"Silence! Let the worthy folks inside consider the position for five minutes." Not a minute longer, if they don't want the place burned about their ears, mind you," cried a voice that had not spoken yet. "Who are you?" asked Sophie, still inclined to parley. "Travellers, I have told you." "Thieves, cutthroats, and murderers--eight of us--knights of the road, gentlemen of the highway, and not to be trifled with when half starved and hard driven," cried the hoarse man. "There, will that satisfy you, wench? Will you let us in or not? It's easy enough for us to smash in the windows and get in that way, isn't it?" Yes, it was very easy. "Wait five minutes, please," said Sophie. She went back to the parlour and to the two shivering women and the crowd of maids, who had crept from the dairy to the farm parlour, having greater faith in numbers now. "They had better come in, aunt, especially as we are quite helpless to keep them out. I could fire that gun," Sophie said, pointing to an unwieldy old blunderbuss slung by straps to the ceiling, " and I know it's loaded. But I'm afraid it wouldn't be of much use." "It might make them angry," said Mrs. Pemberthy. "It would only kill one at the best," remarked Mrs. Tarne, with a heavy sigh. "And the rest of the men would kill us, the brutes," said Mrs. Pemberthy. "Yes, they'd better come in." "Lord have mercy upon us," said Mrs. Tarne. "There's no help for it," said Mrs. Pemberthy. "Even Reuben would not have dared to keep them out. I mind now their coming like this twenty years agone. It was--" "I will see to them," said Sophie, who had become in her young, brave strength quite the mistress of the ceremonies. "Leave the rest to me." "And if you can persuade them to go away--" began Mrs. Tarne; but her daughter had already disappeared, and was parleying through the keyhole with the strangers without. "Such hospitality as we can offer, gentlemen, shall be at your service, providing always that you treat us with the respect due to gentlewomen and your hosts." "Trust to that," was the reply. "I will answer for myself and my companions, Mistress Pemberthy." "You give me your word of honour?" "My word of honour," he repeated; "our words of honour, and speaking for all my good friends present; is it not so, men?" "Ay, ay--that 's right," chorused the good friends; and then Sophie Tarne, not without an extra plunging of the heart beneath her white crossover, unlocked the stout oaken door and let in her unwelcome visitors.