Then he rose to his feet and faced Ralph, eyeing him keenly, hanging on his answer. "Tell me, Sir Ralph," he asked abruptly, "has Mistress Barbara given you the right to protect her?" See now how strange a thing is a man’s love for woman, since it may inspire him alike to deeds of highest purity or words of deepest shame. After one moment’s pause, Ralph set honour behind him, and answered quietly: "I have that right." But even as Ralph spoke the words, a wild passion leapt into Captain Protheroe’s eyes, a passion of hatred, of jealousy, of unbelief. "Now, by Heavens! Sir Ralph," he shouted fiercely; "I believe you lie." "Have a care, sir," cried Ralph sharply; "for one who will not fight, you are strangely free with your words. ’Tis easy to speak that for which you may not be called in question." "Man, you will drive me mad. ’Tis impossible that I should fight you." "Even with this to warm your blood?" Sir Ralph flung the contents of his glass into his companion’s face. Then the last shred of resolution to avoid a quarrel vanished. That had passed between them which could not be overlooked. Captain Protheroe drew his sword and bowed stiffly to his opponent, the gleam of the death-harbinger in his eyes. "It is enough, sir," he said furiously; "I am at your service." But Ralph was now the calmer of the two. "’Tis impossible here," he cried; "we should be interrupted. If it will suit your convenience I will meet you at sunrise to-morrow in the meadow behind the stables. There we shall be undisturbed." "As you will. I am at your service whensoever you choose to appoint." So they bowed and parted for the night, with murder in their hearts. While above in the sweet calm of her chamber, the cause of their quarrel lay dreaming peacefully, innocent of all wrong, save only of a heart too tender to give pain, and of a face too fair to leave a man his peace. Alas! for a woman, since though many seek, she loves but one. Alas! for a woman, since if she too quickly perceive and ward off love, false tongues cry shame upon her vanity, but, if not perceiving, she foster it, then belike must a man’s life be laid to her charge, aye, or a man’s soul. *CHAPTER XXIV* As the first rays of the sunrise flushed the sky with glory, Barbara awoke on the morning following her home-coming. She sprang from her bed and crept softly to the casement, intending but to greet the morning, and then slip back to sleep. But the birds, the flowers, the sunshine all called to her to join them, and casting away all thoughts of further rest, she hastened to the adjoining room, and rousing her reluctant cousin, begged her to rise and join her in an early ramble. But Cicely declined firmly to leave her cosy bed, so Barbara was forced to dress alone. Presently, however, she reappeared at her cousin’s bedside, and kissed her into wakefulness.