at last I spoke to Will Ives, the smith’s son, of how he troubled me and gave me no peace of my life.  And forthwith there was a great stir through the village; and Will Ives set upon him and beat him within an inch of his life, for all he was so proud of his skill and strength.  And the good brothers spoke to him seriously of his evil courses, and I know not what besides.  So the end was that he ran away once more and joined himself to the Robbers of Black Notley, and was taken in such favour by the captain of the band that he is half a captain himself; and many is the time he has ridden through our village, robbing his old neighbours, and doing more harm in a night than months of hard work will put right; and often when I have chanced to meet him he has given me a look that has frozen the blood in my veins.  I have always lived in fear of him all my life; but I was never in such peril before today.”

“Peril enough, in all sooth,” said the traveller.  “How came it, pretty maiden, that you chanced to be all alone in the wood so near to the haunts of the robbers?”

“Nay, I was far enough away from their regular haunts.  I had but come a short cut through the wood to see a sick neighbour, and I tarried beside her longer than I well knew.  I will never do the like again, but I have been used from childhood to roam these forest paths unharmed.  The wood is thick, and if I hear the sound of horse or man I always slip aside and hide myself.  But today, methinks, they must have tracked me and were lying in wait; for the wood was silent as the church till I reached the clearing, and then the whole four sprang up from behind the pile of felled trees and set upon me.  Had you not been at hand, by good providence; I should ere this have been their helpless captive;” and again the girl shuddered strongly.

By this time the trees were growing somewhat thinner, and lights began to twinkle here and there, showing that some village was nigh at hand.  A bell for vespers began to ring forth, and the traveller was glad enough to think his toilsome journey nearly at an end.  Hardy as he was, and well inured to fatigues and hardship of all kinds, he was growing exhausted from his day’s travel and his sharp fighting.  He was wounded, too, and although there was no great effusion of blood, his hurt was becoming painful, and his left arm, which was undoubtedly broken, required some skilled attention.

“Is it here that you live, fair maid?” he asked.  “I know not how you are named; but I gather that you are directing our course to your own home.”

“My name is Joan Devenish,” she answered, “and the lights you see yonder are those of Much Waltham, and it is our church bell that you hear ringing out so sweetly.  My father’s farm is a mile beyond.  But I beseech you ride thither with me.  My mother would be ill pleased did I not bring home the gallant stranger who had saved me from my foes.  And Figeon’s will be proud to shelter such a guest.”