Ralph saw how nobly these strangers had acted by him. He could not understand why. They had risked their lives to save him, and this, too, when the chances were very small that they could ever nurse him through the fever, which resulted from the exhaustion, heat, and wounds of that dreadful day of St Aubin. He did not yet know all. "But who are you?" he asked languidly. "Ah, now, who do you think?" "You are not--no, you can’t be. Well, I don’t know who you are. But I seem to have seen you before." "Where? Can’t you call it to mind?" "Was it in the lists at Carisbrooke?" "In sooth it was," said the girl, laughing; "and somewhere else, too." "Not at Appuldurcombe, was it?" "Ay, marry was it, and elsewhere, too. At it again." But then seeing the effort of memory was too much for Ralph in his weak state, the girl added,--"There, you can’t think now. Lie still, and I will tell you. Do you mind lending some poor vagrants a pony at Thruxton? Do you mind a certain night, when you were nigh going over the edge of a cliff near St Catherine’s Down? You never knew who it was that spoke to you that night in the mist? And you never knew who sent you the glove? Ah, well! ’twas lucky for you you wore it, or father would have knocked you off like all the others. And why do you think I did it?" she said, with an arch smile. "I can’t tell," said Ralph, dreamily. "Well, but you might think." Then seeing that Ralph’s thoughts were far away, she added, in a pitying tone,--"Why, because thou wast so kind to father and me that day at Thruxton. You little knew who I was." "And who are you?" said Ralph absently. "Oh, that is a merry conceit. Don’t you know now?" "No; tell me. How can I tell?" "Why, I’m Aunt Yolande’s niece." "Aunt Yolande’s niece!" cried Ralph in amazement, utterly astounded at the unexpected answer, and not at all able to take in the truth of the remark. "Yes I am, although you may find it hard to credit, and my father is Sir George Lisle, and he fled for his life from the field of Stoke, trusting to the generosity of the Captain of the Wight, who, he thought, was his greatest enemy, but whom he knew to be a very noble knight." "And he was not wrong," said Ralph, sadly but proudly. "Nay he was not wrong. But he tried to give his life for the Captain’s, when he found out how great an injury he had done him. Do you remember Sister Agnes that day I saw you at Appuldurcombe? Do you know who she is?" "No. Who is she?" "She is my mother," said Magdalen, softly and sadly. "Your mother!" said Ralph in astonishment. "But she is a nun." "Yes, she is now; but she was Lady Lisle. I can’t call her much to mind at that time, for she left me when I was only four years old." "Why did she leave you?" said Ralph, becoming more interested. "’Tis a sad story, and I know not if I know all myself. But she was not happy, and could not bear her life. She took the veil in London, and became a Sister of St Clare."