In a second the young officer was off his horse and on his feet. He recognised the speaker now, although his astonishment at such an encounter at such an hour of the night--or rather morning, for the dawn would soon begin to break--was past all power of expression. “Lady Bride!--Can it be you? or do I see a ghost?” “No, it is I,” answered the girl quietly; “I came out with our good clergyman, Mr. Tremodart, to see if we could persuade our foolish and misguided fishermen from St. Bride to come quietly home. We were afraid they were bent on mischief. But we only came up as the crowd was dispersing. Your prisoner there was refusing to permit an attack on the machinery at Farmer Teazel’s, which the men were eager to make. That is why I say that I think you are making a mistake in arresting him.” The young officer, who had received hospitality from the Duke on occasion, as all the officers of the regiment quartered near to Pentreath did from time to time, looked from his prisoner to the lady and from the lady to the prisoner in some perplexity, and then said doubtfully-- “Do you not think you are mistaken, Lady Bride? Was not the man urging them to make the attack?” “No,” answered Bride at once. “He would have been willing to do so had they marched upon my father’s place, where there would have been a warm welcome for them, and hard fighting; but his followers were not prepared for that. They wished to go where there would be little or no resistance, and where they could effect their purpose with impunity. But your prisoner there threatened to knock down the first man who attempted such a thing, and his words had the effect of dispersing the crowd. As you yourself saw, he was alone when you came up. But for him, that dispersed crowd would have been in full march upon one of the nearest farms here. Are you arresting him for that?” “Faith no!” answered the young man, evidently rather nonplussed by the lady’s story, and uncertain how to proceed. “Nevertheless this is the man, as I take it, whom I was sent out to capture. Is not your name Saul Tresithny?” he asked, turning towards the prisoner, who stood perfectly still and quiet between his guards, making no attempt at escape. “Yes.” “And you were leading the mob in Pentreath this night--helping to set fire to the mills?” “I was with them part of the time,” answered Saul fearlessly. “And you are the man who makes speeches that sends them all stark raving mad? I’ve heard of you, Saul Tresithny. I think it is high time you had a taste of prison discipline.”