Keziah’s face was pale with terror as she flew to do Jacob’s bidding.  She had a terrible fear of London streets, at night, as well she might, and the open country beyond was even worse to her excited imagination.  And Cherry was so pretty, so simple, so credulous, and withal so utterly defenceless should there be any sort of attack made upon her.  Keziah’s hands shook as she lighted the lantern; and as minutes were fast slipping away and still there was no sign of the truant, she was rather relieved than terrified to hear the sharp accents of her aunt’s voice mingling with her father’s deeper tones as the whole party came tramping down the stairs.  It was plain that Jacob had let the secret ooze out, and that all the company had become alarmed.  Cherry’s name was on all lips, and Martin was asking his sister somewhat sternly why she had overlooked the non-return of the girl at dusk.

Miss Susan was sharply defending herself on the score of her manifold duties and Cherry’s well-known gadding propensities.  She never looked to see her home before dusk, as she was certain to stay out as long as she dared, and since then she had taken it for granted that the little hussy had come in, and was doing over the floor with her rushes.

Martin paid small heed to this shrill torrent of words, but with anxious face was pulling on his long outer hoots, and selecting the stoutest oaken staff of the number stacked in the corner, inviting his guests to arm themselves in like fashion.

Jemima and Keziah, feeling as though some blame attached to them, looked on with pale faces, whilst Rachel chattered volubly of the horrors she had often heard of as being perpetrated in the streets.  Her brother turned upon her roughly at last, and bid her cease her ill-omened croaking; whereat she tossed her head and muttered a good many scornful interjections, and “could not see why she need be called to task like that.”

The whole party descended to the door when the preparations for the start were complete.  It was striking half after five on many of the city clocks as Martin threw open his door.  But he had scarcely stepped across the threshold before he heard a familiar little shriek; there was a rush of steps from somewhere in the darkness without, and Cherry, with an abandon very foreign to the times and her training, and indicative of much agitation and emotion, flung herself upon his breast, and threw her arms about his neck.

“Here I am, father; there has no hurt befallen me!” she cried in broken gasps.  “But I know not what fearful thing was like to have happened had it not been for the help of this gallant gentleman, who came in the very nick of time to drive off my assailants and bring me safe home.  And oh, my father, such a wonderful thing!  I can scarce believe it myself!  This gentleman is no stranger; leastways he may not so be treated, for he is our very own flesh and blood—­my cousin, thy nephew.  He is Cuthbert Trevlyn, son to that sister Bridget of thine of whom we have sometimes heard thee speak!”