"Good even to you, sister," said the voice, a musical voice with the broad accent of Lorraine. "Help me to get rid of this weariful harness."
Catherine's annoyance was forgotten in amazement. Before she knew what she did her fingers were helping the bold youth to disarm. The helm was removed, the surcoat was stripped, and the steel corslet beneath it.With a merry laugh the stranger kicked off the great boots which were too wide for his slim legs.
He stretched himself, yawning, and then laughed again. "By my staff," he said, "but I am the weary one." He stood now in the full glow of the lantern,and Catherine saw that he wore close-fitting breeches of fine linen, a dark pourpoint, and a tunic of blue.The black hair was cut short like a soldier's, and the small secret face had the clear tan of one much abroad in wind and sun. The eyes were tired and yet merry,great grey eyes as clear and deep as a moorland lake....Suddenly she understood. It may have been the sight of the full laughing lips, or the small maidenly breasts outlined by the close-fitting linen. At any rate she did not draw back when the stranger kissed her cheek.