The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mistress Nancy Molesworth, by Joseph Hocking.

The next morning I started to ride to the home of the Killigrews. I could see that Daniel sorely wanted to accompany me, but I decided not to take him. In nine cases out of ten a man does work better when unencumbered. Mostly people who pretend to help fail to understand what is in one's mind, and as a consequence generally bungle things grievously. I did not want this matter bungled. The more I thought about it the more was I determined to see the thing through successfully. The picture of living at Trevanion, practically unharassed by debts, became more pleasant each hour. Besides as a race we were not given to bungling, and although I was little in love with the thought of having a maid for a companion, I gloried in the prospect of measuring wits, and if needs be swords, with these sturdy Killigrews. I therefore mounted my favourite horse which I called "Chestnut," on account of his colour; a horse the like of which was difficult to be matched. He was going five, stood over sixteen hands high, and was of a build which united strength with speed to such a degree that half the squires in the county wanted him. I had been sorely tempted to sell him, but had never yielded to the temptation. I had always prided myself on riding the best horse in the county, and Chestnut was certainly second to none. In spite of my unusual weight he carried me easily, he would run until he dropped, and possessed tremendous staying power. Added to this, I had seen him foaled, had fed him with my own hands, and when Jenkins, the famous horse-breaker, declared to me his inability to "break him in," I had undertaken the task myself, and had succeeded. I did it by a new method, too, for I never struck him a blow. I do not attribute this to any special power I possess over horses generally, for Jenkins would in nine cases out of ten succeed where I failed. The truth was, Chestnut, when he was a colt, regarded me as a sort of playfellow and learnt to love me. Being an intelligent animal, he soon understood me, indeed he had a curious instinct by which he seemed to divine my thoughts and feelings. I carefully armed myself, and placed in my saddle-bags as much ammunition as I could conveniently carry. I did not know whether I should stand in need of these things, but I thought it well to be prepared. The county was infested by robbers, and as I carried a large amount of money I thought it well to test my sword-blade and pistols. Thus equipped I had no fear. I was a fair shot, and generally held as a strong swordsman.

"When may I expect 'ee back then, sur, makin' so bold?" asked Daniel as I mounted.

"I don't know, Daniel; don't expect me until you see me. As you know, I have given you full particulars, and Mr. Hendy will visit you constantly."

"You be goin' into danger, Master Roger," said the serving-man tremulously. "Laive me go weth 'ee, sur."

Daniel was nearly fifty years of age, and had served our family all his life, so he had been allowed to take liberties.

"Ould Smiler es jist aitin his 'ead off, sur, and I baint no good 'ere when you be gone. Taake me weth 'ee, sur. You wa'ant be sorry."

As I said, I did not think it best to take him, so I rode away leaving him disconsolate. On my way to the home of the Killigrews I passed through Truro, Tresillian, Ladock, and Mitchell, but nothing happened worthy of note. I did not hurry, rather I rode slowly, for I wanted to enjoy the quiet of the day. Everywhere new life was appearing. Everywhere, too, the spirit of rest seemed to reign. In those days I did not think much about the beauties of early spring, but I could not help being impressed by the scene around Tresillian. The little arm of the river enclosed by wooded hills was indeed fair to look upon. I rested my horse at the gates of Tregothnan, where the Boscawens lived and looked with somewhat envious eyes on the long line of yew-trees which bordered the drive, and remembered that I had once loved the maid who was related to the people who dwelt in the great house in the distance.

I did not get beyond St. Columb that day, and, on arriving there, tried to find out something about the Killigrews. I had not gone far enough north, however. The main branch of the family, as all the country knows, had lived at St. Erme, about five miles north of Truro, also at Falmouth, but it had died out. Colman Killigrew was the descendant of one Benet Killigrew, who, although he did not, like some of his relations, become a courtier, was sufficiently fortunate to marry a Mistress Scobell Rosecarrick, of Endellion, in which Endellion Castle was situated. Through her this branch of the Killigrews became possessed of a pleasant estate, and also became allied to an ancient race. This I had learnt by reading Carew's survey of Cornwall after I had returned from Peter Trevisa. Of their present condition, however, I knew nothing, neither could I discover anything about them at St. Columb.

Arriving at Wadebridge the next day, my attention was attracted by an inn called "The Molesworth Arms." As the name of the maid I had promised to take from Endellion to Treviscoe was Molesworth, and as it was moreover the chief inn in the town, I decided to rest there and partake of some refreshment. Although it was scarcely noon, I found the common room of the inn filled with a number of people. Mostly the occupants were farmers, although I fancied one or two of them belonged to the gentlefolk of the neighbourhood. I did not pay particular attention to them, however, because my interest became centred in a hale-looking old man, who was evidently a travelling story-teller and minstrel. He had finished his singing, and was now telling a story before taking his departure. There is no need that I should repeat the tale here; at the same time I mention the incident because I was impressed by the wondrous way he had of making us all look at him. One could have heard a pin drop when he was speaking. I was fascinated by him too, partly, I expect, because I did not understand him. As all the county knows, a tale-teller, or a wandering singer, who is usually called "a droll," is no unusual thing. Many of them had visited Trevanion, and I had always given them food and a bed. Mostly they came when the house was full of visitors, and regaled the company with song and story. But they were mostly of the lower orders of life, and spoke the Cornish dialect. Indeed their stories usually had but little charm apart from the dialect, although occasionally tales were told which were interesting because of their subject-matter. These were generally of a supernatural order, and described the dead arising or spirits coming back to the world to bring some message to their friends. I had never seen this man at Trevanion, however, neither did he belong to the class who had visited the house. It is true he spoke the Cornish dialect, but at times he let words drop which showed he knew something of learning. He had an air of authority with him, too, which suggested that he lived on terms of equality with men of position. At least this was what I thought.

He paid no attention to me, save to give me one glance, and when he had finished his story said he must move on.

