“Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. It was precisely two o'clock on the morning of Whit-monday, the 25th of May 1724, when the remarkable escape before detailed was completed: and, though it wanted full two hours to daybreak, the glimmer of a waning moon prevented it from being totally dark. Joan told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where after all this time. ‘What is it?’ asked Roding. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little. “Not much. "It was that song that put it into my head to cut my name on the beam. " Blueskin, meanwhile, having drained and replenished his glass, commenced chaunting a snatch of a ballad:— Once on a time, as I've heard tell. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. He is a knight.
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