“Tell me no more,” I stammered, all a-quiver at her voice.  She shrank back as at a blow, and I, head swimming, frighted, penitent, caught her small hand in mine and drew her nearer; nor could I speak for the loud beating of my heart.

“What is it?” she murmured.  “Have I pained you that you tremble so?  Look at me, cousin.  I can scarce see you in the dusk.  Have I hurt you?  I love you dearly.”

Her horse moved nearer, our knees touched.  In the forest darkness I found I held her waist imprisoned, and her arms were heavy on my shoulders.  Then her lips yielded and her arms tightened around my neck, and that swift embrace in the swimming darkness kindled in me a flame that has never died—­that shall live when this poor body crumbles into dust, lighting my soul through its last dark pilgrimage.

As for her, she sat up in her saddle with a strange little laugh, still holding to my hand.  “Oh, you are divine in all you lead me to,” she whispered.  “Never, never have I known delight in a kiss; and I have been kissed, too, willing and against my will.  But you leave me breathing my heart out and all a-tremble with a tenderness for you—­no, not again, cousin, not yet.”

Then slowly the full wretchedness of guilt burned me, bone and soul, and what I had done seemed a black evil to a maid betrothed, and to the man whose wine had quenched my thirst an hour since.

Something of my thoughts she may have read in my bent head and face averted, for she leaned forward in her saddle, and drawing me by the arm, turned me partly towards her.

“What troubles you?” she said, anxiously.

“My treason to Sir George.”

“What treason?” she said, amazed.

“That I—­caressed you.”

She laughed outright.

“Am I not free-until I wed?  Do you imagine I should have signed my liberty away to please Sir George?  Why, cousin, if I may not caress whom I choose and find a pleasure in the way you use me, I am no better than the winter log he buys to toast his shins at!”

Then she grew angry in her impatience, slapping her bridle down to range her horse up closer to mine.

“Am I not to wed him?” she said.  “Is not that enough?  And I told him so, flatly, I warrant you, when Captain Campbell kissed me on the porch—­which maddened me, for he was not to my fancy—­but Sir George saw him and there was like to be a silly scene until I made it plain that I would endure no bonds before I wore a wedding-ring!” She laughed deliciously.  “I think he understands now that I am not yoked until I bend my neck.  And until I bend it I am free.  So if I please you, kiss me, ... but leave me a little breath to draw, cousin, ... and a saddle to cling to....  Now loose me—­for the forest ends!”

[Illustration:  “Now loose me—­for the forest ends!".]

A faint red light grew in the woodland gloom; a rushing noise like swiftly flowing water filled my ears—­or was it the blood that surged singing through my heart?