"That you need not have done upon my land. The gorge of humanity rises at such damnable contrivances. The ruffian Yeoland, lord of the manor, has both traps and spring-guns in his coverts--he showed them to me himself, cold-blooded devil. Yes, he exhibited them with such pride as a mother might display her first-born! Engines of hell! But they answer their purpose; he does not lose a bird now." "Since when was you so merciful? Your words is soft--your eyes give 'em the lie." Then Norcot, recognising his visitor, leapt from his seat and stared with real amazement. For once he was startled into an oath. "Good God, it's Lovey Lee!" The miser grinned. "You was a long time finding out. Ess fay--poor old Lovey, still in the land of the living." "But your bones were found and buried! There was a most dramatic scene, I hear. Malherb--he cried out before them all in the churchyard at Widecombe that he had slain you, that your blood was upon his head. It's eating his heart out, they say." "Let it eat with poisoned teeth. No fault of his that I didn't die. An' I've cussed heaven for two months because the law haven't taken the man an' hanged him, as I meant it to. But yet hanging's an easier death than what he's dying." "Alive!" said Norcot. "Alive--very much alive. And turned into a man. 'Doubtless a staunch and solid piece of framework, as any January could freeze together!' And where learnt you the trick of rising from the dead? What devil taught you that, you 'ceaseless labourer in the work of shame'?" "If you've only got hard words----" "Nay, nay; I love you; you are the Queen of the Moor!" "He left me for dead, and Lord knows how long I was dead. He struck me down at dawn, and when I comed to my senses, the moon was setting. I got back to my secret place somehow, and found 'twas empty. So I seed that the Devil had helped him to find his darter. Well for her he did!" Norcot nodded. "Not a doubt of it," he said. "Be you still of a mind about the wench?" He did not answer, but prepared to pour some spirits into a glass for the old woman. Lovey, however, refused them. "Be you still of a mind? That's my question." "Maurice Malherb has changed his views. Your death has done wonders and quite broke him. An ignoble type of man "'We call a nettle but a nettle And the faults of fools but folly.' So Shakespeare dismisses Malherb. Now tell me about yourself; then I'll answer your question."