"Come," said Spikeman, pursuing and bringing her back, "name not the presumptuous varlet. On one condition I will tell thee, even though it ruin me."
"What may that be?" inquired the girl.
"I have long solicited an interview where we should not be liable to interruption. Grant me that, and I will conceal nothing."
"Thou dost grant nothing without a condition. I do not know," she added, tossing her head, "whether I care anything, after all, about this mystery. I dare say there is nothing in it, and, as you say, it concerns me not."
"Be not angry, sweet Prudence. Ask, and I will answer all thy questions."
"You know, too, how much I would do to pleasure you," sighed Prudence. "Ah! me, how weak a thing is a woman's heart."
"Then you will not deny me? Know then that letters have arrived from England, charging this knight, or pretended knight, with diverse grave offences."
"And what may they be?" inquired the girl.
"He is complained of as a fugitive from justice," answered Spikeman, who meant to communicate no more information than he was obliged to.
"The sweet, handsome gentleman! I do not believe he ever harmed any one. But what did he?"