"Yes, one. We would have appointed her our cook, our slave, as is the manner of lads towards most maids of their age. But not she! How that chit of a maiden ruled us, and how presently we worshipped her! She would sit here, our queen, enthroned and crowned, while we must scour the forest for fruit and flowers, rare gifts for her Majesty. We must wait upon her pleasure, fight for her favours, be in all things her slaves. Young as she was, she knew her power well, she tyrannised over us even then, and we—we loved her for it with all our hearts." His voice was soft and tender, and a shadow fell on Barbara’s heart. "Where is she now?" she asked, with eager, too eager, Interest. Again he hesitated, and answered in a cold, slightly restrained voice: "She hath been, for some years, at the court of his Majesty, King Louis." Then there fell a silence between them, but no longer the silence of sympathy, for he was lost in recollection, and she in wondering doubt. Presently he rose abruptly to his feet. "I think, Mistress Barbara, ’twere well I should go and reconnoitre. I will soon return; but I would fain see, if possible, what our enemies are about. Are you afraid to stay here alone?" "Afraid?" she asked in astonishment, "why, what should harm me?" "Yes, ’twas a foolish question to ask you, Mistress Barbara, I might have known the answer," he replied admiringly. He paused a moment, smiling down at her, turned with a nod, and vanished into the wood. For some time after his departure Barbara lay still, nestling in the luxurious couch of moss, wrapt in dreams. But the fresh joy of the morning had passed, and her dreams grew less bright. She remembered now for the first time the helplessness of her position; an outcast, with no shelter save such as Captain Protheroe might provide, no escape save through his contrivance, no protection save his arm; she was utterly dependent upon him. And then she remembered, with a sudden hot rush of blood to her cheeks, that it was she herself who had brought this about. For he had not offered to take her with him, rather had he advised her to seek out the Lanes and take shelter with them; but she in her heedlessness had refused his advice, had forced her company upon him. And he could not in courtesy refuse, but was bound by his honour to undertake the task, to provide for her, and protect her, even at the risk of his life. No, she had thrust herself, unwelcome, upon him, and had now no hope save in him. So she mused, growing each moment more ashamed, more angry, her pride stinging her afresh at each recollection of his kindness and her dependence on it. For this dependence, which might once perchance have been a sweet thought to her, was now turned to gall and bitterness by the shadow of another, the aforetime queen of the forest, whose presence seemed to her to haunt the little glade, the girl who had claimed his homage, whom he had loved with all his heart.