Thus, as I followed my companion through the wood, I was conscious of a Daemon that ran beside me, leaping and gambolling at my elbow, though I kept my eyes straight before me. Anon, his clutching fingers were upon my arm, and fain I would have shaken him off, but could not; while, as I watched the swing and grace of the lithe, feminine body before me, from the little foot to the crowning glory of her hair, she seemed a thousand times more beautiful than I had supposed. And I had saved her tonight—from what? There had been the fear of worse than death in her eyes when that step had sounded outside her chamber door. Hereupon, as I walked, I began to recall much that I had read in the old romances of the gratitude of rescued ladies. "Truly," said I to myself, "in olden days a lady well knew how to reward her rescuer!" "Woman is woman—the same to-day as then—try her, try her!" chuckled the Daemon. And now, as I looked more fully at this Daemon, he seemed no daemon at all, but rather, a jovial companion who nodded, and winked, and nudged me slyly with his elbow. "What are pretty faces for but to be admired?" said he in my ear; "what are slender waists for but to be pressed; and as for a kiss or two in a dark wood, with no one to spy—they like it, you dog, they like it!" So we traversed the alleys of the wood, now in shadow, now in moonlight, the Lady, the Daemon, and I, and always the perfume of hidden flowers seemed sweeter and stronger, the gleam of her hair and the sway of her body the more alluring, and always the voice at my ear whispered: "Try her, you dog, try her." At last, being come to a broad, grassy glade, the lady paused, and, standing in the full radiance of the dying moon, looked up at me with a smile on her red lips. "They can never find us now!" she said. "No, they can never find us now," I repeated, while the Daemon at my elbow chuckled again. "And—oh, sir! I can never, never thank you," she began. "Don't," said I, not looking at her; "don't thank me till—we are out of the wood." "I think," she went on slowly, "that you—can guess from—from what you saved me, and can understand something of my gratitude, for I can never express it all." "Indeed," said I, "indeed you overestimate my service." "You risked your life for me, sir," said she, her eyes glistening, "surely my thanks are due to you for that? And I do thank you—from my heart!" And with a swift, impulsive gesture, she stretched out her hands to me. For a brief moment I hesitated, then seized them, and, drew her close. But, even as I stooped above her, she repulsed me desperately; her loosened hair brushed my eyes and lips—blinded, maddened me; my hat fell off, and all at once her struggles ceased. "Sir Maurice Vibart!" she panted, and I saw a hopeless terror in her face. But the Daemon's jovial voice chuckled in my ear: