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Joan, The Curate.

"Off with you then, master, and get out of sight and out of hearing before we change our minds!" said he in a low and somewhat mocking voice.

Tregenna took the hint. Lifting Joan on to the saddle of her father's horse, he swung himself into it in a twinkling, and digging his heels into the animal's flanks, urged him forward without a moment's delay, in the direction of Hurst.

There was an outbreak of oaths and curses, bloodcurdling to hear. And a pistol was discharged after them, without, however, doing any harm.

But luckily for the lieutenant and the lady, this incident had already bred a quarrel among the smugglers; and before the fugitives were out of earshot, they heard the unmistakable sounds of a conflict which kept the "free-traders" occupied until Hurst was reached by the parson's horse and his riders.

Then, slackening his pace when they entered the straggling village street, Tregenna, whose heart was full, turned so that he might catch a glimpse of the face of his companion. They had ridden thus far in complete silence.