"Stay till even', Uncle Anthony," said the innkeeper, "do 'ee now. A passel of people will be comin'."

"No," replied Uncle Anthony, "I have promised to be twelve miles away by to-night, so I mus' be goin'."

A number of coins were thrown to the droll, and then shouldering his harp he left the inn.

"'Ee's a cure es Uncle Anthony," said the innkeeper, turning to me; "'ee es for sure, sur."

"He ed'n for sure, sur. I've 'eerd that Uncle do come of a rich family, but law, you ca'ant git nothin' from un. Everybody es glad to zee un. He's a clain off zinger, and can play butiful, 'ee can. Which way ded you cum then, sur, makin' sa bould."

"Aw, I thot you wos a bit of a furriner. I cud zee you ded'n belong to thaise paarts. Goin' fur, sur?"

"Probably to Bodmin town," I replied, for I did not feel like taking the talkative innkeeper into my confidence.

"Aw, Uncle Anthony es well knawed in thais paarts, 'ee es for sure. And 'ee d' knaw a lot too. Wot Uncle doan knaw ed'n much use to nobody."

I stayed at the inn till late in the afternoon, during which time I plied the innkeeper with many questions, but I learnt nothing about the Killigrews more than I had hitherto discovered; then I mounted Chestnut and rode towards Endellion, in which parish the maid Nancy Molesworth lived.

I could not help noticing what a pretty spot Wadebridge was as I rode over the bridge, after which the town was called. The tide was high, and several good-sized vessels lay at the riverside. But I had naught to do with them, so stopping only to take a glance at the river as it broadened out towards Padstow, and again in the other direction as its waters lapped the banks near the little village of Egloshayle, I rode on towards St. Minver.

It must be remembered that it was the twenty-sixth day of March, and so daylight began to fade soon after six o'clock, and as I wanted to reach the home of the Killigrews before dark, I rode rapidly. I puzzled my brains sorely to know by what pretext I could enter the house, also under what name I should present myself. I dared not tell them that I was a Trevanion, for my people were well known. We were well known to the Killigrews who had lived at Pendennis Castle, also to those who possessed a place a few miles from Truro. Moreover, all the Trevanions were stout Protestants, and as Colman Killigrew and his sons were rank Papists, I dared not appear to them under this guise. My pride rebelled against assuming a false name and professing a false religion, but I had promised Peter Trevisa, and as in those days I was not over-particular about such matters I vowed to let nothing stand in the way of my seeing the business through.

My purpose was to stay at Endellion several days, else how could I accomplish my mission? In order to do this I must in some way establish some claim upon the owner thereof. There would be no difficulty in staying one night, or even two, for the laws of Cornish hospitality made this easy. No house of importance would close its doors to a traveller, be he rich or poor. I determined, therefore, to pretend that I was a member of an obscure branch of the Penryn family, who were well known to be Catholics; that I was the owner of a small Barton, and that I was anxious to see a Catholic king on the throne of England. That I had heard rumours of the probability of the grandson of King James coming to England, and that could a leader be found I might render assistance to the Catholic cause.

Beyond this I decided upon nothing. If questions were asked me, I must trust to my wits. I determined to keep a cool head and open eyes. If the worst came to the worst I could fight with the best, indeed I rather hoped for difficult work.

Presently I saw the tower of Endellion Church. It was on a little hillside, while all around the country was bare, as far as trees were concerned. I rode towards the little village, and seeing a strapping maid, I stopped and spoke to her.

"This is the Church Town, this is. Endellion es dree miles from we, right over ginst the say."

The maid stared at me as though she were afraid, then she said almost fearfully.

"Then doan't 'ee go, sur. They'll kill 'ee, sur. They be terble, sur. They taake no noatice of the passon, nor the bible, sur."

I saw that the maid was in earnest. No one was near, for I had not entered the village, so I dismounted and stood by her side.

"You seem a good maid," I said, "and I believe you would not tell a lie. What know you of these Killigrews?"

"I'm feared to tell 'ee, sur. Nearly everybody es feared to go there. The 'ouse es full ov rubbers. Say rubbers, and land rubbers. People miles round 'ave bin rubbed, and murdered, and people do zay tes they. But we ca'ant tell. And everybody es feared to tackle 'em. They be fighters, terble fighters. Some ov 'em do ride ere zumtimes like maazed people. Doan't 'ee go 'mong 'em, sur, doan't 'ee now.

"Then taake care ov yezelf, sur. You be very big and strong, sur; and do car a sword. But doan't 'ee vex 'em."

I gave the maid a crown piece and a kiss, whereupon she blushed finely, but curtsied like one well reared, as I believe she was.

"Whan you git to the crossways, sur, turn to the right. The left road do laid to Rosecarrick. Do 'ee be careful, sur, an' doan't 'ee vex 'em."

I laughed as I mounted my horse. "I'll remember," I said; "what is your name, my maid?"

"Evidently Jennifer Lanteglos is afraid of the Killigrews," I thought as I rode away. It was now becoming dusk, but I felt sure I could easily cover the three miles before dark. I had not gone a mile, when I saw a man tramping along the lane. I stopped as I overtook him. I saw that he was the droll I had seen at Molesworth Arms at Wadebridge.

"Uncle Anthony," I said, using the term I had heard the innkeeper use, for the term "uncle" is one of respect towards elderly people, "go you my way?"

"What a question," retorted the old man. "How do I know ef you doan't tell me where you be goin'?"

"Yes," I replied, "the Killigrews are of an old Cornish family, they will give shelter to a traveller."

He eyed me keenly. "A traveller! Ugh! a purty traveller. But doan't 'ee be sa sure of gittin' into Endellion!"

"I—I?" he retorted sharply. "I go everywhere. Nobody'll zay no to ould Ant'ny. I zing, an' tell taales, an' shaw 'em wizard's tricks, I do."

"I zeed 'ee at Wadebridge," he said. "You come from a long way off, you do. Wa's yer name, young squire?"

