All the events which I have just described happened so suddenly that I had been able to think of nothing beyond obtaining my liberty. On reaching the high-road, however, I began to cast about for my course of procedure. Knowing that I should probably be followed, I had to decide quickly, but although I racked my wits sorely, I could settle upon nothing that pleased me. For, foolish as it may seem, no sooner was I away from Endellion, than I wanted to be back again, and now that it seemed impossible for me to keep my bargain with Peter Trevisa, I felt more than ever determined to take the maid Nancy Molesworth to Treviscoe. I found myself constantly pitying her too, and wondering how she would fare among the Killigrews. My first determination to ride towards London I abandoned, and so I rode on dejectedly until I bethought me of a sentence which Benet Killigrew had let drop about a priest coming from Padstow who was to wed Mistress Nancy to Otho. This decided me, and without more ado I touched Chestnut's side with my heels, and rode towards St. Enedock, from which I had heard I should be able to get a ferry-boat to take me across the Camel River to Padstow. Although the road was none of the best, I reached St. Enedock in a little more than an hour; and then I began to look about me to obtain the ferry-boat.
Did I not believe I was hardly pressed for time, I should have stayed at this village for some time, for it was talked about throughout the county. It had been averred that the whole place was often covered with sand, while the church was so much buried that the people often had a difficulty in entering. Indeed report had it that the vicar only conducted a service therein once a year so as to be able to claim his tithes, and in order to do this he had to climb in at one of the windows.
Although it was but two hours past midnight I succeeded in waking the ferryman, who lived in a hut close by the river, and after some argument succeeded in persuading him to take me across. Long before we had reached the little landing-place at Padstow, I found that he was somewhat of a character, and possessed strong religious views.
"I can see you are a staunch Protestant," I said after a good deal of talking on his part.
"Down with Popery I do zay, sur," was his response.
"And yet one of your great families are Papists."
"You do main the Rosecarricks."
"No."
"Who then; the Killigrews?"
"Yes."
"They belong to th' ould Sur Nick, and the young Killigrews be sons of hell," he cried with energy.
"Supposing one of them were to come enquiring of you whether I came across here?" I asked.
He looked at me keenly.
"Be you a Protestant?" he asked.
"Sound," I replied.
"And p'r'aps you doan't want me to know who you be?" he queried slyly.
"You are a clever man," I answered.
"Then they shaan't know," he said with a grin, "onnly you must know, sur, I allays charge double in sich cases."
I laughed, and promised him this, feeling myself in fortune's way.
"Any time, sur, night or day, I'm yer sarvent," he cried when I had paid him his money. "My brother do work the ferry from this side, sur, and 'ee's ov the saame opinions as I be. I'll spaik to un, sur. I'll tell un 'bout ee. You can allays depend on we, sur."
I found Padstow to be an ugly little fishing village, while the inn to which I went provided but poor accommodation, even after I had spent a good half-hour in arousing the landlord. However Chestnut was well stabled and foddered, so I minded but little, especially as I found the innkeeper willing to talk.
I was not long in discovering that only one Papist priest lived at Padstow, and that very few of the people were of his persuasion. Indeed, although the priest lodged with a Papist family in the town, he spent much of his time in visiting the few Catholic families in the neighbourhood. He went often to the Arundells at Lanherne, to the Rosecarricks, and to the Killigrews at Endellion.
"Do the people hate him?" I asked.
"That they doan't," replied the innkeeper; "he's the jolliest ould chap you ever zeed. I tell 'ee, sur, ef oal the priests 'ad a-bin like he, I doan't b'leeve we Cornish people wud 'ave changed our religion years agone."
After learning all I could from him, I went to bed, determined to find the priest next day, and discover his relations with the Killigrews. Although I little expected it, I fell asleep almost immediately, nor did I wake until late the following morning, when the landlord came to my door asking "whether I would 'ave a scrowled salt pilchard, 'am rasher, or conger pie for my breakfast."
As soon as I could I started out to find the priest, but on going to the house at which he stayed I found that he would not be home until night. He had gone to Lanherne the previous day, on urgent business, but had bade the woman prepare for his coming about nine o'clock. This gave me time to look about me, and prepare for his coming.
Much as I disliked appearing in a disguise, I saw that I should defeat my own purposes if I presented myself to the priest as Roger Trevanion. I therefore bought a suit of homely garments but such as a gentleman might wear on holiday occasions. I was also able to purchase a good sword, which done I felt myself ready to meet the priest. It was therefore with much impatience that I waited until nine o'clock, the hour when he was supposed to arrive; then remembering that probably he would want food after his journey I decided to put off my visit until half an hour later. For it is well known that a man is more inclined to be trustful and friendly after a meal than before. It was turned half-past nine, therefore, before I presented myself at his lodgings. I was immediately shown into the room in which he sat.
"What want you of me, my son?" he asked.
"I wish to know when you could perform the marriage rite, father," I asked, noting the friendly and unsuspicious way with which his eyes rested on me.
"Ha," he said kindly, "then you are one of the few faithful ones yet to be found in the country. You look on marriage as a sacrament, and not a mere legal business like the heretics of these parts."
"I trust so, father. When could you wed us?"
"Is the maid here in Padstow?" he asked.
"Nay," I replied. "She is at present with heretics, but she is of the true faith."
"What is her name, my son?"
Then I told him a tale I had been weaving through the day, and which was so plausible that he did not appear to doubt it.
"I could wed you to-morrow," he said at length, for it will be remembered that this took place in 1745, eight years before the famous law passed by Lord Hardwicke, through whose influence it was decreed that banns of marriage must be publicly announced in the parish church in order for the ceremony to be legal.
"I do not think I could bring her here to-morrow," I said cautiously.
"Then I am afraid you will have to wait a few days, my son," he replied.
"Why father?" I asked.
"Because to-morrow night I go to the Killigrews at Endellion, and shall stay there three or four days."
"You know when you will return from Endellion, I suppose?" I asked quietly.
"I shall stay no longer than four days," was his reply; "at the end of that time I must return."
"So if I came to you after that time, all would be well?"
"Yes; but speak not of it, my son, we of the true faith are sorely harried in this country. Cornish people love not the Stuarts, although in some countries their return is longed for. Until the right time comes, we must be cautious."
