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"You are not afraid?" A flush of sheer delight in life flooded her cheeks. "Afraid?" she laughed. "Hortense! Hortense! Do you not hear the drunken revel? Do you know what it means? This world is full of what a maid must fear. 'Tis her fear protects her." "Ah?" asks Hortense. And she opened the tight-clasped hunting-cloak. A Spanish poniard hung against the inner folds.
Naysi, son of Usna, once in a hunting became separated from his companions. He wandered far in that forest, seeking some one who should direct him upon his way. Oftentimes he raised his voice, but there was no answer. His head and his feet were bare. His short hunting-cloak was dark-red with flowery devices along the edge.
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