And this from that high-strung, nerveless maid who had matured to womanhood in the crisis of the night before--seizing command of a menacing situation through sheer effrontery and wit, compelling fate itself to swerve aside as she led our galloping horses through the slowly closing gates of peril.
Her head drooped and lay on the edge of the bed pillowed by the flowered curtains; she rubbed the tears from her eyes with white fingers, drawing a deep, unsteady breath or two.
I had found my voice at last, assuring her that all was well, that she should have a flag when she desired it, that here nobody knew who she was, and that when she was dressed I was ready to discuss the situation and do whatever was most advisable.
"If there's a scandal," she said dolefully, "I suppose I must ask a flag at once."
"That would be best," I admitted.
"But there's no scandal yet," she protested.
"Not a breath!" I cried cheerfully. "You see, we have the situation in our own hands. Where is that wit, where is that gay courage you wore like magic armor through the real perils of yesterday?"
"Gone," she said, looking up at me. "I don't know where it is--I--I was not myself yesterday. I was frightened--terror spurred me to things I never dreamed of when I thought of you hanging there on the Common----"
"You blessed child!" I cried, dropping on one knee beside her.
She laid her hand on my head, looking at me for a long while in silence.
"I can not help it," she said. "I really care nothing for what folk say. All this that we have done--and my indiscretion--nay, that we have run away and I am here with you--all this alarms me not at all. Indeed," she added earnestly, "I do truly find you so agreeable that I should have fretted had you gone away alone. Now I am honest with myself and you, Carus--this matter has sobered me into gravest reflection. I have the greatest curiosity concerning you--I had from the very first--spite of all that childish silliness we committed. I don't know what it is about you that I can not let you go until I learn more of you. Perhaps I shall--we have a week here before a flag goes north, have we not?" she asked naïvely.
"The flag goes at your pleasure, Elsin."
"Then it is my pleasure that we remain a while--and see--and see--" she murmured, musing eyes fixed on the sunny window. "I would we could fall in love, Carus!"
"We are pledged to try," I said gaily.