apparel and flecked a handkerchief over
it. I tilted my hat; I set my hip against my harbour. A moment of
indecision, of weakness, and I was out of the summer-house. God knows
how I hoped that Lady Mary would not run away.

But the moment she saw me she came swiftly to me. I almost lost my
wits.

"'Tis the very gentleman I wished to see," she cried. She was
blushing, it is true, but it was evident she intended to say nothing
about inexperience or mere weak girls. "I wished to see you because--"
she hesitated and then rapidly said: "It was about the papers. I
wanted to thank you--I--you have no notion how happy the possession of
the papers has made my father. It seemed to have given him new life.
I--I saw you throw your sword on the floor with the hilt away from
you. And--and then you gave me the papers. I knew you were a gallant
gentleman."

All this time, I, in my confusion, was bobbing and murmuring pledges
of service. But if I was confused, Lady Mary was soon cool enough in
the presence of a simple bog-trotter like me. Her beautiful eyes
looked at me reflectively.

"There is only one service I can render you, sir," said she softly.
"'Tis advice which would have been useful in saving some men's lives
if only they had received it. I mean--don't fight with Forister in the
morning. 'Tis certain death."

It was now my turn once more. I drew myself up, and for the first time
I looked squarely into her bright eyes.

"My lady," said I, with mournful dignity, "I was filled with pride
when you said the good word to me. But what am I to think now? Am I,
after all, such a poor stick that, to your mind, I could be advised to
sell my honour for a mere fear of being killed?"

Even then I remembered my one-time decision to run away from the duel
with Forister; but we will not be thinking of that now.

Tears came into Lady Mary's eyes. "Ah, now, I have blundered," she
said. "'Tis what you would say, sir. 'Tis what you would do. I have
only made matters worse. A woman's meddling often results in the
destruction of those she--those she don't care to have killed."

One would think from the look of this last sentence, that with certain
reason I could have felt somewhat elated without being altogether a
fool. Lady Mary meant nothing of importance by her speech, but it was
a little bit for a man who was hungry to have her think of him. But
here I was assailed by a very demon of jealousy and distrust. This
beautiful witch had so