"Nay," smiled Gwennola, her courage returning as he held her hands in his and she met the glance of his dark eyes, "’tis small thanks I need, monsieur, seeing I owed it to my father to save him from a crime of which he wots little; but now, monsieur, I must say farewell, do I desire to return ere the moonlight fades from the forest," and she made a laughing grimace of misgiving as she pointed towards the gloomy path. "To-morrow e’en," she added, "food shall be brought to you, monsieur, if not by my hand, then by that of a faithful servant; till then I fear me your fare must be frugal, for Marie could bring me no more than this," and with an apologetic smile she laid upon the ground a small basket containing bread and a flask of wine, which she had carried beneath her cloak. "Nay," exclaimed d’Estrailles vehemently, "mademoiselle, I cannot permit that you shall return alone and unattended through yon dark forest. Shame would it be on my knighthood and my honour to allow one who has already dared for me far beyond my deserts to run so terrible a risk." "Indeed," she pleaded, "I have no fear. Nay, monsieur, I lay my commands upon you not to advance one step; already you faint with the pain of your wound, also it would be impossible that you should retrace your steps to this place. Adieu, monsieur, I shall have reached the château ere ten minutes have passed." "Pardon, mademoiselle," he replied gently, but resolutely, holding her little hand so firmly in his that she could not escape him, "but it may not be; weak though I am, and but poor protection, I have at least my sword; as for finding my way, I have hunted too often in my own woods of d’Estrailles not to be able to follow any trail; for the rest, mademoiselle, I shall accompany you." The power of his will overcame her, yet her red lips pouted rebelliously under her hood. "I would fain return alone, monsieur," she reiterated with the persistence of a wilful child. "’Tis but a short distance, and little ill is likely to betide." "The shorter to return," he replied coolly. "As for ill, there will, I ween, be less likelihood with me beside you, mademoiselle." She yielded with an ill grace, though glad, as women ever are, to be mastered, for all her rebellion, and so, till they came to the river bank once more, there was silence between them. "And now perchance it may be your pleasure to let me go forward alone, monsieur," she cried with a toss of her pretty head, as they halted within the shadow of the trees, "seeing that the good Job awaits me yonder by the bridge. Au revoir, therefore, monsieur, though methinks I had better say adieu, for small likelihood is there, I fear, that you will chance to retrace your footsteps in safety through yon black darkness."