again as she heard me, and plucked her tuft of
grass.

"Indeed," I ended, "I believe his Grace spoke no more than the truth;
I've never seen a man more in love."

"And you know well what it is to be in love, don't you?"

"Very well," I answered calmly, although I thought that the taunt might
have been spared. "Therefore it may well be that some day I shall kiss
the hand of her Grace the Duchess."

"You think I desire it?" she asked.

"I think most ladies would."

"I don't desire it." She sprang up and stamped her foot on the ground,
crying again, "Simon, I do not desire it. I wouldn't be his wife. You
smile! You don't believe me?"

"No offer is refused until it's made," said I, and, with a bow that
asked permission, I took a draught of the ale.

She looked at me in great anger, her cheek suffused with underlying red
and her dark eyes sparkling.

"I wish you hadn't saved me," she said in a fury.

"That we had gone forward to Calais?" I asked maliciously.

"Sir, you're insolent." She flung the reproof at me like a stone from a
catapult. But then she repeated, "I wouldn't be his wife."

"Well, then, you wouldn't," said I, setting down the jug and rising.
"How shall we pass the day? For we mustn't go to Dover till nightfall."

"I must be all day here with you?" she cried in visible consternation.

"You must be all day here, but you needn't be with me. I'll go down to
the beach; I shall be within hail if need arises, and you can rest here
alone."

"Thank you, Simon," she answered with a most sudden and wonderful
meekness.

Without more, I took my way to the seashore and lay down on the
sun-warmed shingle. Being very weary and without sleep now for
six-and-thirty hours, I soon closed my eyes, keeping the pistol ready by
my side. I slept peacefully and without a dream; the sun was high in
heaven when, with a yawn and a stretching of my limbs, I awoke. I heard,
as I opened my eyes, a little rustling as of somebody moving; my hand
flew to the butt of my pistol. But when I turned round I saw Barbara
only. She was sitting a little way behind me, looking out over the sea.
Feeling my gaze she looked round.

"I grew afraid, left all alone," she said in a timid voice.

"Alas, I snored when I should have been on guard!" I exclaimed.

"You didn't snore," she cried. "I--I mean not in the last few moments. I
had only just come near you. I'm afraid I spoke unkindly to you."

"I hadn't given a thought to it," I has