"Revenge! On you! Ah! Mistress Barbara, that were indeed different. Is not my life yours to do with as you wish?" "The forest is no place for compliment, sir," she rebuked. "This pure air puts such empty words to shame." "I know it, madame," he answered quietly. "’Twas indeed for that reason I dared to speak the words, trusting that you would know them to be true." She had no answer to his words. Her heart trembled with gladness, but she despised herself for the weakness. "His life was hers." Aye, but might not a man speak so, look so, a hundred times, and mean no more than empty courtesy? And in her heart she cursed this cruel art of compliment, the meaningless gallantry towards her sex which permits a man to stale his homage at every maiden’s feet, and forbids a woman to place credence in aught a man may say, lest she shame herself by seeming to take that which was never offered. For Barbara had met too many such light gallants, men who, in all innocence doubtless, yet with deep cruelty, juggle with maiden’s hearts as lightly as they throw a main; and she had already learned to don her armour, and enchain her free heart in the heavy fetters of her pride. So she answered him nothing, wotting not what to say. And he, fearing to displease her, spoke no further. Silence hung about them, the heavy stillness of the noonday hour accentuated by the drowsy hum of insects. Presently Captain Protheroe glanced up at the sun shining high above their heads, and looked across at Barbara with a smile. "Noon, Mistress Barbara," he said in a meaning tone. She understood instantly the drift of the allusion, and shuddered fearfully. "Ah! we are not yet far enough from Taunton," she cried anxiously. "On the contrary, we should rejoice that we are already so far. Tho’ I suppose," he added with a sudden smile, "had we waited, in a few minutes from this hour I for one should have journeyed much further." "Indeed we should be greatly thankful," continued Barbara seriously. "For here we are, free and"—glancing at the loveliness around her—"one would almost say in Paradise. Why only last night I bade you farewell, and——" She stopped abruptly, their eyes met, and her face crimsoned with blushes; for as she spoke the words, she remembered, on a sudden, the manner of that farewell. He understood the cause of her confusion and pitied it. With a sudden impulsive movement he leaned forward and laid his hand upon her knee. "Nay, Mistress Barbara," he began hurriedly. "I beg of you not to be so distressed about so small an act of charity. The events of yesterday are as a bad dream; we will look upon all we said and did as the acts of delirium." To his surprise Barbara sprang to her feet, her face crimson, her breast heaving with anger. "Indeed, Captain Protheroe," she answered in the coldest tones, "you need have no fear I should otherwise have understood your words. The whole affair was but a jest."