wounded her or given her a false impression. But strange to say, it proved this time that he had no need for fear.
There was a moment's silence, and then she answered low.
"Thank yo'!"
They had gone some yards together, before he recovered himself sufficiently to remember what he had meant to say to her.
"I wanted to tell you," he said, "that I do not think any—enemy I have, can take me at any very great disadvantage. I am—I have prepared myself."
She shuddered.
"Yo' carry—summat?"
"Don't misunderstand me," he said quickly. "I shall not use any weapon rashly. It is to be employed more as a means of warning and alarm than anything else. Rigganites do not like fire-arms, and they are not used to them. I only tell you this, because I cannot bear that you should expose yourself unnecessarily."
There was that in his manner which moved her as his light touch had done that first night of their meeting, when he had bound up her wounded temple with his handkerchief. It was that her womanhood—her hardly used womanhood, of which she had herself thought with such pathetic scorn—was always before him, and was even a stronger power with him than her marvellous beauty.
She remembered the fresh bruise upon her brow, and felt its throb with less of shame, because she bore it for his sake.
"Promise me one thing," he went on. "And do not think me ungracious in asking it of you—promise me that you will not come out again through any fear of danger
