Now I have before said I have never regarded myself as a clever man—none of my race have ever been. Honest men the Penningtons have always been; brave men, too, although I, perhaps, am not the man to say it, but not men who understand things quickly. Often after I have had dealings with people, it has come to my mind what I might have said and done, how I might have left some questions unanswered while others I could have answered differently. Lawyer Trefry once told me I should never get a living with my brains; I had too much body, he said. I am not ashamed to say this. Nay, I have no faith in men who are clever enough to give lying answers instead of true ones. Give me a man who speaks out straight, and who knows nothing of crooked ways. The men that the country wants are not clever, scheming men, who wriggle out of difficulties by underhanded ways, but those who see only the truth, and speak it, and fight for it if needs be. I am glad I had a fair amount of schooling, as becomes one who ought to have been the squire of a parish, but I am more thankful because I stand six feet four inches in my stockings, and measured forty-six inches around the naked chest even at twenty-one, and that I know next to nothing of sickness or bodily pain. But more than everything, I am proud that although I have been badly treated I have told no lies in order that truth may prevail, neither do I remember striking an unfair blow. No doubt, I shall have many things to answer for on the Judgment Day, but I believe God will reckon to my account the fact that I tried to fight fairly when sorely tempted to do otherwise.

I say this, because it may seem to many that I was foolish in telling Tamsin Truscott the truth about myself. But as I said just now, I am not clever at answering people, neither could I frame answers to her questions which would hide the truth from her. Before we had been talking ten minutes I had told her all about myself, except my love for Naomi. I dared not speak about that, for I felt I was not worthy to speak of her, whose life was far removed from unlawful men and their ways. Moreover I could not bear that the secret of my heart should be known. It should be first told to the one who only had a right to hear it, even although she should refuse that which I offered her.

"And so," said Tamsin, "my father has promised that you shall win enough money to buy Pennington if you will work with him."

"That he has," was my reply.

"And do you know the kind of life he lives?"

"I have heard," I replied.

"And would you feel happy, Jasper Pennington, if you bought back your home, got by such means?"

"As for that," I replied, for I did not feel comfortable under her words, "what harm is there in smuggling? I know of several parsons who buy smuggled goods."

"If smuggling were all!" she said, significantly.

"But is it not all?" I queried. "Your father told me that this was all he required."

"Do you think you could gain enough by smuggling? Bill Lurgy has been with my father for years; does he look like one who could buy back Pennington?"

"He is but a paid man," I replied. "Your father has promised that I shall have shares in his profits."

A look of scorn flashed from her eyes, which I could not understand, and she seemed to be about to say some words which caused her much feeling, when her eyes looked straight into mine, and I saw the blood course up into her face, until her very brow became crimson. Her hands trembled, too, while her lips twitched so that she was unable to speak.

Now, I could not understand this, especially as a few seconds before she had been so eager to talk.

"Would you advise me to ask your father to release me of my promise, then?" I asked. "I cannot go at once without his consent, for I have given my word I will stay with him for one month."

For answer she caught my hands eagerly. "No, no, stay!" she said. "I will see to it that you are fairly treated. You must not go away!"

This puzzled me much, but I had no time to ask her what she meant, for just then her father and several of his men came into the room.

There was great carousing that night at Cap'n Jack's house. A great deal of grog was drunk, and many strange things said, and yet I could not help feeling that a kind of reserve was upon the party. I noticed that when some story was being told Cap'n Jack coughed, whereupon the eyes of the story-teller were turned upon me, and the yarn remained unfinished. I could see, too, that many of the men did not like me, and I grew uneasy at the ugly looks they gave me. Moreover, I could not help remembering that in spite of all I was a Pennington, and was no fit company for such as they. And yet I could not escape, for I was hemmed in on every side.

At the end of a month I began to feel more at home among my surroundings, and up to that time was not asked to do anything particularly objectionable. It is true I helped to bring several cargoes of smuggled goods ashore, but that did not trouble me. Moreover, I learnt many things about the coast of which I had hitherto been ignorant. At the end of two months I knew the coast from Gurnard's Head to Kynance Cove, and had also spent a good deal of time in learning navigation, which Cap'n Jack assured me would be essential to my getting back Pennington. I had no rupture with any of the men, and yet I saw they did not like me. Especially did Israel Barnicoat regard me with a great deal of disfavour. I thought at the time that he was jealous of the favour which Cap'n Jack showed me, for I knew no other reason why he should dislike me. It was true that until I came he was regarded as the strongest man in Cap'n Jack's gang, and was angry when he heard some one say that I could play with two such as he.

"I would like to try a hitch with you, Squire," he said one day, when Cap'n Jack had been chaffing him.

We were standing on the little green outside the Cap'n's house, and several of us were together. I did not want to wrestle with him, for it is ill playing a game of strength with a man who cannot keep his temper. So I told him I would rather let him be regarded as the strongest man that Cap'n Jack had. Whereupon he swore loudly and called me a coward, so that I was obliged to accept his challenge. I had no sooner thrown off my coat than Tamsin came to the door, and when Israel saw her his arms became hard, and a strange light shone from his eyes.

"Throw off your shoes, Israel," I said. "We won't go in for kicking like the up-country fellows, let's play like true Cornish lads."

Then I took off my heavy boots, and he did likewise, although I could see he was not pleased. After that I waited quietly and let him get his hitch on me first. But he was no match for me; try as he would, he could not throw me, although he could see I did not put forth my strength. Then, when I had let him do his utmost, I slipped from his grasp, put my loins under his body, and threw him on the sward.

"Bravo!" cried Tamsin. "Ah, Israel, you are but a baby in his hands," and she laughed gleefully.

"It was a coward's throw," shouted Israel. "He struck me in the wind with his knee—a coward's kick!"

"Coward!" I cried. "Nay, Israel Barnicoat, I could play with two such as you. Let your brother come with you, and I'll throw you both."

With that Micah Barnicoat came up, and both together they leaped upon me; but I caught them like I have seen the schoolmaster at Tregorny catch two boys, and knocked their heads together; then with a little trick I laid them both on the sward.

I do not write this boastingly, because I had nothing to do but to use the strength which God gave me. I could not help it that I came of a large-boned, strong race. My forefathers had been mighty men, and although I am told I am far smaller and weaker than they, Israel Barnicoat and his brother seemed like children in my hands. Neither would I have written this save that it has to do with the story of my life, which I am trying to tell truthfully, although, I am afraid, with but little skill.

Israel looked at me more evilly than ever as he rose to his feet, but he said no word, even though the men laughed loudly, and Tamsin rejoiced at my success. I liked it not, however, when that same evening I saw Israel eagerly talking with a group of men, each of whom held their peace as I came up. This set me thinking, and finally a conviction laid hold of me that Israel was my enemy, and that he would do me evil if he had the chance.

After I had gone to bed that night I heard the sound of voices in the garden, and presently, as if by arrangement, Cap'n Jack went to them.

"Where's the Squire?" I heard Israel Barnicoat say—they had called me Squire from the first.

"Been in bed more'n an hour," was the reply.

"Look 'ere, Cap'n Jack," said Israel; "we want to spaik plain. Why is he to be put afore we? Here 'ee es, livin' at your 'ouse as ef 'ee was yer son. He ain't got to do no dirty work. Oal we want es fair play. Laive 'ee do loustrin' jobs same as we do."

"Anything else?" asked Cap'n Jack.

"I do'ant bleeve in makin' fish o' waun and flesh of t'other. All alike, I zay."

"Be I cap'n?" asked Cap'n Jack.

"Iss, you be; but we chaps 'ave got our rights, tha's wot I zay. Wot's ee more'n we?"

"Be I a fool, Israel Barnicoat?" asked Cap'n Jack. "Caan't I zee wot's good fur us oal? He's larnin' navigation—wot fur? Ain't us got a ship that 'll need navigation? We want a man as knaws figgers an's got schoolin'; 'ave you got et? We want somebody as can play the genleman; can you do et? Billy Coad es too ould to taake command ov the Flyin' Swan much longer; well, wot then? Who's to do et? You knaw we caan't 'ford to 'ave outsiders. 'Sides, ef 'ee once gits in weth we—well, we've got un, ain't us?"

"Well, wot then?"

"He'll buy back Pennington."

"Wot's the use o' that to we?"

"Be 'ee a fool, Israel Barnicoat? Caan't 'ee zee that eff he's one o' we, and he gits back his rights, that we'm as safe as eggs, an' shell allays have a squire an' a magistrate on our side? Tha's wot I be humourin' 'im for. I do'ant want to drive un away fust thing."

A good deal of murmuring followed this, some of the men evidently agreeing with their captain, others feeling with Israel that I had had too many favours shown me. Then they talked too low for me to hear, except now and then fragments of sentences about the "queer-coloured flag on the Flying Swan," and "Billy Coad makin' many a man walk the plank."

All this opened my eyes to many things which had not hitherto been plain to me, and I listened more eagerly than ever, in order to understand their plans concerning me; but I could make nothing out of the orders which Cap'n Jack was giving. At last, just before they left him, one asked a question in a low voice: "When is the Flying Swan expected?"

"A couple ov months, sonny. We must humour un a bit, and git un in our ways. We ca'ant 'ford to be fullish jist now."

Presently they all left with the exception of Israel Barnicoat, who spoke to Cap'n Jack eagerly.

"'Tes oal very well to talk, Cap'n," he said, "but 'ee's stailin' away Tamsin from me."

"Did you ever 'ave Tamsin to stail, sonny?" asked the Cap'n.

"Well, I 'ad a chance at wawn time, but now she's tooked on weth he. Mind, Cap'n, ef he do git Tamsin ther'll be somebody missin'!"

