“He gave my warning no heed,” returned Bernard. “He hath no fear of peril.” “Is he so valiant?” inquired the dame. “Faith, there be none more so,” answered Bernard. “’Twould do thy heart good, lady, to see what a brave cavalier is he now. I prithee, take pity upon him, and lend him thy countenance.” “What wouldst thou have me do?” demanded Dame Shedlock. “Though knowest, lady,” replied Bernard, “that these broad lands, though they be vested in thy husband, be his rightfully; and----” “’Tis false!” cried Dame Shedlock, with much passion. “But begone! begone! I’ll no more with thee!” “But one moment!” implored Bernard. “Hush, for thy life!” said the dame: “some one comes, and the step, methinks, is his.” “I’ll seek thee again to-morrow, then,” said Bernard, in a low tone. Thus speaking, he stepped into the lane, closing the door behind him. Almost at the same moment, Shedlock--for the dame was right in her conjecture--made his appearance in the walk, within a few paces of where they had been conversing. This was a dilemma of which the dame had had no expectation. Already disturbed by her conversation with Bernard, the sudden approach of her husband, who looked on Bernard as an enemy, took her perfectly aback, and her generally-serene face presented the most lively traces of embarrassment and confusion. Shedlock observed her discomposure instantly, and its inconsistency with her usual demeanour, which was so uniformly placid, invoked in his mind the most singular suspicions. “Who hath been here?” he demanded, on coming up with her. Before the dame could reply, he turned to the contiguous gate, and, drawing it open, looked out on the lane. There was no one there, and, stepping back, he pushed the gate close again, and turned to the dame once more. The latter person had by this time recovered herself; but her present composure, though almost perfect, and quite relieved of every trace of confusion, did not lead him to forget her previous bearing. Indeed, it rather served, from the breadth and prominence of the contrast, to attach to his suspicions some shade of confirmation. “Woman!” he cried, in a voice husky with rage, “what doth this mean? Who hath been here, I say?” “Dost think I would wrong thee, then?” answered the dame. “No! no!--not for my life!” “Who hath been here?” demanded Shedlock, seizing her by the collar of her bodice. “Nay, never hurt me, husband!” replied the dame, shrinking a little. “Only say thou wilt forgive me--say thou wilt not be angered, and I will tell thee.” “Woman! I have a mind to dash thee down,” rejoined Shedlock, giving her a slight shake, “and to trample thee under foot, as the angels of darkness trample on Judas. But I will forbear, and the Spirit, through the mercy of the Lord, shall hold me back. Who hath been here?”