her from her trouble.

With a cry of delight she sprang again on the topmost rung of the stile, as
she saw George Ratcliffe's giant form appearing in the distance on the
slope of a rising ground.

The hillside was covered in this part with great hillocks of heather and
gorse.

Apparently her persecutor had also caught sight of the approaching figure,
for he relaxed his hold on her wrist, which he had seized as she had sprung
up on the stile, and, looking back when she had run some distance towards
George, she saw that the man had disappeared.

'George! George!' she cried, as he came with great strides towards her,
and, to his intense satisfaction, even in his dismay at her apparent
distress, threw herself into his arms. 'George! a dreadful man, a Papist,
has scared me. He will curse me, George. Oh! it is terrible to be cursed.
Save me from him.'

George looked about in bewilderment.

'I see no man. There is no one near, Lucy. I see no one.'

'Did you not see him as you came in sight?'

'Nay, I was thinking only of you, and hoping to meet you on your way. I saw
no man, nor did I see you till I had come up yonder rising ground, just as
you mounted the stile. Be not so distressed,' George said, 'we will scour
the country for the villain, for villain he must be if he is a Papist; but
come now with me. My mother is well-pleased that you should sup with us.
Oh! Lucy,' George said, with lover-like earnestness, 'smile again, I pray
you, it goes to my heart to see you thus scared, though without reason, I
trust. Will it please you to stay here, while I go and unearth the wretch,
and belabour him till there is no breath left in him.'

'No, no, George, don't leave me. I should fear to be left alone. Don't,
don't leave me.'

George was only too willing to remain, and presently Lucy grew calmer, and
they walked slowly across the heath together.

George was too happy for many words, and scarcely heeding even Lucy's
account of her adventure, in the bliss of having her clinging to his arm,
and the memory of that moment when she threw herself upon him for
protection and safety.

'What can he want with Ambrose, Mary's child? He tried to make me promise
to bring him to that spot, that he might see him. What can it mean? It will
frighten Mary when I tell her, for she is ever dismayed if the child is
long-out of her sight. What can it mean?'

'I cannot say,' George replied, dreamily. 'Thank God you are safe. That man
is some