"Doan't be a fool, Israel," replied Cap'n Jack. "Go away 'ome, sonny, and be ready for yer work in the mornin'."

"But mind, Cap'n, the Squire must obey oarders saame as we, else ther'll be mutiny."

"Well, 'ee shell, ther' now. Good-night, Israel; good-night, sonny, and by the blessing of Providence you'll be a rich man yet."

I turned over all this many times in my mind, and, as may be imagined, I was sore driven what to think. Up till now I had not been asked, beyond smuggling, to do anything unlawful, but now I saw that I was intended for wild work. Moreover, I knew not how to get out of it, for Cap'n Jack had, in a way, got me in his power. I had heard of several who had once belonged to his gang, and who had come to an untimely end, and this not by means of the law, but by unknown ways. I also called to mind one of his stories concerning one Moses Rowse, who, because he wanted to "turn religious," was found on the beach one day with his head broken, while another went away from home and never came back again.

All this, I say, wrought upon me strangely—so much so that I did not sleep that night, and I formed many plans as to how I might escape, until my brain was weary.

The next day I noticed that Cap'n Jack was eagerly looking at the sea, as though he saw something of interest, although I, who looked in the direction toward which his eyes were turned, could see nothing.

"I reckon ther'll be some work to-night, Jasper, my sonny," he remarked, after looking steadily a long time. "It do come dark early thaise November days, an' it'll be a baisly muggy night to-night, tha's wot 't'll be. I must go down to the cove and zee the booys."

When he was gone Tamsin came to me.

"What are you so stand-offish for?" she asked.

I did not reply, for my heart was sad.

"And what did you think of the talk between father and the men last night?" she asked.

"What do you know about it?" I asked.

"I know you were listening," she replied; "but never mind, it's all safe with me; and, Jasper, you mustn't think that I care about Israel Barnicoat, I don't like un a bit."

"He's the strongest man in your father's gang," I said.

"No, Jasper, he's no man at all when you are near. How could I look on Israel Barnicoat now I've seen you?" She said this with a sob, and then I knew that Tamsin Truscott loved me. She caught my great brown hand and kissed it. "Jasper," she cried, "I know where father keeps his money, love me, and I will get it for you; more than enough to buy back Pennington. No one knows how rich father is. I know, I know!"

The maid spoke like one demented, and, for the moment, I knew not how to answer her. Not that I despised her for saying what always ought to be said by the man, for I believe that her heart was as clean as a wind-swept sky. For a moment, too, wild, unnatural thoughts came into my mind which I will not here set down. But even as they came the picture of Naomi's face came before me, and they departed with the swiftness of lightning. For I have found this to be true: a true love ever destroys baser and poorer loves. Let a man love truly a true, pure woman, and all womanhood is sacred to him. And because I loved Naomi truly no other love could come into my life.

So I did not reply to Tamsin's words, but walked away toward the cove instead. Still her words had their effect—they determined me to leave Cap'n Jack's gang as soon as possible. I saw now that it would be wrong to stay at Kynance Cove, wrong to Tamsin, wrong to myself. It would be unworthy of my love for Naomi. For two months I had not realised what lay before me, now I understood. How could I go to her with words of love upon my lips, when I sought to win back the home of my fathers by such means as Cap'n Jack hinted in his talk with his followers the night before? And so again and again I planned how I might get away.

Early in the afternoon Cap'n Jack came to me. "I want us to crake a bit, sonny," he said. I did not reply, but I sat down near him in the open chimney.

"It's time we come to bisness," he said. "You've bin loppin' 'bout for two months, doin' nothin' much. Well, the booys be jillus, Jasper, and they want things clear."

"I've done all you've asked me," I replied.

"Iss, so you 'ave, sonny, but I want to maake a man ov 'ee. I've got a purty boat, Jasper, called The Flying Swan. She'll be 'ome soon from what I 'ope will be a prosperous voyage. I want you to go on 'er as a soart of maate, to taake command laater on."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "What is this Flying Swan of which you are the owner? Is she a trading vessel? What does she carry? Besides, why choose me? I know nothing about sea life."

"I'll tell 'ee," he said. "The Flyin' Swan is used for smugglin' on a biggish scale. She's manned by as braave a lot of chaps as ever clained the seams of a deck. Her cap'n es Billy Coad, a man you may 'ave 'eer'd on, and wawn you would like to knaw. A man of rare piety, Jasper. He and me be the main owners, by the blessin' of Providence. Ah, it would do yer 'art good to hear 'im give his Christian experience."

"Smuggling on a biggish scale. What do you mean by that?" I asked.

"Well, dailin' direct weth the furrin' poarts, and at times, when Billy do see a vessel in the open say, wot do carry the flag of a Papist country, say the Spanish, well, I doan't deny—but there."

"You mean that the Flying Swan is but little better than a pirate ship."

"Never call things by ugly naames," replied Cap'n Jack; "besides, I do look upon this as your main chance of buyin' back Pennington."

"Suppose I refuse?" I suggested.

"You wa'ant refuse, sonny."

"Why not?"

"Well, twudden pay 'ee. We doan't never have that sort wi' we. I'm a man of paice, I be; but thaise be loanely paarts, my sonny. Nearer than Lezard Town ther's 'ardly a 'ouse. You wudden be missed much."

"But suppose I were to leave you?"

"Laive us; no, sonny, you ca'ant do that now. You knaw too much."

"How can you keep me? Suppose I were to leave the house now, ay, leave the county, who could stop me?"

"I could, sonny. Do you think I'm a cheeld? I've got the county ringed—I've got men everywhere. Cap'n Jack Truscott's gang is a big affair, my son, an' I telly this, ef you tried to git away to-night you'd be a dead man afore to-morrow, for oal I'm a man of paice, and send presents to the passon in place of tithes; I doan't stand no nonsense, mind that, my son."

His white eyes shone with a strange light, and I knew he had his fears about my loyalty.

"The truth es, Jasper," went on Cap'n Jack, "you've come wi' we, and wi' we you must stay; that es, till you git 'nough to buy back Pennington. Aw, aw!"

"And if I do?"

"I shell 'ave a squire for my friend, and—well, you'll still be one o' we. You see, my sonny, we've got many ways o' doin' things, an' when I once gits 'old ov a chap, well, I sticks. But theer, sonny, wot's the use ov angry words. I'm a paicable man, and wen you knaw us better, you'll knaw 'ow we stick to aich other through thick and thin. I like 'ee, Jasper, an' I've got need ov 'ee. A strong fella you be—Israel Barnicoat and his brother Micah was just like little babbies to 'ee. A schullard, too, and knaw figgers. Iss, a year on the Flyin' Swan on an expedishan I'm a thinkin' on will buy back Pennington, and then, well, we shall see, Jasper. Why shudden I be the squire's father-in-law, eh, sonny? An' Tamsin es a grand maid, ed'n she then?"

Slowly my mind grasped his meaning, but I did not speak.

"Still, tho' you be a fav'rite ov mine, Jasper, the booys be jillus, that ev it. An' ther's a bit of work on to-night, sonny. There's a craft a few miles out, an' to-night will be baisly and black. Well, the booys insist on your takin' our ould mare, an' tyin' a lantern on to her neck, an' leadin' 'er on the cliff toward the Lizard. It'll do thou'll mare good, and be a light to the vessel."

"Such a light would lure her on to the rocks!" I cried.

"Wud et, Jasper? Well, some wud blaame Providence for these things. But it must be done."

"And suppose the Preventive men see me?"

"Wot be a couple of sich chaps to you? You could knack their 'eads together like you ded by Micah and Israel."

"And if I refuse?"

He looked at me steadily for a minute with his white eyes gleaming strangely in the firelight; then he said, slowly, "Ef you refuse this time, my sonny, you'll never refuse no more in this world."

All the same I made up my mind that I would escape from Cap'n Jack's gang that very night, and that I would take no part in luring a vessel on to destruction.



CHAPTER X

WHAT BECAME OF THE WRECKERS' LIGHT—HOW I ESCAPED AND ENTERED PENNINGTON

An hour later a number of men were in the kitchen of Cap'n Jack's house, and from the way they talked I knew they meant that the vessel which they had been watching should that night be destroyed. Never until then did I realise the utter heartlessness of the gang. They seemed to care nothing for the lives of those on the ship which they had decided to wreck. In their lust for gain nothing was sacred to them. As far as I could gather, their plan was that I should lead Cap'n Jack's horse along the edge of the cliffs with a lantern fastened to its neck. This to a ship at sea would seem like the light of another ship. The false light would thus lead the captain to steer his vessel straight upon the rocks. Outside was a wild, high sea, the clouds overhead were black as ink, and not a star appeared, thus the doomed vessel would be at the mercy of the wreckers. It was Cap'n Jack's plan to have his men in readiness to seize upon all the valuables of the ship, and that the crew should be drowned. They had made out that the vessel was bound for Falmouth, but that in the blackness of the night the crew would lose their whereabouts, and would eagerly steer toward what they would believe to be the light of another vessel.

Why I had been chosen to show the false light I knew not, except that such a deed, by exposing me to the vigilance of the Preventive men, would bind me more securely. They did not seem to think that I should fail in doing this. As Cap'n Jack had said, to fail to obey the commands of the gang meant an untimely death, while to try and escape would bring upon me the same punishment.

Every man was well primed with brandy, and Cap'n Jack saw that while each one had enough to excite him to wild deeds, no man was allowed to drink to such a degree that he became in any way incapacitated for the work before him.

During the conversation, however, I noticed that Israel Barnicoat spoke no word. Instead, he kept his eyes upon me. When the conference was ended, however, and all their plans, which I have barely hinted at, because in my ignorance and excitement I could only dimly understand them, Israel spoke aloud.