"Penryn, Penryn," he repeated the name slowly, and looked at me again. "Iss, we'll be fellow-travellers. I'll take 'ee to Endellion."

I did not understand his behaviour, but I determined to make the best use of him that I could. The innkeeper at Wadebridge had told me that every house was open to Uncle Anthony, for in country places where entertainment was scarce he was regarded as a godsend.

"You look tired, Uncle," I said; "get on my horse, and ride the remaining distance."

He did not speak, but when I had dismounted he prepared to climb on to Chestnut.

"It's a long time since I was on the back of a 'oss like this," he remarked when he was seated.

"And you would not remain long on," I replied, "if I was not here to keep Chestnut in order."

He opened his mouth as if to contradict me sharply, but seeming to think better of it, simply asked me to hand his harp to him.

"No one carries that harp but me," he replied sharply; "the devil wud git into un, if other hands than mine did hould un."

So I handed him the instrument, more and more puzzled at his manner of speech. I walked slowly by Chestnut's head, who seemed to resent his change of rider, but a word from me kept him quiet, after which no conversation took place till I saw a large stone gateway.

I had hardly opened the gate when I heard a tramping of feet and a hurried sound of voices near. Immediately a rough hand was laid on my arm, and I saw that we were surrounded by several men. It was now nearly dark, and I could not well distinguish who had attacked us. Bidding Chestnut be still I freed myself in a moment, and drew my sword.

"No," cried Uncle Anthony. "Doan't 'ee knaw me, Clement Killigrew; doan't 'ee knaw Uncle Anthony, Benet, Colman?"

"Down," cried a strong deep voice. "Uncle Anthony on horseback! What means this?"

"A supper and bed for thee, and welcome, Uncle Anthony," was the reply, "but for this jackanapes,—no, we keep no open house for such."

"Jackanapes yourself," I cried hotly, for I could ill brook such words. "You carry swords, come on then one at a time, and we will see who is a jackanapes."

"I thought I did at first. I was told that this is the entrance to Colman Killigrew's house, and I thought you might be Killigrews. But they be gentlemen, and know decent ways, so I judge you cannot be they."

A general laugh followed this sally, and then one of them spoke in low tones to Uncle Anthony.

"We have been mistaken," said one presently. "If you bear the name of Penryn, come to Endellion, and welcome. We may know your business later on. But we live a rough life here, and make not friends easily."

"And we be Killigrews, Roger Penryn, for such is the name Uncle Anthony says you have given," was the reply. "We mistook our man, that is all, and beg to tender our apologies for discourteous treatment. We think all the better of you for drawing your sword. But put it up, man, we will conduct you to Endellion. At the same time you must confess that it is not oft that a gentleman dismounts and lets a wandering tale-teller sit on his horse."

"The old man was tired, and——" I did not finish the sentence, for I had become cool again, and I knew I had a difficult game to play, if I would get the better of these wild fellows.

I could not see their faces, but I saw they were strong, well-built men. They carried themselves well, too, and did not slouch along as country squires often do.

Presently I heard the roar of the sea, and soon after saw the dim outline of a large castellated building. Here and there lights twinkled, but altogether it was as gloomy a place as one could well conceive.

"We give you a welcome at Endellion," said one of the Killigrews who had not hitherto spoken. "We be a rough branch of the old family tree, but the same blood flows through our veins."

"Take this horse, and see that it is well curry-combed and foddered," was the command.

A minute later, I with the others entered the old house from which, if I accomplished my purpose, I was to take the maid called Nancy Molesworth. My blood tingled at the thought of wild adventure; all the same, as I saw these sturdy men by my side, I very much doubted the outcome of the business.

CHAPTER V. MY FIRST NIGHT AT ENDELLION.

I had barely time to take note of the house on entering. In the dim light I could just see the grim gray walls on the outside and the great hall within. But nothing appeared to me with distinctness. The strident voices of the Killigrews had the effect of making me keep my hand on the hilt of my sword. I remember, too, that my heart beat faster than its wont, while both my eyes and ears seemed preternaturally sharp. Nowhere was a woman to be seen, and although I was no lover of women, especially of those who belong to that class with which my people mated, I felt that a house filled with rough men was no desirable residence for a gentlewoman.

Presently I was ushered into the dining-hall, a huge oak-paneled room. At the head of the table sat an old man. He had long white hair and beard, and beneath his rugged forehead, and overshadowed by bristling eyebrows, gleamed a pair of piercing black eyes. He arose as I entered, and I saw that he was well on towards seventy. "A warm welcome, Roger Penryn," he said. "From what I hear my sons played a rough game at the gates yonder. I am sorry for this. The truth is, they thought that the Hanson varlets were playing them a trick. But enough of that. A man of your stamp bears no ill-will because of a mistake."

He kept his eyes on me all the time he spoke as if he would read my very soul, and I winced at the thought that I appeared under an assumed name, for I hate fighting an under-handed battle. At the same time I was sure that had I appeared as a Trevanion, I should have been ill-received.

"It is but little wonder in these rough times, that suspicion is aroused," I said. "There are many rumours of treason afloat in my part of the country. Indeed, Hugh Boscawen is reported to be raising an army to put down a rebellion there at this time."

"Nay, a Penryn strikes not a blow for the House of Hanover, when the real King of England is perhaps eating his heart away in France, yonder."

"Ah, say you so?" he cried eagerly. He seemed to be about to say more, but checked himself. "We will not talk of these things now," he said; "perchance when you have been here a few hours we can discuss such matters. Besides, here come my sons. You are a strapping fellow, Roger Penryn, but methinks my Benet is taller."

A servant entered bearing a huge haunch of beef, another followed bearing other things, and then all being ready we fell to right heartily.

Old Colman Killigrew talked pleasantly with me as we ate, and when the meal was over he pressed wine upon me. But I had passed the age of hot-blooded boyhood, and, knowing the work I had to do, drank cautiously, for a man filled with wine has a loose tongue and an unwary head.

