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 the tavern kitchen, which was deserted save for themselves. Casting one despairing glance over her shoulder—for where was her father all this time?—the girl went, docile enough. And maintained her composure while the hemp was being wound around her, binding her fast to a chair, until Mistress Ranfield grasped her mittened hands. Then Mehitable winced with pain.

"Stay!" And Simpson tore the mittens from her bandaged hands. "So the rescuer's hands came to grief!" he sneered. But a remnant of decency made him forbid the inn mistress to truss the burned hands.

"A gag?" inquired Mistress Ranfield, thrusting a roll of cloth toward him.

"Nay," he answered scornfully, "how can we discover what she knows an we gag her? Now, mistress"—he turned roughly to the girl—"best speak up, for ye have no bully brother to come to your rescue this time!"

Suddenly, a new voice spoke from the threshold: "But I am here!" it said pleasantly, and Mehitable, twisting herself in her chair, saw the young man, Aaron Harrison, whom her cousin, Jemima Condit, had married, and had left a widower in the previous November. "What be the trouble here?" he asked sternly, coming forward as his eyes rested in surprise upon Mehitable. "Hold!" There was the sight of his drawn pistol, all at once, and