"And this is your gratitude, Miss Meredith," he said, slowly. "Last night you were in my power, I had every temptation to hold you a prisoner, but I yielded to pity and let you go free. To-night you reward me by betraying me into the hands of my enemies." "I warned you I should do so," she answered, spiritedly. "Why did you come here?" "I had a fancy for seeing you again," he answered, boldly. "Last night, when you wept so bitterly at the thought of missing this merry-making, I wondered if it would really make you as happy as you thought. To-night the fancy seized me to come and see. I did not believe you would betray me even if you saw me." "Why did you think so? I had warned you I would," she replied. "I thought that common gratitude would have restrained you. I did not merit this treatment at your hands," was his reply. "Miss Meredith has acted exactly right," said one of his captors, coarsely. "I look upon her as a real heroine. Everyone will feel pleased and relieved when they hear that she has actually captured the scourge of the country." "Aye, she has done what two-score men set out to do last night and failed in," said another. Jaquelina lifted her drooping head a little at their words of praise. At the outlaw's words it had drooped upon her breast. "She has treated me ungenerously," repeated Gerald Huntington, scornfully, as he looked at the girl's defenders. "When she fell into my power last night I treated her fairly and honorably. I will leave it to any of you whether she has repaid me in like manner." His dark, flashing eyes ran round the circle of eager, excited faces under the dim, waning light of the flickering lamp. In a moment he lifted his finger and pointed at Ronald Valchester, who stood apart, silently regarding the curious scene. "You, sir," said the outlaw, "have a noble face, and clear eyes that no deceit can blind. You can understand what is meant by that much abused term, honor. I will leave it to you. Has Miss Meredith used me fairly?" It was a striking scene. It was past the midnight hour. The moon was sinking behind the distant hills, the starlight and the flickering lamplight shone weirdly down on the glistening laurel trees, and on the eager, curious crowd about that central figure, the outlaw chief. His splendid form was drawn haughtily erect, his head was raised, and his white hand pointed at the grave, noble face of Ronald Valchester. Between the two figures was Jaquelina Meredith, lovely, frightened, half-defiant, yet hanging with her whole heart on Ronald Valchester's decision. He did not know how eagerly and fearfully she awaited his words. Yet Gerald Huntington, as he looked at her, more than half guessed it. He remembered what they had said to each other last night. "What manner of man might he be whose admiration would be acceptable to you?" he had asked her, and she had answered, promptly: "A man quite your opposite in everything."