"Yes, yes; we must hasten on. We may be followed." This she said like one afraid.
"But whither?" I asked. "If you would tell me your plans, your wishes, I could perchance carry them out. But you are overwrought—you need rest."
"No, no, I am quite strong. I can easily ride another thirty miles," and her voice was hoarse and unnatural.
"Even if you could, my horse is not fit to carry me so far," was my reply.
"But you are not out of danger."
"We must be thirty miles from Launceston Town," I said, "and no one could find me with ease even here. But to what spot did you intend that I should go?"
It seemed strange even then that I should be following the plans of a woman; strange that a simple maid, as I believed her to be, should provide for me a safe hiding-place.
"I would rather not tell you," she replied; "that is, I think I had better not. You can trust me?" This she said wistfully, I thought.
"In everything," I answered eagerly, "but will you trust me, too? You are not fit to travel further, and after a few hours' rest we shall all be better. Let us go to yonder farmhouse and ask for food and shelter."
"Such an act might be dangerous."