The man was Samuel Rock, clad in a long cloak; and, recognising him, Joan understood that she had been waylaid. She halted and said angrily—for her first feeling was one of indignation: “What are you doing here, Mr. Rock?” “Walking, Miss Haste,” he answered nervously; “the same as you.” “That is not true, Mr. Rock: you were hiding behind those reeds.” “I took shelter there against the rain.” “I see; you took shelter from the rain, and on the weather side of the reeds,” she said contemptuously. “Well, do not let me keep you standing in this wet.” And she attempted to pass him. “It is no use telling you lies,” he muttered sullenly: “I came here to speak to you, where there ain’t none to disturb us.” And as he spoke Samuel placed himself in such a position that it was impossible for her to escape him without actually breaking into a run. “Why do you follow me,” she said in an indignant voice— “after what you promised, too? Stand aside and let me go home.” Samuel made no move, but a curious light came into his blue eyes, a light that was not pleasant to see. “I am thinking I’ve stood aside enough, Joan,” he answered, “and I ain’t a-going to stand aside till all the mischief is done and I am ruined. As for promises, they may go hang: I can’t keep no more of them. So please, you’ll just stand for once, and listen to what I have to say to you. If you are wet you can take my cloak. I don’t mind the rain, and I seem to want some cooling.” “I’d rather drown than touch anything that belongs to you,” she replied, for her hatred of the man mastered her courtesy and reason. “Say what you’ve got to say and let me go on.” The remark was an unfortunate one, for it awoke in Samuel’s breast the fury that accompanied and underlay his passion, that fury which had astonished Mr. Levinger. “Would you, now!” he broke out, his lips turning white with rage. “Well, if half I hear is true, there’s others whose things you don’t mind touching.” “What do you mean, Mr. Rock?” “I mean that Captain whom you’re not ashamed to be hanging after all day long. Oh, I know about you. I heard how you was found holding him in your arms, the first day that you met him by the tower yonder, after you’d been flirting with him like any street girl, till you brought him to break his leg. Yes, holding him in those arms of yours—nothing less.” “Oh! how dare you! How dare you!” she murmured, for no other words would come to her. “Dare? I dare anything. You’ve worked me up to that, my beauty. Now I dare ask you when you’ll let me make an honest woman of you, if it isn’t too late.” By this time Joan was positively speechless, so great were the rage and loathing with which this man and his words filled her.