"Cap'n," he said; "the Squire have never done a job like this afore, he'll need somebody weth un."

"We ca'ant spare more'n one man for sich a job," was the response.

"It'll need another, I tell 'ee," replied Israel.

"Then thee c'n kip un company," was Cap'n Jack's reply.

"Oal right," cried Israel, but he kept his eyes away from me as he spoke.

"Tell 'ee where we'll begin," continued Israel, still looking away from me. "We'll take old Smiler right to the Lizard, jist off Carligga Rocks, we'll kip on cloase by Polpeor, an' on to Bumble. I reckon by that time she'll be on the rocks. You c'n board 'er there, ef needs be, and we'll mit you in the saicret caave in Honsel Cove."

"Iss, that'll do very well, sonny," was Cap'n Jack's reply. "By coose we mayn't git 'er afore she do git to the Devil's Fryin' Pan or Cadwith, and ef you fail theer, you must git to Black Head as fast as yer legs can car'ee. But kip away from Ruan Minor, Israel, my sonny. The Preventive men be strong there."

"Trust me," laughed Israel.

Cap'n Jack went out and looked seaward, anxiously. "You must start in a 'our or a 'our and haalf, Israel, my sonny, and the rest of us must git doun to the Cove to once," he said, when he came back.

"Oal right, Cap'n," replied Israel, "I jist want to go and spaik to mauther, while the Squire do git the oull mare ready."

I went out as he spoke, and then acting on sudden impulse, determined to follow him. A minute later I was glad I had done so, for I saw that he was going away from his mother's house. He hurried rapidly along the Helston road until he came to a little beer-house, or as the folks called it a kiddleywink, which he entered. When I had arrived at the door of this kiddleywink, I was at a loss what to do, neither could I make out why he had come here. I had barely time to think, however, before Israel came out again, and I saw that he was accompanied by a Preventive man.

"I've got a job for 'ee," said Israel.

"What?"

"A chap showin' a false light to-night."

"But I'd arranged weth the Cap'n to kip away, an' to kip our chaps away."

"Never mind that. I c'n maake et wuth yer while."

"Well, what es et?"

"Be jist off The Stags at twelve o'clock to-night. A young fella will be laidin' an ould gray mare."

"But wot about the Cap'n?"

"I tell 'ee 't'll be for your good. You do as I tell 'ee, Ellic, or, well, you'll knaw what!"

"But et'll spoil yer plans!"

"Never mind. Look 'ere—" Then he talked earnestly in low tones so that I could not hear. Evidently, however, he satisfied the officer, for I heard him say, "Clain off. A reglar feather in my cap, and the Cap'n wa'ant knaw."

When Israel returned to Cap'n Jack's house I had the mare all ready.

"We'll go stright to Carn Barrow," he said, shortly.

"That wasn't Cap'n Jack's plan," was my reply.

"Look 'ere, Squire, I'm to work this. You'm new to this work. I tell 'ee we must git to the Devil's Fryin' Pan by ten o'clock, and then git back to The Stags 'bout twelve."

"Very well," I replied, "I'm ready."

"'Tes a good two mile by road to the Fryin' Pan," he remarked. "And 'tes oppen downs nearly oal the way to The Stags." He seemed to think a minute, then he said, "No, we wa'ant go so far as that, we'll jist go to Bumble Rock, and then kip on the top by Poltream Cove. That'll taake us oal our time."

He led the horse and I carried the lantern, which he said should not be lit until we came to Bumble Rock, which stands by a gully in the headland, where the seas roar with a terrible noise as they break upon the coast.

Not a word was spoken as we went along in the darkness. As well as I could I kept watch on him, for I knew he hated me. He was jealous of me for several reasons. For one thing, since I had come, Tamsin Truscott had ceased to notice him, and for another, he was no longer regarded as the strongest man in the gang. For years he had been proud of this, and now the men laughed at him because I was able to play with both him and his brother. Perhaps the wrestling match at which I had mastered him so easily had more to do with his enmity than the fact that Tamsin no longer smiled on him. For his pride in his strength was greater than his love.

As I have said, it was a wild dark night. A great sea hurled itself on the coast, although ordinarily it could not be called dangerous. As we drew near the rocks, however, we could hear the waves roaring like a thousand angry beasts. Bumble Rock rose up like a great giant, and seemed to laugh at the black waves which it churned into foam. The rocks which we could dimly see, for our eyes had become used to the darkness, seemed like the teeth of a hideous monster, which would cruelly tear any ship that the waves should dash upon them. The thought of the vessel, evidently bound for Falmouth Harbour, being lured to destruction, with all hands on board, was horrible to me, and at that moment a great anger rose in my heart toward the gang among whom I had lived for two months. Hitherto, however, my hands had been unstained by crime, and I determined that for the future, even although I should be hunted down by the men into whose hands I had fallen, I would escape from them that night.

"I've got the tinder and the flint and steel," remarked Israel, "we must git to a lew plaace an' light the candle. Come over 'ere. Ther's a 'ollow behind the rocks, it'll do zackly."

I followed him without a word until we reached a spot that was sheltered from the sea, although we could still hear the waves surging and moaning, while flecks of foam often beat upon our faces.

Perhaps there is no more lonely place on God's earth than this. That night the genius of desolation seemed to reign, while the roaring sea told me of mad spirits playing with the angry waters. In the dim light I could see the long line of foam, while above the dark cliffs loomed; landward nothing was visible, save a suggestion of the outline of the hills.

"'Tes a gashly night and this es a gashly job to be done," said Israel. "By agor, 'ow the waaves do roar," he continued, after a minute.

"Yes, 'tis a wild night," I responded, and as if in confirmation of my words, a great wave broke on Bumble Rock with a mighty roar, while a shower of spray and flecks of foam fell upon us.

"Well, 'tes as lew 'ere as we can git it anywhere," he said; "ther now, you hould the lantern while I strick the light."

"No," I replied.

"Wot do 'ee main?" he queried.

"Simply this," I answered; "no false light shall shine on this cliff to-night." As I spoke I took the lantern and threw it over the cliffs. Then I sprang upon him and caught his hands in mine.

"Look you, Israel Barnicoat," I said, "I know what your plans are. I followed you as you went to the Preventive man to-night; but it is no use. The wreckers' light will not shine to-night, neither will I be off The Stags at twelve o'clock."

He struggled to be free, but I held him tight.

"You'll suffer for this," he screamed; "when Cap'n Jack knaws you'll die."

"I must take chance of that," I said. Then I threw him heavily on the sward. Taking some cord from my pocket, with which I had provided myself before starting, I bound his hands securely behind him. Then I bound his legs.

"Wot be 'ee goin' to do weth me now?" he shrieked.

"Nothing more."

"But you bean't goin' to laive me lie 'ere oal night, be 'ee? Why, I sh'll die ov the cowld."

"No, you won't," I said; "as you mentioned, this is a lew place, and you are not one who will die so easily. You may be a bit cramped by the morning, and perhaps you may get a twinge of rheumatics, but that'll be all. Besides, it's far better for you to suffer a bit than that yon vessel shall be wrecked. Now I'll leave you to your sins; I'm off."

"Off where?"

"Off where you'll never see me again. You'll have company to-night, perhaps. It's said that Peter Crowle's ghost comes here on windy nights. I wish you pleasant company."

"Oh, doan't 'ee go," he screamed; "I'm 'fraid of sperrits, I be. Let me free, Squire, 'n I'll never tell where you'm gone; I'll zay you'm drowned, or tumbled ovver the cleffs or anything, onnly do cut the ropes, and lev me be free."

"No," I said; "while you are here Cap'n Jack will think the false lights are showing, and perhaps the vessel will be safe. As for the spirits, you are the strongest, bravest man in the gang, and, of course, you are not afraid of spirits."

"But you bean't agoin' to take th'oull mare?"

"Yes; Smiler will come with me. Good luck to you, Israel Barnicoat."

I sprang upon Smiler's back and rode away, leaving him in the sheltered hollow. The night was cold and threatened rain, but I was sure that, hardy and used to exposure as he was, he would not be hurt. When morning came he would be searched for and found. Of course he would tell his story to Cap'n Jack, but by that time I hoped to be out of harm's way.

At first I rode slowly, especially until I got to Ruan Major. Arrived there, however, and having struck into the road over Goonhilly Downs, I went faster. I felt strangely happy, for it seemed as though a weight were rolled from my shoulders. Once more I was a free man, and I imagined that for some hours I should not be pursued. Besides, all the time I had been with Cap'n Jack's gang I felt that I was doing what was unworthy of a Pennington, and worse still, what was unworthy of my love for Naomi. But more than all, a wild scheme had come into my mind; I would that night go to Pennington and try to see Naomi. The thought acted upon me like some strange elixir; to hear Naomi's voice, to feel her hand in mine, were a joy beyond all words. How I was to do this I did not know; what difficulties I should meet I did not consider. The thought that I should see her was enough for me, and I shouted for very joy. The hour was not yet late, and I calculated that by hard riding I could get to Pennington by midnight. Thus at the very hour when Israel Barnicoat had planned for me to be taken by the Preventive men, I hoped to be speaking to my love.

In looking back I can see that my hopes were very unreasonable. How could I get Naomi to speak to me? At best she could only regard me as a landless outcast, whom she had once seen pilloried in Falmouth town and pelted by hooting boys. It is true I had told her my story in Granfer Fraddam's Cave, and she had shown a desire to shield me from Richard Tresidder, but she must probably have forgotten all about it. Besides, if she had not forgotten me, she would think me either dead or far away. The letter which I had written at Cap'n Jack's dictation would tell her that I was in his power. During my two months' stay at Kynance Cove, I had asked Cap'n Jack concerning Granfer Fraddam's Cave, but he always evaded my questions, and I did not know whether she had received the letter I had written.

