“My service, Barbara. You are better, I hope.” She smiled. “Well?” “He’s gone. Escaped us last night and got to ship in the river. By this time he is well into the Channel.” Mistress Barbara frowned perceptibly. “You have allowed him to get away?” she asked, her eyebrows upraised. “Yes,” he muttered; “a very demon possesses the man. If I had my way the fellow should never have left this room.” She motioned to a seat beside her. “Tell me about it,” she said. He sat and told her such of the happenings at the Fleece Tavern as he thought well for her to hear, but he omitted to mention the rape of the papers from his pockets. Of this attack he said: “After all, the fellow is but a common blusterer and bully. He waited for his chance and then set upon me like a fish-monger.” Her eyes sparkled. “And you?” she asked. “He had me off my guard, but as he broke away from me I shot at him”--he paused for a word--“as I would at a common thief.” “And you did not kill him?” The words fell cold and impassive from her lips. He looked at her in some surprise. She had set her teeth, and her hands were tightly clasped upon her knees, but her eyes were looking straight before her and gave no sign of any emotion. “Why, Barbara,” he said, “’tis truly a mighty hatred you have for the fellow! I thought if you were rid of him--” “I despise him!” she cried, vehemently. “I hate him!” Captain Ferrers paused a moment, and the smile that crossed his lips told her how sweet her words sounded in his ears. “Ever since he has been in London,” she went on, coolly, “he has crossed my path at every rout and levee. Wherever I’d turn I’d see his eyes fixed upon me. From such a man it was an insult. His attentions were odious.” She gave a hard, dry little laugh. “Why could he not have been killed then--before he told me this fine tale of his right to my fortunes and estates--” “But surely you don’t believe--” Ferrers broke in. “I do and I do not,” she said, carefully considering her reply. “It is a plain tale, and he tells it well, whether it be likely or unlikely.” “Why, Barbara, ’tis a palpable lie! Can you not see--” “I can and I cannot,” she said, evenly. Then she turned around, so that she looked full in his eyes. “I care not whether he be the heir or no--I would not listen to his pleadings were he my cousin thrice over.” Captain Ferrers laughed. “’Tis plain he has not endeared himself, mistress mine”; and then, with lowered voice and glance full of meaning, “Do you really mean that you hate him so?” It was the first time that his manner had given a hint of a secret. She turned her head away and looked at the opposite wall. “I do,” she replied, firmly. “I do hate him with all my heart.” Ferrers leaned towards her and laid his hand upon one of hers. She did not withdraw it--her fingers even moved a little as though in response to his touch.