"We are safe enough now, madam," she said, and went on to explain,
"Hold you by that path, Princess, until beech and holly end and oaks
begin. Follow the dip of the land, you will come to Thornyhold Brush;
with those you find there you may stay until you know who shall send
for you. That may be likely a week or more, for I am not so young as I
would be, and the roads are thick with Galordians. Now kiss me quickly
if you will stoop so low: it is the last time I shall ask it of you."
Isoult thanked her with sparkling eyes and warm red lips; then she
stood alone in the wood watching her old friend go. Afterwards she
herself took to the path, wondering, but light-hearted and minded to
run.
The spruce Falve, curled and anointed for the bridal, found no wife,
but his mother, who called him a fool, a knave, a notorious evil-liver
and contemner of holy persons. This was hard to bear, for part of it
at least he knew to be quite true. What was harder was, that hitherto
he had always believed his mother of his party. But there is no
pietist like your reformed rake; so Falve left the huckster's shop
vowing vengeance. The day was July 18, and all the town astir, for
Galors de Born and his riders were just in from a raid.