And he had ridden away, deeming the words but gentle folly, spoken to ease his pain. But now, as he looked upon her flushed cheek, and downcast eyes, he thought on them again, and his heart beat quickly. Then he looked at the pony, sweating with the fury of the ride, and he smiled, thinking: "Assuredly, ’twas even me she came to seek." He dismounted and standing beside her, after a pause asked quietly: "Madame, why did you ride after me?" "I—I——" "Have you nought to say to me?" Then she gathered her courage, and turned on him to escape his questionings. "Why did you leave us so discourteously?" she asked. "Alas! madame," he murmured, "I lacked courage to bid you farewell." "But, now——" "Now, Mistress Barbara! Think you it were easier now to bid farewell, now, while I look upon your face? Ah, no! in truth, I cannot leave you now. For, ah! Mistress Barbara——" he broke out passionately, laying his hands on hers—"I love you—I love you, and to leave you is to go from the joys of heaven out into the darkness of death. Ah! Barbara, if you know mercy, bid me not leave you now." [Illustration: "’AH! BARBARA, IF YOU KNOW MERCY, BID ME NOT LEAVE YOU NOW’"] He paused, then as she sat dumbstricken by the force of his passion, he continued with a sudden bitterness: "And yet how should I stay, seeing my love is nought to you. Better to leave you now. For in truth, a man must not ask too much of Heaven. But to leave you—to see your face no more! Ah! madame, madame, what is this you have done to me, seeing I cannot leave you now, and yet I dare not stay?" There was silence. Then Barbara, turning away her face, said slowly: "Captain Protheroe! I supposed you and Ralph fought concerning the affair on Sedgemoor. I—I knew of no other cause of quarrel betwixt you." Captain Protheroe raised his head with a quick hope. "Ah?" he questioned breathlessly. "Yes. And"—she continued hurriedly—"in this quarrel Ralph was in the wrong. I—I do not wish you to leave me." A moment he paused. Then he answered in a low restrained voice: "While I can serve you I will remain. But, an you need me no more, I pray you then, in pity, turn away your face and let me go." But Barbara turned her head and looked at him, and she whispered softly, so softly that he but caught the words ere they died away: "Nay, sir, but what an I need thee all my days?" And having so spoken again she turned away her head. The birds’ chorus rose loud and triumphant in the human silence that followed, while he took her hands in his and pressed them to his lips. Then he tried to see her face, but ’twas still turned from him, he could but see one crimson cheek and the curling lashes resting upon it. He sighed softly, but smiled withal. "Mistress Barbara," he pleaded, "have I not told you your eyes are like unto the clear depths of the heavens? Alas! why are the heavens so oft veiled from the gaze of man?"