eps, and I followed, half-dizzy with loss of blood. The great door
stood open. We passed into a cool hall, paved with lozenges of
polished granite, white and black; and through this, with a turn to
the left, down a long corridor similarly paved and hung with
tapestries. To the right of this corridor were many doors, of which
she led me past five or six, and then pausing at one for me to
overtake her, pushed it open.

The room within was of goodly size, and flooded with the morning
sunshine that poured through three long windows. In the midst of it
stood a table laid for breakfast, and at the head of the table,
backed by a sideboard loaded with cold meats, sat a man plying
knife and fork, and with a flagon handy beside him--a heavy,
broad-shouldered man, with a copper-red complexion, and black hair
that grew extraordinarily low upon his forehead. This and a short,
heavy jaw gave him a morose, sullen look. I guessed his age at
something near thirty.

The sight of us standing in the doorway appeared to annoy him.
He scowled for a moment at my lady, and dropped his eyes, while (as
it seemed to me) a rush of angry blood suffused his face and gave it
a purplish tint; but anon lifted and fixed them on me with a stare
that as plainly as words demanded my business. My lady also turned
to me.

'This,' she said, 'is my husband, Sir Luke Glynn.' She faced about
on him. 'I have brought you here Captain Medhope, an officer of the
rebel army, to take what repayment you are ready to give. He is, I
may warn you, a good swordsman.'

Whatever she meant by this, she said it coldly, and as coldly kept
her eyes on him awaiting his answer. Still avoiding them he
continued to stare at me, and presently, pushing aside his tankard,
leaned back in his chair with a rough laugh.

'My good Kate,' said he brutally, 'I took you at least for a
sportswoman?' Still leaning back he pointed towards me.
'Your friend is hurt, wherever you found him. Better ring for Pascoe
and put him to bed.'

'Hurt?' she echoed, and turned to me, where I stood swaying, with a
hand on the table's edge, and a face (I dare say) as white as the
diapered cloth. Her eyes rested on me at first increduously, then
with dismay.

'It is not serious,' I stammered. 'If some one will set a chair for
me--no, not there--clear of the rug. My boots are full of blood, I
think.'

With this I must have fallen in a faint, straight into her arms, and
the faint must ha