"I have read the writings of both William Shakespeare and John Milton," I replied, "and I know a little of such writings of Corneille and Molière as have been brought to this country."
"You know French then?"
"A little. But that hath nothing to do with my desire to befriend you. You are in trouble, and I would help you."
"You desire not to harm me?"
"So help me God, no."
"But why are you here?" she asked suspiciously. "If your home is at Epping Forest, what are you doing at Folkestone?"
"I came at my father's bidding," I replied after a moment's hesitation.
"Ah, you have a secret, too," she cried.
At this I was silent, while I wondered at the quickness with which she fastened upon the truth. Nevertheless, I was sure her voice was friendly, and I thought she was glad to have me near. And this was no wonder, for courageous although she might be, her mission was one which must strike terror in the bravest heart.
But still she hesitated. What was passing in her mind I knew not; but I imagined that two fears fought one against the other in her heart. One, the fear of going alone to the haunted house situated amid the great Pycroft woods, and the other the fear of accepting the protection of one of whom she knew nothing, and whom she had never seen until that hour.