Finally he decided that he would say nothing upon the subject, but trust that she had made no discoveries, though he could not help arguing that if she had, and he gave her offence, he might find her an angry woman who would do him a serious ill. At last by many a devious track he had taken her to where the lane leading from the Pool-house led through the scattered cottages of the workers at the furnaces and foundries towards the Moat, and here Gil paused. "That thick bandage must be hot and comfortless, Mistress Beckley," he said; "let me remove it now." "Oh! no!" she cried quickly, "pray don't take it away. I feel quite safe with you, Captain Carr;" and she sighed again, and laid her other hand upon his. "But you are safe now," he said, smiling, "and close to the lane. There is nothing more to fear. My unmannerly lads shall be punished for all this." "No, no," she said softly, "don't punish them--for my sake. Say you will forgive them. I beg--I entreat." "If it is your wish, the punishment shall not take place," he said. "There, let me remove the kerchief." Anne would gladly have resisted, for it was very sweet to be so dependent on Gil Carr. He had been so gentle and kindly towards her that her heart was filled to bursting with hope that she would win him after all, though her siege had now lasted for months without avail, and she had been ready to raise it in favour of the new-comer, Sir Mark. She felt, though, that she might not be serving her cause by making any objections, and, resigning herself to her protector's will, she suffered him to remove the kerchief, but uttered a quick cry of pain, as she opened and then closed her eyes. "My poor girl," he cried, holding her tightly, as she clung to him, "are you injured? Tell me; what is it?" "It is nothing," said Anne, faintly; "a sudden pang--the intense light-- I shall be well anon." It did not occur to Gil that the position he occupied was a strange one, if seen by a looker-on, for he was too much concerned by the apparent suffering of his charge, and, as her fright had been caused by his followers, he felt in duty bound to try and make up for their insolence by his consideration for her weakness. He stood, then, supporting her as she held her hands pressed to her aching eyes, and smiled encouragement as she at last looked timidly up at him with a very pitiful expression of countenance, and ended by catching his hand in hers in the excess of her gratitude for her deliverance, and kissing it passionately, as she burst into a storm of sobs and tears. "Why, come, come, Mistress Timidity," he said, playfully, "where is your brave little heart? One would think I had been some brave hero of old, who had rescued you from an angry dragon, instead of a poor sea-captain, who did nothing but order some insolent mariners to--"