She considered him in a new light. In the elegance and good looks, which had at first commended him, she now beheld the devil’s seal of worldliness. Such a man would seek her niece for no good purpose; yet he was just such a man as her niece, to her undoing, would make welcome. Her lips tightened with saintly, uncharitable purpose. She would make of herself a buckler between this malignant one and her niece. By great good fortune--by a heavenly Providence, in her eyes--her niece was absent at the time. And so in the cause of holiness she lied to him--although of this the poor fellow had no suspicion. “In that case, young sir, you seek something I cannot give you.” She would have left it vaguely there, between truth and untruth. But he demanded more. “You mean, you do not know ... that ... that she has left you?” She braced herself to the righteous falsehood. “That is what I mean.” Still he would not rest content. Haggard-faced he drove her into the last ditch of untruth. “When did she leave you? Tell me that, at least.” “Two years ago. After she had been with me a year.” “And whither did she go? You must know that!” “I do not. All that I know is that she went. Belike she is in London. That, at least, I know is where she would wish to be, being all worldliness and ungodliness.” He stared at her, a physical sickness oppressing him. His little Nan in London, alone and friendless, without means. What might not have happened to her in two years? “Madam,” he said in a voice that passion and sorrow made unsteady, “if you drove her hence, as your manner seems to tell me, be sure that God will punish you.” And he reeled out without waiting for her answer. Inquiries in the village might have altered the whole course of his life. But, as if the unutterable gods of Mrs. Tenfil’s devotions removed all chances of the frustration of her ends, Randal rode out of Charmouth without having spoken to another soul. To what end should he have done so, considering her tale? What reason could he have to disbelieve? For six months after that he sought Nancy in all places likely and unlikely. And all that while in Charmouth Nancy patiently and trustfully awaited his coming, which should deliver her from the dreadful thraldom of Aunt Tenfil’s godliness. Some day, she was persuaded, must happen that which she did not know had already happened; that he must seek her in Potheridge, learn whither she was gone, and follow. For she did not share Potheridge’s belief that he was dead, though for a time she had mourned him grievously when first the rumour ran through her native village. Subsequently, however, soon after her migration to Charmouth, a letter from him had reached her there, written some months after Worcester fight, in which he announced himself not only safe and sound, but thriving, conquering the world apace, and counting upon returning laden with it soon, to claim her.