"There is only one service I can render you, sir," said she softly. "'T is advice which would have been useful in saving some men's lives if only they had received it. I mean—don't fight with Forister in the morning. 'T is certain death."
It was now my turn once more. I drew myself up, and for the first time I looked squarely into her bright eyes.
"My lady," said I, with mournful dignity, "I was filled with pride when you said the good word to me. But what am I to think now? Am I, after all, such a poor stick that, to your mind, I could be advised to sell my honour for a mere fear of being killed?"
Even then I remembered my one-time decision to run away from the duel with Forister; but we will not be thinking of that now.
Tears came into Lady Mary's eyes. "Ah, now, I have blundered," she said. "'T is what you would say, sir. 'T is what you would do. I have only made matters worse. A woman's meddling often results in the destruction of those she—those she don't care to have killed."
One would think from the look of this last sentence, that with certain reason I could have felt somewhat elated without being altogether a fool. Lady Mary meant nothing of importance by her speech, but it was a little bit for a man who was hungry to have her think of him. But here I was assailed by a very demon of jealousy and distrust. This beautiful witch had some plan in her head which did not concern my welfare at all. Why should she, a great lady, take any trouble for a poor devil who was living at an inn on money borrowed from a highwayman. I had been
