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ungenteel, “Fer shame! Monsters is what you is! Both on yer!”
    The freckle-faced man gave a gasp of mortification and whipped the foot behind his back. A second individual emerged from the hedge, only to stumble and almost fall, so that his friend was obliged to steady him.
    Zoe was sickened, but when inspired by a Cause, her usual timidity was forgotten, and she persisted, if rather unsteadily, “You are b-both intoxicated, is what it is! Disgraceful! I have heard t-tell of the atrocities perpetrated by your kind upon your hapless victims—”
    â€œWe are not intoxicated!” The defendant was about the same age as his freckled companion, but taller and more slenderly built, with dark, unpowdered hair, and a lean well-featured but stormy countenance. His brows had drawn down sharply at Zoe’s words, and, still clinging to his companion, he protested indignantly, “And why you must gabble about atrocities, when all we did was—”
    â€œNothing, in your eyes, I collect,” said Zoe. “I did not at first believe what I was told about you and your—your ilk! But I see that my informant was quite correct when she named you as heartless, depraved, and with not an ounce of feeling for the misery of those poor souls who come to you for help! I wonder—”
    â€œI ain’t surprised,” the dark man interjected angrily. “I wonder too, don’t you, Jamie? I wonder what the—I wonder what you have ’twixt your ears, madam, and would earnestly recommend that you change your ways! If you keep on rushing about the countryside accusing people of atrocities and—and ilks and what-have-you, some right-thinking citizens are going to have you clapped up! Were I you, I would get to bed with a calming powder!”
    Throughout this inflamed monologue his companion had been plucking at his sleeve and mumbling nervously. Now, he begged in great agitation that “Terry” not raise his voice to the poor lady.
    â€œWords will not harm me, sir,” Zoe declared loftily. “’Tis his knife that strikes terror in my heart. How many deluded innocents have you turned it on, I wonder, you—you black-hearted villain!”
    At this, the dark gentleman’s jaw dropped and he gawked at her.
    Gorton pulled at her arm and entreated her to come away “before the evil creature turns his knife on us, ma’am!”
    â€œGod … bless … my … soul!” gasped the gentleman in powder.
    â€œYou’re stark … raving mad,” said his dark friend unequivocally.
    â€œWhatever I may be, sir,” called Zoe as Gorton all but dragged her away, “at least I am not an intoxicated physician! ”
    He lurched forward, and with an alarmed squeal, Gorton tugged her into a trot.
    â€œDid you see?” gasped Zoe. “Did you see the—the toenails? ”
    â€œI did fer—for sure, Miss,” said Gorton, a shudder in her voice. “He had—he had painted em! And each one a different colour! It’s downright heathen! I vow, Miss Grainger, we are lucky to have escaped with our very lives!”
    They had by this time reached the rear door of the inn, and as Gorton swung it open a sudden outburst of masculine hilarity from the two “heathens” spurred them into a rush for indoors and safety.
    Her heart thundering with fright and indignation, Zoe said, “I shall call for a constable! Those wicked men must be taken in charge!”
    Gorton was recovering her wits and her accent, and self-preservation asserted itself. She said shakily, “Ay beg you will not, Miss. May lady would be very cross and say ’tis may fault for allowing of you to venture into the poisonous night air.”
    Realizing that she herself would very likely incur my lady’s wrath, Zoe reluctantly agreed not to report the criminals. She instead ordered that tea be sent to her room, and, dismissing