I knew all I desired now, and should be able to act accordingly. My journey had not been in vain, and before long I left him, my head all a-whirl with many thoughts. I waited not an hour longer at Padstow, and not wishing to cross the river again by means of the ferry, I determined to ride to Wadebridge, and from thence make my way to the village of St. Kew, where I could leave Chestnut, and then go afoot to Endellion, which was only two miles away.
This I did, passing through Wadebridge without any one noticing me, and arriving at St. Kew about five o'clock in the morning. After breakfast I walked to Endellion and looked carefully around me, for I was again in the Killigrews' country. There were but a few houses in the village, and I could easily discover what I wanted to know, if I cared to ask of the cottagers; but this I would not do, for it is well known that people with little to interest them talk much about what any stranger may say. I therefore waited until after eight o'clock, and then to my delight I saw Jennifer Lanteglos leave one of the cottages, and make her way towards the fields near. This was what I desired; so, unseen by her and by the cottagers, I followed. When she had passed through two fields I overtook her and spoke kindly.
"Whither away, Jennifer my fine maid?" I asked.
She gave a start. "Plaise, sur, I be going to teel taetis" (till potatoes), she replied like one in fear.
"You remember me, Jennifer?" I queried, for the girl seemed too frightened to lift her eyes to mine.
"Oa iss, sur. I've 'eerd 'bout 'ee. Do 'ee be careful, sur, do 'ee."
"Hath Amelia been home lately?" I asked.
"Aw iss, laast night, sur."
"Did she tell you aught?"
"Iss, sur. She towld me 'bout you, sur."
"And what thought she about me?"
"She 'ardly knawed what to think, sur, 'cept that you be a braave strong gentleman."
"And did she tell you what her mistress thought about me?"
The girl shook her head.
"Look you, Jennifer, I want to see your sister to-night."
"Doan't 'ee try to, sur. They be purtly maazed weth 'ee up at the 'ouse. They 'll kill 'ee, sur. Doan't 'ee go nist (near) 'em, sur."
I saw she was in earnest, and that she was anxious for my welfare.
"Jennifer," I said, "your sister loves her young mistress, doesn't she?"
"Oa iss, sur, that she doth."
"And she wants a friend right badly?"
"Oa iss, sur, I musn't say nothin', but she do, sur."
"Then look here, Jennifer, you must go to Endellion this day and see your sister. You must tell her to come here this night."
At first the maid was much frightened, but I succeeded in persuading her at length. I also told her what she must say, and how she must carry out my plans.
"Your sister must be here at nine o'clock this night," I said, "here by this stile. You must go up to the house at once, and tell her to find out all she can through the day. Tell her I would befriend her young mistress. You must not plant any potatoes to-day, Jennifer. Here is a crown piece for your trouble."
This done, I went back to St. Kew. I felt at ease in my mind that Jennifer would fullfil my mission, and I hoped that Nancy Molesworth would not hesitate to fall in with the plans I had conceived. I remained at St. Kew all the day, not stirring outside the inn, until it was time for me to go to meet Amelia Lanteglos. When I arrived at the stile, no one was to be seen, and I feared much that the maid had failed me, but I had not waited long before I saw two women coming towards me. These proved to be Mistress Nancy Molesworth's serving-maid and her sister Jennifer. So far all was well.
At first Amelia Lanteglos was chary of speech, but at length she spoke freely, and told me all that had happened at the house. Sam Daddo had told her that the Killigrews were searching for me, and that should they find me it would go ill with me.
"And Benet Killigrew?" I asked.
"Ee es more maazed than anybody, sur. Ee do zay as ow 'ee went down where you wos put, to zee that you wos saafe, and that you took 'im unawares like. Ee do vow 'ee'll kill 'ee, sur, for you ded strick an unfair blaw."
"And your mistress?" I asked presently, after the maid had talked about Benet's passion; "What of her, Amelia?"
"I'm afraid she'll go luny, sur. She do 'aate the thot of marryin' Maaster Otho, and she do zay a priest es comin' to-morra to marry 'er to 'im."
"And does she trust me, Amelia?"
"I dunnaw, sur. I believe she do sometimes. She wud be glad to do anything to git away from they Killigrews."
"Would she be willing to take a bold step to get away from Endellion Castle?" I asked her.
"She caan't, sur. She's watched night and day."
"But if means were offered?"
"Aw, sur, she wud git away ef she could."
After this I did my best to test the maid's loyalty and devotion to her mistress, for I was risking everything upon the plan I had formed, and did not want to be hasty.
"Amelia," I said presently, "I want you to tell your mistress that I desire to be her friend. I would take her from yon den, and on my oath as a gentleman I seek to free her from the Killigrews. Tell her also that if she will be willing to obey me I will effect her escape."
"How, sur?" asked the maid, who trembled violently.
"Benet Killigrew wants her," I said.
"He did, sur, but I believe 'ee's gived up the thot now; besides my mistress do 'aate Maaster Benet as much as the other."
"That may be, but you must deceive him."
"Ow, sir?"
"In this way. Benet Killigrew has been planning to carry your mistress away. That was the reason he came down to me in that cell where I was imprisoned at Endellion. He wanted me to help him, and offered me my liberty on condition that I would help to carry out his plans. His design is to take her to a priest near Bodmin. Well, I want you to tell your mistress that she must consent to this, and you must convey the news to Benet. Do you understand?"
"But she wudden't, sur, she wudden't!"
"Tell her that she must arrange for Benet to get horses and be ready to take her away to-morrow night."
"But, sur, the priest es comin' to marry 'er to Maaster Otho to-morra night. Besides she'd ruther die than go away aloan with Maaster Benet."
"Then Benet must also get a horse for you, and you must accompany your mistress. You must ride through Endellion village, and when you get to the four cross-roads on the other side, I shall meet you—do you see?"
"But what good'll that be?"
"You must see to it, that only Benet come with you, and then I shall stop you and take your mistress away from him."
"But you cudden, sur; he's a terable fighter, and wud kill 'ee."
"Who came off best when we fought the other night? I tell you, you need not fear."
Slowly the girl grasped my meaning, and, after many protestations, she agreed to carry my message to her mistress.
