Fontelles must have walked briskly, for I, although I did not loiter on the road, never came in sight of him, and the long avenue was empty when I passed the gates. It is strange that it did not occur to my mind that the clue to the Frenchman's haste was to be found in his last question; no doubt he would make his excuses to Mistress Quinton in good time, but it was not that intention which lent his feet wings. His errand was the same as my own; he sought Carford, not Barbara, even as I. He found what he sought, I what I did not seek, but what, once found, I could not pass by. She was walking near the avenue, but on the grass behind the trees. I caught a glimpse of her gown through the leaves and my quick steps were stayed as though by one of the potent spells that the Vicar loved to read about. For a moment or two I stood there motionless; then I turned and walked slowly towards her. She saw me a few yards off, and it seemed as though she would fly. But in the end she faced me proudly; her eyes were very sad and I thought that she had been weeping; as I approached she thrust something--it looked like a letter--into the bosom of her gown, as if in terror lest I should see it. I made her a low bow. "I trust, madame," said I, "that my lady mends?" "I thank you, yes, although slowly." "And that you have taken no harm from your journey?" "I thank you, none." It was strange, but there seemed no other topic in earth or heaven; for I looked first at earth and then at heaven, and in neither place found any. "I am seeking my Lord Carford," I said at last. I knew my error as soon as I had spoken. She would bid me seek Carford without delay and protest that the last thing in her mind was to detain me. I cursed myself for an awkward fool. But to my amazement she did nothing of what I looked for, but cried out in great agitation and, as it seemed, fear: "You mustn't see Lord Carford." "Why not?" I asked. "He won't hurt me." Or at least he should not, if my sword could stop his. "It is not that. It is--it is not that," she murmured, and flushed red. "Well, then, I will seek him." "No, no, no," cried Barbara in a passion that fear--surely it was that and nothing else--made imperious. I could not understand her, for I knew nothing of the confession which she had made, but would not for the world should reach my ears. Yet it was not very likely that Carford would tell me, unless his rage carried him away. "You are not so kind as to shield me from Lord Carford's wrath?" I asked rather scornfully. "No," she said, persistently refusing to meet my eyes. "What is he doing here?" I asked. "He desires to conduct me to my father." "My God, you won't go with him?" For the fraction of a moment her dark eyes met mine, then turned away in confusion. "I mean," said I, "is it wise to go with him?" "Of course you meant that," murmured Barbara.