Winifred was not destined to reach home without farther interruption. She was walking very fast down the avenue, with her eyes bent on the ground, when she was nearly run over by two gentlemen, who were coming in the opposite direction with their guns and dogs, and followed by a groom leading their horses. Winifred looked up with a start, and recognized Sir Edward Peckham. She had never seen the other gentleman in the richly laced uniform, but she guessed at once that the fierce, sun-burnt face, bold, wicked-looking eyes, and long mustache belonged to no other than the dreaded Colonel Kirke, who was feared and hated almost as much as the chief-justice himself, for his cruelty and rapacity. Her color rose and her heart beat fast at the sight of the man whom she associated with so much misery and distress. She courtesied, and would have passed on, but she was not to escape so easily. "Holloa! What little Puritan have we here?" said the soldier, in a loud, coarse voice, and seizing Winifred by the arm. "Not so fast, my pretty maid!" he added, as Winifred would have escaped. "What, do you think I make a breakfast of children every morning, as some folks say, that you are so afraid of me?" [Illustration: "Holloa! What little Puritan have we here?" said the soldier in a loud coarse voice and seizing Winifred by the arm.] "I am not afraid of you," said Winifred, standing still and looking her captor in the face, while her large gray eyes flashed with indignation. "My brother is sick, and my mother needs me at home. I pray you let me pass on my way!" "Your brother is sick, eh? That means he has been out with Monmouth and got hurt, I suppose! Where does this brother of yours live, mistress? I must look after him!" "My brother is only twelve years old, and was hurt in falling from a tree," replied Winifred, calmly. "He and I live with our grandfather, at the gray house on the hill yonder." "What, you are old Master Evans' granddaughter!" said Sir Edward, kindly. "You are so grown, I did not know you! This maid is a favorite of Lady Peckham's, Colonel Kirke, and I can vouch for the loyalty of her whole family. I pray you let her pass on her way, as she desires." "My lady knows how to choose her favorites, I should say!" returned Colonel Kirke. "I protest I have not seen a prettier rustic damsel. Well, give me a kiss for your ransom, my shepherdess, and here is a gold piece for you all the way from Africa, to make up for the fright I have given you." Trembling more with indignation than fear, Winifred submitted to the kiss, and received the piece of gold, which she inwardly determined to put into the poor-box the very first time she went to church.