“Drat the gal! Sam, go thou an’ tackle her: reckon thou’rt warriors enow for one ’ooman.”
The two hasten’d on: and presently I heard the one they call’d “Sam” dismounting in the yard. Now there was a window hole in the loft, facing, not on the yard, but toward the country behind; and running to it I saw that no more were following—the other three having, as I suppose, early given up the chase. Softly pulling out a loose stone or two, I widen’d this hole till I could thrust the ladder out of it. To my joy it just reach’d the ground. I bade Delia squeeze herself through and climb down.
But before she was halfway down I heard a wild screech in the kitchen below, and the voice of Sam shrieking—
“Help—help! Lord ha’ mercy ’pon me—’tis a black cat—’tis a witch! The gal’s no gal, but a witch!”
Laughing softly, I was descending the ladder when the fellow came round the corner screaming—with Jan Tergagle clawing at his back and spitting murderously. Delia had just time to slip aside, before he ran into the ladder and brought me flying on top of him. And there he lay and bellow’d till I tied him, and gagg’d his noise with a big stone in his mouth and his own scarf tied round it.
“Come!” I whisper’d: for Joan and her pursuers were out of sight. Catching up her long skirt, Delia follow’d me, and up the tor we panted together, nor rested till we were safe in the Jews’ Kitchen.
“What think you of this for a hiding place?” ask’d I, with a laugh.
But Delia did not laugh. Instead, she faced me with blazing eyes, check’d herself and answer’d, cold as ice—
“Sir, you have done me a many favors. How I have trusted you in return it were best for you to remember, and for me to forget.”