"What does he mean?" asked Barbara wonderingly, staring after his retreating figure. But she had no time for further conjecture. Directly Captain Protheroe disappeared, Ralph snatched her in his arms, and covered her face with kisses. "Oh! my darling, my darling," he cried; "is it indeed so? In truth I dared to hope it, overbold that I am. But now—to be convinced! Ah! Barbara, mine! mine!" So he cried in the intervals of his kisses. But he stopped abruptly in the midst of his ecstasy, becoming suddenly conscious that the lady was struggling in his embrace, struggling violently, passionately, to be free. He freed her, gazing at her in surprise, as she stood confronting him, her face crimson with anger. "Ralph!" she gasped furiously, "are you mad? What mean you? How dare you—touch me?" He stepped back a pace in astonishment. "Why, Barbara! Barbara!" he cried. "How dare you touch me?" "Nay, sweetheart," he pleaded, "I have not really angered you?" "Angered me!" cried Barbara in desperation; "angered—! Good Heavens! am I gone crazy? What right can you think, can you dream you have, to treat me so?" "But, Barbara!" cried the amazed man; "did you not say, e’en now, you were one with me in this matter." "Assuredly. But if I dislike his slander of Monmouth’s officers, must it follow that you may treat me thus? For shame, Ralph." "If you dislike—Barbara! Is’t possible you deem we fought for the affair at Sedgemoor?" "For what else, pray?" she asked indignantly. But he turned aside with a groan and leaning his elbow against a tree, buried his head in his arm. Barbara eyed him doubtfully. "Ralph! Ralph! What is’t?" she asked sharply. "Why did you fight?" "Because—and on my faith, Barbara, I believed it to be the truth—I told that fellow, Protheroe, that his presence, his attentions pestered you, and I insisted he should leave you." Barbara drew herself up royally. "You did, Ralph?" she asked coldly. "And pray what reason had you for so insulting a guest in my house, a man to whom we owe everything? Your reason, Ralph?" she urged with an imperious stamp of her foot. "Ah! Barbara," he moaned; "look in your glass and there seek my reason. Your face is reason enough to send a man to hell." Barbara’s indignation gave way at this unexpected retort. She was subdued, silent. Then Ralph raised his head and turned to face her. "Barbara! I must know the truth. Do you not love me?" She looked at him with eyes full of pity. "No, Ralph, I cannot. Indeed, I wish I could. But love comes at no man’s bidding, comes unsought, and"—she added with a break in her voice—"so oft, alas! comes when it is not wanted." His face was white and strained, his eyes hard as he looked at her.