I could not help admiring her as she stood there before me so brave, so far-seeing, so resolute. She was barely twenty-one. She had revealed to me all the weaknesses, all the tenderness of a woman; yet now, after having accomplished what few men would think of attempting, she was calmer than I. As I have said, she was taller and more largely formed than most women, and the hand that rested on a table by her side was as firm as a man's. No one could in any way associate her with littleness or poverty of nature. Everything told of purity, of nobleness, of beauty of life. Remembering my bargain with Trevisa, I dared not look at her; but I was glad I had refused to take the price of my work. I waited for her to continue, for I felt I had no right to ask her questions. "You told me," she went on, "that Peter Trevisa was a cunning, evil-minded man. You were right. Like all such men, he judged the motives of others by his own. What he would do under certain circumstances, he would expect others to do." "Yes, that is so." "He thought, acting on this principle, that if he could get me into his house, I should be glad to fall in with his plans." "He told me that his son Peter had seen you at Endellion," I said; "that he fell in love with you, that it was the intention of Colman Killigrew to marry you to his son whom you hated, that I should be rendering you a service by taking you to him." "Do not speak of his son's love," she said; "the thought of it is not pleasant. It is true he told me the same story. I did not sleep in the house that night. Directly after your lawyer had gone I told him I desired to speak with him. He fawned and professed to be delighted. Presently his real reasons for trying to get me into the house came out. He tried to keep them back until his son came home, but in this he failed." "And what were his reasons?" I asked eagerly in spite of myself. "The first was this: He said he could prove that my father's marriage was illegal, and--and thus I had no true claim to the Restormel lands. You suspected this?" I nodded. "He told me, moreover, that he alone possessed the knowledge whereby it could be proved that I was not the rightful heir. If he did not disclose what he knew, no one would doubt my rights; or even if they doubted, they could have no case against me; if he told what he knew, I should be penniless." "I see," I cried; "I see. Then he named the price of his silence." "Yes." "Of course that was that you should marry his son. I see. It was cunningly planned. He thinks his son Peter is a sort of Apollo, and he imagined that you would desire to effectually stop him from speaking by becoming his daughter. It would then be to his advantage to be silent." "That was a part of his plan, but not all. He has found out that I possess knowledge of great importance." "Knowledge of great importance?" "Yes. It concerns the coming of Charles Stuart." "You have seen the Pretender!" I cried.