“Oh! Joan,” he went on, with a sudden change of tone, “do you forgive me if I have said sharp things, for it’s you that drives me to them with your cruelty; and I’m ready to forgive you all yours—ay! I’d bear to hear them again, for you look so beautiful when you are like that.” “Forgive you!” gasped Joan. But he did not seem to hear. “Let’s have done with this cat-and-dog quarrelling,” he went on; “let’s make it up and get married, the sooner the better—to-morrow if you like. You will never regret it; you’ll be happier then than with that Captain who loves Miss Levinger, not you; and I, I shall be happy too—happy, happy!” And he flung his arms wide, in a kind of ecstasy. Of all this speech only one sentence seemed to reach Joan’s understanding, at any rate at the time: “who loves Miss Levinger, not you.” Oh! was it true? Did Captain Graves really love Miss Levinger as she knew that Emma loved him? The man spoke certainly, as though he had knowledge. Even in the midst of her unspeakable anger, the thought pierced her like a spear and caused her face to soften and her eyes to grow troubled. Samuel saw these signs, and misinterpreted them, thinking that her resentment was yielding beneath his entreaties. For a moment he stood searching his mind for more words, but unable to find them; then suddenly he sought to clinch the matter in another fashion, for, following the promptings of an instinct that was natural enough under the circumstances, however ill-advised it might be, suddenly he caught Joan in his long arms, and drawing her to him, kissed her twice passionately upon the face. At first Joan scarcely seemed to understand what had happened—indeed, it was not until Samuel, encouraged by his success, was about to renew his embraces, that she awoke to the situation. Then her action was prompt enough. She was a strong woman, and the emergency doubled her strength. With a quick twisting movement of her form and a push of her hands, she shook off Samuel so effectively, that in staggering back his foot slipped in the greasy soil and he fell upon his side, clutching in his hand a broad fragment from the bosom of Joan’s dress, at which he had caught to save himself. “Now,” she said, as Samuel rose slowly from the mire, “listen to me. You have had your say, and I will have mine. First understand this: if ever you try to kiss me again it will be the worse for you; for your own sake I advise you not, for I think that I should kill you if I could. I hate you, Samuel Rock, for you have lied to me, and you have insulted me in a way that no woman can forgive. I will never marry you I had rather beg my bread; so if you are wise, you will forget all about me, or at the least keep out of my way.” Samuel faced the beautiful woman, who, notwithstanding her torn and draggled dress, looked royal in her scorn and anger. He was very white, but his passion seemed to have left him, and he spoke in a quiet voice.