"He is a lover of my maid," she replied. "She would lead him away a few steps out of sight while you got to your own chamber."
"But I should have to pass through your apartments."
"Amelia shall show you the way. I will remain here."
"No," I replied, for I was angry with her. "I will not be beholden to you in any way."
For the first time she looked at me kindly, but I took no heed. I placed my arm around the merlon, and then, grasping the gutter, lowered myself. I had often accomplished such feats, and this fact helped me now. In a few minutes I had reached the ledge, and a little later stood on the old castle walls again. Arrived there, I stopped and listened; but no sound reached me. I looked up, and saw that the maid Nancy Molesworth had followed my descent—saw that she was watching me now. There was an expression of wonder, of bewilderment, on her face. Doubtless she was seeking to divine who I was, and why I should come to her. I was sure she wanted a friend, too. But I knew not what to say—I had forfeited my right to help her. I suppose I was foolish at the moment, however. Most men are at times.
"Good-night, Mistress Nancy Molesworth," I said. "Remember that I am your friend. Perhaps some day I may be able to show it." Then I squeezed myself into my bed-chamber, feeling ill pleased with myself.
I pulled off my clothes, and got to bed; but I could not sleep. Two conflicting forces were at war within me. One moment I reproached myself as a fool for not being able to deceive a slip of a maid without stammering. The next I found myself pitying her, and calling myself a traitor to my name for not seeking to rescue her from the Killigrews. Sometimes I cursed myself for being as easily moved as a boy of twenty-one, not able to withstand the simple questions of a convent-school girl; and again I reproached myself for yielding to Peter Trevisa's wishes, and undertaking a work unfit for a man of honour.
Presently a more serious matter presented itself to me. Should I abandon Peter Trevisa's commission? The maid had practically rejected my offer. Should I go back to Treviscoe and tell him that I had failed? Should I forever carry around with me the memory of the fact that I had made a promise to do a thing, and then at the first difficulty I had given it up like a puling girl? I had taken his money, I had given my word that I would do his work;—could I give it up? Even although Trevanion did not lie at the end of the business, it were unfair and cowardly to fail in my undertaking thus. Well, supposing I decided to make a second attempt; suppose I decided to devise new means to take the maid away—there were many obstacles in my road. Old Colman Killigrew expected me to depart the next day. I had promised to take his messages to some Catholic families in the south of the country, and I should have no excuse for staying at Endellion. Once outside the house, my power to do anything would be gone.
"Let it be so," I said to myself angrily. "I will leave the whole business in the lurch. Let old Peter do his work as best he may, and let the maid Nancy Molesworth fight her own battles with these Killigrews. To-morrow I will start for London, and there I will seek for work more congenial to me. If this Charles comes to England, King George will need good swords." But even as these thoughts passed through my mind, I was not satisfied with them. I felt I should be playing a coward's part, and was seeking some other way whereby to better satisfy myself, when I heard a low knocking at the door. I did not speak, and the rapping became louder.
"Who is there?" I asked, like one awaked out of sleep.