h grew convulsed and black.

The whole scene had passed so quickly, though it takes so long to
describe (some of us never _can_ succeed in stenography), that Cecil
felt perfectly lost in a whirl of conflicting emotions, till she saw the
face in life before her that she had been fancying ever since last
night. A great fear came over her, but she overcame it, and her woman's
instinct told her what to do. She laid her little hand upon Keene's arm
before he was aware that she was near, and whispered so that only he
could hear, "For _my_ sake." Only these three simple words; but the
exorcism was complete.

Again a shiver ran all through the hardy frame, and for once Love was
more powerful than Hate. He loosed his hold--slowly though, and
reluctantly--and rose to his feet, passing his hand over his eyes in a
strange, bewildered way; but in five seconds his wonderful self-command
asserted itself, and he spoke as coolly as ever. "A thousand pardons.
One does forget one's self sometimes when the _canaille_ are provoking,
but I ought to have remembered what was due to _you_."

Though she could not speak, she tried to smile; but strong reaction had
come on. In the pale woman that trembled so painfully it was hard to
recognize proud Cecil Tresilyan. Royston was watching her narrowly, and
his tone softened till it made his simple words a caress. "Don't make me
more angry with myself than I deserve. Indeed, there is nothing more to
alarm or distress you. If you would only forgive me!" He helped her into
the saddle as he spoke, and she submitted passively. But the happy
feeling of perfect trust in him was coming back fast.

Jean Duchesne had somewhat recovered from his stupor, and was leaning on
one arm, panting heavily, still in great pain; but he was inured to all
sorts of broils, and evidently he would soon recover from the effects of
this one, though he had never been so roughly handled. It was sheer
terror that made him lie so still: he dared move no more than a whipped
hound while in the presence of his late opponent.

The others turned slowly homeward, for it is needless to say the
wild-flowers and the rendezvous were forgotten. As they turned the
corner which cut off the view of Duchesne's ground, Royston looked back
once, longingly. It was well for Cecil's nerves, in their disturbed
state, that she did not catch that Parthian glance. Ah, those
ungovernable eyes! They were gleaming with the expression that
Kirkpatrick's m