"He is the blacksmith of the village, and Cameron is his name."

"I remember him," said Trenchon. "Is thy mother, then, dead?"

"Yes," answered the girl, weeping afresh. "She has been dead these five
years."

"I knew her when I was a boy," said Trenchon. "Thy father also, and
many a grudge I owe him, although I had forgotten about them. Still, I
doubt not but as a boy I was as much in fault as he, although he was
harsh to all of us, and now it seems he is harsh to thee. My name is
Trenchon. I doubt if any in the village now remember me, although,
perhaps, they may have heard of me from London," he said, with some
pride, and a hope that the girl would confirm his thoughts. But she
shook her head.

"I have never heard thy name," she said.

Trenchon sighed. This, then, was fame!

"Ah, well!" he cried, "that matters not; they shall hear more of me
later. I will go with thee to thy father's house and demand for thee
admittance and decent usage."

But the girl shrank back. "Oh, no, no!" she cried; "that will never do.
My father is a hard man to cross. There are none in the village who
dare contend with him."

"That is as it may be," said Trenchon, with easy confidence. "I, for