The sound of the bell came very near; it seemed close amid the circling ranks of pines. Twigs were cracking too, and she heard the beat of approaching footsteps. Then her glance caught something visible, a streak of white in the shadows, moving like a ghost. The thing went amid the trees with the bell mute. The girl’s doubts were soon set at rest as to whether she had been seen or no. The figure in grey slipped between the pines, and came out into the grass circle about the grave, cowled, masked, bell at girdle, a leper. The girl stared at it with a cold flutter at her heart. The thing stood under the boughs motionless as stone. The bell gave never a tinkle; a white chin poked forward from under the hood; the masked face was in shadow. Then the bell jangled, and a gruff voice came from the cowl. "Unclean, unclean!" it said; "avoid the white death, and give alms." Yeoland obeyed readily enough, put a portion of the grave betwixt herself and the leper, fumbled in her pouch and threw the man a piece of silver. He came forward suddenly into the light, fell on his knees, put his hood back, plucked off the mask. It was the face of the Lord Flavian of Gambrevault. The girl stood and stared at him with unstinted astonishment. "You," she said, "you?" "Madame, I said that you should see my face again." She conceived a sudden impetuous desire to turn and leave him on his knees, but some inner potency of instinct restrained her. She looked down at the man, with no kindling kindness upon her face. She did not know what to say to him, how to tune her mood. The first thought that rushed into her mind was seized upon and pressed into service, discretion or no discretion. "Madman, they will kill you if they find you here." "No woman ever loved a coward." "For Heaven’s sake, go away." He rose from his knees and lifted up his frock. The girl saw harness and a sword beneath it. This young leopard of the southern shores had fettle enough, and spirit. He was a mixture of imperturbable determination and sanguine Quixotism, as he faced her under the trees. "This dress is privileged; my bell warns folk away; who would fall foul of a miserable leper? If this frock fails me, I have my sword." She looked at him with the solemnity of a child, hand folded in hand. "I cannot understand you," she said. "Not yet." "Are you the man whose life I saved? That breath of death on your brow, messire, should have made you thoughtful of your soul." "Let me plead a moment." "For what?" "My honour." "Why your honour?" "Because I want you to believe that I have a soul." He was vastly earnest, and his eyes followed her, as though she were some being out of heaven. She had never seen such a look in a man’s eyes before; it troubled her. She questioned her own heart, laughed emptily, and gave in to him. "We are both mad," she said, "but go on. I will listen for one minute. Keep watch lest any one should come upon us suddenly."