"Hath old Uncle Anthony supped?" asked Colman Killigrew presently. "Let him come in when he is ready."

I was glad to have the old man say this, for I was becoming weary of the talk of the young Killigrews. They drank freely, and grew heedless as to the language they used. For, careless as I was in those days, I loved not to hear men speak of maidens as though they were brute beasts. I have also discovered that men, when they live away from the society of women altogether, grow churlish. I had seen this in my own life, although I had not fallen so low as these men of Endellion.

One among these sons, however, was different from the rest. He was neither tall nor handsome like his brothers. I discovered that he was called Otho, after an ancient member of the race, and seemed to be regarded as the wise-man of the family. He had more learning too than the others, and spoke with more taste. He was not pleasant to look upon; he had a short bull-neck, and there was a round upon his back which almost approached a hump. I saw, however, that his hands were large and his wrists thick. Moreover, his legs, while ill-shaped, were thickset and evidently powerful. He did not drink freely like the others, nor did he talk much, but he watched me closely.

When Uncle Anthony entered, I noticed that he was regarded with great respect. He had evidently visited the house often, and knew the ways of the inmates. He had a seat of honour beside old Colman Killigrew too, and they conversed together in low tones, while the sons plied me with questions about my life in the South.

Presently a number of the serving people came in, and with them three women-folk. They were ill-favoured, however, not like the kitchen maiden I had kept at Trevanion. Two out of the three were past mid-age, too, while the third was a large-limbed wench, angular and awkward, but evidently as strong as a man. So far, not a sign of Nancy Molesworth was visible.

"Shall it be a little zong or a little stoary first, then?" asked Uncle Anthony in broad Cornish.

"A song first, then a story, and then a galloping song and dance to finish up with," replied Otho.

Uncle Anthony swept his eyes quickly around the room; then, standing up, he, bowed towards Colman Killigrew.

"I drink the 'ealth of the 'ouse," he said, bending towards the owner of Endellion. "The Killigrews 'ave been called 'A grove ov aigels' (eagles); they 'ave flied 'igh; they 'ave stood avore kings, they 'ave. Ther've bin wisht times laately, but a better day es comin'. The raace 'ave allays bin great fer lovin' and drinkin' and fightin', and their sun es risin' again. I can zee et."

"May it come quickly!" cried Benet, a giant of a fellow. "There are no women to love around here—they are afraid of us; but drinking is always good; as for fighting, I long for the clash of steel."

All the brothers echoed this, save Otho; he looked steadily into the huge fireplace, and spoke not. From that moment I felt sure that he was the one selected to wed Nancy Molesworth.

Uncle Anthony touched his harp-strings and began to sing a plaintive song. I had heard it often before; but he sung with more feeling than did the drolls who had visited Trevanion. It was moreover peculiar to Cornwall, and, interspersed as it was by Uncle Anthony's explanations, caused even the hard-featured serving-women of Endellion to wipe their eyes. I will write it down here, for the song is being forgotten, while the fashion of receiving wandering story-tellers is fast dying out. This is how he sung it:

"Cowld blaws the wind to-day, sweet'art,

Cowld be the draps ov raain;

The fust trew-luv that ever I 'ad,

In the greenwud 'ee wos slain.

"'Twas daown in the gaarden-green, sweet'art,

Where you and I did waalk;

The purtiest vlower that in the gaarden growed

Es rinkled (withered) to a staalk.

"The staalk will graw no laives, sweet'art,

The vlowers will ne'er return:

And now my oan love es dead and gone,

Wot can I do but mourn?"

"The pore maid did zing this," explained Uncle Anthony. "She was in a wisht way, for maidens be vit fer nothin' 'cipt they've got a man by 'em. The man es the tree, an' the maid es an ivy-laif, and tha's oal 'bout it. But you do knaw, my deears, that when a man 'ave bin dead one year, 'ee do allays cum back. Tha's religion, ed'n et then? Zo—

"A twelvemonth an' a day bein' gone,

The sperrit rised and spok:

"'My body es clay cowld, sweet'art,

My breath smells 'evvy an' strong;

And ef you kiss my cowld white lips,

Your time will not be long.'

"Ah, but thicky maid wos a true maid. She cudden rest till she 'ad kissed the booy she loved; and w'en she'd kissed 'im once, she loved him more and more. Zo she cried:

"Oa, wawn mooar kiss from yer dear cowld lips,

One kiss is oal I craave;

Oa, wawn mooar kiss from yer dear cowld lips,

An' return back to yer graave."

After this, Uncle Anthony sung in a low, wailing tone a stormy kind of duet between the maid and what he called her "booy's sperrit," who tried to make her accompany him to the world of shadows, and after much weeping, she departed with her lover.

"And zo et es, my deears," remarked Uncle Anthony, "that trew luv is stronger'n death."

"That's a wisht zong, sure enough, Uncle Anthony," remarked one of the women, who at such times were allowed especial liberty. "Strick up summin' purty and sweet and lively." Whereupon he sung a song about a sailor who courted a rich nobleman's daughter "worth five hundred thousan' in gould." This pleased them much, after which he started to tell a story. At first he did not interest me, for my mind was filled with many things; but presently I saw that his tale was original. He brought in our meeting in the Molesworth Arms at Wadebridge, and insinuated many surmises concerning me. He took a long time to tell the story, for he weaved in a love episode, a duel, the appearance of a ghost and a wizard, besides many droll sayings peculiar to the county; but through it all I could see that he aimed at me, and gave hints that he suspected I had other motives in coming to Endellion than those which I had revealed. He described me as an unknown cavalier who wore a mask; he also spoke of a wise man whose eyes pierced the mask. It is true he dated the story in the far back past; all the same, I could not help seeing his meaning. I doubt whether any of the listeners other than myself saw his drift—but I felt sure that he had suspicions concerning me. Whether his feelings were friendly or no, I could not gather; neither could I understand his motive in so turning the story. The tale was well liked, however, for the old man weaved it well. He ended it by telling us that the maid wedded the man she loved, and that when she was on her way to church, she trod on flowers strewn by angel hands, while angel voices sung songs of hope and gladness to her.

