“Sir,” said Anne, drawing herself up with dignity, “you mistake—­”

“Not a whit, my dear; no exemption here;” and there was a horse laugh, and an endeavour to seize her, as she stepped back, feeling that in quietness lay her best chance of repelling them, adding—­

“My uncle is close by.”

“The more cause for haste;” and they began to close upon her.  But at that moment Peregrine Oakshott, leaping from his horse, was among them, with the cry—­

“Dastards! insulting a lady.”

“Lady, forsooth! the parson’s niece.”

In a few seconds—­very long seconds to her—­her flying feet had brought her back to the cottage, where she burst in with—­“Pardon, pardon, sir; come quick; there are swords drawn; there will be bloodshed if you do not come.”

He obeyed the summons without further query, for when all men wore swords the neighbourhood of a garrison were only too liable to such encounters outside.  There was no need for her to gasp out more; from the very cottage door he could see the need of haste, for the swords were actually flashing, and the two young men in position to fight.  Anne shook her head, unable to do more than sign her thanks to the good woman of the cottage, who offered her a seat.  She leant against the door, and watched as her uncle, sending his voice before him, called on them to desist.

There was a start, then each drew back and held down his weapon, but with a menacing gesture on one side, a shrug of the shoulders on the other, which impelled the Doctor to use double speed in the fear that the parting might be with a challenge reserved.

He was in time to stand warning, and arguing that if he pardoned the slighting words and condoned the insult to his niece, no one had a right to exact vengeance; and in truth, whatever were his arguments, he so dealt with the two young men as to force them into shaking hands before they separated, though with a contemptuous look on either side—­a scowl from Sedley, a sneer from Peregrine, boding ill for the future, and making him sigh.

“Ah! sister, sister, you judged aright.  Would that I could have sent the maid sooner away rather than that all this ill blood should have been bred.  Yet I may only be sending her to greater temptation and danger.  But she is a good maiden; God bless her and keep her here and there, now and for evermore, as I trust He keepeth our good Dr. Ken in this sore strait.  The trial may even now be over.  Ah, my child, here you are!  Frightened were you by that rude fellow?  Nay, I believe you were almost equally terrified by him who came to the rescue.  You will soon be out of their reach, my dear.”

“Yes, that is one great comfort in going,” sighed Anne.  One comfort—­yes—­though she would not have stayed had the choice been given her now.  And shall the thought be told that flashed over her and coloured her cheeks with a sort of shame yet of pleasure, “I surely must have power over men!  I know mother would say it is a terrible danger one way, and a great gift another.  I will not misuse it; but what will it bring me?  Or am I only a rustic beauty after all, who will be nobody elsewhere?”