At the same time my heart beat high with hope, and I was happy. For a true love, even although difficulties beset it, is always beautiful and joyous. As I rode along through the night, even the wild winds sang love songs to me, while I could see the light of Naomi's eyes shining in the darkness, revealing her face to me, pure and beautiful.

I am told that my days of romance are over, that I have reached that stage in life when the foolishness of young lovers is impossible to me. And yet even now I cannot see a boy and a maid together without my heart beating faster; for there is nothing more beautiful on God's green earth than the love of lovers, and I know that when a lad feels a girl's first kisses on his lips, he lives in heaven, if he loves her as I loved Naomi. There are those, even in this parish, who sneer at the bliss of boy and girl sweethearts, but I, who remember the night when I rode from Bumble Rock to Pennington, cannot sneer; nay, rather, the tears start to my eyes, and I find myself fighting my battles again and dreaming of love, even as I dreamed then.

Smiler was a better steed than I had hoped. Saddle I had none, nor bridle, but the halter which had been placed on her head was sufficient for me to guide her. Moreover, I had been used to horses all my life, and felt as much at ease on a horse's back as on my feet. Thus it came about that before midnight I had reached the parish of St. Eve, and was making my way toward Pennington. When within sight of the house, however, I was in a dilemma, and never until then did I realise how difficult was the task I had set myself. The whole family was a-bed, at least I imagined so, neither did I know the part of the house where Naomi Penryn was. Most likely, too, dogs would be prowling around, and I did not wish to place myself in the power of Richard Tresidder or his son Nick. At the same time I vowed that I would see Naomi, even though I waited there until morning.

So, tying Smiler to a tree, I crept quietly up to the house and looked anxiously around. At first all seemed to be in darkness, but presently I saw a light shining from one of the windows in the back part of the house. Wondering what it might mean, I went toward it and looked through the window. A blind had been drawn, but it did not fit the window well, and there was an inch of glass between the window-frame and the blind that was not covered. At first I could only see the room in a blurred sort of way, for the leaded panes of glass were small, but presently I saw more clearly. The room into which I looked was the kitchen, and by the table sat a man and a woman. The man was Ikey Trethewy, whom I had last seen in Granfer Fraddam's Cave, and who had promised to take my letter to Naomi; the woman was the Pennington cook. The latter was a sour and rather hard-featured woman of forty years of age. It had been a joke of the parish that Tryphena Rowse never had a sweetheart in her life, that she was too ugly, too cross-tempered. It was also rumoured, however, that this was not Tryphena's fault, and that her great desire was to get married and settle down. I soon saw that Ikey Trethewy was there as Tryphena's sweetheart. The table was covered with tempting eatables, of which Ikey partook freely, stopping between sups of ale and mouthfuls of chicken pie to salute the object of his affections. I saw, too, that these attentions were by no means disagreeable to the cook, although she gave Ikey several admonitory taps. It was evident, too, that Ikey's visit was clandestine. I knew that, except on special occasions, it was the rule for Pennington doors to be closed at ten o'clock, while it was now past midnight. Probably Ikey, who had the reputation of being a woman-hater, did not care for his courtship to be known, for I knew that he did not like being laughed at or joked in any way.

I had not waited long when Ikey began to make preparations for his departure, while Tryphena seemed to be trying to persuade him to stay a little longer. No sound reached me, however, and I imagined that all their conversation was carried on in whispers for fear the noise thereof might reach the master or mistress of the establishment. He succeeded at length, however, in breaking away from the embraces of the fair cook, while two huge dogs which lay by the kitchen fire watched them solemnly. Presently the door opened, and Ikey and Tryphena stood together outside. They were quite close to me, so that I could hear their every word.

"You wa'ant be long afore you come again, Ikey?" asked Tryphena.

"Not long, my buty. P'raps you c'n git a bit a pigin pie next time."

"That I will, Ikey. But doan't 'ee think, Ikey, 'tes time for 'ee to be puttin' in th' baans? We've bin a-courtin' like this now for more'n vive yer."

"Well, tha's nothin', Tryphena. Jim Jory ded court Mary Hicks thirteen yer afore they wur spliced."

"Iss; but I ca'ant kip comp'ny weth 'ee like other maids. An' ted'n vitty fur we to be mittin' every week like this 'ere."

"Well, Tryphena, my buty, you do knaw I do love 'ee deerly. An' you be a clain off cook, too. I niver taasted sich a vowl pie in my life, ther now. An' yer zay 't shell be a pigin pie next week."

"Iss, Ikey; but 'twud be purty to 'ave a 'ome of our oan."

"Mawther wa'ant 'eer of et it, nor Cap'n Jack nuther. 'Nother yer or two, Tryphena, and then I'll go to the passen. Ther, I mus' be goin'."

Another sounding kiss, and Ikey crept away very quietly, while Tryphena began to put away the supper things. In a minute my mind was made up. I had heard enough to settle me on my plan of action. I thought I saw the means whereby I could see Naomi.

I waited until Tryphena had cleared away the remains of Ikey's repast, and was evidently preparing to go to her room, and then I gave the kitchen door a slight knock, and, imitating Ikey's voice as well as I could, I said, "Tryphena, my buty, laive me in a minait."

She came and opened the door quickly.

"'Ave 'ee forgot summin', Ikey, deear?" she said; and then before she recognised me I slipped in.

The dogs rose up with a low, suppressed growl, as though they were in doubt what to do; but Tryphena, who was as anxious as I that the household might not be disturbed, quieted them.

"Maaster Jasper Pennington!" she gasped as she looked into my face.

"That's right, Tryphena," I said. "Sit down, I want to talk with you, and I want you to do something for me."

"No, I mustn't, I daren't. They do oal hate 'ee 'ere, Maaster Jasper. Ef they wos to knaw you was 'ere, I dunnaw wot wud 'appen."

For a moment a great bitterness came into my heart, for I remembered that this was the first time I had ever entered the home of my fathers. And it galled me beyond measure that I should have to enter at midnight at the kitchen door like a servant who came courting the servant maids. I quickly realised my position, however, and acted accordingly.

"Yes, you must do what I ask you, Tryphena," I said.

"I tell 'ee I ca'ant."

"Then Ikey Trethewy will be in the hands of the Preventive men by to-morrow," I replied, "and Richard Tresidder will know that a man has come to his house for years at midnight on the sly."

I did not want to frighten the poor woman, but it had to be done. I saw, too, that I had said sufficient to make Tryphena afraid to thwart me.

"What do 'ee want me to do?" she asked.

"I suppose no one can hear us?" I said.

"No, oal the family, 'ciptin' Miss Naomi, do slaip in another paart ov the 'ouse."

I listened intently, but could hear no sound; evidently all the family was asleep.

"You remember about two months ago that Ikey brought a letter to Miss Naomi Penryn?" I said.

"Iss."

"Well, I wrote that letter."

"I knaw; Ikey tould me."

"Well, I want to see Miss Naomi."

"When?"

"To-night. I want you to go to her room now, and tell her that I want to see her."



CHAPTER XI

I SEE NAOMI PENRYN, AND AM GREATLY ENCOURAGED, BUT SOON AFTER AM TAKEN PRISONER

Tryphena looked at me like one dazed. "No, Maaster Jasper," she replied, "it caan't be done."

"It must be done."

"And what if I do?"

"I will leave the house in an hour," I replied, "and no one shall know of what you have done, not even Ikey."

"No, Ikey musn't knaw you've been 'ere."

"Why?"

"Why, e'ed be jillus as cud be. E'ed be afraid you'd come to try and cut un out. You zee, you be a 'andsome young man, Master Jasper."

"Well, you must do as I ask you, or Ikey will know," I said, for I saw that Tryphena needed a good deal of pressure. At the same time I could not help smiling at the thought of Ikey being jealous, for surely one look at her face were enough to dispel such a thought. "You see," I went on, "a fine-looking woman like you must be careful, if you wish to keep such a man as Ikey. However, you do as I ask you, and some day you'll be glad."

I believe my flattery had more to do with making Tryphena my friend than any threats I might offer, for a smile of satisfaction came on her lips, and she asked me how she was to do what I asked her.

"What I want," I said, "is for you to go quietly to Miss Naomi, and tell her that Jasper Pennington is in great danger, and that he must see her before he leaves this part of the world."

"Wot, be 'ee goin' away, then?" cried Tryphena.

"I must," I said; "now go quickly."

When she had gone I saw how unreasonable my request was. Would not Naomi be justified in arousing the house, and would she not at the least refuse to come and see me? And yet all the while I waited with a great hope in my heart, for love gives hope, and I loved Naomi like my own life. For all this, I worried myself by thinking that I did not tell Tryphena anything whereby she could induce Naomi to come to me. For what should she care about my danger, save as she might care about the danger of a thousand more for whom she could do nothing?

And so I waited with an anxious heart, and when at length I heard footsteps my bosom seemed too small for the mighty beating of my heart. But it was not my love's footsteps that I heard, but Tryphena's. Perhaps fellow-feeling had made her kind, for she told me in a kind, sympathetic way that "Miss Naomi would be down d'reckly."

Now this was more than I had seriously dared to hope. No sooner did I hear her telling me this joyful news than I felt amazed that I had ever dreamed of asking for such a thing, while my heart grew heavy at the thought that I had no sufficient reason for asking to see Naomi.

In less than five minutes later Naomi came into the kitchen. She looked pale, and thin, I thought, but she was beauteous beyond all words. I am not going to try and describe her. I am not gifted in writing fine things, for the pen was nearly a stranger to my hands until I began to write this history, besides I doubt if any man, great as he may be, could do justice to Naomi's beauty. I think my heart ceased to beat for a while, and I know that I stood looking at her stupidly, my tongue refusing to move.