"You are sure that the Killigrews intend marrying her to Otho to-morrow night?"
"Aw, iss, sur."
"Well go back now, and tell your mistress what I have said to you. Then to-morrow morning Jennifer must go to you, and you must tell her if she hath consented to my plans. Mind, if you betray me, or if you fail, you will have sent your mistress to a place worse than hell."
The maid protested much, and I had to content myself with walking back to St. Kew with her assurance that she would do her utmost. In spite of my excitement my heart was heavy with misgivings, for the more I considered what I had done, the more did difficulties present themselves. How could the maid Nancy be expected to trust me? Only once had I seen her, and then she had torn my lying disguise from me in a minute. I had left her convicted of deceit. Was it likely then that she should undertake to obey my behests? Might not my protection seem worse than that of Benet Killigrew? Would she not rather become the wife of Otho than trust to me?
These and a thousand other disquieting thoughts filled my mind as I walked back to the inn. And yet I had had hopes. If the maid hated the Killigrews so much, would she not risk anything to escape them? Had she not written me a letter, and therein told me that she would trust me? But if she did, could I carry out my plans? Supposing she trusted to Benet, and he brought her to the four cross-ways, could I take her from him? I had beaten him at wrestling, but was I a better swordsman?
Then I laughed at my own anxiety, and wondered why I cared so much. Why should I trouble? I tried to analyze my own thoughts. Should I take her to Peter Trevisa's if I succeeded in mastering Benet? That were poor return for the maid's trust; nay, it would stamp me as a base trickster. And yet had I not promised Trevisa? Was I not day by day spending his money? Again and again I felt like giving up the whole business; but when I encouraged such a thought the remembrance of Nancy Molesworth's face would come to me, and I saw her just as when she laid her hand on my arm on the roof of the house, and said: "I am alone, helpless. I am surrounded by those I cannot trust. I hate—loathe the thought of——" Then in spite of myself I found myself gripping the hilt of my sword, and setting my teeth together while I vowed to set her at liberty. I found joy in the thought of beating the Killigrews too, and laughed as I thought of their discomfiture.
But I need not tell of all my fears, notwithstanding they worried me sorely, and when I made my way towards the stile the following morning I had almost prepared myself to be told that the maid Nancy would not trust me.
I found Jennifer Lanteglos waiting for me. She had just come from the house of the Killigrews.
"Have you seen your sister this morning?" I asked.
"Iss, sur."
"Well?" and I waited impatiently for her to speak.
"Ef you plaise, sur, they'll come."
I know not why, but my heart seemed to have a difficulty in beating.
"Hath Mistress Nancy spoken to Benet?" I asked excitedly.
"No, sur, but 'Melia 'ave. Maaster Benet wos took in a minit."
"And he'll arrange the escape?"
"Iss, sur, they be going to leave the house at nine o'clock."
"How?"
"I dunnaw, sur. 'Melia ded'n tell me, she 'ad n' time. But she'll do et, sur."
That was all the wench could tell me, and so I had to be content. How Benet was to deceive Otho, how they were to escape without detection, I knew not. It was an anxious day that I passed, but I comforted myself with the thought that Mistress Nancy Molesworth was not to be imposed upon, and that she would see to it that all my behests were obeyed. All the same, as I thought of the many things which might take place, I cursed myself as a numskull for not devising a better plan; for I fancied I saw a hundred ways better than the one I had marked out.
At nine o'clock I dismounted from Chestnut at the four cross-ways, ready, as I thought, for whatever might happen. I looked around me, for it was bright moonlight, and took note of the position. It was a lonely spot, a mile from the house, so unless the party were followed we were not likely to be troubled with interference.
After I had waited a quarter of an hour or so, and heard no sounds I became sorely impatient. Had Benet seen through the scheme and taken her the other way? Had Otho discovered the plot? Had Amelia proved false? Had Nancy changed her mind at the last minute? I called myself a fool for caring so much, but at that time I was in a fever, and I chafed finely as I strode to and fro.
More than half an hour had passed, and I had put my foot in the stirrup to ride towards Endellion, when I heard the sound of horses' hoofs; a minute or so later I saw a man and two women riding towards me.
I drew my sword, and waited.
"Stop!" I cried as the party came up. Immediately the women checked their horses, but the man seemed as though he would ride on, heedless of me. When he saw that his companions obeyed my bidding, however, he wheeled around savagely.
"Who are you, my man?" he cried. It was Benet Killigrew who spoke. Evidently the women had carefully obeyed my bidding.
"Thank you, Killigrew, for carrying out my plans," I said. "Now you can ride back to your father and the priest, and tell them what a fool you have been."
I heard him growl an oath which I will not here set down.
"What want you?" he cried.
"I could have shot you easily," I said, "but that is not my way. Go back now, I will take care of the lady."
He saw the trap into which he had fallen, but he was not a man to give up easily.
"Ha!" he laughed, "after all, I'm glad of this. You thought I should play into your hands, but, by Heaven, you play into mine!"
He leaped from his horse as he spoke, and I believe that for the moment in his eagerness to fight he had forgotten why he was there.
Bidding Chestnut stand still, I placed myself on guard while Benet drew his sword.
"I like not fighting before women," he cried; "they faint at the sight of blood, but, by Cormoran, I love you, Trevanion! We'll fight for the maid, and the best man shall have her."
"Stop a minute," I said. "This is Mistress Nancy Molesworth, is it not?"
"Yes,"—it was the maid herself who spoke.
"And you do not wish to go with this man Benet Killigrew?"
"No, no. I will go no further with him now. I only came here thus at your bidding!"
"Did you?" growled Benet, "but you will go further with me. Trevanion, you are over confident, my man. Because you threw me by a trick I had not practised, you ventured on this scheme? I love you for it, but you are a dead man, Trevanion"; and he gave a laugh of wild joy.
For the moment I repented I had not wounded him unawares and taken away the maid without his knowing who had done it, but only for a moment. It is but a coward's device to hurt an unprepared man. Besides, although Benet Killigrew was a wild rake, and ill-fitted to be the husband of such a maid as Nancy Molesworth, he was a brave man, and loved a fight, and as such I respected him.
