"Your place is by his
side. Nay, look not at me, Alleyne. It is no time for dallying.
Win my father's love, and all may follow. It is when the brave
soldier hath done his devoir that he hopes for his reward,
Farewell, and may God be with you!" She held out her white, slim
hand to him, but as he bent his lips over it she whisked away and
was gone, leaving in his outstretched hand the very green veil
for which poor Peter Terlake had craved in vain. Again the
hoarse cheering burst out from below, and he heard the clang of
the rising portcullis. Pressing the veil to his lips, he thrust
it into the bosom of his tunic, and rushed as fast as feet could
bear him to arm himself and join the muster.
The raw morning had broken ere the hot spiced ale had been served
round and the last farewell spoken. A cold wind blew up from the
sea and ragged clouds drifted swiftly across the sky.
The Christchurch townsfolk stood huddled about the Bridge of
Avon, the women pulling tight their shawls and the men swathing
themselves in their gaberdines, while down the winding path from
the castle came the van of the little army, their feet clanging
on the hard, frozen road.
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