"But, by St George, thou must not play these pranks, little wench. Thou hast had too much freedom by far. No marvel," he broke off, with a fierce look of anger, "when thou hast been left to bring thyself up, with only such care as I can give thee." "But, father, thou dost not like that Bowerman?" "Marry, wench, what is that to thee? He is a friend to the cause, and, though young, is useful, and may be more so. How know I whether he gave the stroke or not? Wait till thou knowest before thou judgest." "Ay, but I know full well," added the girl, under her breath, not, however, daring to speak her thoughts aloud. At this moment a noise was heard outside. They all kept quite still, and the fisherman dropped a sail across the entrance, so as to prevent the firelight being seen outside. The noise was repeated. It sounded like a groan. "Go, Simon, see what it is," said the knight. The man passed outside; the other two listened. A groan, as of some one in pain, could be distinctly heard, and then a few half-uttered words. "Who can it be, father?" whispered the girl, drawing closer to her father. She was not a timid child, but the strange sounds in that gloomy chasm recalled the tales she had heard of the place being haunted. "’Tis the plaint of some one in dolour," said her father. "Simon, ask who it is." The moaning ceased as the seaman’s voice resounded in the echoing chasm. "’Tis a water-sprite, my lord, that’s what it be," said the man, coming in. "Tush, man! ’tis some one in pain, who hath fallen over the cliff maybe. Stay with the child while I go and see." Taking the torch in his hand, the knight went to the entrance, the girl and seaman following him close. It was a weird scene, as the lurid light of the flickering torch shone on the wall of rock opposite, while the inky blackness of the gorge, yawning at their very feet, caused a shudder to pass through the child as she thought how near they all were to a fearful death. "Holy saints!" a faint voice gasped, in awe-struck accents; "are these spirits or fiends? and have I fallen to the bottomless pit?" "’Tis as I thought," said the knight. "’Tis some poor wight fallen down, and, by some marvel, he hath lighted on the only ledge that could save him. ’Tis the hand of Providence hath saved him from rolling into that black pit." Then he added, in a louder tone,--"Art hurt, man? Canst stand upon thy feet? Who art thou?" No answer came. All was silent as the grave. "Put the plank over, Simon; I will go see who it is." In a few moments the plank was put across. "Oh, father, take care! Maybe ’tis a trap to catch thee!" cried the girl in terror. "May be, my lord, ’tis even so," added the seaman; "best let me go." "Nay, man, nay; hold the torch while I step across." So saying, the knight handed the light to his attendant, and, drawing his sword, stept warily over the plank. The other two remained in breathless silence. "Hold the torch higher," called the knight.