She saw a young fellow of about middle height, with a well-knit and curiously graceful figure, fair hair, closely cropped, and blue eyes set in a face which, though pale and startled now, had nevertheless a certain winsomeness about it. His clothes were soiled and ragged, and his feet were bare, yet at the very first sight of him Molly realised that he was no tramp. “Don’t scream,” he said in a low voice, and throwing out his hand pleadingly. “I weren’t goin’ to scream,” returned Molly, briefly and calmly, and thereat the stranger smiled—a very pleasant smile, with a flash of white teeth, and a merry twinkle in the eyes. Molly blushed all over her apple-blossom face, and dropped her head, upon which the brown hair would never lie as smoothly as she wished; but presently, overcoming her shyness, she fixed her honest grey eyes upon him and said seriously: “What might you please to want, sir?” “I will tell you the truth,” said the man. “I have escaped from prison. I want you to give me shelter here for a few days, until the hue and cry is over, and then—” “’Scaped from prison!” ejaculated Molly. “I don’t say as I won’t scream now,” and she made as though she would rush past him to the door. But the other stopped her. “I am not a criminal,” he said. “I have done no wrong except to fight for my own land.” “Dear o’ me,” said Molly. “And where may that be? I doubt we are fighting most of the world just now.” “I am a Frenchman,” returned he. “My name is Jean Marie Kerenec.” “Well, that’s a name,” cried Molly, and dropped upon a chair. “Jammery, d’ye say? But you speak English quite sensibly.” “I was a fisherman by trade,” said Jean, “and used besides to do a bit of trade with your country, and your folks came over to us, and so I learned to speak your language when I was quite a little boy. And then I’ve been so long in an English prison, you see. When the war broke out I became a marine, and was taken prisoner with my mates by an English man-o’-war, and I’ve been in prison two—three years now. Life in an English prison-ship is not gay, I tell you.” “You shouldn’t fight against us, you see,” said the girl. “Well, I’m sure I don’t know what I’m to do. You’re welly clemmed, I reckon?—hungry, I mean,” seeing that he stared at her. “Sit down and eat a bit.” She pointed to the great wooden settle, but he remained standing until she returned with a plate of bread and meat and a jug of beer. Going towards her as she was crossing the kitchen, and moving swiftly and gracefully on his bare feet, as some lithe creature of the woods, he took her burden from her, and, placing it on the table, sat down, and fell to with right good will. Molly went on with her work, eyeing her visitor from time to time. Once, happening to intercept her glance, he smiled at her brightly. “I’m sure I don’t know whatever my father will say,” muttered Molly. “He’ll haply be angry with me for letting you stop.”