Gervase laughed good-humouredly at Macpherson´s serious countenance. “We have none of us the courage to cross her. Poor Simon fears her more than he fears the bullets of the enemy, and I think I am somewhat in terror of her myself. But she hath her virtues, and I will not hear her wronged.” “I will avoid her for the future like the pestilence. Now finish your supper, or so much as I have left you. I would have you accompany me to Miss Carew, and I think you will be willing enough, for I must give her an account of my stewardship before I sleep, through how I shall bring myself to tell her what I have done after all my boasting, I do not know. When one has a man to deal with, he can take him by the hand or by the throat, but one cannot use plain speech with a woman.” CHAPTER IX. OF HOW CAPTAIN MACPHERSON FULFILLED HIS TRUST. Lady Hester Rawdon´s house stood not far from the Cathedral, something larger and uglier than its neighbours, with a stone staircase running along the outside, and the lower windows heavily grated with iron bars. Gervase and his companion were shown into a long, low-ceiled room on the ground floor, wainscoted in black oak and looking out on a small garden. In a corner of the room stood a harpsichord; a piece of fine embroidery lay on the table. On a chair by the window lay an open book with the pages turned downwards. Some spring flowers in a vase gave out a perfume which, somehow, Gervase came to associate with Dorothy, and brought her vividly before him. Presently she came in herself, clad in a simple black gown without any touch of colour. To Gervase she gave her hand without a word, but with a quiet smile of welcome on her lips, and then she turned to Macpherson, who stood drawn up to his full height, with his hat under his left arm and his hand resting on his sword hilt. “I am very glad to see you,” she said. “We talked much of you, Mr. Orme and myself, and I never doubted that we should meet again. But,” and she looked at him with inquiring sympathy, “you have been wounded?” “A mere scratch,” he answered hastily. “And before I go further, you will let a rough old soldier say a word, Miss Carew?--though he cannot speak fairly, and in set terms such as please a woman. When we first met I spoke harshly and in anger, for which speech I am sorry now. In my rough journeys I have had knocks that somewhat hardened me, but I ask your pardon if I have in anywise offended you. I can do no more.” “I would not have you speak of that,” she answered; “I only remember your service.” “The which I did not render you.” Then he went on in evident perturbation: “You see before you one who played the coward and betrayed the trust he compelled you to place in his hands. Had I to go through with it again, it may be I should have done otherwise, but I acted for the best and followed the light I had. I know you will listen to me patiently.”