Now, don't argue. I'm your friend, and am risking something at this
moment to prove it. At the top of the lane here you'll find a horse:
mount him, and ride to Helford Ferry for dear life. Two hundred yards up
the shore towards Frenchman's Creek there's a boat made fast, and down off
Durgan a ketch anchored. She's bound for Havre, and the skipper will
weigh as soon as you're aboard. Mount and ride like a sensible fellow,
and I'll walk into your kitchen and convince every man Jack that you have
done well and wisely. Reach France and lie quiet for a time, till this
storm blows over: the skipper will find lodgings for you and supply you
with money, and I shall know your address. Come, what say you?"

"Sir John," Roger stammered hoarsely after a pause, "I--I say it humbly,
your house and mine have known one another for long, and my fathers have
stood beside yours afore now--and--and I didn't expect this from you,
Sir John."

"Why, what ails ye, man?"

"What ails me?" His voice was bitter. "I reckon 'tis an honest man's
right that ails me, and ails me cruel. But let God be my witness "--and
Roger lifted his fist to the dark night--"they shall take my life from me
when I quit Steens, and kill the man in me before I renounce it. Amen!"

"Is that your last word, Stephen?"

"It is, sir."

"Then," said the little man gravely, "as you may need me soon to beg mercy
for you, I have a bargain to make. You are fighting with one woman:
beware how you fight with two."

"I don't take ye. With what other woman should I fight?"

"When you turned Mrs. Stephen out at door she fled to my wife. And my
wife, not liking her, but in common charity, gave her food and lent her a
horse to further her to her home. For this she has been attacked, and
even her life threatened, in a score of unsigned letters--and in my
absence, you understand. She is no coward; but the injustice of it--the
cruelty--has told on her health, and I reached home to find her sick in
bed. That you have had no hand in this, Stephen, I know well; but it is
being done by your supporters."

"If I catch the man, Sir John, he shall never write another letter in his
life."

"I thank you." Sir John stepped out into the yard and stood while Roger
unbarred the folding gates. Then, "I think if mischief comes, you had
better not let them take you alive," said he quietly.

"Thank you, Sir John; I won't," was Roger's reply, and so he dismissed
another good fri