"Ho, Peter Vibart, act up to your cousin's reputation; who's to know the difference?" My arms tightened about her, then I loosed her suddenly, and, turning, smote my clenched fist against a tree; which done, I stooped and picked up my hat and blackthorn staff. "Madam," said I, looking down upon my bleeding knuckles, "I am not Sir Maurice Vibart. It seems my fate to be mistaken for him wherever I go. My name is Peter, plain and unvarnished, and I am very humbly your servant." Now as I spoke, it seemed that the Daemon, no longer the jovial companion, was himself again, horns, hoof, and tail—nay, indeed, he seemed a thousand times more foul and hideous than before, as he mouthed and jibed at me in baffled fury; wherefore, I smiled and turned my back upon him. "Come," said I, extending my hand to the trembling girl, "let us get out of these dismal woods." For a space she hesitated, looking up at me beneath her lashes, then reached out, and laid her fingers in mine; and, as we turned away, I knew that the Daemon had cast himself upon the ground, and was tearing at the grass in a paroxysm of rage and bafflement. "It is strange," said I, after we had gone some little distance, "very strange that you should only have discovered this resemblance here, and now, for surely you saw my face plainly enough at the inn." "No; you see, I hardly looked at you." "And, now that you do look at me, am I so very much like Sir Maurice?" "Not now," she answered, shaking her head, "for though you are of his height, and though your features are much the same as his, your expression is different. But—a moment ago—when your hat fell off—" "Yes?" said I. "Your expression—your face looked—" "Demoniac?" I suggested. "Yes," she answered. "Yes?" said I. So we went upon our way, nor paused until we had left the Daemon and the dark woods behind us. Then I looked from the beauty of the sweet, pure earth to the beauty of her who stood beside me, and I saw that her glance rested upon the broken knuckles of my right hand. Meeting my eyes, her own drooped, and a flush crept into her cheeks, and, though of course she could not have seen the Daemon, yet I think that she understood. CHAPTER XXI "JOURNEYS END IN LOVERS' MEETINGS" The moon was fast sinking below the treetops to our left, what time we reached a road, or rather cart-track that wound away up a hill. Faint and far a church clock slowly chimed the hour of three, the solemn notes coming sweet and silvery with distance. "What chimes are those?" I inquired. "Cranbrook Church." "Is it far to Cranbrook?" "One mile this way, but two by the road yonder." "You seem very well acquainted with these parts," said I. "I have lived here all my life; those are the Cambourne Woods over there—" "Cambourne Woods!" said I. "Part of the Sefton estates," she continued; "Cambourne village lies to the right, beyond." "The Lady Sophia Sefton of Cambourne!" said I thoughtfully.