do whatever you may ask him. He can do it. None will question his
courage. It has been proved too often." She rose and came to Ruth.
She set her arm about her waist again, and poured shrewd persuasion
over her cousin s indecision. "To-night you'll thank me for this
thought," she assured her. "Why do you pause? Are you so selfish as
to think more of the little humiliation that may await you than of
Richard's life and honour?"

"No, no," Ruth protested feebly.

"What, then? Is Richard to go out and slay his honour by a show of fear
before he is slain, himself, by the man he has insulted?"

"I'll go," said Ruth. Now that the resolve was taken, she was brisk,
impatient. "Come, Diana. Let Jerry saddle for us. We'll ride to
Zoyland Chase at once."

They went without a word to Richard who was still closeted with
Vallancey, and riding forth they crossed the river and took the road
that, skirting Sedgemoor, runs south to Weston Zoyland. They rode
with little said until they came to the point where the road branches
on the left, throwing out an arm across the moor towards Chedzoy, a mile
or so short of Zoyland Chase. Here Diana reined in with a sharp gasp
of pain. Ruth checked, and cried to know what ailed her.

"It is the sun, I think," muttered Diana, her hand to her brow. "I am
sick and giddy." And she slipped a thought heavily to the ground. In
an instant Ruth had dismounted and was beside her. Diana was pale,
which lent colour to her complaint, for Ruth was not to know that the
pallor sprang from her agitation in wondering whether the ruse she