of this tall, dark-faced stripling, who appeared ready to do battle with the pair of them, and that without the least fear.  At any rate, after much hard swearing, the estimable comrades mounted their horses again, and rode on in the gathering darkness; whilst Cherry felt herself lifted up with all courtesy and reverence, and a pleasant voice asked in bashful accents, very unlike the firm, defiant tones addressed to her persecutors, whether she were hurt.

“Not hurt, only frightened, fair sir,” answered Cherry, beginning to recover her breath and her self possession, as she divined that her protector was now more embarrassed at the situation than she was herself.  “How can I thank you for your timely help?  I was well nigh dead with terror till I heard your voice holding them at bay.  Right bold it was of you to come to my assistance when you had two foes against you.”

“Nay, fair lady, I were less than a man had I stayed for twenty.”

“I like you none the less for your brave words, sir, and I believe that you have courage to face an army.  But I may not linger here even to speak my thanks.  I shall be in sore disgrace at home for tarrying out thus long in the dark.”

“But you will grant to me to see you safe to your door, lady?”

“Ay, truly will I, an you will,” answered Cherry, as much from real nervous fear as from the coquetry which made such companionship pleasant.  “But I would fain go back a few paces for my poor reeds, that I go not home empty handed.  And you must catch your steed, Sir Knight; he seems disposed to wander away at his own will.”

“My steed will come at a call.  He is a faithful beast, and not addicted to errant moods.  Let us fetch your basket, lady, and then to your home.

“Is this it?  Prithee, let me carry it; its weight is too much for you.  See, I will place it so on Dobbin’s broad back, and then we can jog along easily together.”

Cherry, her fears allayed, and her imaginative fancy pleased by the termination to this adventure, chatted gaily to her tall companion; and as they neared the bridge with its many twinkling lights, she pointed out one of the houses in the middle, and told her companion that she dwelt there.  His face turned eagerly upon her at hearing that.

“I am right glad to hear it, for perchance you can then direct me to the dwelling of Master Martin Holt, the wool stapler, if he yet plies his trade there as his father did before him.”

“Martin Holt!” cried Cherry, eagerly interrupting.  “Why, good sir, Martin Holt is my father.”

The young man stopped short in amaze, and then said slowly, “Verily, this is a wondrous hap, for Martin Holt is mine own uncle.  I am Cuthbert Trevlyn, the son of his sister Bridget.”

Chapter 6:  Martin Holt’s Supper Party.