ou have lost a good
deal of blood."

Her voice faltered. She had been greatly alarmed--and the more that she
had not light enough to get the edges of the wound properly together.

"You've stopped it--ain't you, miss?"

"I think so."

"Then I'll be after the fellow."

"No, no; you must not attempt it. You must lie still awhile. But I
don't understand it at all! That cottage used to be a mere hovel,
without door or window! It can't be you live in it?"

"Ay, that I do! and it's not a bad place either," answered Joseph.
"That's what I went to Yorkshire to get my money for. It's mine--bought
and paid for."

"But what made you think of coming here?"

"Let's go into the smithy--house I won't presume to call it," said
Joseph, "though it has a lean-to for the smith--and I'll tell you
everything about it. But really, miss, you oughtn't to be out like this
after dark. There's too many vagabonds about."

With but little need of the help Mary yet gave him, Joseph got up, and
led her to what was now a respectable little smithy, with forge and
bellows and anvil and bucket. Opening a door where had been none, he
brought a chair, and making her sit down, began to blow the covered
fire on the hearth, where he had not long before "boiled his kettle"
for his tea. Then closing the door, he lighted a candle, and Mary
looking about her could scarcely believe the change that had come upon
the miserable vacuity. Joseph sat down upon his anvil, and begged to
know where she had just been, and how far she had run from the rascal.
When he had learned something of the peculiar relations in which Mary
stood to the family at Durnmelling, he began to think there might have
been something more in the pursuit than a chance ruffianly assault, and
the greater were his regrets that he had not secured the miscreant.

"Anyhow, miss," he said, "you'll never come from there alone in the
dark again!"

"I understand you, Joseph," answered Mary, "for I know you would not
have me leave doing what I can for the poor man up there, because of a
little danger in the way."

"No, that I wouldn't, miss. That would be as much as to say you would
do the will of God when the devil would let you. What I mean is, that
here am I--your slave, or servant, or soldier, or whatever you may
please to call me, ready at your word."

"I must not take you from your work, you know, Joseph."

"Work's not everything, miss," he answered; "and it's seldom so
pressing but th