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Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts), 1856-1913

"A Prince of Cornwall A Story of Glastonbury and the West in the Days of Ina of Wessex"


"I have not sent for you for nothing, Oswald," she said, blushing a
little as if it were a hard matter she had to speak of. "There is
somewhat on my mind that I must needs disburden."
"Open confession is good," I said, laughing--"what is it?
"Well--have you forgotten your vow of last Yuletide?"
"Not in the least. Would you have me do so? For that were somewhat
hard."
"No--but yes, in a way."
There she stopped for a moment, and I waited for her to go on, not
having any very clear notion of what was to come. She turned away
from me somewhat, letting her fingers play over one of the tall
horns on the table, when she spoke again.
"It has been in my mind that you--that maybe you thought that I
have been hard on you--in ways, since we spoke in the orchard."
So that was what troubled her, but I did not see why she should
have spoken of it, seeing that a lady has no need at all to justify
her ways in such a matter, surely.
"No," I answered, "that I never thought. If my vow displeased you,
or maybe rather if I displeased you thereafter, I had no reason to
blame any one but myself for the way in which it was needful that I
should be shewn that so it was. It was just the best thing for me,
for it cured me of divers kinds of foolishnesses."
"That is what I would have heard you say," she said with a
light-hearted laugh enough, while her face cleared.


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