"Oh!" she sighed, "oh, that he should have come to this!"
"My Lady Cleone!" said Barnabas, and touched her very gently.
"And you—you!" she cried, shuddering away from him, "you thought me what—he would have made me! You thought I—Oh, shame! Ah, don't touch me!"
But Barnabas stooped and caught her hands, and sank upon his knees, and thus, as they knelt together in the moonlight, he drew her so that she must needs let him see her face.
"My lady," said he, very reverently, "my thought of you is this, that, if such great honor may be mine, I will marry you—to-night."
But hereupon, with her two hands still prisoned in his, and with the tears yet thick upon her lashes, she threw back her head, and laughed with her eyes staring into his. Thereat Barnabas frowned blackly, and dropped her hands, then caught her suddenly in his long arms, and held her close.
"By God!" he exclaimed, "I'd kiss you, Cleone, on that scornful, laughing mouth, only—I love you—and this is a solitude. Come away!"
"A solitude," she repeated; "yes, and he sent me here, to meet a beast—a satyr! And now—you! You drove away the other brute, oh! I can't struggle—you are too strong—and nothing matters now!" And so she sighed, and closed her eyes. Then gazing down upon her rich, warm beauty, Barnabas trembled, and loosed her, and sprang to his feet.
"I think," said he, turning away to pick up his cudgel, "I think—we had—better—go."
But my lady remained crouched upon her knees, gazing up at him under her wet lashes.