The first stroke of twelve rang silvery from the clock. Lynborough advanced and fell upon his knee. She did not lift her eyes, but slowly raised her hand from her knee. He placed his hand under it, pressing it a little upwards and bowing his head to meet it half-way in its ascent. She felt his lips lightly brush the skin. His homage for Beach Path and his right therein was duly paid. Slowly he rose to his feet; slowly her eyes turned upwards to his face. It was ablaze with a great triumph; the fire seemed to spread to her cheeks. “It’s better than I dreamed or hoped,” he murmured. “What? To have peace between us? Yes, it’s good.” “I have never seen your face before.” She made no answer. “Nor you mine?” he asked. “Once on Sandy Nab you passed by me. You didn’t notice me--but, yes, I saw you.” Her eyes were steadily on him now; the flush had ceased to deepen, nay, had receded, but abode still, tingeing the olive of her cheeks. “I have rendered my homage,” he said. “It is accepted.” Suddenly tears sprang to her eyes. “And you might have been so cruel to me!” she whispered. “To you? To you who carry the power of a world in your face?” The Marchesa was confused--as was, perhaps, hardly unnatural. “There are other things, besides gates and walls, and Norah’s head, that you jump over, Lord Lynborough.” “I lived a life while I stood waiting for the clock to strike. I have tried for life before--in that minute I found it.” He seemed suddenly to awake as though from a dream. “But I beg your pardon. I have paid my dues. The bond gives me no right to linger.” She rose with a light laugh--yet it sounded nervous. “Is it good-bye till next St John Baptist’s day?” “You would see me walking on Beach Path day by day.” “I never call it Beach Path.” “May it now be called--Helena’s?” “Or will you stay and lunch with me to-day? And you might even pay homage again--say to-morrow--or--or some day in the week.” “Lunch, most certainly. That commits me to nothing. Homage, Marchesa, is quite another matter.” “Your chivalry is turning to bargaining, Lord Lynborough.” “It was never anything else,” he answered. “Homage is rendered in payment--that’s why one says ‘Whereas.’” His keen eager eyes of hazel raised once more the flood of subdued crimson in her face. “For every recognition of a right of mine, I will pay you homage according to the form prescribed for St John Baptist’s Feast.” “Of what other rights do you ask recognition?” “There might be the right of welcoming you at Scarsmoor to-morrow?” She made him a little curtsey. “It is accorded--on the prescribed terms, my lord.” “That will do for the twenty-fifth. There might be the right of escorting you home from Scarsmoor by the path called--Helena’s?” “On the prescribed terms it is your lordship’s.” “What then of the right to see you daily, and day by day?” “If your leisure serves, my lord, I will endeavour to adjust mine--so long as we both remain at Fillby. But so that the homage is paid!”