"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.