“It is I, indeed, thy little wife.  O Culverhouse—­and I thought that thou hadst but come hither to die!”

There was a catch in her voice that told how great had been the strain of the past minutes—­greater than he could know just then.  She found it hard to keep back the tears as she knelt beside him, listening whilst he whispered to her of all that had been said about that sudden marriage of theirs, and how that none would dare to call him free of his plighted word.

“And so thou art in very truth my betrothed wife, sweet Kate,” he said, “and none may part us now.  It was as I said when I bid thee come and plight thy troth.  It was a pledge too solemn to be broken.  My father and mother say so, and so does thy father.  We may not be able to wed just yet; but if what I hear be true, sure our day of waiting need not be so very long.”

The colour had come back into her face now; her eyes were sparkling in their old fashion.  She looked indeed the same “saucy Kate” that he had known and loved ever since his early boyhood.

There were steps behind them, and Sir Richard emerged from the room where he had been holding counsel with Mistress Dowsabel.  He looked at the two beside the fireplace, and at that other pair in the window, both too much absorbed in each other to heed him; and with a smile upon his face he strode forward and laid his hand upon Kate’s shoulder.

“And so, my headstrong daughter, it is to that strong will of thine, and the reckless courage I have sometimes chidden, that we owe our lives and our safety today?” he said.

Culverhouse looked up eagerly.

“What sayest thou, sir?” he asked, whilst Kate’s face crimsoned over from brow to chin.

“Say, my lad? why, I say that but for this hardy wench of mine, who, instead of retreating behind the strong walls of the house, flung open with her own hands the iron gates to let us in, we should by this time have been in sorry plight enow, had we not all been dead men.  It was she who opened those gates when all else feared to do so—­she who (aided by her two companions, whom she inspired by her own courage) saved us from our foes.  It was she who shot down the foremost enemies, who would else have had thy life, Culverhouse, and with her own hands dragged thee, all unconscious as thou wert, within these gates.

“Wherefore, as to thee, boy, I owe my life (for that thou didst receive in thine arm the charge that else would have dashed out my brains), and that to her we both owe this timely rescue, methinks that no wife nor daughter could do more, and that we must let bygones be bygones and wed you so soon as may be.  I will give my fatherly blessing to you twain, for you are worthy of each other, and have proved it this night.  And so soon as you can win the sanction of your good parents to your nuptials, Culverhouse, I will give my saucy Kate to you without a doubt or a fear.”

Chapter 25:  “On The Dark Flowing River.”