"I go to Tregothnan," I cried. "I go this very hour. Adam Coad must let me out. Surely he knows of the secret ways."
She hesitated a second; then she said: "No, Adam must know nothing of this. I will conduct you. But you are sure it is right to tell Lord Falmouth."
"It is more than right," I cried; "I shall perchance save the country from civil war."
She looked at me as if in great doubt.
"But if the Catholic faith is the true one," she cried, "and if Charles Stuart is the lawful heir to the throne—then——" and her lips trembled piteously as if she were in sore straits.
"I am no great hand at theology," I said; "but I know that Popery is lies, oppression, cruelty, ruin! We have had enough of it in England. If the Pretender lands and Hugh Boscawen is taken prisoner, it will mean brother fighting against brother, perhaps father fighting against son. The whole country will be in tears. We shall have the rack, the thumbscrew, the faggot back again. As for the Stuarts, they have proved themselves to be a race of scoundrels."
I spoke warmly, for now that I was brought face to face with facts, I saw everything in a new light. The earnestness of my race rose up within me, and even then I felt ashamed of the useless life I had lived.
"Are you such a Protestant, then?" she asked.
"All my race have been for two hundred years," I cried; "and the reign of a Stuart will mean a deathblow for all who try to uphold liberty and truth."
"But you will be in great danger."