She had scarcely spoken the words when a huge form rose before them, and stood in the narrow track between the heather and gorse, filling up the path. "You are Squire Falconer's lass, ain't you?" he said, defiantly. "Yes," Gilbert answered, "yes; this is Miss Falconer, of Fair Acres. How long are you going to stand there and prevent us from passing you?" "Till I've settled my score. Your gov'nor was hard on me t'other day; he tried to get me sent to gaol. I'll smash his head for 'im next time I come across 'im, sure as my name is Bob Priday!" The broad, Somersetshire lingo made the man all but unintelligible to Gilbert; but Joyce understood him well enough. "Ye hand me out a guinea, now, or a trinket, and I'll let bygones be bygones, specially"--with a horrid leer--"if you'll give me a kiss with 'em; eh?" In a moment Gilbert had sprung over the bushes which hedged in the track on either side, and had his hand on the man's throat. "Let this young lady pass, you villain!" he said, shaking the huge form, who, taken unawares, had very little power of resistance. "Let her pass." There is always something in a brave, strong, young spirit which is too much for the brute force of an untutored giant like Bob Priday. He staggered and fell back, Gilbert's hand being still at his throat. Joyce, pale and trembling, did not lose her self-control. "Please let me pass," she said; "I have no money to give you, and if I had it would not be right to bribe you. My father only did his duty on the bench that day. You were guilty, and you know it; you got off unpunished, and you should be thankful, and try to lead a better life." There was something wonderfully grand in the way Joyce spoke, though her face was white with girlish fear, and her lips quivered, her voice did not falter as she appealed to the huge man who might, she knew, shake off Gilbert's restraining hand, and spring on her at any moment. "Let me pass," she said, "and this gentleman will----" At this moment a woman's voice was heard, and a girl with a red handkerchief on her head, with an effort at respectable attire in her short, blue cotton frock, and large, thick boots, came over the tangled mass of heath and ling, and cried: "Father! What are you about now, father?" "You mind your own business, you hussy, and leave me alone." "Oh, father!" the girl said, passionately, "I wish you would be good. Think how mother used to pray for you! Oh, dear lady," the girl said, bursting into tears, "I am heart-broken about father. Please, sir, let him go." "Let me go!" said the giant, with a loud, discordant laugh; "I'll see about that." Then, with a mighty effort, he hurled Gilbert from him, and before he could recover his feet, he had seized Joyce's arm. "Give me the money, or I'll be even with your father; curse him!"