"And what became of the masked cavalier?" asked Otho Killigrew when he had finished.

"I'll tell 'ee that next time I come this way," replied Uncle Anthony. "That's a paart of another stoary."

"The wise man, Maaster Roger Penryn—for tha's the naame you towld me to call 'ee—es livin' still. A trewly wise man don' never die. 'Ee do live top 'igh plaaces, my deear. A wise man do mount a 'igh rock, and rest in paice. Around 'im es the wild, treacherous waaste, but up there 'ee's saafe. 'Appy be they who in trouble seek the shelter of the wise man's 'igh plaace. 'Tes the shadda of a great rock in a weary land."

I pondered much about the old man's tale, and made up my mind that, if I could, I would speak with him alone. I decided that he was not what he seemed; but how I could converse with him again was not easy to discover, for he expressed a desire to retire, and Otho Killigrew continued to watch me closely.

Before I was in any way able to decide what to do, I knew by the baying of the hounds outside and the sounds at the door that some visitor was approaching. At a look from Colman Killigrew, all the serving-people left the room. Uncle Anthony also went out with them, saying that he would retire to rest.

The newcomer turned out to be one John Polperro, a fair-spoken young fellow of about five-and-twenty. I saw at a glance that he was a gentleman, although of no great force of character. He was dressed in accordance with the latest foppery of the times, and was, I thought, mighty careful about his attire. His face was somewhat weak, but there was no vice, no meanness in it. I presently discovered, too, that on occasion he could speak boldly.

Colman Killigrew's welcome was by no means warm, while each of the sons looked at him distrustfully, almost savagely. But he did not seem to heed their evident dislike.

"He is a friend who honours us by staying with us. He is of the same religion and hath the same interests."

I winced at this, and rose to leave, but Colman Killigrew, by a gesture, bid me remain.

"I have no affairs with you that may not be discussed by all here," was the cool response.

I wondered at this, for I could not fathom the old man's design. Perhaps he thought that by treating me as one of his family, even though I was a stranger, he would cause me to be more obedient to his wishes in the future. I listened eagerly, however, for I remembered why I was there.

"Be it so, then," replied Polperro with a touch of anger in his voice. "You know, then, that I have met Mistress Nancy Molesworth?"

Colman Killigrew betrayed no emotion whatever, but the sons made a movement expressive of scorn and derision.

Polperro saw this, and the colour began to mount to his cheeks. I could see, too, that he had difficulty in refraining from angry words; but he mastered himself.

"You know that a messenger was sent to you. He bore a letter containing an offer of marriage. This you received and read."

"This you received and read," repeated John Polperro, "but I cannot think you fairly understood the purport of the letter, otherwise you would have sent back a different answer."

"But curt and uncivil. It was not such an answer as one gentleman may send to another."

"That is why I cannot think you understood. My family is at least as old as your own."

"On the father's side, perchance—but on the mother's?—Bah! we will not speak of it."

Young John Polperro's hand played nervously with the hilt of his sword; but still he kept his temper under control.

"I am come with my father's consent and approval," he continued; "I am come in person to offer my name and fortune—a name as good as your own, a fortune more than equal to that of the Killigrews."

"Then I have another proposition to make," he continued, but this time his voice took a loftier tone. "I am here to offer Mistress Nancy Molesworth the protection of my father's house. I am here to offer her safety and honour!"

The old man started to his feet. He had been pricked on the quick at last. "What mean you, sir?" he cried.

"It is well known that ever since she came from the convent, she has been afraid to live here!" cried Polperro. "That your sons pay her attention which she hates; that she loathes the thought of living where modesty, virtue, and honour are all outraged!"

I think he was sorry he had uttered these words as soon as they had passed his lips.

All the Killigrews looked as though they would have liked to have struck him dead. On my part, however, I had a feeling of admiration. Courage is always good, even although it be shown at the wrong time. Nothing was said or done, however. They remembered that the man stood in their own house.

"The maid has had but one occasion to speak of her woes to any one," continued Polperro. "You allowed her to visit Mistress Arundell, where she met with a friend she had known at the convent school. There, as you know, it was my good fortune to meet her."

I felt he was a fool. Why could he not have spoken more guardedly? If he wanted to do Mistress Nancy an injury, he could not have accomplished his purpose better. I saw, too, that old Colman Killigrew ground his teeth with rage, and I heard him mutter something about his being mad to let the girl go a-gadding about at people's houses. For a moment I thought he would have answered Polperro angrily; but such was not his plan.

"You stand in my own hall, or it might go hard with you," he said presently. "But enough. You spoke in hot blood, just as a lovesick fool may. Let me also say this, although you deserve not this explanation: Mistress Nancy Molesworth is betrothed to my eldest son Otho according to her father's wish. Therefore her honour is safe, and she will be wedded to one of her own degree."

"A maid's will is like the wind in April," replied the old man, "and is no more to be relied on. But I tell you this, she shall be guarded safely."

"Kept in prison!" retorted Polperro; "and these," looking with scorn on the young men, "will be her gaolers."

He turned to leave the room, but did not flinch at the angry looks bestowed upon him. Benet Killigrew turned to follow him, but he was stopped by his father's word.

"He stands in my own hall, Benet, and must be treated as a guest," he said. "The time may come when the laws of courtesy may not hinder you from giving him the chastisement he deserves."

"That time cannot come too soon for me!" cried John Polperro. "Meanwhile, do not think Mistress Nancy Molesworth is without friends. And besides that, it might be profitable for you to remember——" he did not finish the sentence. Perchance he felt that silence were wise.

"I did not think you would witness such a scene, Roger Penryn," said the old man when he had gone, "for in truth I did not believe the lad had so much spirit."

