She would not forgive me. She touched bow to strings, playing a fifth. He not only did this, but supplied him with an ointment which allayed the swelling of his limbs, and crowned all by furnishing him with a jug of excellent ale. Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him. “Another young woman, I suppose,” he said, “who knows better than her Maker about her place in the world. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration.
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