The young ladies both went off into a series of little twittering shrieks, raising their hands and turning up their eyes towards the painted ceiling, with every mild expression of horror and affright. “So she _knew_ you was going thither!” chirped Miss Lucy presently. “You are great friends at the Parsonage then, Mr. Tregenna?” “I hope I am, madam,” returned Tregenna promptly. “For there’s no friendship in the world I value more than that of Miss Joan and her father.” This prompt declaration seemed rather to damp the spirits of the two little pink-eyed girls, and they desisted from their attacks in this direction; and having obtained his assurance that music was his passion, they proceeded to the harpsichord and warbled monotonous little duets to him until the arrival of Parson Langney and his daughter brought a welcome relief from the infliction. Poor Tregenna, however, rather regretted that he had been so prompt in accepting the squire’s invitation, when he found how very frigid Miss Joan was to him. She made him a stately curtsey, with her eyelids lowered, and without taking any notice of his proffered hand. And when the parson, who had heard already of the doings of the morning, twitted Tregenna about the escape of the smugglers, Joan joined heartily in his ironical comments while the squire was not long in adding his taunts; so that the young man found himself assailed on all sides with no ally save the chirruping young Waldron ladies, whose advocacy irritated him more than did the attacks of Joan. So mortified was he, indeed, that when the ladies withdrew from the table, he felt that he could not bear the society of the other three gentlemen—his host, Bertram Waldron, and the parson—any longer. He therefore made the excuse of his duties calling him away, and left them to their wine. Just as he was taking his three-cornered hat from the peg in the hall where it hung, he caught sight of one of the maids of the house, in her smart frilled cap and neat muslin kerchief and apron, in a corner of the hall. On seeing him she started and turned to go back and this action arrested his attention, and caused him to look at her again. The first look made him start; the second made him stare; the third caused him to run lightly across the hall, and to seize her by the apron as she tried to escape into one of the rooms. “Ann Price—masquerading as a housemaid, by all that’s audacious!” cried he, as they came face to face. CHAPTER XVI. A TRAITRESS. Finding escape impossible, Ann turned and put a bold face on the matter. Or rather, she turned indeed, and faced him, but with the same air of modest womanliness which he had before remarked in her when she wore her sex’s clothes—a manner which altered so completely as soon as she assumed the costume of “Jem Bax.”