ars, and when I thought of thy danger, I fell into a
fever and I arose and leapt upon the fleetest steed and rode until my
fever cooled; and then--when I had thee once more, I could not keep
from thee longer; I resolved upon this plan that I might be with thee,
and ride by thy side. And thou dost murder me outright. Thou dost kill
me, Kate! I was a fool to undertake it, I know; but I thought of two
whole days I should be separated from thee and felt I could not bear
to wait. Thy words, Kate, were so sweet. Kate, come to me once more
and see how loving I can be. Let me dry thy tears,--let thy head rest
here upon my heart and close thine eyes and dream--dream, Kate, of
what we must be to each other, and then wake and find me bending over
thee. Come, Sweet, come!" He sought her elusive fingers and tried to
draw her to him with a tenderness she could hardly withstand; but she
would not unbend, drawing from him, sinking further into the corner.

"And did Sir Julian know of this ruse of thine?" she asked, haughtily.

"Janet, methinks the maid speaks with thee!"

"What is it, Lambkin? I was not listening."

"I will wait until the storm ceases, perhaps thou wilt find thy
hearing by then." There was a long silence within the coach. The tears
of Mistress Penwick were dried and she sat sullen, deliberately trying
to hate Lord Cedric. There came a sudden burst of thunder that turned
the tide of her thoughts from him to Sir Julian, who rode by her
window constantly. At every flash of lightning she saw his spurs
glisten, saw the foam fly from the bits of his horse's bridle. He rode
there in the storm, heedless of all but her safety and comfort, he
that had wounds on his body that spake of great deeds of nobleness and
valour! Why should he care for her so? Like a flood he swept into
her heart, and she accepted his presence with gladness--shutting out
Cedric as well as she was able. She inclined her head toward the
window and watched the handsome figure of Sir Julian with a new
interest. His form, so like that of Cedric, she began to compare with
ancient warriors she had read about and seen pictures of,--then his
tender and meaning hand pressure recurred to her, and she flushed
mightily. After awhile she fell to thinking of the Duke of Monmouth,
the tender thoughts of whom she had not yet resigned,--such were the
vacillations of the mind of strong, warm, youthful Mistress Penwick.

The storm grew furious, and the wind blew such a g