She was no longer a child; she was a woman who had seen much of the world for the times she lived in.  Doubtless she had begun to see that she must now marry ere her beauty waned; and having failed to make a grander match during her years of wandering, was glad enough to return to her former lover, whose fidelity had doubtless touched her heart.

“Thou wilt have a home and a dowry, and a husband who has loved thee long and faithfully,” added Sir Hugh, who felt that he might now adopt a more paternal tone, seeing he had not to combat foolish resistance.  “Thou hast been a good daughter, Joan; doubtless thou wilt make a good wife too.”

Still no reply, though a faint smile seemed to curve Joan’s lips.  She presently rose to her feet, and making a respectful reverence to her father —­ for daily embraces were not the order of the day —­ glided from the room as if to seek her couch.

“That is a thing well done!” breathed the knight, when he found himself once more alone, “and done easier than I had looked for.  Well, well, it is a happy thing the wench has found her right senses.  Methinks good Peter must have been setting his charms to work, for she never could be brought to listen to him of old.  He has tamed her to some purpose now.”

Meantime Joan had glided up the staircase of the hall, along several winding passages, and up and down several irregular flights of narrow steps, till she paused at the door of a room very dim within, but just lighted by the gleam of a dying fire.  As she stepped across the threshold a voice out of the darkness accosted her.

“My ladybird, is it thou, and at such an hour?  Tell me what has befallen thee.”

“The thing that thou and I have talked of before now, Bridget,” answered Joan, speaking rapidly in a strange low voice —­ “the thing that thou and I have planned a hundred times if the worst should befall us.  It is tenfold more needful now than before.  Bridget, I must quit this house at sunset tomorrow, and thou must have my disguise ready.  I must to France, to find out there the truth of a tale I have this day heard.  Nat will go with me —­ he has said so a hundred times; and I have long had money laid by for the day I ever knew might come.  Thou knowest all.  He is a man of the sea; I am his son.  We have planned it too oft to be taken unawares by any sudden peril.  Thus disguised, we may wander where we will, molested by none.  Lose no time.  Rise and go to Nat this very night.  I myself must not be seen with him or with thee.  I must conduct myself as though each day to come were like the one past.  But thou knowest what to do.  Thou wilt arrange all.  God bless thee, my faithful Bridget; and when I come back again, thou shalt not lack thy reward!”

“I want none else but thy love, my heart’s delight,” said the old nurse, gathering the girl into her fond arms; and Joan hid her face for one moment upon that faithful breast and gave way to a short burst of weeping, which did much for her overcharged heart.