"Take my advice then," he said. "Never do! He could whip creation with his hands tied behind him. Oh, I know you all think him mild-tempered and easy-going, more like a woman than a man. But you wait till you're hard up against him. Then you'll know what I mean when I tell you he's colossal." There was a queer ring of passion in his voice as he ended. It sounded to Anne like the half-stifled cry of a wounded animal. Because of it she repressed the impulse to ask him what he meant. Nevertheless, after a moment, as if impelled by some hidden force, he continued. "There was a time when I thought of him much as you do. And then one day there came a reckoning--an almighty big reckoning." He leaned back in his chair and stared upwards, while the grim lines of his mouth tightened. "It was down in Arizona. We fought a duel that lasted a day and a night. He was a worse cripple in those days than he is now, but he won out--he won out." Again came the cynical drawl, covering his actual feelings as with an impenetrable veil. "I've had a kind of respect for him ever since," he said. "One does, you know." "One would," said Anne, and again refrained from asking questions. She was thinking of the complete confidence with which Lucas had spoken of his ascendency over this man. Finishing luncheon they went out over the common that stretched from the very door, down the hill-side of short, sun-baked grass, passing between masses of scorched broom, whose bursting pods crackled perpetually in the sunshine, till they came to the green shade of forest trees and the gleam of a running stream. The whirr of grasshoppers filled the air and the humming of insects innumerable. Away in the distance sounded the metal clang of a cow-bell. It was the only definite sound that broke the stillness. The heat was intense. A dull, copper haze had risen and partially obscured the sun. Anne stopped on the edge of the stream. Wonderful dragon-flies such as she had never seen before, peacock, orange and palest green, darted to and fro above the brown water. Nap leaned against a tree close to her and smoked a cigarette. She spoke at last without turning. "Am I in fairyland, I wonder?" "Or the Garden of Eden," suggested Nap. She laughed a little, and stooping tried to reach a forget-me-not that grew on the edge of the water. "Beware of the serpent!" he warned. "Anyway, don't tumble in!" She stretched back a hand to him. "Don't let me go!" His hand closed instantly and firmly upon her wrist. In a moment she drew back with the flower in her hand, to find his cigarette smouldering on a tuft of moss. He set his foot upon it without explanation and lighted another. "Ought we not to be starting back?" she asked. "It won't be so hot in half-an-hour," he said. "But how long will it take?" "It can be done in under three hours. If we start at half-past-four you should be home well before sunset."