not hear of something before long, why then I shall know
how much you care for poor little Emlyn."
With which last words she flitted within the gates, leaving Steadfast
still too much stunned to realise all she meant, as he turned
homewards; but all grew on him in time, the idea that Emlyn, his
Emlyn, his orphan of the battlefield, bereaved for the sake of King
and Church, should be striving to make him betray his trust! "The
silver is Mine and the gold is Mine," rang in his ears, and yet was
it not cruel that when she really loved him best, and sought to
return to him as a refuge from the many temptations to her lively
spirit, he should be forced to leave her in the midst of them--
against her own warning and even entreaty, and not only himself lose
her, but lose her to one of those godless riotous sailors who were
the dread and bane of the neighbourhood? Was not a human soul worth
as much as a consecrated Chalice?
These were the debates in Steadfast's much tormented soul.
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