‘I do not wish you to speak. I insist on your going.’
He came to her, took her hand from the door, and led her down the stairs. As they came out into the gateway they heard the tramp of many feet, and a rush of young cattle debouched from the lane upon the open space before the gate.
Barbara was not one to cry, but she shivered and shrank before her eyes told her what a mistake she had made.
‘Here,’ she said, ‘I give you my purse. Go!’
‘No,’ answered Jasper. ‘There is no occasion for me to go. I have acted wrongly, but I did it for the best. You see, there is no occasion for fear. These ponies have been frightened by the flames, and have come through the moor-gate, which has been left open. I must see that they do not enter the court and do mischief.’
‘Never mind about the cattle, I pray you. Go! Take this money; it is mine. I freely give it you. Go!’
‘Why are you so anxious about me if you hate me?’ asked Jasper. ‘Surely it would gratify hate to see me handcuffed and carried off!’
‘No, I do not hate you—that is, not so much as to desire that. I have but one desire concerning you—that we should never see your face again.’
‘Miss Jordan, I shall not be taken.’
She flared up with rage, disappointment, shame. ‘How dare you!’ she cried. ‘How dare you stand here and set me at naught, when I have done so much for you—when I have even ventured to rouse you in the depth of night! My God! you are enough to madden me. I will not have the shame come on this house of having you taken here. Yes—I recall my words—I do hate you.’