I pointed to my shoulder. “I am not very dangerous,” I said. “I do not think you are, sir, or ever were,” she retorted with venom. And now for the first time she met my look, her eyes sparkling with anger. “As one soldier to another!” she said. “It is marvellous that you should recognize him as a soldier! But I suppose that the habit of surrender is an education in many ways.” “Any one may insult a prisoner,” I said. And I had the satisfaction of seeing the blood burn in her face. “But you did not come here to tell me that, Miss Wilmer.” “No,” she answered. “I came here to tell you that you must go. You must go, sir.” “When your father sends me away,” I said, “I must needs go. Until he does—” “You will not?” “No, Miss Wilmer, by your leave, I will not,” I said with all the firmness of which I was capable. “Unless I am taken by force. And you are a woman. You will not be so untrue to yourself and to your sex as to use force to one, crippled as I am, and helpless as I am. Think! If your dogs broke a raccoon’s leg, would you drag it a mile—two miles?” The color ebbed from her face, and she shuddered—she who was proposing this! She shuddered at the picture of a brute’s broken leg! And yet, strange to say, she clung to her purpose. She looked at me between anger and vexation, and “If I do not, others will,” she said. “Do you understand that, sir? Is not that enough for you? Cannot you believe, cannot you do me the justice to believe that I am doing what I think to be right? That I am acting for the best? If you stay here after this your blood be upon your own head!” she added solemnly. “So be it,” I said. “It would be a very great danger that would draw me from where I am, Miss Wilmer. I am like the King of France, or whoever it was, who said ‘J’y suis, J’y reste.’” “Stubborn! Foolish!” I heard her mutter. “I hate pain,” I said complacently. “Do you hate pain more than you fear death?” she asked, gazing at me with sombre eyes. “I am afraid I do,” I replied. “I am a milksop.” And I looked at her. I was beginning to enjoy the discussion. But if I hoped for a farther exchange of badinage with her I was mistaken. She did not deign to reply. She did that to which I could make no answer. She went out and closed the door behind her. CHAPTER IV AT THE SMITHY _Hinc Constantia, illinc Furor._ CATULLUS. The way in which the girl broke off the discussion and went out did more than surprise me. It left me anxious and, in a degree, apprehensive. Her proposal would have been a cruel and a heartless one if nothing lay behind it. If something lay behind it, some risk serious enough to justify the step on which she insisted, then I could think better of her but very much worse of my own plight.