’No, I have been too occupied with my father to think of her. She is more than half a savage, and lives with her old father in a Druidical monument called the Giant’s Table, not far from here.’ ’If I had not come to the rescue in time, the wretched old man would have killed her. I am not altogether easy in my mind. The father was beside himself with rage, though what had angered him did not transpire.’ After he had eaten—for Cicely insisted he should not go out till he had been given a meal—Herring went in search of Joyce. His purpose was to give her a crown for her assistance; he judged from her appearance that she was wretchedly poor. Moreover he was desirous to see that the girl had not been ill-treated by her father after his protection was withdrawn. The moor was ablaze with the gorse in full flower. The air that is wafted from the Spice Islands cannot be more fragrant than that which played over these masses of growing gold. Herring had no difficulty in finding the Giant’s Table. The little clearing effected by the Cobbledicks lay as an island in the moor. Their rude stone fences walled out the gorse gold and the rosy heather. Adjoining this inclosure was the grey mass of granite stones set on edge, capped by an enormous block; the interstices were filled in with moss. Herring looked round. Not a human being was visible; no one worked in the clearing. A faint sweet smoke hung about the mysterious old monument, showing that a peat fire burned within. The young man walked round the cromlech and discovered the entrance. Within it was dark. His eyes were dazzled with the gorse bloom. He saw the smouldering embers of a turf fire, and the smoke crept out at the doorway, which served equally the purposes of chimney, window, and door. Then he stooped and entered. ’Is any one here?’ ’Here be I,’ answered a voice from the further end. ’Who? Joyce?’ ’Yes, sure.’ ’Why, Joyce, what are you doing here? What! lying down? Are you ill?’ ’I be broked all to pieces,’ she answered; ’I be going to die.’ Her voice was hoarse. ’Good heavens, Joyce! how has this occurred?’ He went to the upper end of the cromlech, and knelt by her. Now he was able to see. The girl lay on the cushions of the chaise, and some of the rugs were thrown over her. ’How has this come about, Joyce?’ ’I won’t tell’y, unless you swears not to let the constable know. I don’t want no hurt to come to vaither of this. Vaither were here a minute agone, but I reckon he seed you acoming, and so he sloked away. Hers afeared the constable’ll be after’n all along o’ doing this.’ ’But what has he done to you, child?’ ’He’s a’most scatted me to bits,’ she said. ’Look’y here?’ She held out her arms. Both were broken below the elbows, and the hands hung limp and powerless. ’I’d angered ’n; and yet, t’warnt my fault neither. The coord snappt acause the coord were wore out. But never heed that. You won’t tell o’ he? See now; say after me, "Blast me blue if I does."’