As for Tryphena, I am sure she understood my feelings, for she went into the dairy, for the which I determined even then that I would some day reward her.

"You said you were in danger," said Naomi, speaking first, "and that you wanted to see me. You have asked a hard thing, but I have come."

"Miss Naomi," I said, in a low, hoarse voice, "forgive my forwardness, for truly I am unworthy this honour, yet believe me I could not help it. Will you sit down, so that I may try and tell you what is in my heart?"

She sat down on the old kitchen settle, and I could not help noticing how beautifully her dark dress fitted her graceful form. At the same time I knew not what to say. I had come because my heart hungered for her, and because love knows no laws. Yet no words came to me, except to say, "Naomi Penryn, I love you more than life," and those I dared not utter, so much was I afraid of her as she sat there.

"Are you in great danger?" she asked. "I have breathed no word about that cave, no word to any one. What did it mean?"

This gave me an opening, and then I rapidly told her what I have written in these pages.

"And will they try and find you?" she asked when I had told my story.

"They will hunt me like dogs hunt a fox!" I replied, "so I must find my way to Falmouth, and try and get to sea."

Her face was full of sympathy, and my heart rejoiced because she did not seem to think it strange that I should come to her.

"And will you have to go soon?"

"I must go now," I replied, and then my sorrow and despair, at the thought, dragged my confession from my tongue.

"But before I go," I said, "I must tell you that I love you, Naomi Penryn. It is madness, I know; but I loved you when I was in the pillory at Falmouth, and I have loved you ever since, and my love has been growing stronger each day. That is why I have come here, to-night. My heart is hungry for you, and my eyes have been aching for a sight of your face, and I felt I could not go away without telling you, even though I shall never see you again."

Her face seemed to grow paler than ever as I spoke, but her eyes grew soft.

"I know I am wrong, I ought not to have come in this way," I went on, for my tongue was unloosed now, "but I could not help it; and I am glad I have come, for your eyes will nerve me, and the thought that you do not scorn me will be a help to me in the unknown paths which I have to tread. For you do not scorn me, do you?"

"Scorn you?" she asked. "Why should I scorn you?"

And then a great hope came into my heart, greater than I had ever dared to dream of before, the hope that she might care for me! Wild I know it was, but my own love filled me with the hope. If I loved her, might she not, even although I were unworthy, love me? Yet I dared not ask her if it was so; only I longed with a longing which cannot be uttered that she should tell me, by word or look.

"And must you go soon, go now to Falmouth?" she said like one dazed.

"Yes; I must e'en go now," I said. "It is like heaven to be near you, better than any heaven preached about by parsons, but I must go. Can you give me no word of encouragement before I leave?"

But she made no reply, and then my heart became heavy again, so I held out my hand, trying to appear brave.

Without hesitation, she put her hand in mine, and I felt it tremble, just as I have felt little chicks not a week old tremble when I have caught them. I fancied that she was afraid of me, so I said, "Thank you for speaking to me. This meeting will help me for many a long day, and I am afraid I have a dreary future before me."

"I hope you will come to no harm," she said, "and I hope you will obtain what is justly yours."

"Can you say nothing else?" I cried, "not just one word?"

But just then Tryphena came in from the dairy. "Ther's a noise in Maaster Nick's bedroom," she cried. "Git out, Maaster Jasper. Miss Naomi, we must go up by the back stairs. Maake 'aaste, Maaster Jasper!" And then she blew out the light, leaving us in darkness.

And then I could contain my feelings no longer, and I caught Naomi's fingers to my mouth, and kissed them. She drew her hand away, but not as I thought then, angrily.

"You'll be careful to let no one hurt you, will you?" she said, and I heard a tremor in her voice, and then, before I could answer, she had gone.

And that was all we said to each other at Pennington, and although I hungered to keep her near me longer, and although the night into which I went was black and stormy, my heart thumped aloud for joy. Her words rung in my ears as I found my way among the trees, and they were sweeter to me than the singing of birds on a summer morning. The winds blew wildly, while in the near distance I heard the roar of the waves. The rain fell heavily, too, but I did not care. What heeded I wind and weather! Neither did I fear danger. I knew that I could play with men even as others play with children, for hope stirred in my heart, hope made the black sky as beautiful as a rainbow.

There be many joys that come into a man's life, the joy of possession, the joy of fame, the joy of victory in battle; but I know of no joy as great as that which comes because of the hope that his love loves him, unless it be that which never comes to us but once, the joy of the first kiss of love. And this to me seems the will of God, and thus love should always be regarded as sacred, and never be spoken of save with reverence. For I know that, although Naomi had spoken but few words to me, and that I had only a hope of her loving me in some far-off time, yet the thought that she cared for me ever so little made me rich in spite of my poverty, and caused the wailing winds to sing glad songs to me. No man is poor while his love loves him, and even a hope of that love is the life of God surging in the heart of a man.

And so I came up to the spot where I had fastened my horse, glad at heart, although I knew not where to go or what to do. I rode a mile or two, and then I remembered that if I were discovered with Cap'n Jack's mare I should be in danger of being hanged for horse stealing. So I jumped from her back, tied the halter around her neck, and told her to go home. She sniffed around for two or three minutes, and then started to trot steadily along the road toward Kynance, and over which I had rode her hours before.

This done, I started to walk to Falmouth; as I trudged along I had to pass close to Elmwater Barton, but my heart felt no bitterness, for it was filled with love. When I came to Betsey Fraddam's cottage I stopped, intending to go in; but thinking better of it I made no sound, and a few minutes later was on the main road to Falmouth Town.

I did not walk rapidly, for a great peace was in my heart. I did not fear Cap'n Jack's gang, although I felt sure they would follow me, and I knew that Israel Barnicoat would do all in his power to embitter Cap'n Jack against me. I felt strong enough to overcome everything, so great is the power of hope.

So slowly did I walk that I did not get near Falmouth Harbour until the gray morning began to dawn. I looked eagerly among the vessels, thinking of the fate of the craft Cap'n Jack's gang had intended to wreck. I wondered, too, whether Israel Barnicoat had been discovered, and if Cap'n Jack knew of what I had done. As I drew nearer I determined that I would speak to the first person I should meet, and ask what vessels had arrived, but scarcely had the thought formed itself in my mind when I felt my arms pinioned.

I struggled like a mad man for my liberty, because I saw that two Preventive men had attacked me, and I believe I should have freed myself from them had not a third come to the help of the other two.

"What is the meaning of this?" I said, when they had tied my hands.

"Hanging," was the reply.

"What for?"

"Showing a false light by the Lizard."

"It's a lie."

"Why have we got you, then?"

I was almost dazed by astonishment. Presently, however, I saw that one of the men was the officer to whom Israel Barnicoat had spoken in the kiddleywink. This set me thinking. These men would be the tools of Cap'n Jack. This was the step he had taken to accomplish his purposes concerning me. If I were convicted of showing a false light on the headland, I should be punished by death; at least, I imagined so.

"Anyhow," continued the man, "you must go along wi' me."

"Where?"

"To the lockup."

Now, if there was anything I desired it was to keep clear of the magistrates. I knew that Richard Tresidder would be among my judges, and that I should receive no mercy. But more than all this, while smuggling was lightly regarded, there was a strong feeling against the wrecker. It is true people were glad of a wreck along the coast, and many a valuable thing had been obtained thereby, but the whole countryside cried out against those who sought to lure a vessel on to destruction, even while they did not object to share in the wreckage.

"But why must I go?"

"Because we seed you carr'in' a false light along the coast."

"When?"

"Laast night."

There were three to one, and I could do nothing. So I let them lead me to the lockup, where I had to wait until the magistrates were ready to try me.

What happened while I was there I know not. I was too dazed, too bewildered to tell. While I had been with Naomi Penryn I seemed to be lifted into heaven, and then within a few hours of our parting all my hopes were destroyed. I saw nothing before me but cruel imprisonment or possible death, for I knew that Richard Tresidder would do his worst.

When the time of my trial came on and I entered the court-house, I saw that several justices sat upon the bench, and among them was Richard Tresidder, who looked at me triumphantly, as though he rejoiced to see me there, which I have no doubt he did.

Old Admiral Trefry was the one who spoke to me, however. "It is not long since you were here, Jasper Pennington," he said, "and I am grieved to see you."

Then the Clerk read out the charge against me, which was a string of lies from beginning to end, for, as I have told in these pages, I threw the lantern over the cliff, and thus kept the light from being shown. I discovered afterward, too, that the vessel Cap'n Jack had intended to wreck had landed safe in Falmouth Harbour.

I cannot remember very distinctly what took place at the trial, or rather the first part of it is to me a very confused memory. I know, however, that things looked very black against me, for each of the Preventive men swore that he had seen me at eleven o'clock on the previous night showing the false light on the coast.

I declared this to be a lie with very great vehemence, and swore that I had shown no false light.

Presently Richard Tresidder spoke, and his voice made my blood gallop through my veins, and my heart full of bitterness.

"Will the prisoner give an account of his actions since he escaped from the whipping-post more than two months ago?" he asked.

Now if I did this I should indeed criminate myself, for a confession that I had been with Cap'n Jack's gang would be to ally myself with the sturdiest set of rogues on the coast, and would enable Richard Tresidder to get me hanged at the next assizes.

"You hear the question, Jasper Pennington," said Admiral Trefry; "will you tell what you have been doing these last two months and more?"

But I held my peace, and seeing this the justices conversed one with another. Had they all been of Richard Tresidder's way of thinking I should have been sent to Bodmin Gaol to wait the next assizes without further ado; but Admiral Trefry, who was uncle to Lawyer Trefry, wanted to befriend me, and so I was allowed opportunities for befriending myself which would not have been given to me had my enemy been allowed his way.

Presently a thought struck me which at the time seemed very feasible, and I wondered that I had not thought of it in the earlier part of the trial.

"May I be allowed to ask the Preventive men a few questions?" I asked.

"You may," replied the Admiral. "You can ask them questions as to their evidence by which you are accused of attempting to lure a vessel on to destruction."

"I would like to ask, first of all, what I should gain by doing this? What would it profit me to wreck a vessel?"

The Preventive man who had been the chief spokesman seemed a little confused, then he said, with a great deal of assurance, "I believe, your worship, that he is one of a gang of desperadoes and wreckers who live over by Kynance."

"May I ask," I said, "what reason he has for believing this?"

"Your worship," said the officer, "we know that there is a gang of men who infest the coast. For a long time we have tried to lay hands on them in vain. They are very cunning, and, although we have suspicions, we as yet have not been able to bring any positive evidence against them, and we believe that he is associated with them."

"But we cannot condemn Jasper Pennington without evidence," said Admiral Trefry.

"At the same time I submit," said the magistrate's clerk, after Richard Tresidder had spoken to him, "that the fact of his carrying a false light goes to prove that he is associated with some gang of wreckers."

"But there is no proof," remarked the Admiral.

On this there was a stir in the room, and I heard a voice with which I was familiar claiming to give evidence.

A minute later Israel Barnicoat was sworn.

"Do you know this man?" asked the Admiral of the Preventive men.

"Very well," was the reply, "a most respectable, well-behaved fisherman."

Then Israel gave his evidence. He said that he had seen me in company with two men at Kynance who were well-known free-traders. These two men went by the name of "Brandy Bill" and "Fire the Poker." They had on several occasions been punished, but were still a terror to honest fishermen who wanted to get a living in a lawful way.

After this a great many questions were asked and answered, and I saw that my case looked blacker than ever. I could see that Cap'n Jack had used this means of getting rid of me, and that Israel Barnicoat had volunteered, for reasons that were apparent, to try and get me hanged.

Then I asked another question.

"What time do you say it was that you saw me showing the false light?" I asked.

"Half-past eleven," was the reply.

"I should say that it was nearer twelve," replied another. "It was a most desperate affair, your worship. He throwed the lantern over the cliff and took to his heels. We followed a goodish bit afore we could catch un, and when we ded lay hould ov un he ded fight like a mazed dragon. It was as much as three ov us could do to maaster un."

Now this put another thought in my mind. I was in Pennington kitchen at the very time they said they were struggling with me, and I was about to say so, when I remembered what it would mean. If I told them where I was I should have most likely to mention Naomi Penryn's name, and that I did not like to do. Still I did not want to be sent to Bodmin Gaol without a struggle.

"You say you followed me some distance?" I said.

"Yes; we ded."

"How far before you caught me?"

"Nigh pon an hour."

"It was very dark that night."

"Iss, it was."

"Did you ever lose sight of me?"

"Iss; once or twice."

"Then how can you be sure that I, the man you captured, was the same man you say you saw showing the light on the headland?"

At this the man looked confused, and then I wished that I had tried to get a lawyer to defend me, for I saw how much better he could have done it than I could defend myself. For my mind was in a very confused state all the while, so confused that my remembrance of it now is by no means clear. Indeed, I know I have described my trial with anything but clearness as to the order of events, although I have set down, truthfully, the general facts of the whole business.

I do remember, however, that Admiral Trefry asked the Preventive men some questions upon this very point which upset them very considerably; and I also remember, seeing that for the moment things looked a little brighter for me, I said to the Admiral that I was a good many miles from the Lizard at the very time these men had declared they were pursuing me.

"Where were you, then?" asked the Admiral.

"I was in St. Eve."

"Where there?"

"At Pennington."

At this Richard Tresidder started up in astonishment.

"Did any one see you at Pennington?" asked the Admiral.

"Yes."

"Who saw you?"

At this I was silent, and I was wishing I had not said so much, when I heard a voice that thrilled me asking to give evidence.



CHAPTER XII

HOW MY LOVE SAVED ME—WHEN FREE I GO TO SEA, AND MONTHS LATER COME BACK TO BETSEY'S COTTAGE AND HEAR BAD NEWS

As I turned my heart seemed to stand still, for I saw Naomi Penryn, but when for a moment her eyes met mine it started thumping against my side as though it had been set at liberty from bondage. I saw, too, that Richard Tresidder was as surprised as I, and I was afraid lest my love should be taken to task for what she had done. For a few minutes everything seemed to swim before my eyes, and my head whirled so that I thought I was going to faint; but presently as I heard Naomi in sweet, steady tones answering questions my strength came back to me again.

"You say," said Admiral Trefry, "that Jasper Pennington was in Pennington kitchen at midnight last Wednesday?"

"He was," replied Naomi, clearly.

After that a lawyer asked her concerning many things. So impudent was he that I had a difficulty in keeping myself from jumping from the place where I stood and throttling him on the spot.

"Were you alone in the kitchen?" asked this lawyer.

"I was not."

"Who was with you?"

"Tryphena, the cook."

"How do you know it was midnight?"

"I heard the kitchen clock strike."

"What did Jasper Pennington say to you?"

"You need not answer that question," remarked Admiral Trefry.

"Why did Jasper Pennington come into the house that night?" again queried the lawyer.

"Need I answer that?" asked Naomi.

"No," answered the Admiral, and I saw that he was anxious to save Naomi from awkward questions, for which I blessed him. "All we want to know is whether you are sure Jasper Pennington was at Pennington on the night in question at the time you state. We have nothing to do as to why he was there or what was said."

I saw, too, that Richard Tresidder did not wish the lawyer to ask any more questions, although I was sure the poor girl would suffer when she returned to Pennington, and I wondered then how I could save her from pain.

And so very few questions were asked after that, and a little later I was a free man; for it was clear that if I was at Pennington I could not be rushing along the headland by the Lizard, and so it must have been some other man that the Preventive men had chased, and I had been captured by mistake.

It all seemed so wonderful to me that I could hardly believe that my danger was past; at the same time I longed greatly to speak to Naomi and thank her for what she had done. But nowhere could I see her.

As I walked down Falmouth Street I seemed to be treading on air. If I had loved my love before, it seemed to have increased a thousandfold now; besides, I knew that she must care for me, or she would not have braved so much to save me from danger. I had difficulty in keeping from shouting aloud, so great was my joy. I felt that my strength had come back to me, and I cared no more for the threats of Cap'n Jack than for the anger of a puling child. I knew that Israel Barnicoat was somewhere lying in wait to do me harm, but I was not afraid. I saw this, too: Richard Tresidder would desire to have as little as possible said about my visit to Pennington, especially as he hoped that Naomi Penryn would be his son's wife. I was sure he would seek other means to harm me, but not in a public way; if I was struck it would be in the dark; but, as I said, I was not afraid, for had not my love come boldly to my aid, and saved me from the enmity of evil men?

I had got nearly to the end of the crooked street which makes Falmouth town, when I felt a hand laid upon my shoulder.

"Well, Jasper," I heard a familiar voice say, and, turning, I saw Lawyer Trefry.

"If I were you, Jasper, I would get out of this part of the country. You have escaped this time, but, as I have told you, the Tresidders are hungry dogs. They will never leave a bone till it's clean picked."

I told him I knew this, but I did so with a laugh.

"I tell you they'll make you laugh on the other side of your mouth, my lad. I know more than you think—more than I can tell you just now. Get out of Falmouth as soon as you can, my lad. Cap'n Jack Truscott hasn't done with you yet—yes, I know about him—neither has Nick Tresidder. I'll let you have a few pounds, my boy; a vessel will leave the harbour for Plymouth, and then on to London within twenty-four hours. Get on board now in the daylight and don't leave her. When once you land at London Bridge you'll be safe."

Now I must confess that the thought of seeing London was very dear to me, but I remembered Naomi, and as I thought of the way her eyes flashed upon me I could not make up my mind to go far away.

"Come and have some dinner with me for old acquaintance' sake, Jasper," he said, "and let's talk about things."

So I went with him, for I felt he was my true friend, although all the time I longed to be trying to find Naomi, longed to tell her how I thanked her for doing what she had done.

Lawyer Trefry asked me many questions when we were together, and when I had told him my story he persuaded me to take some money, which he told me he was sure I should repay, and I promised him that I would do as he had bidden me, and would go to Plymouth and, if possible, to London. I did this sorely against my will, for it grieved me exceedingly to be away from Cornwall at a time when hope filled my heart. Besides, I could not help thinking that Richard Tresidder would take steps to render Naomi's life miserable. She would be asked many questions as to my visit, while Tryphena would be severely catechised. At first I did not think of the sacrifice my love would have to make in order to serve me, but as I thought more and more of what I had escaped I realised that she would probably have to suffer much persecution. For she had no friends other than those who sought her wealth, and she was in their power until she was twenty-one. Besides, as I recalled to memory the conversation I had heard between Richard Tresidder and his son, I knew that no stone would be left unturned in order to make her comply with their wishes. All this made me long to stay near her; but I also realised that there was another side to the question. How could I help her by staying in the district? Moreover, was I not in great danger myself? Was not Cap'n Jack's gang on the look-out for me? They would know that I should be a danger to them, and would seek to serve me as they had served others who they had thought were unfaithful to them. In addition to this Richard Tresidder would do his utmost to harm me; especially was this apparent in the light of what Naomi had done. Moreover, I could do nothing to help her; indeed, she would probably suffer less persecution from the Tresidders if they knew I had left that part of the country.

