Antonio knew that he loved her indeed, with a love whereof he had no cause to be ashamed, and that he must speak the three little words she craved. He began to frame a prudent preface which should precisely qualify them and empty them of all their association with profane passion. But his knightly blood stirred in time and saved him. Besides, he knew that he might safely speak the words and trust Isabel not to abuse them. He bent to her ear and said simply: "I love you." For a long moment she stood with closed eyes and did not stir. Then she gently freed her hand and moved away. Antonio followed her. Wherever the paths were wide enough they walked side by side; but although the way was long they did not speak. Here and there in the wood there were low boughs to be held aside, and once the monk had to lift her bodily across a little brook; but he did all these things as a matter of course, without a word. When the guest-house gleamed through the trees, Antonio halted and would have uttered the few sentences he had been arranging in his brain; but she silenced him with a gentle gesture and walked across the broad path, up the sunny steps, and through the wide-open doorway, without a glance behind. VIII Not more than two hours after Antonio's return to his farm a messenger arrived from the guest-house and handed in two letters. The first ran: _Mrs. Baxter presents her compliments to Signor da Rocha and begs to request that he will call to-day without fail, as Mrs. B. is under the unpleasant obligation of making a painful communication to Signor R._ The second letter was shorter still. It contained the single line: _I must see you too._ Antonio's amazement quickly gave place to indignation. He had examined his conscience concerning the whole business too often to deceive himself, and he knew that he was not to blame for what had happened. Yet here he was, summoned to endure a lecture from the vulgar Mrs. Baxter. Worse still, when Sir Percy came back he would be told the tale. Antonio would be regarded ever afterwards as an abuser of a sacred trust, a heartless trifler with young affections, an outsider, a brute, a cur fit for the horse-whip. And he would have to suffer all this injustice in silence, because he could only clear himself by disgracing the lady. As he grew cooler the monk became certain that Isabel had not deliberately betrayed him to Mrs. Baxter. Probably she had broken down after her protracted excitements and had let slip some fatal admission in a moment of hysteria. Or perhaps a chattering servant had seen her walking with Antonio in the woods. Gravest possibility of all, some sharp eyes or ears might have detected her absence in the middle of the night. At this last thought he seized his hat and set out for the guest-house at once.