"Come back! Oh, please come back!" Deleah cried; but Sir Francis, paying no heed, went on, till he stopped, bridle in one hand, riding-whip in the other, in front of the man standing on the pathway before his gate. "You frightened that lady." "That lady is no business of yours." "You are my business, you scoundrel," Sir Francis said, and lifted with a threatening gesture the hand that held the whip. The man did not flinch. He was no coward; he was much the smaller of the two; he was unarmed. "No," Sir Francis said. "Not to-night," and dropped his whip-hand. "But look out for yourself, sir. Take care. I shall have an eye on you." For a minute he stood confronting the man, who looked back hardily at him. What else he had to say he said by the glance of his eye, by the set of his lips, by his scornfully carried head; then he slowly turned his back, led his horse from path to roadway, and swung himself into his saddle. As he settled himself there, he found the other man by his stirrup. "Lucky for you you did not use your whip on me, Sir Francis Forcus," he said. "Sure as God, if you had done so I would have had your life." Sir Francis, looking down on him, cut a light stroke upon the man's shoulder with his whip. "You asked for it, and you have got it," he said. "Stand out of the way, will you?" and careless whether the other took that measure for self-preservation or not, rode on. Deleah, unable to see distinctly what occurred, was relieved to find the interview so short, and Sir Francis so quickly beside her again. She had got up from the bank, and was walking briskly homeward when he overtook her. "I hope you--were not unkind to him," she said timidly. "Mr. Gibbon lived in our house once--" "Was that Mr. Gibbon? That man with the mad eyes?" "He was our boarder. He was always very kind." "To you especially kind?" "To us all." "And am I to hear why, as he is so kind, you were running away from him, this evening?" "I had rather not tell." He was a man of so much reserve himself that he respected hers. "Very well," he said; and after a minute added, "I am quite sure you were not to blame." "I don't know," said Deleah, and hung her head, as she walked along. To blame or not, she was horribly ashamed. She felt always in his society as shy and _gauche_ as an awkward child, and was conscious that it was in such a light he regarded her. She would have died rather than that he should have known of that frantic struggle in Gibbon's arms, of that mad embrace.