When the sobs and cries subsided, under cold water and essences without and strong waters within, and the little lady in Martha’s strong arms, between the matronly coaxing of the fat hostess and the kind soothings of the two young ladies, had been restored to something of equanimity, Mistress Martha laid her down and said with the utmost good humour and placidity to the young husband, “Now I’ll go, sir.  She is better now, but the sight of my face might set her off again.”

“Oh, do not say so, madam.  We are infinitely obliged.  Let her thank you.”

But Martha shook her hand and laughed, turning to leave the room, so that he was fain to give her his arm and escort her back to her guardian.

Then ensued a scream.  “Where’s he going?  Mr. Archfield, don’t leave me.”

“He is only taking Mistress Browning back to her guardian,” said Anne.

“Eh? oh, how can he?  A hideous fright!” she cried.

To say the truth, she was rather pleased to have had such a dreadful adventure, and to have made such a commotion, though she protested that she must go home directly, and could never bear the sight of those dreadful monsters again, or she should die on the spot.

“But,” said she, when the coach was at the door, and Anne had restored her dress to its dainty gaiety, “I must thank Master Peregrine for taking off that horrible jackanapes.”

“Small thanks to him,” said Charles crossly.  “I wager it was all his doing out of mere spite.”

“He is too good a beau ever to spite me,” said Mrs. Alice, her head a little on one side.

“Then to show off what he could do with the beast—­Satan’s imp, like himself.”

“No, no, Mr. Archfield,” pleaded Anne, “that was impossible; I saw him myself.  He was with that sailor-looking man measuring the height of the secretary bird.”

“I believe you are always looking after him,” grumbled Charles.  “I can’t guess what all the women see in him to be always gazing after him.”

“Because he is so charmingly ugly,” laughed the young wife, tripping out in utter forgetfulness that she was to die if she went near the beasts again.  She met Peregrine half way across the yard with outstretched hands, exclaiming—­

“O Mr. Oakshott! it was so good in you to take away that nasty beast.”

“I am glad, madam, to have been of use,” said Peregrine, bowing and smiling, a smile that might explain something of his fascination.  “The poor brute was only drawn, as all of our kind are.  He wanted to see so sweet a lady nearer.  He is quite harmless.  Will you stroke him?  See, there he sits, gazing after you.  Will you give him a cake and make friends?”