“Was that the John Ridd I have heard so much of? Surely I might have known it, but my wits were shaken out of me.” “Yes, that was the mighty man of Exmoor, to whom thou owest more than life.” In horror of what I had so narrowly escaped, I fell upon my knees and thanked the Lord, and then I went shyly to the captain's side and said: “I am ashamed to look at thee. Without Anthony Purvis, where should I be? Speak of no John Ridd to me.” For this man whom I had cast forth, with coldness, as he must have thought--although I knew better, when he was gone--this man (my honoured husband now, who hath restored me to my father's place, when kings had no gratitude or justice), Sir Anthony Purvis, as now he is, had dwelled in a hovel and lived on scraps, to guard the forsaken orphan, who had won, and shall ever retain, his love. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Slain By The Doones, by R. D. Blackmore