d over the top of the kiln, and loud, angry voices rose
upon the still night air in quarrelsome tones.

"I ain't goin' prowlin' about here no longer, Joe Harris, I tell ee,"
said Moll shrilly. "I've tramped at yer heel for the last twelve hours
a'most, till I'm ready to drop, an' now you'd keep folks from their
proper sleep all for nought!"

"Stow yer cheek, I say, or it'll be the worse for you," growled Mr.
Harris savagely. "I'm goin' to fin' them kids an' that rascally imp o' a
dwarf wherever they are, an' you're goin' to help me. They come this
way, right enough--there's no mistake about that--an' where else would
they be but here? There's not another spot they could shelter for miles
an' miles."

"Fin' 'em, then, if you can!" snapped Moll sharply. "Anyhow, I'm goin'
away to my bed like a decent Christ'an woman. Come along, Joe, do," she
urged, with a swift change of tone. "You can have another look roun' in
the mornin' if you must. But if you'd take my biddin'--only that's what
you never do--you'd let 'em go back where they come from."

"Shut up!" commanded Joe, in the same savage tone as before. "Haven't I
told you agin an' agin that I'll never let 'em escape--not if we were to
swing for't!" he added grandly. Then he went on in a wheedling sort of
way. "Here, old girl, take the lantern an' look down below there; you've
sharper sight nor me. Pullen, he says as there's a tumble-down
lime-kiln in that hollow. Bambo ud hardly hit on't; but it's best to
make sure."

Moll snatched the lantern from her lord's hand with an extremely bad
grace, and an exclamation which sounded very like "Bad luck to Pullen
an' the Traveller's Delight!" For she heartily disliked the mission upon
which they were bound--the recovery of the captives. Having had frequent
experience of her husband's furious temper and the weight of his fists,
she dared not directly refuse to aid him; but from the bottom of her
heart she hoped the two sweet innocents would never fall into his
clutches again.

"Better for them to be dead!" muttered Moll passionately, as, lantern in
hand, she nimbly slid down the shiny wet slope to the lime-kiln. "The
little lass, leastways," she added in a softer voice. And as the memory
of Joan's freely-bestowed kiss fell upon the woman's half-awakened heart
like the touch of an angel's finger, a tear trembled on her long black
lashes, and a wordless prayer winged its way through the inky darkness
of the murky sky--a prayer