He knew then that all was deadly earnest.

Swift as thought he caught Unorna and bore her from the hall, locking the door again and setting his broad shoulders against it, as he put her down.

The daring act she had done appealed to him, in spite of himself.
"I beg your pardon," he said almost deferentially.

"I misjudged you." "It is that," she answered.

"Either I will be with you or I will die, by his hand, by yours, by my own--it will matter little when it is done.
You need not lean against the door.