Sultan had paused of his own accord at the forge, and Joan was eagerly telling her story to a little crowd of listeners, and making so much capital out of the heroism of her gallant rescuer that all eyes were turned upon the battered stranger; and whilst deep curses went up from the lips of many of the men as they heard of the last attempt of the Black Robbers upon one of their own village maidens, equal meed of praise and thanks was showered upon Paul, who leaned over his saddlebow in an attitude that bespoke exhaustion, though he answered all questions, and thanked the good people for their kindly reception of him, whilst trying to make light of his own prowess, and to give the credit of their final escape to Joan, to whom, indeed, it was due.

But the elder smith, John Ives, pushed his way through the little group round the black horse, and scattered them right and left.

“Good neighbours,” he said, “can you not see that this gentleman is weary and wounded, and that his good horse is like to drop as he stands?

“Go to, Will.  Lift down the maid, and lead her yourself up to Figeon’s.  I will conduct the gentleman thither, and tend his hurts myself.

“For, good sir, I know as much about broken bones as any leech in the countryside; and if you will but place yourself in my hands, I’ll warrant you a sound man again before another moon has run her course.  ’Tis a farrier’s trade to be a bit of a surgeon; and the Iveses have been farriers in Much Waltham longer than any can mind.

“On then, good horse.  ’Tis but a short mile farther; and a good stable and a soft bed, and as much fodder as you can eat, you will find at Figeon’s Farm.”

Paul was glad enough to have matters thus settled for him; and even Sultan seemed to understand the promise made him, for he pricked up his ears, dropped his nose for a moment into the kindly hand of the smith, and with the guiding hand upon his rein stepped briskly forward up the dark rough lane, through the thick belt of trees on either side.  For in the days of which I write the great forest of Epping extended almost all over the county of Essex, the villages were scarcely more than small clearings in the vast wood, and only round the farms themselves were there any real fields worth calling by the name.

Will and Joan tripped on ahead more rapidly than Sultan or his master cared to go.  Paul did not trouble himself any longer about the road he was traversing, leaving himself entirely in the kindly care of the smith.  He even dozed a little in the saddle as the horse picked his way steadily through the darkness, and was only fully roused up again by the sight of lanterns dancing, as it seemed, over the ground, by the sound of rough yet pleasant voices, and the glimmer of steadier light through the latticed windows of some building near at hand.  The next minute he was before the hospitable door of the old farmhouse.