“You said that he’d been put out of the way, as I’d be put out of the way. What did you mean by that?”

“He was shipped overseas, I’ve heard tell.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Whither do you take me now?”

“Come to think of it now,” he answered, laughing, “I hadn’t thought of it before. Not to Rogues’ Haven.”

“Do you know Mr. Bradbury?”

“I’ve heard tell of him.”

“He’s with old Gavin Masters—whoever he may be. Will you take me to him, or set me down on the way to Masters’ house?”

He answered uneasily, “I’ll set you down near his house. I’ll not wait on old Sir Gavin, I’m that modest, Mr. Craike. He’s a gentleman. He’s a justice—as Charles Craike’s a justice.” His laughter sounded out on the wind. “Ay, I’ll take you near enough. Get on, old horse! Get on!”

We were out then from the green cup in which the Stone House lay. Looking back from the ridge, ere the trees took us into their company, I saw the old house stand grey to the morning; p. 113I saw a confusion of figures all about it; I saw a rider dashing from the gate and galloping of apace.

p. 113

“Martin!” growled Roger. “He’s riding of for Rogues’ Haven to give Craike word. I’ve a mind to cut him off.”

“Who is Martin? Bart and he are brothers, aren’t they?”

“Martin and Bart Baynes, ay, they’re brothers, both rogues, spawn of old Mag Baynes’s son Adam,—he that was transported and died some year back. Ay, transported he was, but died. Craike’s men, Mart and Bart—rogues both!”

“Where does Rogues’ Haven lie?”

“That way”—with a sweep of his hand towards the rocky uplands. “Away, with the wood all about it.”

“Why the name?”

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