She stood at her full height, calmly scorning him and them all. “What an amazing thing is life! You come to me, and bid me turn on this man, and hound him out as an outcast. Am I so vile and heartless a thing, and are men so afraid of the devil that they must throw a sop to him?” Falconer stood his ground. “You should know the Forest, Mellis.” “I know the trees and the glades, the blown leaves and the sunlight, the little streams and the deer—but its men! If these are they, I know them not!” “Valliant has blackened himself in their eyes.” She flung out her hands. “And for whom, and for what purpose? I tell you that man has the heart of a child. I was in peril, and he succored me; I was lost, and he gave me his all. Nay, more than his all, for in saving me he lost the good will of God’s noble men. And you—you come to me and tell me to spurn him, desert him, because these fools are afraid of the devil. I would rather die than stoop to such shame.” His face was clouded and stubborn. “Your heart is too kind, because——” “Ah! Speak out.” She went nearer, her eyes dangerously shining. “I am not afraid, John Falconer. Tell me I love this man. I do most dearly love him, with all my heart and soul. And who shall cast a reproach at me, or make me believe that there is any man who would have treated me with such sweet, strong faith? I care not what men say. God shall judge. If there is beauty and tenderness and truth in our poor hearts, will He throw us to the dogs?” “You are mad!” he said miserably. “Mad! Then I would that all the world were mad! And if your law is God’s law, then I am a rebel against God. Yes, and I would glory in it. I have no more to say to you, John Falconer.” He left her, ashamed, angry, feeling that tragic things were about to happen. As for Martin Valliant, he knew what he knew, and his heart was heavy. He thought of the lepers in the wood of yews at Paradise, and his lot seemed like unto theirs. Love had made him an outcast, a thing of evil omen to be thrust away into the darkness. No one was ready to call him brother or comrade in arms, or to pity him because the man had been stronger than the monk. He strove bitterly with himself and with his love, but the truth showed him no mercy. It was like the great wooden cross on the Black Moor, standing bleak and clear against the sunset, bidding mortals remember that Christ suffered. He understood why these men hated and mistrusted him, and grudged him the right of guarding Mellis. Words were spoken that were meant for his ears. “The monks of Paradise have earned a foul name.” “They have reared a fine, upstanding rogue in that fellow.” “Old Valliant’s son. A pretty mate for Mellis Dale! What shame for the woman!” Martin Valliant could bear no more. If his homage meant shame for her, then it had better end.