Without waiting he attacked me hotly; all the same I saw he was wary, and was not weakened by over-confidence, as he was when we wrestled. His eyes continued to gleam with a fierce joy, and he laughed like a man well pleased.
"You thought to beat Benet Killigrew," he cried, "you thought to use him as a tool, eh?"
For full three minutes we fought without either gaining advantage, and I realized how much depended on the skill and strength of my right arm. I saw too that Benet meant to kill me; every thrust he made meant death had I not been successful in parrying them. Never before had I fought with such a man; never before had I seen such a gleam of joy, a joy that was devilish, as I saw in Benet Killigrew's eyes.
I had no chance of noticing the two women, for Benet pressed me sorely. I fancied I heard some slight screams, but of these I recked nothing. A woman always cries out at a man's blows. For the first few minutes I acted on the defensive. I was anxious to test my antagonist, before seeking to disable him, for this was all I wanted to do.
Presently, therefore I prepared myself for a method of attack of which I fancied Killigrew would be ignorant, but in making it I placed myself at a disadvantage, for my heel caught on a big stone which lay in the road, and I was thrown off my guard. He was not slow in making use of this, as may be imagined, and I doubt much if I could have saved myself, for I stumbled back a couple of paces, and as I stumbled I saw his sword arm raised. Before he could strike, however, his arm was caught from behind, and in a second I was my own man again.
He gave a savage oath, and furiously threw aside the one who had kept him from taking advantage of my mishap.
In a second I saw that it was Mistress Nancy Molesworth who had come to my aid, and while I felt ashamed that I needed to be helped by a maid, the incident in the battle nerved my arm.
"Come on, Benet Killigrew," I said, "that stone shall not serve you again."
"Bah, you were at my mercy," he cried, "but you were saved by the maid Nancy. Well, the best man shall have her!"
After that no further word was spoken, for we fell to again, and each of us fought like grim death. And now Benet fought not so much for the joy of fighting, as for the sake of claiming the maid who had held his hand, and for revenge on me. I too fought in deadly earnest, for now that the maid had rendered me such signal service I felt more than ever desirous of ridding her from the power of the Killigrews, and perhaps I desired to show her even at that moment that I was a better man than my opponent. Besides, I knew that Otho Killigrew and his brothers might be upon me at any moment, so that whatever was done must be done quickly. With this in my mind I became less cautious, being anxious to finish the business, and Benet, noting this, thought, I expect, that my guard was becoming weak; whereupon, imagining I was yielding ground, he rushed on me with so little care that he spitted himself on my sword, while his weapon fell from his hand.
Precious though every moment was, I undid his doublet and examined the wound I had made. The blood came freely, but I did not think it was mortal. For this I was glad, because I wished not to have his life resting on me.
"You have got the maid, Trevanion," he gasped, "but I shall not die. Some time we shall fight again," and with that he fell into a swoon.
"We are followed!"
It was the maid Nancy who spoke, and instantly I heard the sound of horses.
"Mount!" I cried quickly, and then I saw that the serving-maid had not alighted from her horse. Whistling to Chestnut that he might come to me, I turned to help Mistress Nancy to get on her horse; but she would have nought to do with me. Instead she led her steed to a high stone, and without my aid sat in her saddle. I jumped on Chestnut's back, therefore, and galloped southward, with the two women close to me.
Both of them rode well. The maid Nancy sat her horse gracefully, as every well-born woman should, while Amelia Lanteglos rode carelessly and easily, as is common among country wenches who make a practice of riding horses barebacked. For a couple of miles neither spoke; we rode hard as was natural, but at the end of that time I drew my rein for a moment. I was anxious to listen whether we were followed. The women, however, rode forward.
"Stop!" I said.
"For why?" It was Mistress Nancy who spoke.
"I wish to listen whether the Killigrews are riding behind us, or whether they have stopped with Benet."
Upon this they obeyed my behest, I thought unwillingly. I listened for a few moments, but no sound reached me.
"They must be staying awhile with Benet," I said aloud.
"Yes, but they will follow us. Let us forward!"
"Whither?" I asked, for her tones nettled me. She spoke as though I were a servant.
"There is but one place," she replied sharply. "Your promise was to take me to Polperro."
"And when you get there?" I asked.
"Your work will be done then, sir."
"But the Killigrews will follow you to Polperro."
"I have friends there who will protect me. Let us waste no more time."
We rode forward without another word, although, to tell the truth, her discourteous mode of speech cooled my ardour. Apparently she did not remember that I had been scheming and fighting for her liberty. Evidently I was no more to her than a lad who might open a gate through which she might enter into liberty. What became of me in opening the gate, she cared not. This ill-agreed with my nature, although, when I remembered my promise to Peter Trevisa, I felt tongue-tied. The truth was, I wot not what to do. My bargain with Trevisa hung like a millstone around my neck, and the fact that I could not altogether shake off the thought that I meant to take the maid to Treviscoe made me ashamed to speak to her.
I do not pretend to be a hero such as story-tellers rave about, and I must confess that the thought of having Trevanion under easy circumstances became hourly more dear to me. All the same I wanted to act worthily of my name, and the thought of the helplessness of the women who rode near me made me anxious for their safety.
"We must ride through Wadebridge," I said at length.
"Why?"
"Because of the river."
"Very well."
After that we lapsed into silence again. A mile or two further on I sought to draw her into a conversation, but in vain. Evidently she had accepted my escort as the one means of escaping from the Killigrews, but she loved me no more than she trusted them. I was as distasteful to her as they were, and she would have scorned my help had any other means presented themselves. I could see too that she did not trust me, and that if I acted contrary to her wishes she would leave me. Now that she had gained her liberty she felt confident of her own strength and ingenuity. The fact that no sound of the Killigrews followed us gave her assurance, and in her ignorance of what might happen she fancied herself well out of harm's way. For myself she was sure I must have some purpose of my own to serve, and it was for her to use me in so far as I could be of any value to her, taking precautions all the time, however, that I did not betray her.
This was how the matter appealed to me, and every mile of the journey confirmed my belief. Moreover I felt she was just, for although my heart revolted at the thought of taking her to Treviscoe, I knew I had not given up hopes of getting back Trevanion.
All this made me a sorry companion, and made me hang my head as I rode along.
