"Will you let it rest there?" His voice sounded strange and hollow to himself. Ruys bent forward and fastened the flowers in his coat slowly and deliberately, standing close to him as she did this, and a mad longing came over the man to clasp her to him, to ask her to put her white arms round his neck and say she loved him, to tell her she was loved with a love that could only end with his death. But he held out somehow, God alone knows how, and when Ruys had pinned the flowers over his heart she said softly: "There, that is my gage; remember, it is to be an amulet to guide you to the right." The sweet scent of the mignonette floated around him, there was a dreaming look in Ruys's face as she met his look, and now her eyes fell before him, and she half turned her face away to hide the pink flush that came into her cheek. There was a moment of breathless anxiety to the man when he felt that he must yield, but he righted himself with a mighty effort as he said: "I will keep the gage forever, Mrs. Smalley, although I am afraid I am but an unworthy knight." Neither spoke a word after that, but, as it were, instinctively turned to leave a place which was so dangerous to both. They walked back together until they once more reached the broad road, and then Ruys turned abruptly. "I have got a headache, Mr. Jackson, and I think I will go in. Don't tell my husband; it is a mere trifle. See, there are Mr. Phipson and he talking; go and join them. I--I--want to be alone." She turned and walked slowly down toward the house, and Jackson stood still, staring after her with an uncomfortable feeling that her last words suggested an understanding between them that did not exactly exist. He bent his head down till his lips touched the flowers she gave him, and then he went forward to meet his host and Phipson. In the meantime Ruys reached her room, and, having carefully shut the door, deliberately proceeded to have a good cry. It was a sheer case of nerves with her, and the nerves had given way. She had played with edged tools and now found that they could cut, and began to realize that she was almost if not quite in love with this impassive youth. The woman was a curious mixture of good and bad. She laid herself out to do a wrong thing, and took a keen pleasure in so doing, then would come the reaction and bitter regret. She went down on her knees in an impulsive manner and prayed to God to forgive her sin, and she vowed then and there to dedicate her life to his service. Then she got up, washed off the traces of her tears, and came down to her husband. The mail had come in, and Habakkuk was seated reading his paper. "Have they gone?" she asked. "Yes," replied Habakkuk, "left about twenty minutes ago." She sat down on a rug near her husband's feet and rested her head on his knee. Habakkuk put down the paper he was reading and stroked the soft curls on her head with a gentle hand. She looked up after a while.