And as she had answered him ten years before, so she said to him now, "So long as we be together, I have no fear." A long and shrill sound now broke the silence. It was the blowing of the conch shell suspended in front of the outer door; and it announced a visitor seeking admission. Surprised at this, and alarmed as well, husband and wife hurried to the front room below stairs, where they found Joane still crouched upon the hearth. Her bow, now unslung, lay close at hand, and she was examining with pleased curiosity the clumsy blunderbuss resting across her knees,--one that John, at her earnest request, had intrusted to her. "No enemy--make heap too much noise," was her sententious remark, as she looked up from her inspection of the weapon. "Mayhap they but do that to disarm us," John replied, as he went cautiously toward the door. He knew there was no way, except from the beach, for any one to approach the house unseen by his faithful outposts. And he had reckoned upon no attack coming from that quarter, as there was no sailing breeze. Then, again, the pirates would be more likely to come from the direction of the forest, hoping to effect a greater surprise than if they came from the water. The wailing cry of the conch shell pierced the air for the second time, to echo again in falling cadences that died away in the woods and over the sea. Placing his lips to the loophole near the door, John Devereux now demanded to know who was outside. A nasal, whining voice replied; and although the words were indistinguishable, their sound caused the Indian girl to laugh scornfully. She said nothing, however, but springing quickly to her feet, sped to the small opening. Then, before her purpose could be understood, she thrust the muzzle of the blunderbuss through the aperture. "Hold, Joane!" commanded John, as he caught her arm. "What is't thou wouldst do,--kill, perchance, an innocent man? Put the gun down, child, until I challenge again, and know for a surety who it be. Methinks the voice hath a familiar sound." Joane obeyed him, still smiling maliciously as she said: "Only want give him heap big scare. Him big 'fraid--him coward." "'T is Parson Legg!" exclaimed Anne, now recalling the piping voice, and enlightened by Joane's contemptuous words. Her husband opened the door, and a slim, weazen-faced, bandy-legged little man stepped hastily within, his eyes, small and keen as those of a ferret, blinking from the sudden passing out of darkness into light. "Good e'en to thee, Parson Legg; thou art late abroad," said Anne, coming forward. She did not smile, nor was there aught of welcome in her voice or manner.