“You are safe,” I said, turning to the girl.

She came eagerly to my side, and in another minute the horsemen—­the innkeeper and two men whom I did not know—­leapt from their saddles when I hailed them, and came to ask if all was well.

Chapter 12:  I Come To Bristowe—­And Leave Unwillingly.

The presence of the innkeeper and his friends—­a neighboring farmer and one of his sons:  another son had ridden to acquaint Mr. Allardyce at the Hall of the kidnapping—­relieved me of a certain embarrassment I felt, now that the stress and excitement were over.  As yet Mistress Lucy had spoken scarce a word; but she had looked at me with great kindness, and I knew that she was but waiting for an opportunity to thank me for the service I had rendered her.  With the shy awkwardness of my age I wished to avoid this, and so I willingly related to the innkeeper all that had occurred, and had barely ended when Peabody came back in haste from Glazeley, where I fear he had been fuddling himself as his wife had suggested.  To him the story had to be told over again, I meanwhile itching to get away before Mr. Allardyce could arrive.

When I announced my determination to proceed at once on my journey there was a great outcry from the men:  would I not wait and see the Squire and be suitably rewarded?  Mistress Lucy herself, who had remained in the cottage while we conversed outside, came to the door at this point of our discussion, and with bright color in her cheeks beckoned me and asked whether I would not stay until her uncle’s arrival.  But my mind was made up.

“You are in safe hands,” I said, “and I have far to go.”

“I shall not forget what you have done for me—­Joe,” she said, and for the second time gave me her little hand.  I could say nothing, but when I was once more upon the road I thought of her kind look and manner, and glowed with a deep contentment.

I had not walked above a mile when I heard a galloping horse behind me, and Roger’s clear voice calling me by name.  I halted, and he sprang from the saddle and caught me by the hand.

“By George! ’twas mighty fine of you, Joe,” he cried, with kindling eyes.  “I’ll break Dick Cludde’s head for him, I will, if ever I see him again.  Who was the other villain?  Lucy says there were two.”

“’Twas—­” I began, but suddenly bit my lip; if I named Cyrus Vetch my own secret, which I had so carefully guarded, would soon be known, and I was resolved (maybe without reason) that they should not know me as Humphrey Bold until I had done somewhat to win credit for the name. “’Twas a long weasel-faced fellow,” I said, after so slight a pause that it escaped Roger’s perception.

“And weasels are vermin,” cried Roger, “and he has killed Lucy’s dog!  But come, Joe, what nonsense is this!  Father insists that you shall come back; he declares this trudging to Bristowe is sheer fooling, and had already got half a dozen fine schemes in his head for you.  Mount behind me, man:  the mare will carry you though you are a monster; come back and we’ll be sworn brothers.”