"Instead of which," said I, speaking (as it were), despite myself, "instead of which, you find me only a blacksmith—a low, despicable fellow eager to take advantage of your unprotected womanhood." She did not speak, standing tall and straight, her head thrown back; wherefore, reading her scorn of me in her eyes, seeing the proud contempt of her mouth, a very demon seemed suddenly to possess me, for certainly the laugh that rang from my lip, proceeded from no volition of mine. "And yet, madam," my voice went on, "this despicable blacksmith fellow refused one hundred guineas for you to-day." "Peter!" she cried, and shrank away from me as if I had threatened to strike her. "Ah!—you start at that—your proud lip trembles—do not fear, madam—the sum did not tempt him—though a large one." "Peter!" she cried again, and now there was a note of appeal in her voice. "Indeed, madam, even so degraded a fellow as this blacksmith could not very well sell that which he does not possess—could he? And so the hundred guineas go a-begging, and you are still—unsold!" Long before I had done she had covered her face again, and, coming near, I saw the tears running out between her fingers and sparkling as they fell. And once again the devil within me laughed loud and harsh. But, while it still echoed, I had flung myself down at her feet. "Charmian," I cried, "forgive me—you will, you must!" and, kneeling before her, I strove to catch her gown, and kiss its hem, but she drew it close about her, and, turning, fled from me through the shadows. Heedless of all else but that she was leaving me, I stumbled to my feet and followed. The trees seemed to beset me as I ran, and bushes to reach out arms to stay me, but I burst from them, running wildly, blunderingly, for she was going—Charmian was leaving me. And so, spent and panting, I reached the cottage, and met Charmian at the door. She was clad in the long cloak she had worn when she came, and the hood was drawn close about her face. I stood panting in the doorway, barring her exit. "Let me pass, Peter." "By God—no!" I cried, and, entering, closed the door, and leaned my back against it. And, after we had stood thus awhile, each looking upon the other, I reached out my hands to her, and my hands were torn and bloody. "Don't go, Charmian," I mumbled, "don't go! Oh, Charmian—I'm hurt—I didn't want you to know, but you mustn't leave me—I am not—well; it is my head, I think. I met Black George, and he was too strong for me. I'm deaf, Charmian, and half blinded—oh, don't leave me—I'm afraid, Charmian!" Her figure grew more blurred and indistinct, and I sank down upon my knees; but in the dimness I reached out and found her hands, and clasped them, and bowed my aching head upon them, and remained thus a great while, as it seemed to me. And presently, through the mist, her voice reached me.