And here Ephraim's manner had suddenly changed. He put his disengaged arm round Miriam's waist, and urged the horse into a gallop. The road was lonely; the moors and rolling hills begirt them; not a soul was to be seen. Thoroughly alarmed, she strove to rise from her seat, but he held her as in a vice. "Howd thi din," he hissed, his eyes glaring wildly. "Didst think Eph. o' Burnplatts forgi'es an' forgets so soon. Aw'n getten thee nah, an' aw'st howd thee. It's my turn to laugh now. Aw'd ha' made thee an honest woman an' a wedded wife once, but, by gow, tha'll ha' to put up wi' jumpin' th' broomstick now." Sick with fear and apprehension, casting wild looks on every side, shrieking for help, she had been borne at a hand gallop right to Bill's o' Jack's. Just as they passed the top side of the house towards the mistal, by a happy inspiration she had, unseen by Ephraim, slipped her betrothal ring from her finger and dropped it into the yard, there to lie till discovered by the keen eyes of Daft Billy. Ephraim had cast her rudely down up a heap of hay, bound her securely, and fearful lest her screams should be heard by some chance customer at the inn, had tied his own muffler tightly about her mouth. Once only, during she knew not how many hours, he had gone to her, bearing a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water, offering to relieve her of the gag if she would eat in quiet. He had been drinking heavily in the interval, and she feared the worst, but he had attempted no violence, and lurched heavily away, locking the door behind him. And there she had lain through the long dark hours of the night, trembling at every sound and sick with a deadly terror, till Jim and I had burst the door of her dreadful prison. "My poor, poor darling!" was all I could say. "My poor, poor Miriam! But thank God no worse has happened. Oh! thank God we came in time. What a mercy Billy found that ring. Ah! what don't we owe to that faithful creature!" "Aye, and where is he now?" she whispered. "Fleeing from justice, a price on his head, and all for me, unhappy girl that I am!" and she sobbed as though her heart would break. "Then you've heard?" I asked softly. "Yes, yes! Ruth told me. Oh! it is horrible, horrible. I dream of it. I see it all in my sleep, the very air goes red as blood. Will they take him, think you? Oh! you mustn't give him up. I think I should die if he should die a shameful death, and die he must if he's taken." "They'll never take Billy alive," I said, to soothe her. "Not if I know him. Besides, he's out of the country by this, belike. I suppose there are lots of clans of the gipsy folk wandering the country, and he'd know their haunts." "Oh, yes, yes," said Miriam, eagerly. "Well, they'd hide him and help him. But to go through life with the sense of that awful crime ever on his soul; to die and meet his God with the blood of those poor men shrieking for vengeance."