ot wonder. They know too well that there is no way back."

His manner terrified her. Its very quietness seemed a menace.
Desperately she tore herself from his hold, and turned to escape. But it
was as though she fled in a nightmare. Whichever way she turned she met
only the impenetrable ramparts of the hedge that surrounded her. She
could find neither entrance nor exit. It was as though the way by which
she had come had been closed behind her.

But the brightness above was growing. She whispered to herself that she
would soon be able to see, that she could not be a prisoner for long.

Suddenly she heard her captor close to her, and, turning in terror, she
found him erect and dominating against the hedge. With a tremendous
effort she controlled her rising panic to plead with him.

"Indeed, I must go back!" she said, her voice unsteady, but very urgent.
"I have already stayed too long. You cannot wish to keep me here against
my will?"

She saw him shrug his shoulders slightly.

"There is no way back," he said, "or, if there is, I do not know it."

There was no dismay in his voice, but neither was there exultation. He
simply stated the fact with absolute composure. Her heart gave a wild
throb of misgiving. Was the man wholly sane?

Again she caught wildly at her failing courage, and drew herself up to
her full height. Perhaps she might awe him, even yet.

"Sir," she said, "I am Sir Roland Brooke's wife. And I--"

"Egad!" he broke in banteringly, "that was yesterday. You are free
to-day. I have brought you out of bondage. We have found paradise
together, and, my pretty Lady Una, there is no way back."

"But there is, there is!" she cried desperately. "And I must find it! I
tell you I am Sir Roland Brooke's wife. I belong to him. No one can keep
me from him!"

It was as though she beat upon an iron door.

"There is no way out of the magic circle," said the jester inexorably.

A white shaft of light illumined the mist above them, revealing the
girl's pale face, making sinister the man's masked one. He seemed to be
smiling. He bent towards her.

"You seem amazingly fond of your chains," he said softly. "And yet, from
what I have heard, Sir Roland is no gentle tyrant. How is it, pretty
one? What makes you cling to your bondage so?"

"He is my husband!" she said, through white lips.

"Faith, that is no answer," he declared. "Own, now, that you hate him,
that you loathe his presence and shudder at his touch! I