f Lizzie sitting grandly, with a feast of literature, and not
a drop of gravy. Mother was in the corner also, with her cheery-coloured
ribbons glistening very nice by candle-light, looking at Annie now and
then, with memories of her babyhood; and then at her having a baby: yet
half afraid of praising her much, for fear of that young Lizzie. But
Lizzie showed no jealousy: she truly loved our Annie (now that she
was gone from us), and she wanted to know all sorts of things, and she
adored the baby. Therefore Annie was allowed to attend to me, as she
used to do.

'Now, John, you must start the first thing in the morning,' she said,
when the others had left the room, but somehow she stuck to the baby,
'to fetch me back my rebel, according to your promise.'

'Not so,' I replied, misliking the job, 'all I promised was to go, if
this house were assured against any onslaught of the Doones.'

'Just so; and here is that assurance.' With these words she drew forth a
paper, and laid it on my knee with triumph, enjoying my amazement. This,
as you may suppose was great; not only at the document, but also at her
possession of it. For in truth it was no less than a formal undertaking,
on the part of the Doones, not to attack Plover's Barrows farm, or
molest any of the inmates, or carry off any chattels, during the absence
of John Ridd upon a special errand. This document was signed not only
by the Counsellor, but by many other Doones: whether Carver's name were
there, I could not say for certain; as of course he would not sign it
under his name of 'Carver,' and I had never heard Lorna say to what (if
any) he had been baptized.

In the face of such a deed as this, I could no longer refuse to go; and
having received my promise, Annie told me (as was only fair) how she had
procured that paper. It was both a clever and courageous act; and would
have seemed to me, at first sight, far beyond Annie's power. But none
may gauge a woman's power, when her love and faith are moved.

The first thing Annie had done was this: she made herself look ugly.
This was not an easy thing; but she had learned a great deal from her
husband, upon the subject of disguises. It hurt her feelings not a
little to make so sad a fright of herself; but what could it matter?--if
she lost Tom, she must be a far greater fright in earnest, than now
she was in seeming. And then she left her child asleep, under Betty
Muxworthy's tendance--for Betty took to that child, as