"We must decide what road we take after we reach Wadebridge," I said as we drew near the little port.
"How? why?" she asked.
"There be several roads," I replied. "The nearest way to Polperro will be to ride through Egloshayle, and thence, on to Bodmin, but that is also the road the Killigrews will most likely take in their search after you."
"But they are not following."
"Doubtless they stopped when they came to Benet, but if I know Otho he will not give up easily."
"And the other roads?"
"There is one across the moors by which we can get to a place called St. Blazey; from thence it is but a few miles to Polperro."
"And which do you advise?"
"I had better not advise," I replied proudly. "The road to Bodmin is good, although it hath but an ill name, because of the footpads who infest it. The one across the moors is rough and not so easily followed. It would be easy to get lost there in the dark."
"And think you the Killigrews would overtake us if we went the Bodmin road?"
"They could ride faster than we."
"And they would take me back?"
"I can fight one, I cannot fight many. Besides, when one is not trusted, it is but little he can do."
She looked at me keenly.
"Advise me," she said presently.
"There will be no sound of horses' hoofs across the moors," I said. "That fact cuts two ways, but it would give us the advantage at the start."
"We will go across the moors," she said in a more friendly way, although her voice was anxious, as indeed it might well be.
Accordingly we rode across the bridge which leads into the little town of Wadebridge, and then went some distance on the Padstow road, until we came to a little lane which led to the moors. We had gone perhaps a mile across a dreary tract of land, when she spoke again.
"There be no bogs, no dangerous places here?" she asked.
"I never heard of any," I replied.
"And you think we are away from danger?"
"I think we are less likely to be followed than if we had taken the main way. In my opinion it would be best for us to find some place of rest as soon as daylight comes."
"Why?"
"We shall not be able to travel rapidly in the dark, and, think as we may, but the Killigrews will be scouring the whole countryside, and that right quickly."
"But can we not hurry on to Polperro?"
"It is several hours' ride from here. In an hour or so it will be daylight. They will then be able to track our horses. Even if they fail to track us in that way, they will have men placed near John Polperro's house."
"Why did you not tell me this earlier?"
"You would not listen to me."
"What would you do now then?"
"I think it would be best to find a farm-house. If we could hap on a convenient one it would be best to rest there two or three days. This done, I might reconnoitre Polperro's place, and perchance prepare him for your coming."
She turned her head towards me, but the sky was overcast and the light was dim. She could barely see my face, neither could I see hers. Then I remembered that I had never seen the maid in broad daylight, and for the first time I felt the strangeness of my position. I was alone on a wide stretch of moors with a lady and her serving-woman. We were in all probability pursued by those who had the legal right to govern the lady's actions. She desired to go to a place of safety, while it was to my interest to take her to Peter Trevisa. All this I knew before, but until then I did not realize what it meant.
"Will it be safe to go to a farm-house?" she said at length.
"The country people are very hospitable," I replied; "besides we can pay them liberally."
Presently the dark outline of a square church tower appeared against the dark sky.
"What is that?" she asked.
"It is St. Wenn Church tower," I replied. "We should have got farther than this, but we have been obliged to come very slowly across the moors. I think the road will soon be better now."
"It will soon be daylight, you say. Will you look out for some place where we can stay."
She spoke despondingly. Doubtless she was lonely, and perhaps she felt the real difficulties of the situation. She spoke no further to me, however, but fell back with her serving-maid, leaving me to my thoughts.
Presently I saw a gray streak in the eastern sky, and then looking back I saw a party of horsemen.
"Ride faster!" I cried out. "We are followed."
"By whom?"
"Look back," I replied.
She obeyed me, and I saw by the look in her eyes that she came to the same conclusion as I.
"What can we do?" she cried.
In truth I knew not how to answer her. I had discovered enough of the Killigrews to know they would not be easily beaten. I was sure too they would seek to be revenged on me, while the maid Nancy would be wholly in their power, if I were unable to protect her. To make matters worse, too, I saw that her horse was lame. It might be that only a stone had become wedged in the hollow of his hoof, but on the other hand it might be more serious. Daylight would soon be upon us, and our followers, if they were the Killigrews, would find us easily.
"In truth, I cannot tell you just yet," I said. "Let us ride on."
It was but comfortless words I could speak, but she made no complaining answer. We descended into a little hollow from which we could not see our pursuers, but we were none the less free from danger. A few minutes later we climbed the hill on the other side, I vainly racking my brain for some feasible plan. All the time the light grew brighter, but I looked not towards her. Truth to tell, I was ashamed. When we reached the summit of the hill, while we were hidden from those behind, the country southward was exposed to our view. My heart gave a great leap, for what I saw set me thinking rapidly.
Before me, about two miles away, rose a great rock. It was perhaps thirty feet high, while nearly at the summit I could see what seemed like masonry. A doorway was fashioned, just as though some one had used the place as a refuge.
"That," I thought, "is Roche Rock!"
No sooner had the fancy flashed through my brain, than I remembered Anthony, the tale-teller. I called to mind what he had said about escaping to a high rock amidst the wild waste of moors. I minded the scrap of paper lying at my chamber door, on which was written the word ROCHE.
As I said, the light was increasing, although the sun had not yet risen. I looked back; we were still hidden from our pursuers.
"Mistress Nancy!" I cried, "yonder is one place of refuge."
"Yonder rock! How?"
"I cannot explain now. Come, let us ride more quickly. I feel sure there is safety!"
For the first time since the daylight came I looked at her face. True, she had suffered much excitement, fear, and fatigue through the night, but at that moment the light of hope shone in her eyes. Yes, she was a beauteous maid, and I wondered not that so many men loved her. I had no feeling of the sort myself,—at the same time her many fears appealed to my pity, and, forgetful of my promises, I swore to myself that I would take her to a place of safety.
"Let us not spare horseflesh!" I cried. "It is but a couple of miles."
I urged her horse forward, but it was no use. The animal was badly lamed, and it became more painful for him to hobble at every step he took.
"It cannot be helped," I cried; "my Chestnut can carry us both easily. There, place your foot on mine, and jump in front of me!"
