Presently she again heard steps without and rapid words; then his voice, uplifted sharp and strong. She smiled, broke a piece of bread and sipped at the wine; she was safe, she knew, where he was. And she would eat, if only because he bade her. In a few minutes Rockhurst returned. He was now booted to the thigh, and carried a cloak on his arm. Once more he sat down facing her. His eye fell on the discarded shoes; he bent down and felt them. “They are nearly dry,” he said, and lifted them closer to the flame. “In a little while you must be ready. You will have to ride on the same rustic steed that brought you, but I will see that she carries you to safety.” He paused a second or two, then added: “The inn—a very well-known, reputable place—is not far distant; and you will doubtless hear of your servants there. Our young host,” he hesitated, and his voice seemed to harden, “tells me that, even as he rode with you into the avenue, folk were hastening to your rescue from that direction.” Diana’s glance still questioned, but she dared not put the question into words. What, then, had the young man with the narrow eyes and the uneasy glance meant by her? And how, if he had had some dark purpose, had she been thrust upon this other and left to his mercy? Ah, and what had this other at first fancied to see in her? The blood surged to her cheeks, her lips trembled. Rockhurst held her under his eye. As if in answer to her thoughts he bent down. “My dear,” he said, but how differently the words, a while ago insolently familiar, were now spoken; “this is no house for you. It must never be breathed of one such as you that you have been under its roof—with one such as me. You said you did not know the ways of us of the Court—pray God you may never know them!” Here he was silent again, his eye resting thoughtfully upon her hands, unadorned save for a single posy ring. “When you marry,” he went on then, as with an effort, “keep in the sweet country, and of a surety,” a sad smile flickered upon his lip, “your lord will gladly keep there, too.” She lifted her head with a quick impulse; her mouth parted to speak. But an inexplicable, invincible reluctance to tell him she was already wed thrust back the words. Rockhurst turned, and taking the loose pieces of paper from the table, gazed at them thoughtfully for a moment, and thrust them into his pocket. Then he rose, and almost gaily:— “Come, madam,” he said, “your palfrey waits in the cold. Put on your shoes.” As he spoke he took down his sword and buckled it on. She went forth with him, her finger-tips lightly in his hold, without a word, through the passages of the lone house, through the hall. The door, open to the night, cut a square, brilliant silver upon the inner dimness. Cold, pure airs rushed against them.