'Madam,' he replied very kindly, 'not all your friends, if I may say so. I have, I assure you, a most compassionate heart. I bleed for the sufferings of others; I cannot rest until I have brought relief. This is my way. Oh! I take not credit to myself therefor. It is that I am so constituted; I am not proud or uplifted on this account. Only tell me your case, entrust your safety to me. You may do so safely if you reflect for one moment, because--see--one word from me and you would be taken to prison by yon worthy clergyman, who is none other than the Rev. Mr. Walter Harte, the Vicar of Taunton. No one is more active against the rebels, and he would rejoice in committing thee on the charge of having been among the Maids. A word from me would, I say, cause you to be hauled to jail; but, observe, I do not speak that word--God forbid that I should speak that word!' 'Oh, Sir!' I said, 'this goodness overwhelms me.' 'Then, Madam, for greater privacy, let us go back into the house and converse there.' So we went back into the empty house and sat in the back parlour. 'As for the nature of your trouble, Madam,' he began, 'I hope you have no dear brothers or cousins among those poor fellows in Taunton Jail.' 'No, Sir; my only brother is at Ilminster, and my cousins are far away in New England.' 'That is well. One who, like myself, is of a compassionate disposition, cannot but bewail the grievous waste in jail fever, smallpox, scarlet fever, or putrid throat (to say nothing of the hangings), which now daily happens in the prison. What doth it avail to hang and quarter a man, when he might be usefully set to work upon his Majesty's Plantations? It is a most sinful and foolish waste, I say'--he spoke with great sincerity and warmth--'and a robbing of the pockets of honest merchants.' 'Indeed, Sir,' I said, 'your words prove the goodness of your heart.' 'Let my deeds rather than my words prove that. How fare the prisoners with whom you are most concerned?' 'Alas! Sir Christopher is dead! and my father hath also died of his wound.' 'So?--indeed? More waste! They are dead. More waste! But one was old: had Sir Christopher been sent to the Plantations, his value would have been but small, though, indeed, a ransom--but he is dead; and your father, being wounded--but they are dead, and so no more need be said. There are, however, others, if I remember aright?' 'There is my brother in Ilminster Prison, and----'