"What is this?" she demanded, and her eyes swept over me grey and wide and fearless. "Who—who are you?"
Now at the sound of her voice so rich and wonder-sweet, I felt strangely abashed and, finding no word, turned from her to scowl down at the man I had pinned beneath my broken shoe.
"Who are you?" she questioned again. "Speak!"
"A rogue!" says I, keeping my head averted. "A creeper o' hedges!"
"Ah—is't you?" said she in softer tone. "I saw you for a moment by lightning-flash near the gibbet. You are my man o' the woods, and, sir, I owe you much—very much—indeed, sir, if—"
"I am no 'sir'!" quoth I shortly.
"Gregory," says she, looking down on the fellow 'neath my foot. "Gregory, get up!"
"Gregory," says I, "stir not!"
"Sir, would you hurt my servant?" says she, knitting her slender black brows.
"I' faith!" I nodded. "The uncivil rogue forced me to burst open the gate."