Paul laughed as he sat himself down to the hospi table board.

“Nay, I scarce feel any ill effects from the knocks I got.  A rover like myself is tough and wiry, or should be.  I fear this arm may not be serviceable for a few weeks to come, but—­”

“But if you will do us the pleasure to make this poor house your home until such time as you can go forth a sound man, you will be giving us great honour and pleasure; for I think that if harm had befallen our dear and only daughter, her father’s heart would have broken, and her mother’s hairs have gone down with sorrow to the grave.”

It was a fresh voice that spoke these words, and Paul rose instinctively to his feet as he found himself face to face with his hostess.

Mistress Devenish, as she was commonly called, was no ordinary buxom, loud-tongued farmer’s wife, but a slight, small woman, of rather insignificant aspect, unless the expression of the face was taken into account.  Then indeed might be seen a refinement and intellect seldom found in persons of her class in those rough and uncultured times.  Paul, who was a shrewd observer, detected at once that this was no ordinary woman before him, and saw from whom Joan had inherited her graceful, refined bearing and sweet, low-toned voice.  She was a much taller and finer woman than her mother had ever been, for she had something of her father’s strength and stature; but for all that she owed much of her charm to her mother, and plainly regarded her with true filial devotion.

“I thank you heartily,” answered Paul, as he held out his hand in greeting.  “I should be glad enough to rest, for a few days at least, in such pleasant quarters; but I must not let myself become a burden to you because that I have had the honour of rendering a trifling service to fair Mistress Joan here.”

“Nay, sir, it was no trifling service you did her; it was such service as must ever cause a mother’s heart to swell with thankful joy.  What would have become of the maid carried off by that evil man to his own secret haunts I dare not even think.  Had they slain her before her parents’ eyes, it would have been less terrible than to know her utterly at their mercy.”

“Ay, indeed it would,” cried the girl, with dilating eyes.  “Ah, fair sir, you know not what monsters these terrible robbers can be.  Oh, I pray you go not forth again until you can go a hale and sound man; for you have incurred by your act of yesterday the fury of one who never forgives, and who is as cunning as he is cruel.  He may set his spies upon you; and dog your steps if you leave this place; and if you were to be overcome by them and carried off to their cave in the forest, some terrible and cruel death would surely await you there.  For they truly call him Devil’s Own—­so crafty, so bloodthirsty, so full of malice and revenge has he ever shown himself.”

The girl’s cheek paled as she spoke; but Paul smiled at her fears.  Not that he was altogether foolhardy, or disposed to despise warnings thus given him; but his life had taught him a certain hardihood and contempt of danger, and he and his good horse had proved match enough for formidable antagonists before now.