, asleep now with her lap for their pillow. She felt
upwards along Micah Ward's coat. Her fingers crept along his sleeve,
found his hand, pulled it down to her, and laid her cheek against it. He
ceased to pray. The victory was won. He had, by sheer violence, dragged
peace for a stricken soul from the closely-guarded treasury of the Lord
of Sabaoth.

CHAPTER VI

Early next morning Donald Ward and Neal set forth on their journey.
Rab MacClure's horses served them well. By breakfast time they reached
Ballymoney. They sat in the inn kitchen while the woman of the house
broiled salmon for them. She was full of excitement, and very ready to
talk. The yeomen had ridden through the town the day before. They had
stopped at her house to drink. The officer and some of the men had paid
their score and ridden on. Ten of them remained behind, and demanded
more drink. Tumblers were brought to them as they sat in their saddles.
One of them had proposed a toast--"To hell with all Papists and
Presbyterians."

"And that was no civil talk to use to me, when all the town knows that
my man is an elder in the kirk."

But there was more to follow. The troopers had flung down the
tumblers--"the bonny cut glasses that were fetched from Wexford"--and
shattered them on the pavement of the courtyard. Then they rode off
without paying a penny, and when the mistress cried after them one man
came back with his sword drawn in his hand, and she was fain to flee and
hide herself. But the story of her own wrongs did not quench the good
dame's curiosity. She recognised Neal as the son of the minister in
Dunseveric. It was towards Dunseveric that the yeomen had ridden. What
did they do there? Had there been hanging work or burning--the like of
what went on in other parts? Had they visited the minister's house? Did
Neal see them?

Donald Ward was a talkative man, and somewhat given to boasting; but,
apart from the fact that the business of the night before gave him
little excuse for glorying, he had plenty of sound sense--too much sense
to gossip with the mistresses of inns about serious business. He signed
to Neal to keep silent, and himself parried the shower of questions
so adroitly that his hostess got no information from him. She tired
at last, and with a show of disappointed temper, put the salmon on the
table.

"There's your fish for you," she said, "and fadge and oaten farles, and
if you want more you'd better show some civility to the