"Very well," said he. "Then I owe it to myself. And in debts owing to myself I always demand payment in full." He looked inshore, over the fields, green with the freshness of April; on a knoll, about a mile away, were the white walls of a house amid a screen of trees. "There's a farmstead," said Anthony; "we can find some means there of getting back to the city." "I shall not stir," said Mademoiselle Lafargue. "It's plain enough," said Anthony, "that you do not greatly favor my company. There are certain things which you believe of me; you've been told of plottings, of guilt, of treachery; and the shadow that I stand in is, no doubt, a dark one to your eyes. But why distrust me while you have confidences in certain others? For I, at least, have never tried to shoot a man as he slept, and I have never struck one who was helpless." "I shall not stir from where I am," said the girl. "It's a full mile across the fields to the house," said Anthony, "but I have no doubt I can carry you." "You would not dare!" said she, startled. "I think you used those very words on board the schooner," said he. There was a pause; and then he added quietly. "Will you go willingly, or must I do as I've said?" She looked at him with level gaze; the fire in her eye was quieted, though her head was as high as ever. "I will go," she said, "for there is nothing else for me to do. But I do not go willingly. You are compelling me, and I hate you for it." He said nothing in reply; and so they set off toward the distant farmstead. Here they encountered a human enough man and a woman who stared and listened but who never ventured a word. "I have need of my horses and men at this season," said the farmer; "but as you are hurt and the lady must needs have some way of reaching the city you may have a pair and a wagon." An oldish sort of man, who diligently chewed a straw, was called; in a short space he had a span of farm horses harnessed to a two-seated wagon, with a body swinging on heavy leather bands. Anthony handed Mademoiselle Lafargue to the rear seat; then he took his place beside the driver, and they started. Chester was passed in the first half hour. The girl spoke never a word; now and then Anthony looked back at her to assure himself that she was as comfortable as the pitching wagon permitted, and he was also silent. It was afternoon when the heavy-footed horses crossed the lower ford and began to draw toward the city; the clock in the tower of the state-house, seen across a huddle of painted roofs, told four as they crossed Chestnut Street; and in a little while they drew up before Christopher Dent's door. Anthony helped the girl out, mounted the white marble steps with her, and knocked. And while they waited he said: