‘And I am joyous still, Joan. Never think but that I am joyous still. What is this loss’--he tossed his head to the glowing wreck behind him--‘to the immeasurable rapture of my gain. He is gone, all his weaknesses and his troubles at rest; and, for that, why should I, who loved him, repine? Only, what does this all mean, and, if not directed against him, against whom? Yet against whomsoever, the meaning is plain for one. Ah, my girl, so single-hearted and so brave, who takest the blow as all for me and none for thyself, who would have given thy dear, dear life for mine, dost thou realise to what we are saved together--the doom of poverty?’ ‘Nay, all the riches I ever asked was Brion.’ He stood up, with a great breath, and, his arm encircling her, bade her come with him and look upon their home. They went over the little bridge and through the gateway together, and peering thence, not venturing to push farther, saw the devastation. Flame and volumes of smoke still poured upwards from the massed ruin, but through an empty shaft of blackened walls and tottering chimneys. In all the burning desolate place no corner remained to hang a memory on. He turned to her with a wistful smile:-- ‘Well, our love go with it, Joan. We must seek other lodgings for the night. But why, why, why, girl; and where are all they I left here--ah, to fear, to submit, and to make no fight to save it?’ It was a question so far unanswerable; yet not long before receiving a certain illumination. They went and sat upon a bank, awaiting the troop’s return, and, while sitting there together, talked low of ancient days, and of the dead man, and of the future with its brave resolves: and, as they talked, suddenly there were the soldiers riding back, and a dozen of them with each a prisoner roped and running at his saddle-bow. They came past, these captives, sick and lead-faced, with all the evil knocked out of them, and, at the Ancient’s word, were sent forward on the road to Ashburton, while he dismounted to inform the two of his success. ‘We ran them down in the open,’ said he, wiping his hot brow with a pretty cambric napkin--‘and caught them scattered--a good fifty in all, vermin from the fishing ports. And some we thwacked, and the worst we bagged, and they will be made to answer for it. There was one, a pitiful, tallow-faced loon, that would turn Queen’s evidence to save his skin.’ His eyes were all for Joan while he spoke--bold points of admiration. ‘What evidence?’ asked Brion quickly. ‘Why, that these dogs were secretly inflamed and invited to the deed by one Warlock, or Harlock--an old hag, acting housekeeper, it seems, to this Melton himself.’ ‘Melton!’ exclaimed Brion in amazement. ‘Ay, Melton. That was the name of him that had lived here since the Judge’s death, and alone, ’twas said, with her that betrayed him. They both perished in the fire together.’ ‘What!’ cried Brion--‘perished! my poor old Harlock perished?’