"And if it were not so much as six barley-corns," I said, "I would not
suffer you to wade it. What am I for, pray you, madam?"

Without more ado, I lifted her once more in my arms--the fourth time that
day--and started. I cursed the narrowness of the Pearl Brook. I could
almost have hopped across it, but by dawdling aslant the stream I had her
sweet face near mine in the moonlight, and my arms round her proud body,
for a couple of minutes. "Yokel blood or not," I thought, "this is
something my Lord Brocton will never do."

A quarter of an hour later, after helping her up a short, steep scarp, we
stood and looked back on the little town. Its roofs were bathed in
moonlight, and the great church tower stood out in grey against the
blue-black sky. Patches of dull, ruddy glow in the sky marked the sites of
the picket-fires, and there came to us, like the gibbering of ghosts in
the wind, the dying notes of the day's excitement. To our left, bits of
silver ribbon marked the twistings of the river, and that darker line in
the distant darkness was the hills of my home and boyhood. At their feet
was the Hanyards, and Kate and mother. There was a little mist in my eyes,
and the eyes I turned and looked into were brimming with tears.

"And now, Mistress Waynflete," said I, "let us on to our inn."

"Our inn!" she echoed, and there was dismay in her voice. "Our inn, and I
haven't a pennypiece. For safety, I put my hat, my riding jacket, and my
purse under the bed at Marry-me-quick's, and the fight and hurry drove
them out of my mind completely."

"And I'm in the same case exactly," said I, and laughed outright. I had