Then, like a rushing flood, reason assailed her conscience, that she should permit a hated redcoat--one whom she ought to detest--to kiss her hands, and not feel enraged at his boldness. And so, filled with indignation, she pulled one hand away, and raising it quickly, gave his face a ringing slap. He started back and placed a hand to his cheek, now showing a more flaming color than her own, and for a moment his eyes were alight with an angry glitter. But he said nothing, and bowing low before her, stood away from the path. Dorothy picked up her basket, and without glancing toward him passed along on her way. But her eyes were brimming with tears, which were soon trickling down her burning cheeks. What had she done, and what could she do, in this new, strange matter, of which she might not speak to her father? How was she to act toward him from whom she had never yet withheld her confidence? And still how could she speak to any one--even him--of what was giving birth to thoughts and feelings such as she had never dreamed of before? With all this--and in spite of it--came the question as to what the redcoat would think of her now,--a maiden who went about at night masquerading in masculine garb, and who slapped His Majesty's officers in the face? There came to her a woful sense of shame,--yes, of degradation, such as her young life had never imagined could exist, and seeming to overwhelm her with its possible results. She was startled by a sudden footfall close behind her, and without looking back, she quickened her pace into a run. But now a strong arm was thrown about her waist, holding her fast; and she caught a fiery gleam of the scarlet coat against which her head was pressed by the hand that, although it trembled a little, prisoned her cheek with gentle firmness. Then a mouth was bent close to her ear, so close that its quick breath fanned the tiny curling locks about her temples, and a voice whispered: "Sweetheart, forgive me--for God's love, forgive me! I cannot let you go in this way; for see, you are weeping. Surely this pretence of anger is unjust,--unjust to you and to me!" Before she could speak, the voice went on, "Little rebel, sweet little rebel, will you not surrender to--a vanquished victor?" And with this, a kiss was pressed upon her lips. At first Dorothy had been too startled to speak,--too frightened and dumb from the tumult his caressing voice had aroused within her. But the touch of his lips awakened her like a blow. "How dare you?" she cried, struggling from his arms. "Oh, how I wish I had never seen you!" "You can scarce expect me to feel likewise," he said calmly, smiling into her stormy little face, "for I--" "Never speak to me again!" she interrupted, still more hotly. And then, as the tears of anger choked her voice, she turned from him and fled away down the path.