"You know well that you speak what is not true," she said. "You and your
Frenchmen strove to burn us out of Middle Marsh; my brother John struck
Hugh de Cressi as though he were a dog and used words toward him that
no knave would bear, let alone one better born than we are. Moreover,
afterward once he spared his life, and Grey Dick, standing alone against
a crowd, did but use his skill to save us. Is it murder, then to protect
our honour and to save ourselves from death? And am I wrong to refuse to
marry a fine French knave when I chance to love an honest man?"
"And, pray, am I your father, girl, that you dare to scold at me thus?"
shouted Sir John, growing purple with wrath. "If I choose a husband for
you, by what right do you refuse him, saying that you love a Dunwich
shop-boy? Down on your knees and beg my pardon, or you shall have the
whipping you have earned."
Now Eve's black eyes glittered dangerously.
"Ill would it go with any man who dared to lay a hand upon me," she
said, drawing herself up and grasping the dagger in her girdle. "Yes,
very ill, even though he were my own father. Look at me and say am I one
to threaten? Ay, and before you answer bear in mind that there are those
at my call who can strike hard, and that among them I think you'll find
the King of England."
She paused.
"What hellish plot is this that you hatch against me?" asked Sir John,
with some note of doubt in his voice.
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