"’Twere but a mon at Inn where I left Black Beauty," he explained calmly. "Muzt needs ask my biznez, which I told un, arl vair and pleazant. But a muzt needz zay ’twere waizer to keep fra mixing wi’ rebels and zuch laike, zo I told un my lady were no rebel. And a zaying it appeared her were, I gaäve un a tap on head to quiet un. But host and others, zo plaize your ladyship, coom at me thereupon wi’ bezoms, whereat I knocked two flat, and others zhowing little ztomach to teäste my cudgel, I oop on Black Beauty and rid awai. ’Twere but a mizunderztanding, zee, and none hurt, but a zhould laive an honest mon to do her biznez in pace." Though fain to laugh at the smith’s bold narrative, Cicely saw clearly that she could not keep him in Taunton without hourly risk of the recurrence of such an episode. She therefore gently told him that, grateful though she was for his visit, he would yet serve her better by remaining quietly at Durford and helping Phoebe to look after the Manor House. And she prayed him return thither as speedily as possible, and remain there till she sent for his assistance. Peter was terribly disappointed. He shook his head, sighed, moved restlessly in his seat. Then he rose and made a slow tour of the room, peering cautiously behind every curtain and under every article of furniture, and having ascertained to his satisfaction that he and Cicely were alone, he approached her with an air of deep mystery, and exclaimed in a loud whisper: "An’t plaize your ladyship, carn’t her ezcaäpe." "What, Peter!" exclaimed Cicely, astonished. "Beggin’ your ladyzhip’s pardon, but ’twere last naight at the Royal Jaämes. A were there, a-talkin’ o’ Mistress Barbara i’ gaol, and ’twere zaid, why couldn’t her ezcaäpe? If it be but a matter o’ boltz and barz, I be a zmith by traäde, and they be zoon broken. I would na interfere wi’ king’s justice i’ the main, but vor Mistress Barbara, ’tiz but raight her be freed at once. And zo I be coom hither to do it." "’Twas very kind of you, Peter," answered Cicely, repressing a smile; "but I fear it could not be done. You see there be sentinels guarding the prison. We could not elude them." Peter’s face fell; he scratched his head for some moments in dubious silence. Suddenly he slapped his leg in delight. "A boggart!" he cried; "a boggart. ’Tis the very thing. I mind wull my vayther tull me that when a were clapped i’ gaol over te Cannington vor—vor zome matter of stalin’ a pig, brother skeered gaoler wi’ a boggart and a coom awai. Now an thee wull be a boggart and skeer t’zentinels, I wull look to barz and boltz and Miztress Barbara will be vree by mud-naight." Cicely gasped. She pictured herself dressed as a ghost, hopping about the streets of Taunton, a terror to the soldiery, while Peter in the meanwhile broke patiently thro’ the bars that shut in Barbara from freedom. She broke into hysterical laughter. Peter was crestfallen at this reception of his plan.