"You are not," said I, sore and angry, and wishing to wound her in revenge for the blow she had dealt me. "Now you're gruff with me for what she said. It's a man's way. I care not. Go and sigh outside her door; she won't open it to you." She drew near to me again, coaxing and seeking to soften me. "I took your part," she whispered, "and declared that you were a fine gentleman. Nay, I told her how once I had come near to--Well, I told her many things that it should please you to hear. But she grew mighty short with me, and on the top came the folk with their cheers. Hence my lady's in a rage." She shrugged her shoulders; I sat there sullen. The scornful words were whirling through my brain. "Somewhat forward for his station!" It was a hard judgment on one who had striven to serve her. In what had I shewn presumption? Had she not professed to forgive all offence? She kept the truth for others, and it came out when my back was turned. "Poor Simon!" said Nell softly. "Indeed I wonder any lady should speak so of you. It's an evil return for your kindness to her." Silence fell on us for awhile. Nell was by me now, her hand rested lightly on my shoulder, and, looking up, I saw her eyes on my face in mingled pensiveness and challenge. "Indeed you are not forward," she murmured with a little laugh, and set one hand over her eyes. I sat and looked at her; yet, though I seemed to look at her only, the whole of the room with its furnishings is stamped clear and clean on my memory. Nell moved a little away and stood facing me. "It grows late," she said softly, "and we must be early on the road. I'll bid you good-night, and go to my bed." She came to me, holding out her hand; I did not take it, but she laid it for a moment on mine. Then she drew it away and moved towards the door. I rose and followed her. "I'll see you safe on your way," said I in a low voice. She met my gaze for a moment, but made no answer in words. We were in the corridor now, and she led the way. Once she turned her head and again looked at me. It was a sullen face she saw, but still I followed. "Tread lightly!" she whispered. "There's her door; we pass it, and she would not love to know that you escorted me. She scorns you herself, and yet when another----" The sentence went unended. In a tumult of feeling still I followed. I was half-mad with resentment against Barbara; swearing to myself that her scorn was nothing to me, I shrank from nothing to prove to my own mind the lie that my heart would not receive. "The door!" whispered Nell, going delicately on her toes with uplifted forefinger.