The maid hesitated as though the thought were unpleasant, but she overcame her feelings, and did as I bid her, I feeling more than ever determined to stand by her loyally. Past thirty as I was, the unaccustomed experience of a maid sitting near me made my blood tingle, as after speaking to Chestnut we rode through Roche church town. No one was astir; indeed, the whole village seemed as much unconscious as the dead who lay near the old parish church. Roche contained only a few houses, and we quickly passed through it: then turning to the left we hurried forward towards the rock, which stood amidst a number of small rocks on the lone moor.
The serving-maid, Amelia Lanteglos, kept close to me, neither did she make any complaint. Indeed throughout the whole journey she had kept cheerful, and as far as lay in her power had ministered to her mistress.
Arrived at the rock, I looked around me. There were no signs of pursuers; indeed all was silent as death, save for the sound of our panting horses. I looked up towards the masonry at the summit of the rock, which looked like a chapel, and eagerly sought for some signs of life. In my eagerness to get there, I had scarcely thought of the improbability of any one taking up abode at such a place. I had obeyed the impulse of the moment, without recking its wisdom. Meanwhile Mistress Nancy stood by Chestnut's head looking at me doubtfully.
"Uncle Anthony," I said; and as if some one rose from the dead, I heard sounds which seemed to come from the heart of the great rock, and a minute later I saw Uncle Anthony's face appear at a small window.
"Uncle Anthony," I repeated, "I want your protection. There are helpless women here who are fleeing from danger."
His eyes rested on me for barely a second, then he turned to the maid Nancy.
"The shadow of a great rock in a weary land," he said softly. "Come, my lamb."
A few minutes later he had descended to the base of the rock. "Come, my lamb," he said again.
With an agility of which I should not have thought him capable, he climbed up the steep side of his resting-place, carefully helping Mistress Nancy all the time, until he came to a doorway seemingly hewn out of the rock; having told her to enter, he rendered a similar service to Amelia Lanteglos, while I stood and watched him like one dazed.
"Come, Roger Trevanion," he said presently, "yet there is room."
"The horses?" I queried.
"Ah yes," he said, quickly coming to me. "I can make no provision for them."
I gave a gesture of impatience.
"You have a story to tell me, Roger Trevanion," he said, "and it is well it should be told quickly. But there is plenty of grass on the moors, and your horse obeys you like a Christian. Take off the saddle, and tell it to go yonder out of sight, and the other will follow."
I was not long in doing his bidding. I pulled off the head-gearing and saddles from both the animals, and then I told Chestnut what I wanted him to do. I am sure he understood me perfectly, for he trotted some distance across the moors, the other nag following as Uncle Anthony had said.
"There be many horses grazing on these moors," said the old man, as though he divined the thoughts in my mind, "so yours will attract no notice."
I looked around me again, and then up at the vast mass of bluish schorl rock on which the lonely chapel was built.
"A wise man doth mount the high rock, and rest in peace," he said, repeating the very words he had used when I had seen him at Endellion, only now he spoke like a man of learning and not in the Cornish vernacular as he had spoken then. "Happy are they who in trouble seek the shelter of the wise man's high place."
"I remember," I replied, "that is why I came."
"You will not be troubled," he said, "it hath a bad name. Spirits of the dead are said to haunt this moor."
"The Killigrews fear not man nor devil, especially Otho," I replied.
"Come, you have much to tell me," was his answer. "At present no man is in sight, but come. The lady Nancy and her serving-maid will want food and rest, and there is trouble in your eyes."
I followed him as he climbed towards the summit of his hiding-place, but I found it a difficult task, for it was almost perpendicular; the foot-places were but narrow, too, and the holding-places few. But Uncle Anthony went easily, like one who had ascended and descended many times, as indeed he had.
I discovered that the building in which the old man lived was divided into two apartments. The one he had used for domestic purposes, and the other for prayer and meditation. The latter was the one known at St. Michael's Chapel.
"It is but little I can offer," remarked he; "but such as I have give I unto thee. Come, we will go where the lady and her serving-maid resteth."
As I entered the strange hiding-place, Mistress Nancy looked eagerly towards me as if expecting danger, but I quickly dispelled her fears, and a few minutes later we were all eating such fare as Uncle Anthony had been able to provide. Little was said during the meal; all of us were apprehensive of danger, and, when we had eaten, the old man led me into the chapel.
"I can guess much," he said, "perchance you will wish to tell me more."
I hesitated, for in truth I wot not how much to tell. I knew next to nothing of the story-teller, who led such a strange existence. Who was the man who masqueraded one day as a traveling droll, and the next as hermit? Moreover, how came he to know my name? That he was a man possessed of great powers of penetration was easily to be seen, and I felt almost afraid as he fixed his keen gray eyes upon me.
I looked from the window and saw three horsemen coming along the road we had travelled, and pointed towards them.
"The Killigrews," I said.
"Yes, but they will not come here." He spoke with certainty, and I could not help believing that he told the truth.
"Who are you, Uncle Anthony?" I asked.
"A friend of the oppressed, and one who never forgets a kindness," he replied.
"Have you powers more than is ordinarily possessed by men?"
"There be those who have eyes, and see, and there be those who have eyes and see not. I see."
"How know you what my name is?"
He smiled. "Is the name of Trevanion an obscure one? Are the features of the Trevanions unknown? Cornwall is not a large county, and there be those who know it well."
"But you knew not when we entered Endellion together."
"There be those who, in hours of quiet thought, recall impressions once made. There be those who can search the human heart, and read the mind."
"Such powers belong only to the God who made us," I replied.
"There be those to whom God speaks. Those who dream dreams and see visions."
I looked at him questioningly, but I could read nothing in his face; when I looked into his eyes my own fell, even as the hands of a feeble swordsman fall before those of his master.
"If you know all, what need is there for me to tell you?" I stammered.
"No man knows all," he replied. "But I have seen the face of the Lady Nancy Molesworth. I have looked into her soul and seen its weariness and sorrow. I know the hopes of the Killigrews. I looked into your heart, and knew that your life was linked unto hers. I wrote the word 'Roche' on that piece of paper, and have waited for your coming."
"And beyond that?"
"Beyond that, nothing certain."
I debated with myself whether I should tell him everything, but I was afraid and held my peace.
