only HEARD you."

Her perfect naivete alternately thrilled him with pain and doubt. In
his awkwardness and uneasiness he was brutal.

"Yes, but you must have met somebody--other men--here even, when you
were out with your schoolfellows, or perhaps on an adventure like this."

Her white coif turned towards him quickly. "I never wanted to know
anybody else. I never cared to see anybody else. I never would have
gone out in this way but for you," she said hurriedly. After a pause
she added in a frightened tone: "That didn't sound like your voice
then. It didn't sound like it a moment ago either."

"But you are sure that you know my voice," he said, with affected
gayety. "There were two others in the hollow with me that night."

"I know that, too. But I know even what you said. You reproved them
for throwing a lighted match in the dry grass. You were thinking of us
then. I know it."

"Of US?" said Key quickly.

"Of Mrs. Barker and myself. We were alone in the house, for my brother
and her husband were both away. What you said seemed to forewarn me,
and I told her. So we were prepared when the fire came nearer, and we
both escaped on the same horse."

"And you dropped your shoes in your flight," said Key laughingly, "and
I picked them up the next day, when I came to search for you. I have
kept them still."

"They were HER shoes," said the girl quickly, "I couldn't find mine in
our hurry, and hers were too large for me, and dropped off." She
stopped, and with a faint return of her old gladness said, "Then you
DID come back? I KNEW you would."

"I should have stayed THEN, but we got no reply when we shouted. Why
was that?" he demanded suddenly.

"Oh, we were warned against speaking to any stranger, or even being
seen by any one while we were alone," returned the girl simply.

"But why?" persisted Key.

"Oh, because there were so many highwaymen and horse-stealers in the
woods. Why, they had stopped the coach only a few weeks before, and
only a day or two ago, when Mrs. Barker came down. SHE saw them!"

Key with difficulty suppressed a groan. They walked on in silence for
some moments, he scarcely daring to lift his eyes to the decorous
little figure hastening by his side. Alternately touched by mistrust
and pain, at last an infinite pity, not unmingled with a desperate
resolution, took possession of him.

"I must make a confession to you, Miss Rivers," he began with the
bashful haste of a ve