I nodded. “Give me thy pistols and thy cloak.” She stepp’d to the window hole at the end of the kitchen, and look’d out. “Plenty o’ time,” she said; and pointed to the ladder leading to the loft above—“Climb up there, the both, and pull the ladder after. Is’t _thou_, they want—or _she?_” pointing to Delia. “Me chiefly they would catch, no doubt—being a man,” I answer’d. “Aye—bein’ a man: the world’s full o’ folly. Then Jack do thou look after _her_, an’ I’ll look after _thee_. If the rebels leave thee in peace, make for the Jews’ Kitchen and there abide me.” She flung my cloak about her, took my pistols and went out at the door. As she did so, the sun sank and a dull shadow swept over the moor. “Joan!” I cried, for now I guess’d her purpose and was following to hinder her: but she had caught Molly’s bridle and was already astride of her. “Get back!” she call’d softly; and then, “I make a better lad than wench, Jack,”—leap’d the mare through a gap in the wall, and in a moment was breasting the hill and galloping for the high road. In less than a minute, as it seem’d, I heard a pounding of hoofs, and had barely time to follow Delia up the ladder and pull it after me, when two of the dragoons rode skurrying by the house, and pass’d on yelling. Their cries were hardly faint in the distance before there came another three. “’A’s a lost man, now, for sure,” said one: “Be dang’d if ’a’s not took the road back to Lan’son!” “How ’bout the gal?” ask’d another voice. “Here’s her horse i’ the yard.” “Drat the gal! Sam, go thou an’ tackle her: reckon thou’rt warriors enow for one ’ooman.” The two hasten’d on: and presently I heard the one they call’d “Sam” dismounting in the yard. Now there was a window hole in the loft, facing, not on the yard, but toward the country behind; and running to it I saw that no more were following—the other three having, as I suppose, early given up the chase. Softly pulling out a loose stone or two, I widen’d this hole till I could thrust the ladder out of it. To my joy it just reach’d the ground. I bade Delia squeeze herself through and climb down. But before she was halfway down I heard a wild screech in the kitchen below, and the voice of Sam shrieking— “Help—help! Lord ha’ mercy ’pon me—’tis a black cat—’tis a witch! The gal’s no gal, but a witch!” Laughing softly, I was descending the ladder when the fellow came round the corner screaming—with Jan Tergagle clawing at his back and spitting murderously. Delia had just time to slip aside, before he ran into the ladder and brought me flying on top of him. And there he lay and bellow’d till I tied him, and gagg’d his noise with a big stone in his mouth and his own scarf tied round it. “Come!” I whisper’d: for Joan and her pursuers were out of sight. Catching up her long skirt, Delia follow’d me, and up the tor we panted together, nor rested till we were safe in the Jews’ Kitchen. “What think you of this for a hiding place?” ask’d I, with a laugh.