"He spoke stoutly," I responded, not daring to ask the questions which hung on my lips. "He sadly lacked wisdom, however, and will land himself in trouble if he be not careful."

"I had many things to say to you to-night," remarked old Colman Killigrew, "but they must stand over. I am not as young as I was, and young Polperro's words have ill prepared me to speak on matters which lie near my heart, and I trust to yours also. But the opportunity will come to-morrow."

I bent my head gravely. I was glad he had put off his questionings, for, truth to tell, I dreaded the man. I instinctively felt his eyes probing me. I knew he had been making plans all through the evening to find out who I was, and why I had come northward.

"I will retire to rest," he said; "perchance you, too, will be glad to get to your room?"

"I will go with him," said Otho Killigrew; "it is easy for a stranger to lose his way in this house."

So I said good-night to his brothers, who pressed me to stay among them and drink another bottle of wine, and walked up a broad stairway with Otho by my side.

On reaching the top of the stairway I saw a man walking to and fro; but he seemed to pay no heed to us as we passed by him.

He gave me a searching glance, but spoke no word more until we reached my bedroom door.

"I am afraid you have had a rough welcome," he said; "but we have the name for a rough people. All the same, we are faithful to our friends."

"The Killigrews never yet turned their backs upon those who merited their friendship," concluded Otho; "but they never forgive those who betray their trust. Never!"

"Sleep soundly, Roger Penryn," he said as he bade me good-night. "The Tower of London is not more safely guarded than Endellion."

"It is good of you to tell me," I replied; "but a good sword and a ready hand are all I have needed in the past."

To this he did not reply, and I heard his steps echo along the corridor. He walked slowly, like a man deep in thought. Did he suspect anything, or did my mission make me suspicious?

The room into which I was ushered was plain and bare. The walls were whitewashed, the floor almost wholly uncovered. I sat for a long while on the bed in deep thought, and my musings were not pleasant. I almost regretted having undertaken to do Peter Trevisa's bidding. Not because of the danger. Nay, that was almost the only redeeming feature in the business. And yet I tried to persuade myself that my mission was good. Were not these Killigrews lawless men? Should I not be rendering signal service to the maid Nancy Molesworth by taking her away from a place which, according to Polperro, she loathed? And still I was not satisfied.

Presently I thought I heard a rustling outside. Instantly I went to the door and opened it softly. The corridor was but dimly lighted, but I saw the retreating form of a woman. She did not look a well-bred dame; at the same time she was different from the serving-women I had seen in the hall. I started to follow her; but before I had taken two steps, she turned, and I saw her face. Dim as was the light, her features seemed familiar. Evidently she was a superior kind of serving-maid. In a moment, however, she vanished.

"Ah," I thought, "there is some stairway yonder!" I looked cautiously around before starting to seek it, then stopped. I heard the clank of steel. I saw the man I had passed with Otho Killigrew, still pacing the corridor.

Noiselessly I slid back to my room. The man had not seen me. My stockinged foot touched a piece of paper, which was carefully folded.

Close to my bed the candles flickered in the socket; so, after carefully bolting my door, I made my way towards them. On unfolding the paper I saw one word only. The word was

CHAPTER VI. THE USES OF A SERVING-MAID.

A few minutes later I was in total darkness. But I did not sleep. My mind was much occupied by what I had seen and heard. I tried to understand the purport thereof, as seemed necessary at such a time. Several facts were plain. Foremost in point of interest was that the maid Mistress Nancy Molesworth was in the house. I fell to thinking about her, and wondered much as to what she was like. From what I gathered, too, she was not indisposed to receive the attention of John Polperro, who had that night asked for her hand in marriage. But that did not trouble me. What should I care whom she married? It was for me to take her to Treviscoe, and thus be freed from my difficulties. The maid's love was nothing to me. That was doubtless as changeable as the wind. I remembered, too, that she was betrothed to Otho Killigrew. Then there were three who wanted her. I laughed as I thought of it. I imagined, however, that Restormel lands had far more to do with the desire to get her than had her beauty or her goodness. The Killigrews, however, for the present possessed her; but they did not reckon upon me. She was well guarded, and perchance the sentinel in the corridor was especially appointed as her watchman. The wench I had seen was perhaps Mistress Nancy Molesworth's serving-woman. But what did that piece of paper mean? What was the purport of the word written thereon? Roche—I would bear it in mind. When morning came I would again examine the thing. Perhaps it would reveal more to me in the light of day.

By and by I fell asleep without having formed any plan of action. But when morning came, my mind was clear and my hand steady.

The window of my room faced the open country. Beneath me was a courtyard, perhaps twenty feet down. There were also rooms above—how high, I could not tell. As I opened the window the clear spring air entered the room, likewise the sound of the sea. I discovered afterwards that, like several others on this northern coast, the house was built close to the cliff; but I could see nothing of it at the time. The sound of the waves was pleasant to me, however, as was the smell of the morning air, and I felt like singing for the very joy of youth, and health, and strength. On remembering my mission, however, I became more thoughtful; and, hastily dressing myself, I found my way towards the dining-hall.

On walking along the corridor, no guard appeared. Evidently his work was regarded as done; but all around me was the hum of voices. There were doubtless eyes and ears around me of which I knew nothing.

Otho Killigrew was coming in from the outside as I came into the entrance hall. He greeted me cordially, although I thought his face looked anxious.

"The morning air was so sweet that I wanted to drink it to the full," I answered, moving towards the door.

"I will go out with you," said Otho. "Endellion is a quaint old place. Men build not houses so now."

We stood outside, and I looked on the grim gray building. Young Peter Trevisa had described it rightly. An old castle still stood. It was mostly a ruin, but well preserved. The house in which I had slept had been modeled somewhat on the lines of the place which had been reared in the far back past.

"It was built in the old feudal days," remarked Otho, nodding towards the ruin. "The Killigrews are an ancient race."

