‘My dear Walter,’ said Martin, ‘go to Morwell some other way than the direct path; workmen may be about—the hour is not so late.’ The boy did not wait for further orders. ‘You need not fear for me,’ said the escaped convict. ‘Even if that despicable roll-pill set off to collect men, I would escape him. I have but to leave this spot, and I am safe. I presume not one of my pursuers will be mounted.’ ‘Why have you a fire here?’ ‘The fire matters nothing,’ said Martin grandly; ‘indeed’—he collected more fircones and threw them on—’indeed, if the form of the hare is to be discovered, let it be discovered warm. The hunters will search the immediate neighbourhood, and the hare will be flying far, far away.’ ‘You know best, of course; but it seems to me very dangerous.’ ‘I laugh at danger!’ exclaimed Martin, throwing a faggot on the flames. ‘I disport in danger as the seamew in the storm.’ He unfolded his arms and waved them over the fire as a bird flapping its wings. ‘And now,’ he went on, ‘I leave you—_you_—to that blood-letter. Why do I trouble myself about my own worthless existence, when you are about to fall a prey to his ravening jaw? No, Eve, that must never be.’ ‘Martin,’ said Eve, ‘I must really go home. I only ran here to warn you to be off, and to tell you something. My father has just said that my mother was your sister.’ He looked at her in silence for some moments in real astonishment—so real that he dropped his affected attitude and expression of face. ‘Can this be possible!’ ‘He declared before Mr. Coyshe and me that it was so.’ ‘You have the same name as my lost sister,’ said Martin. ‘Her I hardly remember. She ran away from home when I was very young, and what became of her we never heard. If my father knew, he was silent about his knowledge. I am sure Jasper did not know.’ ‘And Mr. Barret, the manager, did not know either,’ added Eve. ‘When my mother was with him she bore a feigned name, and said nothing about her parents, nor told where was her home.’ Then Martin recovered himself and laughed. ‘Why, Eve,’ said he, ‘if this extraordinary story be true, I am your uncle and natural protector. This has settled the matter. You shall never have that bolus-maker, leech-applier, Coyshe. I forbid it. I shall stand between you and the altar of sacrifice. I extend my wing, and you take refuge under it. I throw my mantle over you and assure you of my protection. The situation is really—really quite dramatic.’ ‘Do not stand so near the edge of the precipice,’ pleaded Eve. ‘I always stand on the verge of precipices, but never go over,’ he answered. ‘I speak metaphorically. Now, Eve, the way is clear. You shall run away from home as did your mother, and you shall run away with me. Remember, I am your natural protector.’ ‘I cannot—I cannot indeed.’ Eve shrank back.