"Who’s to hear? The girl’s out!" exclaimed the old woman, who was roused, excited. Her nursling’s troubles, the obstacles to her becoming a great lady, were to her the worst trials of her suffering, lonely life. "I tell you this, dearie, if you won’t have anything to do with that splendid lord who loves you, and you say you like, I shall think you hanker after _him_--that viper who ain’t fit to live, let alone to black that noble gentleman’s boots! What--you don’t? Then what should stand between you and him as loves you? That--that nonsense of that fellow’s? What do it matter if he’s dead, or in prison? It’s four years ago, ain’t it? If you are so partickler, you could wait another three, and then he wouldn’t have any sort of claim upon ye, if he has any now, which I doubt! He was humbuggin’ of you, dearie! I’m not to talk about it? I must! I can’t die happy till I know ye’re safe with a good man as’ll take care of ye, my pretty, and that’s a fact. And I am sick and tired of all these aches and pains, it’s such a weary world! Now, my dearie, when he asks ye to be his’n, and he’ll do it, too--ah! I can see he’s done it a’ready--just you listen to him. Be engaged as they call it, secret-like, for a time. Then don’t go and tell him about all that which is dead and done with--never tell living soul a word about _that_! But let him think it’s one of the whimsies beauties like you are supposed to have. Make him wait! And then--find out what’s become of _him_! I’ll help ye! I’ll help ye!" "You--you have heard--from--of him!" gasped Joan, wildly. "Nana! When! How?" "Gawd is my witness, I’ve never set eyes on him, the vagabond, since ye showed him to me that day when he came with us in the fields, five year ago, when you was at school, and your poor mar was nearin’ her end," she said, solemnly. "Letters? Not likely! You’ve had a letter from ’im? No, I knew you couldn’t ’ave had. Them convicts--hush? All right, then! If you’ll listen to me, I’ll hush and welcome." When Joan rose to go a few minutes later, her thoughts were in a frantic whirl, but there was a gleam of hope shining upon those dismal memories which stood between her and happiness. Still she glanced round as she issued from the cottage, hoping that her escort would not be in sight, and they would happen to miss each other. She wanted time to think, to ponder over new possibilities suggested by her old nurse’s words, possibilities which seemed to her, numbed by her long battle royal to overcome her passion for Vansittart, too magnificent ever to become probable. And she mounted, and after a pretence of waiting about for him as they walked their horses slowly uphill, she said to her groom, "We had better go on, Simms," and quickening her pace, was presently trotting homewards.