“Ann!” cried Tregenna, under his breath.
“No, no, not Ann; but Jem Bax!” cried the well-known voice, in clear and ringing tones.
And into the bright light of the doorway strode Ann, in her lad’s dress, with a keg slung in front and one behind, in approved smuggler fashion.
“Heaven bless you both, for a pair of innocent lambs,” she cried, raising one hand as if in benediction. “See, Ben, do not they make a monstrous pretty pair? Prettier than you and me, when they made us one!”
And the burly form of Ben the Blast, with his kegs slung over his shoulder, came into view behind her.
Everybody was too much taken aback, too much amazed at the deception Ann had practised, and at her unflagging audacity, to attempt to touch either her or the smuggler at her side. With another laugh and a wave of the hand, they both left the church porch, sprang on the back of a stout horse which was waiting at the gate, and were away over the marsh to the new haunt they had made, before Tregenna had had time to recover his wits.
He had done with her, forever; but there was still trouble in store for the representatives of law and order, while the daring, wicked spirit walked the earth in the flesh.
“Are you jealous still, Joan?” whispered Tregenna, in his bride’s ear.
“No. But—I’m thankful she’s married, Harry,” was the fervent answer.
“And I,” returned Tregenna with equal fervor, “am thankful ’tis no longer my duty to cope with her and her tricks. For, faith, I believe she’s in league with the very powers of darkness!”