"Dear," said a low, thrilling voice, "have you come--at last? Ah! but you are late, I began to fear--" The soft voice faltered and broke off with a little gasp, and, as Barnabas stepped out of the shadows, she shrank away, back and back, to the mossy wall of the barn, and leaned there staring up at him with eyes wide and fearful. Her hood, close drawn, served but to enhance the proud beauty of her face, pale under the moon, and her cloak, caught close in one white hand, fell about her ripe loveliness in subtly revealing folds. Now in her other hand she carried a silver-mounted riding-whip. And because of the wonder of her beauty, Barnabas sighed again, and because of the place wherein they stood, he frowned; yet, when he spoke, his voice was gentle: "Don't be afraid, madam, he is gone." "Gone!" she echoed, faintly. "Yes, we are quite alone; consequently you have no more reason to be afraid." "Afraid, sir? I thought--why, 'twas you who startled me." "Ay," nodded Barnabas, "you expected--him!" "Where is he? When did he go?" "Some half-hour since." "Yet he expected me; he knew I should come; why did he go?" Now hereupon Barnabas lifted a hand to his throat, and loosened his neckcloth. "Why then," said he slowly, "you have--perhaps--met him hereabouts--before to-night?" "Sir," she retorted, "you haven't answered me; why did he go so soon?" "He was--forced to, madam." "Forced to go,--without seeing me,--without one word! Oh, impossible!" "I walked with him to the cross-roads, and saw him out of sight." "But I--I came as soon as I could! Ah! surely he gave you some message--some word for me?" "None, madam!" said Barnabas evenly, but his hand had clenched itself suddenly on the stick he held. "But I--don't understand!" she sighed, with a helpless gesture of her white hands, "to hurry away like this, without a word! Oh, why--why did he go?" "Madam," said Barnabas, "it was because I asked him to." "You--asked him to?" "I did." "But why--why?" "Because, from what little I know of him, I judged it best." "Sir," she said, softly, "sir--what do you mean?" "I mean, that this is such a very lonely place for any woman and--such as he." Now even as Barnabas uttered the words she advanced upon him with upflung head and eyes aflame with sudden passionate scorn. "Insolent," she exclaimed. "So it was you--you actually dared to interfere?" "Madam," said Barnabas, "I did." Very straight and proud she stood, and motionless save for the pant and tumult of her bosom, fierce-eyed and contemptuous of lip. "And remained to insult me--with impunity." "To take you home again," said Barnabas, "therefore pray let us begone." "Us? Sir, you grow presumptuous." "As you will," said Barnabas, "only let us go." "With you?" she exclaimed. "With me." "No--not a step, sir; When I choose to go, I go alone." "But to-night," said Barnabas, gentle of voice but resolute of eye, "to-night--I go with you."