'What should I be afraid of?'
'I can hurt you—worse than by nipping your wrist.'
'And I can defend myself,' she answered. 'I afraid of you? No; it was you who trembled and screamed like a woman when I touched you on the river bank that night we first met. It is you who have reason to be afraid of me.'
The colour went out of his face.
'No, I am not afraid of you,' continued Zita. 'I remember how, when you sought to ride on, I stopped your way, and drove you where I wanted you to go—drove you with the flail.'
He released her arm. She felt that his hand was shaking. He knew that it shook, and he was afraid lest she should observe it.
He walked in silence to the stable with his head lowered. Zita followed. She had gained a first advantage. She had forestalled his attack, and now, instead of her being cowed by him, he was subdued by her.
When they were both in the stable,—for she had followed him to show him how little fear she entertained,—then he addressed her in an altered tone.
'You do not intend to leave me?'
'No; if you desire me to remain, I will remain.'