“My husband can appreciate,” she answered very proudly; “but what I wish to know is this, will you try to help me?”

The Counsellor answered that he would do so, if her needs were moderate; whereupon she opened her meaning to him, and told of all her anxieties.  Considering that Lorna was gone, and her necklace in his possession, and that I (against whom alone of us the Doones could bear any malice) would be out of the way all the while, the old man readily undertook that our house should not be assaulted, nor our property molested, until my return.  And to the promptitude of his pledge, two things perhaps contributed, namely, that he knew not how we were stripped of all defenders, and that some of his own forces were away in the rebel camp.  For (as I learned thereafter) the Doones being now in direct feud with the present Government, and sure to be crushed if that prevailed, had resolved to drop all religious questions, and cast in their lot with Monmouth.  And the turbulent youths, being long restrained from their wonted outlet for vehemence, by the troopers in the neighbourhood, were only too glad to rush forth upon any promise of blows and excitement.

However, Annie knew little of this, but took the Counsellor’s pledge as a mark of especial favour in her behalf (which it may have been to some extent), and thanked him for it most heartily, and felt that he had earned the necklace; while he, like an ancient gentleman, disclaimed all obligation, and sent her under an escort safe to her own cart again.  But Annie, repassing the sentinels, with her youth restored and blooming with the flush of triumph, went up to them very gravely, and said, “The old hag wishes you good-evening, gentlemen”; and so made her best curtsey.

Now, look at it as I would, there was no excuse left for me, after the promise given.  Dear Annie had not only cheated the Doones, but also had gotten the best of me, by a pledge to a thing impossible.  And I bitterly said, “I am not like Lorna:  a pledge once given, I keep it.”

“I will not have a word against Lorna,” cried Annie; “I will answer for her truth as surely as I would for my own or yours, John.”  And with that she vanquished me.

But when my poor mother heard that I was committed, by word of honour, to a wild-goose chase, among the rebels, after that runagate Tom Faggus, she simply stared, and would not believe it.  For lately I had joked with her, in a little style of jerks, as people do when out of sorts; and she, not understanding this, and knowing jokes to be out of my power, would only look, and sigh, and toss, and hope that I meant nothing.  At last, however, we convinced her that I was in earnest, and must be off in the early morning, and leave John Fry with the hay crop.

Then mother was ready to fall upon Annie, as not content with disgracing us, by wedding a man of new honesty (if indeed of any), but laying traps to catch her brother, and entangle him perhaps to his death, for the sake of a worthless fellow; and “felon”—­she was going to say, as by the shape of her lips I knew.  But I laid my hand upon dear mother’s lips; because what must be, must be; and if mother and daughter stayed at home, better in love than in quarrelling.