"The Rosecarricks have, and the Killigrews were mixed with them many generations ago. Perhaps that is why the newer part of the house was modeled on the old. I am glad the ruins stand so well. I have discovered many a secret place. I love things old, too."

"Yes, I was not thinking of them then,—but do. I love the feudal system. It is the only way a people can be knitted to a crown."

"No; we are the only branch of the family who do not pay homage to the new order of things. You are a Catholic, so I can speak freely. We long for a Catholic king to reign. We keep up the feudal system somewhat, too. Our tenants are bound to us; so much so, that we could raise many men to help in a cause we espoused."

"Yes; there be several of a similar nature—Rosecarrick, Trevose, Polwhele, and others. It was thought necessary in the old times."

He accompanied me around the building, talking in his careful measured way all the time, while I examined, as well as I was able, the particular features of the place. We had barely compassed the house when a great clanging bell rang.

On entering the dining-hall we found breakfast prepared; but old Colman Killigrew did not appear. Benet Killigrew met me, and examined me as though he were calculating my strength. I could have sworn that he would have liked to have challenged me to wrestle.

Presently Otho, who had left me, came back, telling me that his father was too unwell to meet me at breakfast, but hoped to be well enough to leave his bed-chamber when evening came; in the mean while, he could trust his sons to assure me of his welcome.

Why, I knew not, but I felt somewhat disturbed at this; but simply expressing my sorrow at his ill health, we sat down to breakfast. What happened during the day was of little moment, only when night came I reflected that never for a minute had I been left alone. Either one or other of the Killigrews had been with me. It might only be a happening, or it might be they had received orders not to allow me out of their sight. Moreover, only one thing of interest had been mentioned, and that appeared of no consequence. It was simply that old Anthony, the droll, had left early. I should have thought nothing of this, only I had made sure that he wanted to speak to me, and had moreover determined to ask him the meaning of the story he had told.

Just before the evening meal I had a few minutes to myself, and was able to reflect calmly on my position. If, as I suspected, the Killigrews had determined to watch me, I must take bold steps at once in order to accomplish my work. In this surmise I was right, as will appear presently. But how to commence, was my difficulty. It was plain that Mistress Nancy was closely watched; and as I had no thought as to what part of the house she was kept, and as she knew naught of me, there appeared no way by which I could speak to her. Besides, even if such chance did occur, how could I approach her? To say the least, I was an impostor, acting a lie in order to maintain my right to Trevanion. That was the thought which galled me. For the rest, I cared nothing; but I did wince at the thought of a Trevanion being afraid to tell his name.

I had almost decided to leave the house at once, and then think of another way to accomplish my work, when I heard the rustle of a woman's dress outside the door. In a second I was in the corridor, and saw the same serving-maid I had seen the previous night. I slipped back into my chamber again immediately, for coming towards her I saw Otho Killigrew.

"She's fine and wisht," replied the girl. "She do set and mope oall day long. She've bin worse to-day."

"Tell her I'll go to Rosecarrick this night and bring some for her. I'll take them to her."

"She waan't see 'ee, Maaster Otho," replied the girl earnestly; "but p'r'aps it would soffen 'er ef you wos to git 'er somethin' to raid. And, Maaster Otho."

"I wish you would laive me go ovver to Church Town to-night. I waant to see Jennifer, my sister."

Instantly I made up my mind that I would speak to Amelia that night. I felt sure that the maid was sister to Jennifer Lanteglos, whom I had seen the previous night. She was going to Endellion village after supper, while Otho Killigrew was going to Rosecarrick to get some books for Mistress Nancy Molesworth. I must frame some sort of reason for absenting myself early from the supper-table.

I do not think I should have accomplished this had not fortune favoured me. Old Colman Killigrew sent word to say that he was not well enough to sup with us, but would I come and speak with him after the meal was over? My mind was made up.

Otho was silent during supper, but the other brothers talked loudly. I joined in their conversation, and made myself jovial. Presently Otho left without a word of explanation to any one; and no sooner had he gone than I told the brothers of their father's wish that I should visit him. They laughed at me, saying I was but a child at drinking; but I had my way. As chance would have it, no sooner had I reached the great door than I saw Amelia walking along a passage towards a small doorway I had seen through the day. A few seconds later, I stood outside the house, while the girl walked a few yards ahead of me. She did not go along the main road, but down a narrow pathway. When I thought we were a sufficient distance from the house, I spoke to her. It was a risk to try and talk with her, doubtless, but nothing could be done without risk.

"No, Maaster Benet," she said, "you mustn't go wi' me. I shell screech murder ef you do." I knew by her voice that she both feared and hated Benet Killigrew.

In a few minutes I had won the girl's confidence. There are several ways of making a serving-maid pliable. One is to appeal for her help, another to make love to her, another to bribe her, another to flatter her. I did the last. I told her I had heard what a faithful servant she was, how much she was trusted in the house, and what a fine-looking maid she was. This had to be done by degrees.

"You have a very responsible position, Amelia," I said at length; "and it is well for your mistress that you love her. She needs your love, too. What she would do without you, I do not know."

"I wouldn't stay in the plaace but for Mistress Nancy," she sobbed at length. "I caan't tell 'ee oall, sur. There be two of 'em that do want 'er, but she do 'aate 'em oall."

"And she loves young John Polperro," I said. "He's the one that ought to marry her."

"Never mind, I do know," I replied; "but say no word to any of them, or it will be worse for your mistress."

"I cannot tell you now. In fact, I can tell only her. Could you not arrange that I could see her?"

"No, sur. She is always watched. She caan't laive her rooms without owld maaster knowin'."

The maid told me. It was in the same wing as that in which my own bed-chamber was situated, but the floor above. The door which opened to it was also watched.

"Sam Daddo and Tom Juliff, sur. They'll do nothin' but what the owld maaster do tell 'em."

I tried to devise a means whereby I could see her, but none were feasible. Force could not be used until flight was arranged, and that was not done. Indeed, I had not seen the maid yet.

