“You must—­you must,” she answered; “I shall die if they hurt you.  I hear the old nurse moving.  Grandfather is sure to send for me.  Keep back from the window.”

However, it was only Gwenny Carfax, Lorna’s little handmaid:  my darling brought her to the window and presented her to me, almost laughing through her grief.

“Oh, I am so glad, John; Gwenny, I am so glad you came.  I have wanted long to introduce you to my ‘young man,’ as you call him.  It is rather dark, but you can see him.  I wish you to know him again, Gwenny.”

“Whoy!” cried Gwenny, with great amazement, standing on tiptoe to look out, and staring as if she were weighing me:  “her be bigger nor any Doone!  Heared as her have bate our Cornish champion awrastling.  ’Twadn’t fair play nohow:  no, no; don’t tell me, ’twadn’t fair play nohow.”

“True enough, Gwenny,” I answered her; for the play had been very unfair indeed on the side of the Bodmin champion; “it was not a fair bout, little maid; I am free to acknowledge that.”  By that answer, or rather by the construction she put upon it, the heart of the Cornish girl was won, more than by gold and silver.

“I shall knoo thee again, young man; no fear of that,” she answered, nodding with an air of patronage.  “Now, missis, gae on coortin’, and I wall gae outside and watch for ’ee.”  Though expressed not over delicately, this proposal arose, no doubt, from Gwenny’s sense of delicacy; and I was very thankful to her for taking her departure.

“She is the best little thing in the world,” said Lorna, softly laughing; “and the queerest, and the truest.  Nothing will bribe her against me.  If she seems to be on the other side, never, never doubt her.  Now no more of your ‘coortin’, John!  I love you far too well for that.  Yes, yes, ever so much!  If you will take a mean advantage of me.  And as much as ever you like to imagine; and then you may double it, after that.  Only go, do go, good John; kind, dear, darling John; if you love me, go.”

“How can I go without settling anything?” I asked very sensibly.  “How shall I know of your danger now?  Hit upon something; you are so quick.  Anything you can think of; and then I will go, and not frighten you.”

“I have been thinking long of something,” Lorna answered rapidly, with that peculiar clearness of voice which made every syllable ring like music of a several note, “you see that tree with the seven rooks’ nests bright against the cliffs there?  Can you count them, from above, do you think?  From a place where you will be safe, dear”—­

“No doubt, I can; or if I cannot, it will not take me long to find a spot, whence I can do it.”

“Gwenny can climb like any cat.  She has been up there in the summer, watching the young birds, day by day, and daring the boys to touch them.  There are neither birds, nor eggs there now, of course, and nothing doing.  If you see but six rooks’ nests; I am in peril and want you.  If you see but five, I am carried off by Carver.”