“What was it, then, on his cousin’s part?”

Peregrine only answered with a shrug.  It appeared further, that as long as the conspirators had entertained any expectation of success, he had merely kept a watch over Anne, intending to claim her in the hour of the triumph of his party, when he looked to enjoy such a position as would leave his brother free to enjoy his paternal inheritance.  In the failure of all their schemes through Mr. Pendergrast’s denunciation, Sir George Barclay, and one or two inferior plotters, had succeeded in availing themselves of the assistance of the Black Gang, and had been conducted by Peregrine to the hut that he had fitted up for himself.  Still trusting to the security there, although his name of Piers Pilgrim or de Pilpignon had been among those given up to the Privy Council, he had insisted on lingering, being resolved that an attempt should be made to carry away the woman he had loved for so many years.  Captain Burford had so disguised himself as to be able to attend the trial, loiter about the inn, and collect intelligence, while the others waited on the downs.  Peregrine had watched over the capture, but being unwilling to disclose himself, had ridden on faster and crossed direct, traversing the Island on horseback, while the captive was rounding it in the boat.  “As should never have been done,” he said, “could I have foretold to what stress of weather you would be exposed while I was preparing for your reception.  But for this storm—­it rages louder than ever—­we would have been married by a little parson whom Burford would have fetched from Portsmouth, and we should have been over the Channel, and my people hailing my bride with ecstasy.”

“Never!” exclaimed Anne.  “Can you suppose I could accept one who would leave an innocent man to suffer?”

“People sometimes are obliged to accept,” said Peregrine.  Then at her horrified start, “No, no, fear no violence; but is not something due to one who has loved you through exile all these years, and would lay down his life for you? you, the only being who overcomes his evil angel!”

“This is what you call overcoming it,” she said.

“Nay; indeed, Mistress Anne, I would let the authorities know that they are hanging a man for murdering one who is still alive if I could; but no one would believe without seeing, and I and all who could bear witness to my existence would be rushing to an end even worse than a simple noose.  You were ready enough to denounce him to save that worthless fellow.”

“Not ready.  It tore my heart.  But truth is truth.  I could not do that wickedness.  Oh! how can you?  This is the prompting of the evil spirit indeed, to expect me to join in leaving that innocent, generous spirit to die in cruel injustice.  Let me go.  I will not betray where you are.  You will be safe in France; but there will yet be time for me to bear witness to your life.  Write a letter.  Your father would thankfully swear to your handwriting, and I think they would believe me.  Only let me go.”