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"I have a liking for that north countryman," he remarked
presently. "He hath good power of hatred. Couldst see by his
cheek and eye that he is as bitter as verjuice. I warm to a man
who hath some gall in his liver."
"Ah me!" sighed Alleyne. "Would it not be better if he had some
love in his heart?"
"I would not say nay to that. By my hilt! I shall never be said
to be traitor to the little king. Let a man love the sex.
Pasques Dieu! they are made to be loved, les petites, from
whimple down to shoe-string! I am right glad, mon garcon, to see
that the good monks have trained thee so wisely and so well."
"Nay, I meant not worldly love, but rather that his heart should
soften towards those who have wronged him."
The archer shook his head. "A man should love those of his own
breed," said he. "But it is not nature that an English-born man
should love a Scot or a Frenchman. Ma foi! you have not seen a
drove of Nithsdale raiders on their Galloway nags, or you would
not speak of loving them. I would as soon take Beelzebub himself
to my arms.


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