"I would rather not tell you," she replied; "that is, I think I had better not. You can trust me?" This she said wistfully, I thought. "In everything," I answered eagerly, "but will you trust me, too? You are not fit to travel further, and after a few hours' rest we shall all be better. Let us go to yonder farmhouse and ask for food and shelter." "Such an act might be dangerous." "No. All our Cornish folk are hospitable; besides, my money has not been taken from me. I can pay the good folk well." She eagerly caught at my proposal, so eagerly that I wondered at her swift change of opinion. A few minutes later, therefore, I stood knocking at a farmhouse door, asking for food and shelter for man and beast. At first both the farmer and his wife looked at us suspiciously, but when I told him of my deliverer's weariness, how that she had fainted and fallen from her saddle, they gave us a warm welcome. Half an hour later, I sat with these farmer folk at breakfast, but my companions, still keeping their hoods tightly drawn around their faces, had followed the woman of the house into another apartment. After breakfast the farmer's wife provided me with a couch, in what she called "the pallor," where I gladly stretched my weary body and immediately fell asleep. When I awoke the afternoon was well advanced. Food was again placed before me, and after I had partaken thereof I went out into the farmyard to look after the horses. I had scarcely reached the stables when a sound reached my ears that made my heart sink like lead. It was the noise of many voices, and was not more than a mile away. Without waiting a second I threw the saddles on the horses, and then rushed into the house. The farmer's wife had left the kitchen, leaving my companions alone. They were still closely hooded. "Come," I cried, "we must start at this moment!" "Why?" "The hue and cry!" "I am ready," she said, quietly but resolutely. "Are the horses ready?" "They are saddled and standing in the yard." "Come then," and both left the room without another word. At that moment the farmer's wife came into the kitchen again. Thinking it would be unwise to tell her our reason for leaving suddenly, I threw two guineas on the table, and then with a hurried good-bye left. By this time the sound had become nearer, and my conjecture became confirmed. "It may not be you they are after," she said; "they would hardly come so far." Perhaps she was right. I remembered that hours ere this papers might have been placed in Hugh Pyper's hands commanding him to set me at liberty. "Still it will be safer farther south," I said. By this time we had mounted our horses and were galloping along the farm lane which led to the high road. She whom in my heart I called my love was still clothed in her long gray cloak, her face still hidden from my sight. All weakness seemed to have left her now; she was the embodiment of resolution, and courage, and strength.