But luckily for the lieutenant and the lady, this incident had already bred a quarrel among the smugglers; and before the fugitives were out of earshot, they heard the unmistakable sounds of a conflict which kept the “free-traders” occupied until Hurst was reached by the parson’s horse and his riders. Then, slackening his pace when they entered the straggling village street, Tregenna, whose heart was full, turned so that he might catch a glimpse of the face of his companion. They had ridden thus far in complete silence. “What shall I say to you?” whispered he, in a vibrating voice, as he bent his head to be near hers. But the answer came back cold and clear, with a light laugh that chilled him to the soul: “What shall you say? You had best say nothing, sir. I said what I did say but to save your life!” CHAPTER XV. THE SMUGGLERS’ SHIP. Tregenna must have been harder than stone if he had not been stirred to the depths of his being by the courage and devotion shown on his behalf by the parson’s beautiful daughter. From the first moment of meeting her, when he had seen her winsome face and sparkling eyes in the moonlight, on board his own vessel, he had been struck with admiration for her person, her modest, unaffected manners, her spirit, and her devotion. This feeling had grown with every meeting. So it was not wonderful that, on this evening, when she had braved such perils on his behalf, Joan should have inspired him with a passion exalted on the one hand, strong on the other, such as he had never believed it possible that he could feel for any woman. All the greater, therefore, was his mortification, his sudden revulsion of feeling to despair, when she replied to his stammering attempt at thanks with mocking words, and a chilling laugh. It was some minutes before he recovered himself sufficiently to speak. By that time they had reached the lane that led from the end of the village street up to the Parsonage. As soon as the glimmering light in the ivied window caught his eye, he said, in a tone which he tried to make as indifferent as her own, but in which it was easy to detect traces of the emotion from which he was suffering— “You will not suffer me to thank you for your goodness on my behalf. I trust your father may be more complaisant.” “My father, sir, will make as much light of it as I do,” replied Joan, as she relaxed her hold on her companion’s belt, and alighted in the mud of the lane. Parson Langney’s voice, hearty, cheery, but not without a touch of anxiety, rang out pleasantly, at this moment, upon their ears. “Hey, Miss Madcap, is’t you? By what Nance told me, I had begun to fear your wild expedition had turned out ill!” “Nay, father, it has turned out very well!” cried she; “for I have carried off Mr. Tregenna from those that would have harmed him, and have thereby made him vastly civil!”