"I thought you were safe in England, Vevette," said David, in English. "What brings you here?"
"My own folly and wickedness," I answered. "But I cannot tell you the story now. David, if you ever loved me, go, or send to Lord Stanton, at Stanton Court, near Biddeford, in Devonshire. Tell him you saw me here a prisoner. Watch what they do with me, and carry him word. Tell Andrew Corbet that I have always loved him, and always shall. But how are you here in safety?"
"I am of too much use for my master to spare me, and so he gives me protection," was the reply; "but it will not be for long. But what of my father and mother—of madame? Do you know anything?"
"Maman is in heaven. Your parents are at Tre Madoc, in Cornwall, living in comfort. My lord will tell you. David, have you a little Gospel?"
He took from an inner pocket a little thin, worn book, made for concealment—the Gospel of St. Luke.
"Give it me—I have none," said I, and he put it into my hand.
"Lucille," said I.
"I know nothing of her," was the sorrowful answer. "Since she left Sartilly I have heard once that she escaped, and again that she was dead. Depend upon me, Vevette!"
Then, as Susanne made a warning sign, he pressed my hand and passed on.
The convent gate was once more opened, and I was summoned to descend. I was led by a nun through a long passage, then along a cloister which bounded one side of the convent burial-place, and at last into the parlor, where sat my uncle and aunt. Behind the grating stood a lady in conventual dress, whom I judged to be the Superior. She looked like a fussy, important sort of personage, but she had a kind, motherly face. Behind her stood two other nuns, in the dress of the Ursulines.