"She cannot go out except one of they Killigrews go weth 'er, and so she doan't go at all. The last time she was out, Master Otho went wi' 'er. She waan't go no more now."

"I doan't knaw, I've only bin there a vew months. I wudden stay now but for Mistress Nancy."

"But I can trust you, Amelia?"—and then I satisfied myself that she would be secret. "Tell her," I continued presently, "that if she values her liberty or her honour, if she cares for John Polperro, to be on the leads to-night at midnight. If I do not get there it will be because I cannot."

With that I left the girl, and hurried back to the house. I entered the side door without notice, and then made up the broad stairway towards the room in which I had been told old Colman Killigrew slept.

"Will you tell your master that Master Roger Penryn waits to see him?" I said to the man who paced the corridor. I gave my false name without wincing this time, for my blood was tingling with excitement. The thought of seeing Mistress Nancy Molesworth, together with wondering what the outcome would be, made me eager for action.

A few moments later I entered the old man's room, prepared to answer any question he might put. He eyed me keenly as I entered, but spoke scarce a word for several minutes. Little by little, however, he got to talking about King George, and the feeling in the country concerning him.

"You say Hugh Boscawen is busy raising an army?" he queried presently. "Do volunteers come quickly?"

"But tardily," I replied. "Cornish folks love not the thought of a German wearing the crown and spending our money. Moreover, the Catholic feeling is strong."

"It is fully believed that Master John Wesley is a good Catholic and that he is labouring in the interest of the Catholic Church, having authority from the Pope; and everywhere he is gaining followers, everywhere people be forsaking the parish churches."

"It is rumoured that young Charles is planning to get to England even now," I continued. "If he but leads an army, the people will, if they have encouragement and a leader, flock to his standard."

"I have simply spoken with the people. I am but poor. I am the only representative of a small branch of my family. What the cause needs is an old and well-known name. We want a man who can place himself at the head of five hundred good swords—one who can gain the confidence of the country."

After this he asked me many questions about the Penryns, which I answered readily, for I knew them intimately.

"You heard of me; and hearing that young Charles was coming to claim his own, you thought——"

"What force could you raise in your part of the country, if the need for men should arise?"

"It is well you came, Roger Penryn," he said, after he had asked me many questions. "The rumour you have heard concerning young Charles is true. He will land in Scotland; and there is no doubt that the Highlanders will flock to his standard. He will then march southwards, and there is but little doubt but he will have a great following. There will be much opposition too, for many people comprehend not the glories of the Catholic faith. He will need every good sword he can command; hence the need for the faithful to be ready."

"We will work quietly," continued old Colman Killigrew. "While Hugh Boscawen is publicly gathering his men, you and others will have to work in the dark. But no time must be lost. Now that we understand each other, you must begin at once to gather the defenders of the faith and be ready for action. Not that we would be discourteous," he added quickly; "you must stay with me at least another day."

"It is well," I replied; "you are well situated here. This should be a stronghold in time of trouble."

After this I asked him many questions about the castle, and what secret rooms there were. I asked him, too, the means by which the roof could be reached in order to make use of the battlements; but concerning this he would tell me nothing. Indeed, as I afterwards reflected, he had told me little but what was common rumour.

I did not join the younger Killigrews that night. I wanted to be alone to think, and to devise means whereby I could reach the roof at midnight, and so talk with Mistress Nancy Molesworth. I therefore got back to my bed-chamber with all speed, and spent some time in musing quietly.

I examined the situation of the chamber with much care. Underneath me, as I have said, was a courtyard, but to the left were the ruined walls of the old castle. If I could reach them I might find means of climbing to the top of the newer portion of the house; but it seemed impossible. I knew that a sentinel guarded the passage, otherwise I would have made my way up the stairway I had seen. I silently opened the door and examined the corridor in the hope that I should see some other means of carrying out my wishes; but the man was wide awake and watchful. All was now quiet. Evidently the family had gone to bed. I thought once of creeping along by the wall, and disabling the man called Sam Daddo who stood there. But that must necessarily mean noise; besides, the time was not ripe for such an action. I could not take away the maid Nancy Molesworth that night, and the man's disablement must lead to many questions on the morrow.

So I crept back into my chamber again. My candle had gone out, but the moon shone almost as bright as day. The window of my room was not large, but I could at a pinch have squeezed my body through. It was divided into two parts, the division being made by a granite upright.

"This is a big chamber," I mused; "surely there should be another window." Then I remembered that I had examined every crevice of the place with the exception of the walls behind the big bed on which I had slept. The window faced the east, but the head of the bed was against the northern wall. I tried to peer behind it, but could see nothing. Then making as little noise as possible, I lifted the thing away. Having done this, I saw an aperture which looked as though it might have been intended for a second window.

"This is well," I thought, pleased at my discovery. "Mistress Nancy Molesworth, I think I shall see you to-night."

For by this time the spirit of adventure fairly possessed me, and, forgetting everything save my purpose to see the maid, I pulled away the boards which had covered the opening. This done, the light shone in, and I soon found that, although the hinges were sadly rusted, they yielded to pressure. A few seconds later my hair was fanned by the breezes outside, and my eyes were eagerly measuring the distance between me and the walls of the old castle upon which I looked.

"It can be easily done," I thought, and without hesitation I put my feet through the opening; and then, placing my arm around the granite upright, I managed to get the whole of my body outside.

My heart gave a leap, for I heard the sound of a deep-toned bell. Was my action discovered? I soon reassured myself. It was only the clock striking twelve. I looked around me for means of ascent, and then I felt I had undertaken a fool's task. Would the maid come on to the roof at the bidding of a stranger? Would she listen to me, even if she did come? But it was not for me to think of that. I had promised to be there, and I would go—if I could.

CHAPTER IV. MY JOURNEY TO ENDELLION.

CHAPTER V. MY FIRST NIGHT AT ENDELLION.

CHAPTER VI. THE USES OF A SERVING-MAID.