"And how did you find out she was your mother?" "Do you mind that night in the snow when father and the Captain fought? You did not know it was the Hermit of St Catherine’s and I who came. I only found out too late; but I could not have done anything to prevent their fighting had I known sooner. After father was so sore wounded, the Hermit, who has been a knight himself, and knew father as a boy, took him to the good Sisters of Appuldurcombe to be nursed, and for a long time father was between life and death. In his ravings, Sister Agnes--that’s my mother, you know--who took her turn to nurse him with the others--but not at first, because she had been very ill herself--heard him call her by her real name, and she knew him, of course, directly she saw him. She then for the first time heard how cruelly he had mistrusted her in her flight, and that he--well, she made up her mind to tell him everything if he should get well. I don’t know what happened, but father became quite altered. He was a long time getting well; and then you all went on that dolorous journey. But you never saw me passing you that evening near Wootton. Father’s life was at stake if he should be discovered; and he heard that there were spies of the King’s looking out for him; for a rumour had got abroad of an unknown knight, wearing a Yorkist collar, having been at a tourney at Carisbrooke--and it might have been the missing Lord Lovell. Well (but I shall never get done), we managed to get on board a Norman ship of St Vaast, come over with salt, which took us over to Barfleur; and then we heard for the first time that Eustace Bowerman had gotten over there, and was being made much of because he said he could tell the French governor of the province all about what was going on here. I also heard he had vowed to kill some one against whom he had a deadly hate, and I knew that must be you. As Master Bowerman was a likely-looking youth, and well spoken, and not wanting in a ready address and lying tongue, he got on marvellous well, and indeed he helped the French; for they, who thought the Captain of the Wight was a very powerful prince, seeing he was uncle to our Queen, and who dreaded he would bring over a very powerful meynie, were full glad to hear how small a force he could muster, and that made them right hardy and joyous; so that they fought on that bitter day with greater heart than they are wont to do when they meet with us. For they knew right well that those other seventeen hundred in red crosses were but poor weak Bretons. My father, who was a well-known Yorkist, all of which faction were welcome in France as being useful to keep our King in check, was readily allowed his freedom, and he offered his sword to the Seigneur de la Trimouille in the hope he might save some of our poor men’s lives, but most of all he longed to save the Captain of the Wight, and to tell him how sad he was at the wrong he had done him.