again, cleared of all contempt for us, and true to me through all of it, that I would have forgiven Gwenny for treason, or even forgery.

‘I trusted her so much,’ said Lorna, in her old ill-fortuned way; ‘and look how she has deceived me! That is why I love you, John (setting other things aside), because you never told me falsehood; and you never could, you know.’

‘Well, I am not so sure of that. I think I could tell any lie, to have you, darling, all my own.’

‘Yes. And perhaps it might be right. To other people besides us two. But you could not do it to me, John. You never could do it to me, you know.’

Before I quite perceived my way to the bottom of the distinction—although beyond doubt a valid one—Gwenny came back with a leathern bag, and tossed it upon the table. Not a word did she vouchsafe to us; but stood there, looking injured.

‘Go, and get your letters, John,’ said Lorna very gravely; ‘or at least your mother’s letters, made of messages to you. As for Gwenny, she shall go before Lord Justice Jeffreys.’ I knew that Lorna meant it not; but thought that the girl deserved a frightening; as indeed she did. But we both mistook the courage of this child of Cornwall. She stepped upon a little round thing, in the nature of a stool, such as I never had seen before, and thus delivered her sentiments.

‘And you may take me, if you please, before the great Lord Jeffreys. I have done no more than duty, though I did it crookedly, and told a heap of lies, for your sake. And pretty gratitude I gets.’

‘Much gratitude you have shown,’ replied Lorna, ‘to Master Ridd, for all his kindness and his goodness to you. Who was it that went down, at the peril of his life, and brought your father to you, when you had lost him for months and months? Who was it? Answer me, Gwenny?’

‘Girt Jan Ridd,’ said the handmaid, very sulkily.

‘What made you treat me so, little Gwenny?’ I asked, for Lorna would not ask lest the reply should vex me.

‘Because ’ee be’est below her so. Her shanna’ have a poor farmering chap, not even if her were a Carnishman. All her land, and all her birth—and who be you, I’d like to know?’

‘Gwenny, you may go,’ said Lorna, reddening with quiet anger; ‘and remember that you come not near me for the next three days. It is the only way to punish her,’ she continued to me, when the maid was gone, in a storm of sobbing and weeping. ‘Now, for the next three days, she will scarcely touch a morsel of food, and scarcely do a thing but cry. Make up your mind to one thing, John; if you mean to take me, for better for worse, you will have to take Gwenny with me.

‘I would take you with fifty Gwennies,’ said I, ‘although every one of them hated me, which I do not believe this little maid does, in the bottom of her heart.’

‘No one can possibly hate you, John,’ she answered very softly; and I was better pleased with this, than if she had called me the most noble and glorious man in the kingdom.

After this, we spoke of ourselves and the way people would regard us, supposing that when Lorna came to be her own free mistress (as she must do in the course of time) she were to throw her rank aside, and refuse her title, and caring not a fig for folk who cared less than a fig-stalk for her, should shape her mind to its native bent, and to my perfect happiness. It was not my place to say much, lest I should appear to use an improper and selfish influence. And of course to all men of common sense, and to everybody of middle age (who must know best what is good for youth), the thoughts which my Lorna entertained would be enough to prove her madness.