So I kept my promise to Lawyer Trefry, and went on board the White Swan which lay in Falmouth Harbour, and a few hours later was on my way to Plymouth.

While we were sailing along the coast I tried to think of my future, for never had it looked so black and hopeless as now. It is true I rejoiced at the thought of Naomi Penryn's kindness, and dreamed glad things of the days to come; but when I began to face facts, and saw my condition as it really was, my case looked hopeless indeed.

On our way to Plymouth I proved to Captain Maynard that I was not altogether ignorant of the duties of a sailor, and so pleased was he with me that he offered me a berth on the White Swan. Knowing of nothing better that I could do I accepted, and for the next few months worked as a common sailor. During that time we visited several ports on the coast. I saw Weymouth, Southampton, Portsmouth, Dover and London, but I will not write of my experiences at this time. Nothing of importance happened, neither does that time affect the history I am trying to write.

Of course, I was greatly moved with what I saw in London; at the same time, even as I mingled with the throng of people who threaded London streets, I longed for the quiet of St. Eve, and thought much of the maid to whom I had given my heart. At the same time, I saw no means whereby I could get back to Pennington, although I thought long and earnestly of many plans.

I stayed with Captain Maynard seven months, and then made up my mind to go back to Cornwall again. I felt sure that Cap'n Jack and his gang must have practically forgotten me, and I could not help thinking that Naomi Penryn needed me. I dreamed often that she was persecuted by the Tresidders, and that they were using many cruel means to make her marry Nick. I was afraid, too, that she, friendless and alone as she was, would at length be forced to yield to their wishes. And so although I had not moved one inch forward in the direction of winning back what was rightly my own, and although I could seemingly do no good by so doing, I determined that I would go back to Pennington again, and if possible obtain another interview with Naomi. My heart was very sad, for every day my love seemed to grow more hopeless. I had told her the desire of my heart, but although she had been kind to me, and had sacrificed much, she had not told me with her own lips that she cared for me more than she might care for any man who she thought was unjustly treated.

And thus the old proverb that "actions speak louder than words" is not true. For actions may be misinterpreted and misunderstood. Often I tried to comfort myself with the thought that had she not cared for me more than she cared for any other, she would not have granted me an interview that night when I escaped from Cap'n Jack's gang. Again I told myself many hundreds of times that did her heart not beat for me she would never have braved her uncle's anger, braved the cruel questions at Falmouth, and bore what must be hard for a shrinking maiden to bear. But for all this I could not believe that her heart was mine. How could it be? Who was I that I should be so blessed? A landless wanderer, who had been pilloried as a vagabond, and hooted at by the scum of the earth. No, actions did not speak loud enough for me. Nothing but the words from her own dear lips, saying, "Jasper, I love you," could convince me, unworthy as I was, that I could be aught to her.

All the same I determined to go to her, I determined to see her, for my heart ached in my hunger to be near her, and my eyes would not be satisfied until they again feasted on her beauty.

It was early in July when I landed in Falmouth Harbour. I think it was on the first of the month. It was late in the afternoon when I set foot on solid earth, but I did not stay in the town. Like one possessed I hurried toward St. Eve, and about half past nine at night I stood in front of Betsey Fraddam's cottage.

"Come in, Maaster Jasper," said the old woman; "supper es zet fur three. I knawed you wos a-comin', and zo ded Eli."

So I entered the hut, and there surely I saw three plates placed on the little table.

The old woman seemed to regard my coming as a matter of course, and made no more ado than if I had left her cottage that morning. Eli, on the other hand, made much of me. He caught my hands and fondled them, he rubbed them against his poor distorted face, and looked up into my eyes as though he were overjoyed at my coming.

"Jasper, I love 'ee—love 'ee!" he cried. "Eli zo glad you'm back. Eli do knaw, Eli got a lot to tell 'ee!"

"I think we'll shut the door," crooned Betsey as she looked anxiously around the cottage. "Nobody do knaw who's 'bout. Ah, Maaster Jasper, you ded a bad thing when you made an enemy of Jack Fraddam. But ther, you be 'ungry, and you aan't 'ad nothin' to ait for a long time. When I knawed you wos a-comin' I maade a conger pie. I knaw you like that. Conger, baaked in milk and parsley, Jasper, my deear. That ed'n bad fur a witches' supper, es et?"

"How did you know I was coming?" I asked. "I had not made up my mind to come here to-night until I landed in Falmouth. And no one knew I was coming to Falmouth. How did you know?"

"How ded I knaw?" asked Betsey, scornfully. "How do I knaw everything? Ef you'd a traited me vitty, Jasper, I'd a done more fur 'ee. You'd be in Pennington now ef you'd come and axed me; but you wudden. 'Ow ded 'ee git on at Jack Fraddam's then?"

"Who's Jack Fraddam?"

"Oa, Cap'n Jack Truscott, seein' you're so partikler. The Fraddam family es a big wawn, my deear."

"What relation is Cap'n Jack to the Fraddams and to you?" I asked.

"Ef I was to tell 'ee you'd knaw, wudden 'ee. But I bean't a-goin' to tell 'ee, cheeldrean. No, I bean't, but zet up to supper. Then I've got sum things to tell 'ee 'bout somebody at Penninton, and arterwards I'll tell yer fortin, my deear. I bean't a gipsy, but I c'n do that."

As I sat at the table with Eli opposite me on the little window-seat, and Betsey near me, it seemed as though I had not been away at all. Neither did the old woman show any interest in what I had been doing.

"Why 'ave 'ee come back, Jasper?" she asked, presently, looking at me with her light, piercing eyes, while she kept on munching with her toothless gums, until the white stiff hairs which grew on the tip of her nose almost touched those on her chin.

I did not speak.

"No, you caan't tell," said she; "you dunnaw why yerzelf. You've cum 'cause you caan't 'elp et, my deear. Yer 'art kipt achin' and longin' so that you cudden stay away."

I continued silent, for I knew she told the truth.

"But 'tes no use, Jasper, my deear. You aa'nt a got the money to buy back Penninton, and besides the job's done."

"What job's done?" I asked, eagerly.

"Neck Trezidder, and thicky purty maid."

"How? What do you mean? Tell me?" I cried, starting from the seat.

"Ther' was no Penninton ever born that's a match for a Trezidder," chuckled Betsey.

"Tell me!"

"Th' baans (banns) 'll be cried in the church next Sunday," said Betsey.

"Whose?" I cried.

"Neck Trezidder's an' the young laady called Penryn," laughed the old dame.

"How do you know?" I asked, feeling my knees tremble and my heart grow cold.

"It doan't need a white witch to know that," cried Betsey. "'Tes in everybody's mouth. Ef you stayed a month longer, they'd 'a bin married by now."

I did not stop to consider how Betsey knew of my love for Naomi Penryn. It was evident she did know as she seemed to know everything else. Besides, I was in a state of torment at the news she had told me.

"Have the banns been called in church?" I asked.

"Iss," cried Betsey.

"No," said Eli; "I went ther' laast Zunday to heer fur myzelf, but the passon ded'n zay nothin' 'bout et."

"Aw," grunted Betsey, angry that she had been discovered to have made a mistake, yet looking lovingly toward her son. "Then they'll be cried nex' Zunday."

"No they won't," I cried.

"Tell 'ee ther's no chance fur 'ee, Jasper. Ther'v bin oal soarts ov taales 'bout you. She's awful vexed now that she saaved 'ee from 'angin'."

By this time I had somewhat mastered my excitement, and I knew that the best way to learn all Betsey knew was to be silent.

"'Tes like this," said Betsey. "Tryphena, Penninton's cook, 'ev got the sack for laivin' you git into the kitchin."

"And what's become of her?"

"She's livin' in Fammuth. Where she do git 'er money I dunnaw. I aan't a took the trouble to vind out. As fur the purty maid she've 'ad a offul life. And she've promised to marry young Maaster Nick. Es fur you, Jasper, my deear, why Israel Barnicoat, who do live ovver to Kynance, do zay that 'ee zeed you in Plemmouth weth a maid thet you wos a-goin' to marry. Others 'ave zeed 'ee, too. Anyhow, the purty maid es a-goin' to marry Nick."

I tried to understand what this meant. And in spite of everything my heart grew light. Why should Israel Barnicoat concoct a story about my being married in Plymouth, and tell it at Pennington? Why should the story be used as a reason why Naomi should marry Nick?

"It shall never be," I cried, gladly.

"We sh'll zee," grunted Betsey, "we sh'll zee this very minnit. Ould Betsey 'll tell 'ee yer fortin, Jasper Penninton, and Eli sh'll git the broth. Ther, Eli, my deear, taake out the brandis."

Now a brandis, as all Cornish folk know, is a three-legged stand made of iron. It is generally placed on the ground over a fire, and supports crocks, frying-pans, boilers, or anything that may be used.

Eli put this brandis in the middle of the kitchen on the stone floor.

"Now bring the crock," crooned Betsey, and Eli brought the crock and placed it on the brandis.

"Put in the broth," commanded Betsey, and Eli obeyed her. I thought he grew smaller and uglier as he did her bidding, while his eyes grew larger and shone with a more unearthly light than ever.

"What time es et?" asked Betsey.

"Elev'n a'clock."

"In twenty minuits the moon 'll be vull," muttered the old dame.

Betsey made nine circles around the brandis, then she made nine passes over the crock, and all the time she munched and munched with her toothless jaws. Presently she began to repeat words, which to me had no meaning,

"A first born son, a first born son, Is this young Jasper Pennington, And he is here on a moonlit night To see the spirits of the light. And I have made my potions fine, And traced my circles nine times nine. So mists depart, Tregeagle come And show the lad his own true home. Spirits black and spirits white, Spirits bad and spirits bright, Come to Betsey's house to-night, And we shall see the things of light."