"Have you naught to tell me, Roger Trevanion?" he said presently.
"I had heard of the maid's imprisonment at Endellion," I replied, "and I determined to set her at liberty." Then I described to him what had happened as I have here written it down.
"But what is the end to be?"
"She wishes to be taken to the house of John Polperro."
"And you will take her there?"
I was silent, for I remembered the promise I had made to Peter Trevisa.
Again he scanned my features closely. "Love you this maid?" he asked sternly.
"I love no maid!" I replied scornfully.
"Then what is your purpose? Oh, I know your history, Roger Trevanion. I know that for years you have taken no woman to your heart. I know that you have lived in poverty for years. Would you wed her for her possessions?"
"I would wed no woman for her possessions," I replied angrily. "Women are naught to me."
"So I have been told. Then do you help her from pure chivalry? Is it your purpose to take her to the place she desires to go? Have you faced imprisonment and death without thought of reward?"
"What is that to you?" I asked.
"This," he replied. "You need my help, and I must be assured that you mean all that a gentleman should mean before I extend it further."
"Gentleman!" I cried, "what know you of the feelings of a gentleman? You a droll, a travelling tale-teller!"
This I said with a purpose, for I desired to see further into the heart of the man. I saw too that I had not spoken in vain. His eyes flashed angrily, and he placed his hand on his left hip as though he carried a sword there.
"As good a gentleman as you," he cried angrily, and for the moment he had lost control over himself. "I have a name as good as yours, my family—" he stopped, feeling doubtless that he had been betrayed into saying more than he intended.
"If you are a gentleman," I replied, "you will know that a man does not tell all that is in his heart to every passing stranger. You evidently have your secret, you do not tell it to me."
"True," he replied quietly. "I spoke hastily, Roger Trevanion. I know too that the word of a Trevanion is to be trusted, thus I will not question it." Then he waited for some time in silence, his eyes occasionally scanning the wild moors around, and again resting upon me.
"I am waiting," he said presently.
"For what?"
"Your word."
"What word?"
"The word that your motives are honourable. That you seek only to carry out the maid's wishes. That you will take her to the house of John Polperro, and then, if she wishes, leave her as a gentleman should."
I did not answer. I could not.
"I wait," he said presently.
"I am not accustomed to pledge my word and tell my purposes to strangers," I replied. "I must consider."
"And I must consider," he retorted.
"What?"
"Whether I tell the lady Nancy not to trust you. Whether I shall send word to the Killigrews telling of your whereabouts, or throw you on the rocks beneath us!"
I laughed in his face, and yet as I looked at his lean sinewy body, and saw the flash of his eyes, my laughter died on my lips. I felt sure that he could not easily carry out his threat, but I saw I should be a fool if I made him my enemy.
"It will not be well for us to be at cross purposes," I said presently. "Believe me, I would not do the maid an ill turn."
"And methinks I spoke hastily, foolishly," he replied, "for in truth I am no fighter. I forgot that I am an old man, that my sinews are soft and my bones stiff."
"Besides," I suggested, "the maid Nancy hath a will of her own. She is not easily forced."
"Yes, yes," he replied eagerly, "we must speak with her. Nothing must be done hastily. As you said some time ago, the Killigrews will be watching around Polperro's house, and she must not go there yet. No, no!"
He spoke, I thought, rather to himself than to me, and I wondered what was in his mind.
"The Killigrews will be scouring the countryside," he went on, "but it will be many hours before they think of Roche Rock. Of that I will swear. She is safe yet, but she cannot stay here long. It would neither be seemly nor right, and Uncle Anthony hath many hiding-places—many."
"We will have to stay here till nightfall," I said, as though he still trusted in me.
"Yes," he replied, "and as soon as she hath rested we will speak together. You feel weary perchance. Lie down on this pallet and rest."
"No, I cannot rest; my mind is filled with many things," was my answer. "I will stay here and watch"; and indeed I felt no weariness.
Uncle Anthony left the chapel, but soon returned. "The lady Nancy is asleep," he remarked, "and the serving-maid sits by her watching."
Some hours passed, but nothing of importance happened. I had a further conversation with Uncle Anthony, but I could not find out who he was, or why he chose such a strange mode of existence; but presently he came to me, saying that he had prepared food for us, after which it would be well if we talked together.
During the meal a silence fell upon us, neither did Mistress Nancy once look at me in the face. But my eyes constantly rested upon her. She was evidently very anxious, and the journey through the night had told upon her. Nevertheless I was more and more impressed by the thought of her beauty. And yet, as I thought, there was but little tenderness in her beauty. Her face was set, almost rigid, a look of determination constantly revealed itself, and she seemed to be thinking deeply.
"The Killigrews are in the neighbourhood," said Uncle Anthony when the simple meal had been eaten. "They will know that you are near. They will have seen the lame horse you left on the road."
"But how will they know I have not gone on?" This she said like one impatient.
"They be keen men these Killigrews, and hard riders. They were only a few miles behind. If you had continued on horseback they would have seen you; this they will be sure to know."
"It will be well to start immediately after dark," I suggested. "We must take a circuitous route. I know of a safe hiding-place in the west of the county. Once there it will be easy to find out whether it will be safe for you to go to Polperro's home."
Her eyes flashed angrily into mine, but she gave no answer. I felt her behaviour to be a poor reward for the service I had rendered, and a bitter feeling came into my heart. Then I thought of what my suggestion meant, and my eyes dropped. Still I went on, unheeding the cool reception she gave to my words.
"I am sure you will be safe in the place I have in my mind," I said, "it is in the neighbourhood where the Killigrews dare not come. For Hugh Boscawen lives close by, and he has armed many men to protect the King against the Pretender. If the Killigrews came there methinks it would go ill with them. At present I am afraid it would be unsafe for you to seek John Polperro's aid."
"Would you place me under Hugh Boscawen's care?" she asked.
"That would scarcely be wise," I replied stammeringly.
"With whom would you place me then?"
"I know an old squire who lives near him," I replied. "He would do anything for me."
She lifted her eyes to my face, and looked steadily at me.
"What is his name?" she asked.
