"I wish I could be of further service to you," I said at length. "I am glad that you trust me enough to--to tell me what--what you have told me. Will you trust me further? Will you tell me all you can about your father's marriage? Believe me, I will rest neither night nor day until I have found out whether there is any truth in Peter Trevisa's statements." "You will have to stay here--in privacy. You are not safe," was her reply. "That is, you must stay here until you can escape to France." "You forget," I replied, "you forget Otho Killigrew's promise. If he hath laid such information before Hugh Boscawen as to lead him to give an order for my freedom, all danger is gone." "You have still escaped from Launceston Castle." "Yes, but if Hugh Pyper receives Viscount Falmouth's warrant for my freedom, he will say naught of my escape. Look, Mistress Nancy, let me serve you." I spoke like a schoolboy. I thought nothing of difficulties, I almost forgot the danger through which I had passed. Neither did I realize the importance of the news she had just imparted. The last ten years of my life seemed only a dream; I was a boy of twenty-two instead of a man of thirty-two. The maid had made me long to do impossible things, to undertake impossible missions. It has been said by some great writer that a convent school destroys all foresight, all calculation in a young girl's life. That continuous solitude, save for the companionship of her fellow-scholars, and seclusion from the life of the world, lead her to conjure up in her imagination all the romantic scenes which young girls love, even although she has never heard of such things. That on leaving the convent she is a prey to first impressions, and longings for love and romance; thus she never troubles about results, never comprehends difficulties and dangers. Mistress Nancy proved this man to be wrong. Of the depths of her nature I knew but little, of her heart's longing I was ignorant; but she was constantly revealing to me a rare power of penetration; she was cool, courageous, and full of forethought. On the other hand, she seemed to know but little of the world's wisdom. The thought of losing her wealth caused her no apparent distress; the supposition that her father's marriage was not legal seemed to bring no painful thoughts to her mind. The bare thought of illegitimacy would bring anguish unspeakable to some; Mistress Nancy seemed to reck nothing of it. In this sense she was a child, ignorant of the ways and thoughts of the world; in others she was capable of independent and daring action. "Believe me," I continued presently, "to serve you is the dearest thought of my life. I owe it to you," I added as if in explanation. "It would be wrong for you to rush into danger," she replied calmly. "If you are freed from danger, then I will claim your help again. But I have friends, and I am not afraid."