"Of your face?" repeated the miller in some surprise. "What should I say of your face?"
"Well, is it not a comely face?" said Osra, turning towards him that he might be better able to answer her question.
The miller regarded her for some minutes, then a slow smile spread on his lips.
"Oh, aye, it is well enough," said he. Then he laid a floury finger on her arm as he continued: "If you come next week—why, it is but half a mile to church! I'll have the cart ready and bid the priest be there. What's your name?" For he had not hitherto asked Osra's name.
"Rosa Schwartz," said she, and her face was all alight with triumph and amusement.
"Yes, I shall be very comfortable with you," said the miller. "We will be at the church an hour before noon, so that there may be time afterwards for the preparation of dinner."
"That will be on Thursday in next week?" asked Osra.
"Aye, on Thursday," said the miller, and he turned on his heel. But in a minute he turned again, saying: "Give me a kiss, then, since we are to be man and wife,"
