"Roger Trevanion," he said, "you know that I hold the deeds of Trevanion; you know that you are entirely at my mercy." "Well enough." "You would like to remain at Trevanion? You, a Trevanion, would not like to be an outcast, a mere vagrant, a landless gipsy." "I don't care much," I replied. "I should be free; and I would rather be landless than be supposed to own the land, while everything practically belonged to you. I've told you this before. Why make me say it again?" "But you would like the deeds back. You would like to live at the old home with plenty of money?" "You know I would. Why mock me?" "You would do a great deal in order that this might come to pass." "What do you want?" We had come back to the same point again, and again old Peter hesitated. "You know Restormel?" he said at length. "Restormel Castle, up by Lostwithiel?" I asked. "No; Restormel in the parish of St. Miriam, a few miles north from here?" "Oh, yes, I know." "What do you know?" Both old Peter and young Peter spoke in the same breath; both spoke eagerly, too--anxiously in fact. "What is rumoured by certain gossips," I replied. "I expect there is no truth in it." "But what have you heard?" "It is said that the estate belongs to a chit of a maid," I replied; "that the maid's mother died at her birth, and that her father, Godfrey Molesworth, did not long survive her. That he was broken-hearted. That everything was left to a mere baby." "But what became of the baby?" "I know not. I have heard that she has never been seen on the place, although her father has been dead wellnigh twenty years. That the rents are paid to Colman Killigrew who lives at Endellion Castle, and who is a godless old savage. Rumour says that he claims to be the maid's guardian. But of this I am ignorant. He lives full fifty miles from here, and I know nothing of him." "That is all you have heard?" "That is all I can remember at present." "You have never seen the maid?" "No. Who has? Stay; I have heard she was placed in a convent school. Old Killigrew is a Catholic, I suppose." "I'll tell you more, Roger Trevanion. Colman Killigrew has been fattening on the Restormel lands for wellnigh twenty years. He hath kept the maid, Nancy Molesworth, a prisoner. In a few months she will be twenty-one. He intends marrying her to one of his sons. She hates the whole tribe of Killigrews, but he cares nothing for that. He is determined; you can guess why." "Yes, such things are common. But what is that to me? I know nothing of the maid, Nancy Molesworth; I do not care. Let the Killigrews marry her; let them possess Restormel." "My son Peter hath seen the maid, Roger." "Ah! How?" "He had to pay a visit in the neighbourhood of Endellion Castle, and he saw her by chance." "Spoke he to her?" "No, he did not; she did not see him. She is kept a close prisoner, but my Peter hath lost his heart."