Bess’s eyes darkened and she pouted out her lips. Her walk seemed more spirited, the carriage of her head more rebellious at the mention of Dan’s name. “I told your uncle that Barbara Gladden, my butler’s wife, could give you a home at Rodenham—” “At Rodenham!” “Yes. If—” “If?” “You found your cousin’s company too rough for you.” Bess flashed a look at Richard, and walked on in silence for some moments, with a fine color upon her face. There was no suggestion of patronage in Jeffray’s manner. “I am not afraid of Dan,” she answered, “though I am grateful to you—for this.” A sudden realization of the gulf between them had taken hold of the girl’s heart. This Richard Jeffray was one of the gentry, and she, a poor forest wench not fit to stand before women, less handsome and less honest than herself. At Rodenham she would take her meals in the servants’ hall, and sleep in an attic under the roof. It would even be considered a favor if the young squire spoke to her. No. She loved Pevensel and her forest liberty better than that. “I am not afraid of Dan,” she said again, with a fine lifting of her head. Jeffray felt something of the pride that played in her, and respected her the more for it. “I am not dropping a favor for you, Bess,” he said. “Thank you,” she answered. “You see—you saved me from Dan’s cudgelling. And you—and Ursula have been very kind to me.” They looked at each other half questioningly, a long and steady look that bore more meaning than many words. Richard blushed under the girl’s gaze. He suspected the spirit in her, and was loath to think that he had hurt her pride. “You said I might have your pistols,” quoth Bess, suddenly. “I will give you them.” “I was not made to serve. We are wild folk in the forest. I can take care of myself.” Then, catching the look in Jeffray’s eyes, she smiled at him very dearly, and touched his hand. “But—I shall remember,” she added. “And I, Bess, also.” “I will have the pistols—” “A strange present!” “No, no, they will make me feel somehow that you are near. For I dreamed of you on St. Agnes’s Eve.” She blushed and hung her head as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Jeffray had started, and reddened also. He looked at Bess and then at the heath showing gold beyond the trees. “I will ride over—sometimes, Bess,” he said, slowly. Her eyes flashed down at him, and then wavered away towards the woods. “I knew you,” she said, simply, “when you lay on the grass—after I had put back Dan’s stick.” “Knew me?” “Yes.” Richard said nothing, but there was a strange sense of hurrying at his heart.