"Joan! You know why I brought you here?"

"Yes, of course; you told me," she replied, steadily. "You want to
ransom me for gold. ... And I'm afraid you'll have to take me home
without getting any."

"You know what I mean to do to you," he went on, thickly.

"Do to me?" she echoed, and she never quivered a muscle. "You--you
didn't say. ... I haven't thought. ... But you won't hurt me, will
you? It's not my fault if there's no gold to ransom me."

He shook her. His face changed, grew darker. "You KNOW what I mean."

"I don't." With some show of spirit she essayed to slip out of his
grasp. He held her the tighter.

"How old are you?"

It was only in her height and development that Joan looked anywhere
near her age. Often she had been taken for a very young girl.

"I'm seventeen," she replied. This was not the truth. It was a lie
that did not falter on lips which had scorned falsehood.

"Seventeen!" he ejaculated in amaze. "Honestly, now?"

She lifted her chin scornfully and remained silent.

"Well, I thought you were a woman. I took you to be twenty-five--at