ment. Then suddenly he burst out:

"Look here, sir, pass it over this time. My missus is ill. She's mortal
bad, God's truth she is, and haven't eaten nothing this three days past.
An' I thought mebbe a bit o' stewed rabbit 'ud tempt 'er."

"Pshaw!" Trent was beginning contemptuously, when Sara leaned forward,
peering into the poacher's face.

"Why," she exclaimed. "It's Brady--Black Brady from Fallowdene."

Ne'er-do-well as he was, the mere fact that he came from Fallowdene
warmed her heart towards him.

"Yes, miss, that's so," he answered readily. "And you're the young lady
what used to live at Barrow Court."

"Do you know this man?" Trent asked her.

"'Bout as well as you do, sir," volunteered Brady with an impudent
grin. "Catched me poachin' one morning. Fired me gun at 'er, too, I did,
to frighten 'er," he continued reminiscently. "And she never blinked.
You're a good-plucked 'un, miss,"--with frank admiration.

Sara looked at the man doubtfully.

"I didn't know you lived here," she said.

"It's my native village, miss, Monks'aven is. But I didn't think 'twas
too 'healthy for me down here, back along"--grinning--"so I shifted to
Fallowdene, where me grandmother lives. I came back here to marry Bessie
Windrake' she've stuck to me like a straight 'un. But I didn't mean to
get collared poachin' again. Me and Bess was goin' to live respectable.
'Twas her bein' ill and me out of work w'at did it."

"Let him go," said Sara, appealing to Trent. But he shook his head.

"I can't do that," he answered with decision.

"Not 'im, miss, 'e won't," broke in Brady. "'E's not the soft-'earted
kind, isn't Mr. Trent."

Trent's brows drew together ominously.

"You won't mend matters by impudence, Brady," he said sharply. "Get
along now"--releasing his hold of the man's arm--"but you'll hear of
this again."

Brady shot away into the darkness like an arrow, probably chortling
to himself that his captor had omitted to relieve him of the brace of
rabbits he had poached; and Sara, turning again to Trent, renewed her
plea for clemency.

But Trent remained adamant.

"Why shouldn't he stand his punishment like any other man?" he said.

"Well, if it's true that his wife is ill, and that he has been out of
work--"

"Are you offering those facts as an excuse for dishonesty?" asked Trent
drily.

Sara smiled.

"Yes, I believe I am," she acknowledged.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Like nine-tenths of your sex, you are