She had given herself up to the joy of the moment.

I rejoiced in a feeling which I could not share; the rebound from the strain of the night left me sad and apprehensive.

I sat down and rested my head on my hands, waiting till she came back.
When she came, she would not take the food I offered her, but stood a moment, looking at me with puzzled eyes, before she seated herself near.
"You're sad," she said, almost as though in accusation.
"Could I be otherwise, Mistress Barbara ?" I asked.

"We're in some danger, and, what's worse, we've hardly a penny." "But we've escaped the greatest peril," she reminded me.
"True, for the moment." "We--you won't be married to-night," she laughed, with rising colour, and turning away as though a tuft of rank grass by her had caught her attention and for some hidden reason much deserved it.
"By God's help we've come out of that snare," said I gravely.
She said nothing for a moment or two; then she turned to me again, asking, "If your friend furnishes money, can we reach London in two days ?" "I'm sorry," I answered, "but the journey will need nearer three, unless we travel at the King's pace or the Duke of Monmouth's." "You needn't come all the way with me.

Set me safe on the road, and go where your business calls you." "For what crime is this punishment ?" I asked with a smile.
"No, I'm serious.