“’Tis true. I sent Will to see that he came to no harm. Even as I would not suffer the lieutenant to do harm to you or to poor Tom, for your mother’s sake and for the sake of Tom’s kindness when I was a child; so would not I have you do harm to him, since I know him for a brave man, and one that but does his duty in pursuing you and your kindred.” “And ’tis for him you have taken this journey, by yourself, on a night like this? Sure, Miss Joan, the lieutenant would feel flattered did he but know.” “I would do as much for any man, were it a matter of life or death, as I do truly think ’tis in this case!” said Joan with spirit. “Ay, ’twill be death to him if he meets with Ben, or with Tom, either!” said Ann, mockingly. “Tom! Oh, Tom would do him no harm if he did but know how much I care!” burst out Joan, with sudden passion. There was a second’s pause; and then Ann put her hands to her hips, and laughed long and loudly— “Ho—ho! How much you care! You have confessed, Miss Joan, you have confessed! To be sure you would not be so eager if the lieutenant were pockmarked, and of the age of your father!” Her tone was so offensive that Joan, who was accustomed to be treated by her with deference and respect, was not only hurt but astonished. “I understand you not, Ann,” said she at last, with dignity. “Nay, Miss Joan, I should have thought ’twas as easy for you to understand me, as ’tis for me to understand you. This young king’s man, being a pretty fellow, has taken your fancy, ’tis easy to see! Oh, blush not, Miss Joan: ’tis a common complaint you suffer from. The young ladies at Hurst Court feel, I warrant me, much as you do yourself on this matter.” Joan’s answer was given modestly, but with some dignity. “If I blush at your words, Ann, ’tis because of the tone in which you utter them,” she said, in a low voice, but so distinctly that every word reached Tregenna’s ears, as, indeed, they reached his heart also. “’Tis no shame to have a liking for a brave man: and if all the world has the same, there is the less reason for my concealing it.” “Well, ’tis a pity your kindness for him hath brought you so far, alone, and by night,” said Ann, dryly. “For ’tis a bad road you have to traverse on your way back, and none the safer for the rough fellows that are abroad, and that will be by this scarce sober enough to tell the parson’s daughter from a farm wench on her way back from market.” “I can take care of myself, Ann, I thank you,” answered Joan, coldly; “so you will but give me your word that Lieutenant Tregenna is not here to your knowledge, I’ll return at once.” There was a moment’s pause. Tregenna, who heard the question, waited with interest for the answer. Ann gave it in solemn tones. “He is not here.”