"Truly," said I to myself, "in olden days a lady well knew how to
reward her rescuer!"
"Woman is woman--the same to-day as then--try her, try her!"
chuckled the Daemon. And now, as I looked more fully at this
Damon, he seemed no daemon at all, but rather, a jovial companion
who nodded, and winked, and nudged me slyly with his elbow.
"What are pretty faces for but to be admired?" said he in my ear;
"what are slender waists for but to be pressed; and as for a kiss
or two in a dark wood, with no one to spy--they like it, you dog,
they like it!"
So we traversed the alleys of the wood, now in shadow, now in
moonlight, the Lady, the Daemon, and I, and always the perfume of
hidden flowers seemed sweeter and stronger, the gleam of her hair
and the sway of her body the more alluring, and always the voice
at my ear whispered: "Try her, you dog, try her."
At last, being come to a broad, grassy glade, the lady paused,
and, standing in the full radiance of the dying moon, looked up
at me with a smile on her red lips.
"They can never find us now!" she said.
"No, they can never find us now," I repeated, while the Daemon at
my elbow chuckled again.
"And--oh, sir! I can never, never thank you," she began.
"Don't," said I, not looking at her; "don't thank me till--we are
out of the wood."
"I think," she went on slowly, "that you--can guess from--from
what you saved me, and can understand something of my gratitude,
for I can never express it all."
"Indeed," said I, "indeed you overestimate my service."
"You risked your life for me, sir," said she, her eyes
glistening, "surely my thanks are due to you for that? And I do
thank you--from my heart!" And with a swift, impulsive gesture,
she stretched out her hands to me. For a brief moment I
hesitated, then seized them, and, drew her close. But, even as I
stooped above her, she repulsed me desperately; her loosened hair
brushed my eyes and lips--blinded, maddened me; my hat fell off,
and all at once her struggles ceased.
"Sir Maurice Vibart!" she panted, and I saw a hopeless terror in
her face. But the Daemon's jovial voice chuckled in my ear: "Ho, Peter Vibart, act up to your cousin's reputation; who's to
know the difference?" My arms tightened about her, then I loosed
her suddenly, and, turning, smote my clenched fist against a
tree; which done, I stooped and picked up my hat and blackthorn
staff.