The small boy returned in a couple of minutes.  The gentleman was there, and had taken the letter.  So Mabyn at once set out for the centre of the town, and soon found herself in among a mass of huddled houses, bright shops and thoroughfares pretty well filled with strolling sailors, women getting home from market and townspeople come out to gossip.  She had accurately judged that she would be less observed in this busy little place than out on the Parade; and as it was the first appointment she had ever made to meet a young gentleman alone, she was just a little nervous.

Trelyon was there.  He had recognized the handwriting in a moment.  He had no time to ridicule or even to think of Mabyn’s school-girl affectation of secresy:  he had at once rushed off to the place of appointment, and that by a short cut of which she had no knowledge.

“Mabyn, what’s the matter?  Is Wenna ill?” he said, forgetting in his anxiety even to shake hands with her.

“Oh no, she isn’t,” said Mabyn rather coldly and defiantly.  If he was in love with her sister, it was for him to make advances.  “Oh no, she’s pretty well, thank you,” continued Mabyn, indifferently.  “But she never could stand much worry.  I wanted to see you about that.  She is going back to Eglosilyan to-morrow; and you must promise not to have her asked up to the Hall while these grand doings are going on—­you must not try to see her and persuade her.  If you could keep out of her way altogether—­”

“You know all about it, then, Mabyn?” he said suddenly; and even in the dusky light of the street she could see the rapid look of gladness that filled his face.  “And you are not going to be vexed, eh?  You’ll remain friends with me, Mabyn—­you will tell me how she is from time to time.  Don’t you see, I must go away; and—­and, by Jove, Mabyn!  I’ve got such a lot to tell you!”

She looked round.

“I can’t talk to you here.  Won’t you walk back by the other road behind the town?” he said.

Yes, she would go willingly with him now.  The anxiety of his face, the almost wild way in which he seemed to beg for her help and friendship, the mere impatience of his manner, pleased and satisfied her.  This was as it should be.  Here was no sweetheart by line and rule, demonstrating his affection by argument, and acting at all times with a studied propriety; but a real, true lover, full of passionate hope and as passionate fear; ready to do anything, and yet not knowing what to do.  Above all, he was “brave and handsome, like a prince,” and therefore a fit lover for her gentle sister.

“Oh, Mr. Trelyon,” she said with a great burst of confidence, “I did so fear that you might be indifferent!”

“Indifferent!” said he with some bitterness.  “Perhaps that is the best thing that could happen, only it isn’t very likely to happen.  Did you ever see anybody placed as I am placed, Mabyn?  Nothing but stumbling-blocks every way I look.  Our family have always been hot-headed and hot-tempered:  if I told my grandmother at this minute how I am situated, I believe she would say, ’Why don’t you go like a man and run off with the girl?’”