‘What is it?’ he asked suddenly. She started. He had read her thoughts. Her eyes met his, and, as they met, her eyes answered and said, ‘Yes, there is a certain matter. I cannot rest till I know.’ ‘I am sure,’ he said, ‘there is something you wish to say, but are afraid lest you should excite me.’ She was silent. ‘I am better now; the wind blows cool over me, and the morning light refreshes me. Do not be afraid. Speak.’ She hesitated. ‘Speak,’ he said. ‘I am fully conscious and self-possessed now.’ ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘It is right that I should know for certain what you are.’ She halted. She shrank from the question. He remained waiting. Then she asked with a trembling voice, ‘Is that convict garment yours?’ He turned away his face sharply. She waited for the answer. He did not reply. His breast heaved and his whole body shook, the very bed quivered with suppressed emotion. ‘Do not be afraid,’ she said, in measured tones. ‘I will not betray you. I have nursed you and fed you, and bathed your head. No, never! never! whatever your crime may have been, will I betray you. No one in the house suspects. No eyes but mine have seen that garment. Do not mistrust me; not by word or look will I divulge the secret, but I must know all.’ Still he did not reply. His face was turned away, but she saw the working of the muscles of his cheek-bone, and the throb of the great vein in his temple. Barbara felt a flutter of compunction in her heart. She had again overagitated this unhappy man when he was not in a condition to bear it. She knew she had acted precipitately, unfairly, but the suspense had become to her unendurable. ‘I have done wrong to ask the question,’ she said. ‘No,’ he answered, and looked at her. His large eyes, sunken and lustrous with sickness, met hers, and he saw that tears were trembling on her lids. ‘No,’ he said, ‘you did right to ask;’ then paused. ‘The garment—the prison garment is mine.’ A catch in Barbara’s breath; she turned her head hastily and walked towards the door. Near the door stood the oak chest carved with the eagle-headed man. She stooped, threw it open, caught up the convict clothes, rolled them together, and ran up into the attic, where she secreted them in a place none but herself would be likely to look into. A moment after she reappeared, composed. ‘A packman came this way with his wares yesterday,’ said Miss Jordan gravely. ‘Amongst other news he brought was this, that a convict had recently broken out from the prison at Prince’s Town on Dartmoor, and was thought to have escaped off the moor.’ He listened and made no answer, but sighed heavily. ‘You are safe here,’ she said; ‘your secret remains here’—she touched her breast. ‘My father, my sister, none of the maids suspect anything. Never let us allude to this matter again, and I hope that as soon as you are sufficiently recovered you will go your way.’ The door opened gently and Eve appeared, fresh and lovely as a May blossom.