Then the maid held her peace, but I knew she greatly feared Clement Killigrew. At this I became anxious, for, truth to tell, I felt awkward and helpless now. I dared not make other suggestions, because I believed that in spite of what she had said she still failed to trust me. Then I had cared little about her good opinion concerning me, now I would dare anything to win her smile. I determined that no harm should come to her, for my heart yearned for her, even as the heart of a mother must yearn for her first-born son. I looked at her as she rode by my side, and in the light of the moon I could discern every feature. Pale she was and anxious, but to me her face was glorious beyond compare. I saw resolution, foresight, a nobleness in her every movement, but all this made her further removed from me. In the light of my new-found love she became a new creature. All my being went out to her, all my life I was ready to lay at her feet. I remembered what I had said on Roche Rock--I had told her that I cared for no woman, that she was nothing to me but the veriest stranger. I would have given anything to have recalled those words, but it could not be. I thought of what I had promised Peter Trevisa, and I was filled with shame. I tried to drive the promise from my mind, but it had been made. All this made me silent and awkward, and I rode by her side eager to save her from the Killigrews, yet distrusting myself sorely. And yet with my love, painful as it was, came joys unknown to me before. Never till then had I realized what a gladness it was to live, to think, to act. The road on which I rode became a scene of beauty, the country air scented with the perfume of spring seemed to me like a breath from Paradise, the murmuring of the sea in the distance made heaven near. So much, indeed, did I live in the thought of my love, and of what she would think of me, that for the moment I forgot that Clement Killigrew was following us, as a sleuth-hound follows his prey. In my heart I called her my lady Nancy, and wondered what I could do to make her think better of me. For I could not help feeling that she had turned to me as a last resource, and that even now, should John Polperro appear, she would immediately dispense with my services. Although I hated this thought, I could not blame her for it, for who was I that she should trust me? I remembered, too, that since we left the inn her words to me had been cool and distant, as though she were ashamed of her emotion at the time when I found her in the room with Otho Killigrew. I was recalled to myself at length by Amelia Lanteglos, who said with a laugh: "Ours be good 'osses, be'ant 'em, sur?" "Yes," I replied; "I did not think Uncle Anthony could find such good ones among the moors." "Thaise be'ant Uncle Anthony's. These belong to the Killigrews. The one I do ride belonged to Maaster Otho, 't'other to Maaster Coleman."