"I can think of nothing to say to you till I have thanked you again and again for a service which I thought no woman could render."

"It is of that which I do not wish to speak."

"But I must. I did not believe a woman could possess such rare courage and foresight. I did not believe a woman could plan so well, execute so bravely. Especially do I wonder when I realize my own unworthiness. I thank you from the depths of my soul."

Mistress Nancy had visited my compartment as she had promised, and at my request she sat on a low seat by the fire, while I stood leaning on the back of the huge chair which I have mentioned. She wore the same garments as when we had travelled together for the first time. Her face was pale, but very beautiful; her dark eyes shone with a look of resolution; her dark curling locks glistened in the lamp-light.

"I did not mean you to know who your deliverer was. But it does not matter." She spoke indifferently, I thought.

[Pg 302]

"It does matter!" I cried vehemently. "I should be base indeed if I do not remember such service with gratitude until my dying day."

"I did what no woman could help doing." This she said slowly.

"I do not understand."

"Yet there should be no difficulty in doing so. You rescued me, you thought of me, acted for me."

"Mention not that again," I replied bitterly, "I am sorely ashamed."

"I do not mean the—the first part of the journey, but afterwards. I have heard of your trial before Lord Falmouth, heard of what Otho Killigrew said. You refused to tell all the truth because you feared to hurt me. You did not wish that man to know anything concerning me."

I wondered who her informant might be, but I did not speak.

"When I knew you were taken to Launceston, and feeling sure that Otho would show no mercy if you were brought to trial, I did my best. I could do no other—I—I—would have done the same for any one."

She spoke coldly; her tones were hard and unfeeling. My heart grew chill; the hope that arose in me, in spite of myself, was dispelled.

"Thank you," I said, as steadily as I could. "But why—why did you wish me to remain in ignorance—as to who you were?"

"Because I thought it was better so. No one who saw me in Launceston would recognize me now."

[Pg 303]

"What disguise did you wear? What means did you use to—to effect my escape; that is, beyond those I know of?"

"I would rather not tell you."

I was silent again, for her manner made me feel that she still scorned me. I looked towards her; she was gazing steadily into the fire.

"Where am I now?" I asked, after a painful silence.

"At Restormel."

"Ah!"

"Does the fact surprise you?"

"Everything surprises me. Nothing surprises me. I am somewhat dazed. Restormel, that is your father's house, your own home?"

"My father's house—yes. My own home—I know not."

"What do you mean?" and at that moment I remembered the suspicions which were aroused in my mind by Otho Killigrew's questions.

Again she refrained from replying, her eyes still fixed on the glowing embers.

"Let me tell you something," I cried. "My thoughts may be groundless, but it may be well for you to know them."

Then I related to her the conversation I had had with the Catholic priest at Padstow. At that time I had not regarded it of importance, as it simply referred to a complaint about the unfairness of the marriage laws, where Catholics were concerned. After this I told her of Otho Killigrew's visit, of what he had said, and of the bargain we had made.

[Pg 304]

"On consideration I thought it best to promise him this," I concluded. "He aroused certain suspicions in my mind, and I thought I could still serve you if I were free. It may be I acted wrongly, but I thought it was worth the risk."

During the recital she uttered no sound. She seemed to be much changed since that night when we had parted at Treviscoe.

"And I—I have relieved you of the necessity of telling him anything, I suppose?" she said icily.

"Yes," I replied, feeling that she mistrusted me again. I longed to ask her what had happened since the night I had left her with Peter Trevisa, but I dared not; her manner froze the words on my lips.

"You do not know why Trevisa asked you to take me to his house?" she said presently.

"I only know what he told me. I knew that was not all the truth. He thought he had some hold upon you."

"And you had no idea what it was?"

"Not then."

"And now?"

"Nothing but what was aroused in my mind by what I have just told you."

"Master Roger Trevanion," she said, rising from her seat and facing me, "you tried to persuade me not to go to that man's house."

"I did."

"And I persisted in going. I did so for two reasons."

[Pg 305]

"And they?"

"One was that you should be able to claim the price of your hire."

"Do not taunt me with that."

"The other was that I determined to find out the reason he had in wishing to get me there. I had not been able to understand all the Killigrews had hinted from time to time. I thought that Trevisa's motives might have a connection with what they had said."

"And you were not afraid?"

"Women are not all so cowardly as you think. I might have acted differently had his son been with him, but when I found him alone I determined to stay until I had discovered what was in his mind."

"And you discovered it?"

"Yes."

I could not help admiring her as she stood there before me so brave, so far-seeing, so resolute. She was barely twenty-one. She had revealed to me all the weaknesses, all the tenderness of a woman; yet now, after having accomplished what few men would think of attempting, she was calmer than I. As I have said, she was taller and more largely formed than most women, and the hand that rested on a table by her side was as firm as a man's. No one could in any way associate her with littleness or poverty of nature. Everything told of purity, of nobleness, of beauty of life. Remembering my bargain with Trevisa, I dared not look at her; but I was glad I had refused to take the price of my work.

[Pg 306]

I waited for her to continue, for I felt I had no right to ask her questions.

"You told me," she went on, "that Peter Trevisa was a cunning, evil-minded man. You were right. Like all such men, he judged the motives of others by his own. What he would do under certain circumstances, he would expect others to do."

"Yes, that is so."

"He thought, acting on this principle, that if he could get me into his house, I should be glad to fall in with his plans."

"He told me that his son Peter had seen you at Endellion," I said; "that he fell in love with you, that it was the intention of Colman Killigrew to marry you to his son whom you hated, that I should be rendering you a service by taking you to him."

"Do not speak of his son's love," she said; "the thought of it is not pleasant. It is true he told me the same story. I did not sleep in the house that night. Directly after your lawyer had gone I told him I desired to speak with him. He fawned and professed to be delighted. Presently his real reasons for trying to get me into the house came out. He tried to keep them back until his son came home, but in this he failed."

"And what were his reasons?" I asked eagerly in spite of myself.

"The first was this: He said he could prove that my father's marriage was illegal, and—and thus I had no true claim to the Restormel lands. You suspected this?"

[Pg 307]

I nodded.

"He told me, moreover, that he alone possessed the knowledge whereby it could be proved that I was not the rightful heir. If he did not disclose what he knew, no one would doubt my rights; or even if they doubted, they could have no case against me; if he told what he knew, I should be penniless."

"I see," I cried; "I see. Then he named the price of his silence."

"Yes."

"Of course that was that you should marry his son. I see. It was cunningly planned. He thinks his son Peter is a sort of Apollo, and he imagined that you would desire to effectually stop him from speaking by becoming his daughter. It would then be to his advantage to be silent."

"That was a part of his plan, but not all. He has found out that I possess knowledge of great importance."

"Knowledge of great importance?"

"Yes. It concerns the coming of Charles Stuart."

"You have seen the Pretender!" I cried.

"I have seen Charles Stuart. He visited the convent in which I was educated. He came once when Colman Killigrew was present. He sought to enlist my sympathies. I do not know why; but both he and Colman Killigrew discussed plans in my presence."

"And young Peter Trevisa found out this. How?"

"I do not know."

[Pg 308]

"Is your knowledge of such importance that it might be valuable to such as Hugh Boscawen?"

"Yes."

I longed to ask further questions, but refrained from doing so.

"Peter Trevisa believed that if I told him what I knew his son would be able to make use of it. The father is very ambitious for his son. He imagines that if he were to communicate important knowledge to the King it would mean preferment—perhaps knighthood."

"I see his plot."

"I refused to marry his son."

"Yes."

&............