evil did you know me in this darkness! You're a witch, it
seems, and it isn't the first time I've thought it. You are not a
beauty, my girl. But come, tell me, how did you recognize me?"

"I've seen you to church, to St. Pierre du Bois, but you were all
dressed up then; and I've seen you driving to the market of a
Saturday morning sometimes."

He laughed and bent a little closer. Her eyes were like stars as
they were lifted to his face. And she did not appear to fear him in
the very least.

"Well, it's a joke, isn't it, the difference between Dominic Le
Mierre of a Sunday and Dominic Le Mierre in this place, my clothes
all wet with sea-water. And now, tell me, witch, why do you think
I'm here, in the Haunted House?"

"I couldn't say, I'm sure."

He was silent, staring hard into the candid, fearless eyes; then
impulsively he cried,

"I believe I can trust you! But, I warn you, if you let out why I'm
here, I'll kill you."

"You can trust me. I'd be killed before I'd let out."

A soft shadow darkened the clearness of her eyes: her long eyelashes
fell before his puzzled stare.

"But why, bah! it appears you're not afraid of me, then! Very well.
I'll tell you. It is the best way out of the difficulty. But sit up
against this barrel, and drink a little brandy. I've stopped the
bleeding in your head with a black enough cobweb."

Ellenor tried to raise herself up, but loss of blood had made her
giddy, and Dominic put his arm round her and steadied her roughly,
but not unkindly. Her dark head rested a second against his blue
jerseyed shoulder, and once more she lifted her eyes to his. With
brusque and evidently totally unpremeditated passion he kissed her
red lips.

"There! didn't I say you are a witch! I could laugh at myself for
this--I, Le Mierre, of one of the oldest families of St. Pierre du
Bois to be kissing a girl like you, a girl who carries fish to
market, tramp, tramp, all the way in the rain or in the sun! And,
moreover, I, Le Mierre, oh, so respectable and fine of a Sunday,
pulling a long face in my pew, and yet, behold, here I am a
smuggler, keeping guard over brandy and lace and silks! And why the
devil did I kiss you, for it isn't that you are a pretty girl or
enticing, eh?"

The girl trembled and turned away her head.

"Perhaps I am not pretty, but you've kissed me for all that, and
better still, you've told me your secret. I think it's a mean thing
to be a smuggler: but I'd die before I'd tel