“Don’t speak to me!” cried Colina.  “When you find robbers in your house you shoot them down!  You’re afraid!  I will go myself!”

All in a breath she came flying across the road.  Ambrose, surprised, fell back a step from the door.  Before he could recover himself she stood in the middle of the shed facing them with blazing eyes.

She had risen hastily; her glorious hair was twisted in a loose coil and pinned insecurely; the habit she had thrown on was still open at the throat.

She had caught up a riding-crop; the knuckles that gripped it were white.  Ambrose, admiring her in an odd, detached way, was reminded of Bellona, the goddess of anger.

“What does this mean?” she cried.

“What you see,” said Ambrose coldly.

“Get out!” she cried.  “All of you!  I order it!”

The men cringed under her angry glances, and their eyes bolted.  Only the sight of Ambrose standing firm, kept them in their places.  Colina turned on Ambrose.

“You thief!” she cried with ringing scorn.

Ambrose coldly faced her out.  Somehow he found it was his turn to smile.  As a matter of fact he had suffered so much at her hands that he had become callous and strong enough to resist her.

Indeed there was a kind of bitter sweetness in this moment.  She, who had humiliated him so many times was now powerless before him, let her rage as she might.  He was only human.

Seeing the cold smile Colina felt as if the ground was suddenly cut from under her.  Her cheeks paled, and the imperious blaze of her eyes was slowly dimmed.

When the bolt of passion is launched without effect, a horrible blankness faces the passionate one.  The men seeing Colina falter breathed more freely.  They were frankly terrified of her.

Colina fought on though her forces were in confusion.  “Have you anything to say for yourself?” she demanded of Ambrose.  “What are you doing on my father’s property?”

“I have nothing to say,” said Ambrose.  “You know the situation as well as I.”

Once more their eyes contended.  Hers fell.  She turned away from him.  When she came back it was with an altered air.  “May I speak to you alone?” she asked in low tones.

“Please say it here,” said Ambrose.  “They cannot hear.”

“My father—­” she murmured with a deprecating air, “I am afraid this will kill him.  I have locked him in his room.  I don’t know what he will do.  Can’t you stop until to-morrow?”

“If you will pledge yourself for him to finish grinding my grain to-morrow,” said Ambrose.

“How can I pledge him?” she said pettishly.  “I am not his master.”

“Then we must grind on.”

She was silent for a moment, looking on the ground.  When she raised her eyes the look in them sent all the blood flying from his heart.  “Ambrose!” she murmured on the deep note he remembered so well.  “Have you forgotten?”