All this time she kept blowing on the liquid in the crock, while Eli set up the most unearthly cries as though he were in pain.

A great terror seized me, for to me Betsey's form seemed to dilate.

"No, Betsey," I cried, "I'll have nothing to do with this wickedness."

"Stop yer noise!" she snarled. "There they come:

"'Join all hands Might and main, Weave the sands, Form a chain. Spirits black And spirits white, Let the first-born know the truth to-night.'"

Now whether I was carried away by superstitious fear or no I will not say. I simply put down in simple words that which I saw and heard. For a few seconds all was still, and then the room seemed full of strange, wailing sounds, while Betsey continued to blow the liquid in the crock and utter meaningless words.

"Look in the crock, Jasper Pennington," she said.



I looked on the dark liquid, but I could see nothing.

She blew again. "Now look," she repeated.

As I looked something dark and formless seemed to rise in the crock, but I saw nothing distinctly.

"Git away," she snarled; "I'll look."

"A rollin' say, Jasper. Waves like mountains; then a black hole, black as pitch, and great high walls. After that—I'll tell 'ee dreckly. As for the maid, laive me zee.

'Priests all shaved Clothed in black. Convent walls, Screws and rack. Women walkin' in procession, Cravin' for a dead man's blessin'. Weepin' eyes, wailing cries, Lonely, lonely, oal alone, A heart as cold as any stone Cryin' for a hopeless love. Helpless, harmless as a dove, Others spend the damsel's gold, And only half the taale is told.'"

Now, as I said when I commenced writing this history, there are many things which happened to me that I cannot understand. For my own part, I have tried to explain away what Betsey told me even in the light of after events, which I shall tell presently. I have tried again and again to show that her words were very vague, and could have no definite meaning. I maintained this to Mr. John Wesley when I told him the story, but he shook his head, and said something about dreaming dreams and seeing visions. Not that I attach any undue weight to Mr. Wesley's words. I have nothing against this man; but, for my own part, the old religion of the parish church and the Prayer-book is good enough for me. These Methodists, who have grown very mighty these last few years, who claim a sort of superior religion, and tell a man he's going to hell because he's fond of wrestling, are nothing in my way. The Penningtons have been wrestlers for generations, and never threw a man unfairly; besides, they always shook hands before and after the hitch as honest, kindly men should, and when I'm told that they were on the wrong road because of this I say the new religion does not suit me. At the same time, Mr. John Wesley, who is doubtless a good man, although some folks call him a Papist and others a madman, did believe Betsey Fraddam had powers which the common run of folks do not possess. Not that he believed that those powers were good; concerning that the great man was very reserved.

But I am going away from my story, and that I must not do, for I have many things to tell, so many that it will not be well for me to stray away from the track of the tale.

I must confess that the words which I heard Betsey say impressed me very much, so much that they were engraved on my memory. Besides, I had become more and more interested in what she was doing, and was now eager to hear more.

"What is the half of the tale which is not told?" I asked, eagerly.

But she did not reply.

"Eli, Eli, you hear?" she cried.

"Iss, iss," grunted Eli. "'Tes the smugglin' gang."

"'Tes Jack! Jasper, you mus'n be seed. Git out in the gar'n."

"He caan't," laughed Eli. "The spence, Jasper. Run to the spence."

I entered a door which opened into a small compartment, in the which Betsey's firewood, a box of tools, and many household utensils were hidden.

I had scarcely closed the door when I heard the voices of Cap'n Jack Truscott and others of his gang.

I kept very quiet, for I knew that if I were discovered my life would not be worth an hour's purchase. I was very anxious, too, for I was not quite sure of Betsey's feelings toward me. All the same I listened very intently.



CHAPTER XIII

BETSEY FRADDAM AND CAP'N JACK MEET—I GO TO FALMOUTH AND MEET NAOMI—AFTERWARD I SEE MR. JOHN WESLEY

"Well, Betsey, my deear," I heard Cap'n Jack say, "still on yer ould gaame. I hop' we've brok' the spell, my deear. Ted'n vitty, I tell 'ee. A pious man like me do nat'rally grieve over the sins of the flesh. But 'ere's Cap'n Billy Coad; you ain't a spoke to 'ee 'et."

I wished that there had been a hole in the door, for I had a great desire to see Billy Coad, of whom I had heard Cap'n Jack speak so often. I heard his voice, however. It was softer even than Cap'n Jack's, and was of a wheedling tone, as though he wanted to get on comfortably with every one.

"Hope you be braave, Cap'n Billy," croaked Betsey. "Eli, put away this broth; thews booys doan't want none of that soort."

"No, Betsey, it do grieve me, yer nearest blood relation, to zee 'ee follin' in such ways."

"You've bin glad ov me, though," retorted Betsey.

"Iss, you be a gifted woman. You got et from Granfer. He tould 'ee a lot ov things, ded'na then?"

"Mor'n I shell tell."

"Come now, Betsey, laive us be oal comfortable like. You've got your gifts, and I've got mine. I doan't care 'bout sperrits to-night, Betsey; but you've got some good wine—that I knaw. Ah! Cap'n Billy ded some good trade on his laast voyage."

"Good traade," sneered Betsey. "What's your traade nowadays? Zee wot Granfer ded."

"Iss, I've wanted to talk to 'ee 'bout et, Betsey, my deear. I've bin very good to you."

I heard some clinking of glass, and I knew they were drinking. I had heard only two voices, but by the footsteps I judged that more than two might have entered the cottage. In this, however, I was mistaken, for the others who had come with him left at the door.

"Iss, I've bin very good to you and Eli," repeated Cap'n Jack. "You've never wanted summin' warm to drink."

"A fat lot I've 'ad from 'ee," retorted Betsey, "and I ain't a wanted nothin' nuther. I've got my 'ouse, and I've got summin' to ait, so've Eli."

"Iss. I sh'll make a man o' Eli."

I heard Eli laugh in his strange, gurgling way.

"I've made money, more'n Tamsin 'll want; well, and why sha'ant Eli 'ave some ov it?"

"What 'ee'll git from you'll be good for sore eyes," snarled the old woman. "Ugh, ef I wanted money—aw, aw!—well, I knaw!"

"You'm thinkin' 'bout the treasure. But you caan't git et, Betsey. Ef ould Granfer ded bury it some where out to say—well, you caan't git et. But ded a bury a treasure, Betsey, ef 'ee ded, why ded a die so poor?"

Betsey did not reply.

"Doan't you think 'tes oal lies, Betsey? Where's the paper weth the dreckshuns? I knaw 'ee sailed weth Cap'n Blackbeard, everybody do knaw that, and it's zed that the Cap'n was very rich—took oal soarts of things from the Spaniards and the Portugeese; but then where ded a put et? Zum zay on Lundy Island, others that he found a caave in Annette Island, and others that he found a place on the South Says; but ed'n et oal a taale, Betsey, my deear?"

Betsey remained silent, while Eli grunted.

"Granfer zaid that he stailed the dreckshuns," continued Cap'n Jack; "ef a ded, where be um?"

"'Spoase I was to tell 'ee?" sneered Betsey. "Well, you'd git et. As fur Eli, 'ee cud go a-beggin'."

"Eli shud 'ave aaf," said Cap'n Jack, with a most terrible oath, "and Billy and we'd 'ave the other aaf far our share. Tha's fair, Betsey."

"No, no, no!" cried Eli, "it's oal lies, oal lies!" And there was, I thought, a note of fear in his voice.

"Mind, Betsey," cried Cap'n Jack, "whether you tell me or no, we'll vind out. Ef you've eed away they dreckshuns, we'll vind um, mind that!"

"You've zaid zo afore," sneered Betsey.

"'Ave us? Zo we 'ave," replied Cap'n Jack, "but I be a religious man. I want to trait my relaashuns fair, I do; everybody that do knaw me, do knaw that, doan't 'em, Cap'n Billy? An' Billy is a religious man, too; hes religious experience es a powerful sermon. Well, I've talked oal soarts of ways 'bout that treasure, Betsey—I 'ave. I've zaid I doan't bleeve in et, zo I 'ave. But wot then? Well, I'm a-goin' to vind et!"

"Aw, aw!" chuckled Betsey.

"I'm a man to my word, zo's Billy. Whenever I've zaid a thing I've done it."

"Aw, tha's ev et es et. I've 'eerd you zay that any man who runned away from your gang you'd kill. I've 'eerd you zay you'd do fur Jasper Penninton. 'Ave 'ee, Jack Fraddam? Why, 'ee got off bootiful—jist through a maid—iss, and went to say, and no one stopped un!"

"And why, Betsey, why? 'Cos I am a fond and lovin' vather, that's why. Tamsin made a vool ov me, tha's why. I maade a mistake in takin' Jasper to Kynance, 'cos Tamsin got to like un. Well, I lowed un to git away. I promist Tamsin that while he kipt his tongue 'atween hes teeth I'd laive un go. But laive un tell things, laive un tell anybody where our caaves be, laive un split 'bout other things he do know—well!" and Cap'n Jack grunted significantly.

"Aw, aw," sneered Betsey, "he strangled Israel Barnicoat, and thrawed the lantern ovver the cliff. An' ther' was no wreck that night. Aw, aw! You be a man, you be!"

"A merciful, pious man, tha's wot I be. But doan't 'ee laugh, Betsey. Do 'ee think I dunnaw that Jasper landed in Fammuth to-day? He's watched, I tell 'ee."

At this the sweat streamed out over every part of my body, and I hardened my muscles to fight for dear life. I felt that Cap'n Jack's was no vain threat, and that I owed my life to Tamsin.