"And I meant to have done it," she said, as if musing to herself. "I have travelled a long way."
"What do you mean, Tamsin?" I asked.
She hesitated a minute, then she spoke like one in pain.
"I did my best, Jasper—believe that. But for me you would have been killed. Israel Barnicoat and others vowed it, but I persuaded father. I heard about your coming back, and I tried to find out where you had been taken. As soon as I knew I started to come. I would have set you free; I would, Jasper, I would."
My slow-thinking mind was trying to find its way to Tamsin's motives for acting thus, when she went on if possible more earnestly than before.
"She didn't care for you, Jasper; if she did, why were you imprisoned in her house?"
"Tamsin," I said, for I began to see her meaning, "do you know what is become of Naomi Penryn?"
"No," she said, sullenly.
"Tamsin," I went on, "I thank you for your goodness to me; I am glad I had a friend willing to travel so far to help me. But I am in great sorrow, Tamsin. I may tell you about it, I know; I love Naomi Penryn—love her like my own life. I have heard strange rumours about her, and my heart is very sad. I can trust you, Tamsin, I know that. Have you heard anything about her?"