ad come in, and was doing over the
floor with her rushes.

Martin paid small heed to this shrill torrent of words, but with
anxious face was pulling on his long outer hoots, and selecting the
stoutest oaken staff of the number stacked in the corner, inviting
his guests to arm themselves in like fashion.

Jemima and Keziah, feeling as though some blame attached to them,
looked on with pale faces, whilst Rachel chattered volubly of the
horrors she had often heard of as being perpetrated in the streets.
Her brother turned upon her roughly at last, and bid her cease her
ill-omened croaking; whereat she tossed her head and muttered a
good many scornful interjections, and "could not see why she need
be called to task like that."

The whole party descended to the door when the preparations for the
start were complete. It was striking half after five on many of the
city clocks as Martin threw open his door. But he had scarcely
stepped across the threshold before he heard a familiar little
shriek; there was a rush of steps from somewhere in the darkness
without, and Cherry, with an abandon very foreign to the times and
her training, and indicative of much agitation and emotion, flung
herself upon his breast, and threw her arms about his neck.

"Here I am, father; there has no hurt befallen me!" she cried in
broken gasps. "But I know not what fearful thing was like to have
happened had it not been for the help of this gallant gentleman,
who came in the very nick of time to drive off my assailants and
bring me safe home. And oh, my father, such a wonderful thing! I
can scarce believe it myself! This gentleman is no stranger;
leastways he may not so be treated, for he is our very own flesh
and blood--my cousin, thy nephew. He is Cuthbert Trevlyn, son to
that sister Bridget of thine of whom we have sometimes heard thee
speak!"

A strange dead silence fell on the group clustered in the doorway
with lanterns and staffs. All looked out into the darkness in a
mist of perplexity and doubt, to see, as their eyes grew used to
the obscurity, the tall figure of a slim, dark-faced youth standing
beside a tired-looking horse, and steadying upon the saddle a large
basket of rushes.

Martin Holt, after one minute of utter silence, released the
clinging arms from about his neck, pushed Cherry not ungently
towards her sisters, and stepped forward towards her preserver.

"This is a strange thing my daughter tells me, young sir," he said,