“Rose,” said he, halting suddenly, “a while ago love looked at me from thine eyes.... O child, come, kiss me!” And then his arm was about her; but, though very conscious of the tender yearning of his voice, and even while yielding to the mastery of his arm, she laughed a little unsteadily. “Indeed, John, the Aged Soul did plead thy cause so irresistibly ... it seems thou canst neither eat nor sleep ... he told me thy—thy ‘innards be arl shook to pieces with love’ ... he urged the woes o’ thy poor stomach so passionately that I looked to see him weep....” “Hum!” quoth Sir John; and then: “Rose, when will you marry me?” “This depends on how long you intend playing the part of John Derwent, sir.” “And this again, Rose, depends on how soon my Lady Herminia will marry Sir John Dering.” “Nay, first, John, she is determined on wedding my Aunt Lucinda to your friend, Sir Hector.” “’S life, and is she so, child?” he exclaimed a little ruefully. “’Faith, ’tis like the contrary Herminia, for here is plaguy difficult problem.” “And yet should be easily resolved betwixt us, John.” “Nay, but the Duchess called Sir Hector an ogre, and he blenches at mere mention of her name....” “To be sure, John, the situation is very promising and needeth but a little dexterous management. You will prompt Sir Hector, I’ll plague my aunt ... is’t agreed, John?” “It is!” he laughed. “And now—come, kiss me?” But she held him off, viewing him grave-eyed. “John,” said she solemnly, “to-day old Penelope was monstrous strange and full of foreboding on your account ... ’twas as she knew some danger threatened. But it is all so sweetly peaceful, what should harm you here?” “What indeed?” he answered, glancing furtively towards the lengthening shadows behind them. “And yet old Penelope was so awesome o’ speech and look.... I can mind her every word: ‘He hath raised what only blood can lay!’ said she. Sounds not this dreadful, John? And then: ‘Bid him beware the peril o’ solitary places,’ quo’ she, ‘of things that creep i’ the dark! Day and night bid him look behind him wherever——” My lady paused suddenly, for Sir John was indeed glancing back over his shoulder. They had crossed the stile beyond the little footbridge and were following a path bordered by dense underbrush and shaded by tall trees. Sir John’s quick ear had caught a faint creak such as a stealthy foot might make on the rickety planking of the bridge; moreover, his eyes had glimpsed a vague shape that flitted unheard among the brush. “John,” said my lady breathlessly, “why d’ye look so?... Ah, what is it?” And he winced beneath the pressure of her fingers upon his wounded arm. “Pray loose me!” he whispered, and slipped hand into pocket. “John,” she breathed, “tell me what cometh yonder?”