I tried to utter Peter Trevisa's name, but I could not. Again she put a weight upon my tongue, just as when I stood close to her on the top of Endellion House. I mumbled some words indistinctly, and cursed myself for being such a fool. Why could I not brazen out the matter as I had intended? Was I to be again beaten by this chit of a girl?
She was silent for a few seconds; then she spoke again.
"Master Penryn, or whatever your name may be," she said, still keeping her eyes steadily upon me, "will you tell me why you have sought to help me away from the Killigrews?"
"Have not my actions told you?" I stammered.
"Told me what?"
"That I desire to be a friend to you."
"I have tried to believe so," was her answer. "I have tried to trust you, but I cannot. If you would be my friend, tell me plainly what led you to Endellion. Tell me why you kept silence when I asked you the other night. I need a friend—sadly. I am hedged around by those who seek to do me ill. But I cannot trust a man who by every action betrays an evil purpose."
"Methinks you trusted me to fight Benet Killigrew," I retorted. "You trusted me to bring you so far. Have I betrayed that trust?"
"I will be frank with you," was her answer. "When I heard of your answers to Otho, when I was told that you preferred imprisonment rather than promise him that you would not seek to set me at liberty, I doubted myself. I thought I had been unjust to you. I wrote and told you so. When I heard of your escape through mastering Benet, and thought of what it meant, I doubted myself more still. As you know, I was in sore straits, and when I heard of what my maid told me, I could not believe that a gentleman would prove false to a defenceless maid. Thus I risked everything in my desire for freedom, and because I was trying to believe in you. I believed in you as you fought Benet; but when we were alone together I shrunk from you in spite of myself. I seemed to see the mask that you wore. Perchance I appear ungrateful, for indeed, you have so far behaved as a man of honour should, but every minute my heart is telling me that you are a traitor, and that you have purposes of your own of which you dare not speak."
As she spoke, it seemed as though my heart were laid bare to her gaze. I saw myself a miserable spy, a traitor to the name I bore. I cursed myself for having aught to do with the maid who was so wise, and wished that I had spurned Peter Trevisa's overtures. Moreover anger burnt in my heart against her, and my tongue was unloosed. Unmindful of consequence I answered her in wrath.
"You call me a traitor," I cried, "because I do not flatter and favour; because I do not make love to you like Otho Killigrew or his brother Benet. You trust John Polperro rather than me, because he comes with honeyed words telling of a love which perchance he doth not feel. Benet Killigrew would take you from Endellion because he would marry you and your estates. Otho got a priest to come there with the same end in view. Polperro is smooth-spoken, but would he render Nancy Molesworth the service he promises if Restormel did not exist? Well, I come to you with no honeyed words. I do not tell you that I love you, for in truth I do not. I love no woman, and will end my life without taking a wife. But am I a traitor because of that? You accuse me of not telling you all that is in my mind. Cannot a man have an honourable secret? May I not have honourable purposes and yet not be able to divulge them? This accusation seems a poor reward to a man who hath endangered both liberty and life to bring you so far."
I saw that my answer had its effect. Her lips quivered and her eyes became softer.
"I am not forgetful of your services, and perchance I am unkind, but in all my life my heart hath never told me wrong," she said. "All the same I will trust you if you will answer me one fair question. If you had a sister, a dear one, in such dire extremity as I am, would you have her done by as you have it in your heart to do by me?"
Again I was tongue-tied, and my eyes fell before hers. I thought of her as being the wife of young Peter Trevisa, I thought of the net which the two Trevisas were probably trying to weave around her just then, and I stood dumb, like a boy caught in the act of stealing.
The maid gave a sigh, and then as I lifted my eyes to hers again I saw a look of loathing and disgust on her face.
"I have heard of you as having two names," she said, and I detected scorn in her tones. "You have called yourself Penryn, and I have heard that you are a Trevanion. They are both honourable. But I dare not trust you, because you are unworthy of either. I would thank you if I could for bringing me here, but I cannot, for there is that in your mind which means worse to me than being the wife of a Killigrew."
"I am dismissed then?" I cried in a rage—"dismissed like a disgraced servant. Well, let it be so."
"Yes," she cried, "I know you now, and I would rather trust to the mercies of the Killigrews than to one who, under the guise of friendship, would use the one who sought his help in order to carry out some base purpose of his own."
With these words, she left the little room, and went into the chapel where I had spent most of the morning with Uncle Anthony. The maid had maddened me now. I felt no sympathy with her. Hitherto my mind and heart had been divided. Sometimes I had altogether made up my mind to place her under the protection of John Polperro, and never had I fully decided to take her to Peter Trevisa's. Indeed, I believe that had she wept and prayed like some maidens would have done, aye, had she appealed to my honour as a gentleman, I should at all hazards have been led by her will. But now all was different. She had defied me, insulted me. She had refused to have aught further to do with me. She preferred being taken back to Endellion, to being left under my escort.
"Very well, my proud lady," I thought, "but you have not done with me yet. You shall go to Peter Trevisa's, and neither the Killigrews, John Polperro, nor Uncle Anthony shall prevent me from taking you."
And this I determined because I was mad, and because, in spite of the fact that her accusation was partly just, her words rankled in my heart.
But I knew that I must be wary. I knew that Uncle Anthony was watching me closely, so I feigned to take my dismissal kindly.
"Be it so," I laughed; "I am always glad to be rid of women. I will leave you shortly, Uncle Anthony, but this bout with the maid hath tired me more than wrestling, and me thinks I will rest awhile." This I said because I wanted an excuse for staying on the rock.
"That is well," said Uncle Anthony kindly. "We must not be hard on the maid; perchance she will think better of you presently. I will go and fetch the pallet from the chapel."
"And, Uncle Anthony," I said with a laugh, "hermit though you are, you must surely have a bottle of wine somewhere."
"Think you so?" replied the old man. "Well, I will see."
He shortly returned with wine, which I drank. After which I lay down, not thinking of going to sleep, but rather to wait and watch. Presently, however, a drowsy feeling came over me, which I felt no inclination to resist, and before long I became unconscious.
When I awoke, it was dark. I listened, but could hear no sound. I went into the chapel, and found it empty; I called aloud, but got no reply. Then I realized what had happened. While I had been asleep Uncle Anthony had escaped with the maid, and both were doubtless many miles away.