"But tell me everything, Eli."

"You wa'ant go maazed?"

"No."

"Then I heerd she was dead; but I dunnaw. There, do'ant 'ee give way, Maaster Jasper."

For a few seconds I was stunned, but I called to mind Nick's words, and I was comforted; at any rate, there was hope.

"And the rest, Eli?" I asked. "How did you find out where I was?"

"It took me a long time. I went to Kynance, and I 'arkened round Pennington, but I cudden 'eer nothin'. Then wawn day I seed Israel Barnicoat talkin' with Maaster Trezidder, then I beginned to wonder."

"Yes; what then?"

"I tried to pump un, but I cudden."

"Well?"

"Then wawn day I got'n home to mawther's, and we maade un nearly drunk, and then I vound out. He'd bin 'ired by Maaster Trezidder to taake 'ee to Trevawse 'Ouse. Little by little I vound out where it was, then I comed to 'ee."

I did not ask him any more questions. I knew nearly all he could tell me now; besides, the presence of the stranger kept me from entering into further details. My imagination filled up what was not related.

"Eli got summin to tell Maaster Jasper when we git aloane," grunted Eli presently.

The man with whom I had been speaking walked out of the cave, and I could not but think he had been brought up as a gentleman in spite of his wild, unkempt appearance.

"What is it?" I asked. "Where is the convent to which Miss Penryn was taken? Can you tell me that?"

"No, I ca'ant; ted'n 'bout that."

"What then?"

"You reckleck thicky night when you comed 'ome from say—that night when mawther brought out the crock and brandis, and tould yer fortin?"

"Yes."

"And you do mind to that Cap'n Jack and Cap'n Billy Coad comed to 'ee?"

"I remember."

"Well, you eerd 'em axin mawther 'bout the saicret paaper that tould 'em 'bout a treasure?"

"Yes."

"Well"—and Eli put his mouth close to my ear—"I do knaw where thicky paaper es. I've vound un out, an' saved un for Maaster Jasper."

"What do you mean?"

"Eli do love Maaster Jasper"—and again the poor gnome began fondling and caressing my hands—"so Eli have wormed around and around, and ev vound out where et es. Aw, aw, when Cap'n Jack an' Cap'n Billy cudden vind et they ded swear they ded, but Eli do knaw, an' Eli'll give ut to Maaster Jasper, 'ee will, then Maaster Jasper c'n pay 'em oal out. Turn out Maaster Trezidder, my deear, and live at Pennington."

"Tell me more about it, Eli?" I cried.

"Hush, we mus'n tell nobody. Aw, aw!" and again the dwarf laughed gleefully.

"There's no witchcraft, no wizard's charms about the treasure, is there? It wasn't made in hell, was it?"

"No, no; tes oal right. Granfer Fraddam was once a pirut on the 'igh says."

"Yes; I know he was once a pirate on the high seas, but what of that?"

"Well, he got the paaper from another pirut. Some do zay he ded kill un, but that ed'n true. Well, 'ee got et."

"Yes; but if he got a paper telling where the treasure was, why did he not take it away?"

"Well, Granfer cudden raid, fur wawn thing, and fur another, 'ee wos feared."

"Afraid of what?"

"Several things. For wawn thing, he was tould that 'twas onlucky to git a treasure that was got through killin' people; but that wudden stop Granfer, I do knaw."

"Then what was it?"

"Well, Granfer cudden raid the direckshuns, and 'ee cud never maake up his mind to shaw et to anybody that cud. Now, they do zay that when 'ee talked 'bout et 'ee was awful feared. He zed ef 'ee shawed et to anybody they'd kill un. I spoase Granfer was a wisht ould man after 'ee 'ad a accident, and was too ould to live out to say. He repented and turned religious. That was why 'ee ded'n do nothin' but smugglin'. Well, so 'ee did eed away the paper wot 'ee got from the man, and waited till 'ee cud vind somebody to trust. But he cudden vind nobody—nobody toal. Besides, everybody was frad to 'ave anything to do wi' Granfer. People did believe 'ee was a wizard, and 'ad dailins weth the devil. Mawther do zay that nobody would go out mor'n seven mile out to say weth Granfer."

"And where is this paper?"

"Aw, aw. I vound out I did. Granfer tould mawther, and mawther did tell me. I vound et, and did eed it in another plaace. Aw, aw, you shud a eerd Cap'n Jack and Cap'n Billy swear when they cudden vind et. Aw, aw. But I did love Maaster Jasper, and I'll take 'ee to et, Maaster Jasper, my deear."

All the time Eli was speaking he kept fondling my hands and caressing me, just as a man would caress a maid whom he loves.

"But does your mother know what you have done?"

"No, she doan't. She do believe it have been sperrited away."

"Spirited away; what do you mean?"

"Mawther do knaw. Aw, aw. But she ed'n right this time, and yet she is oal the time."

As I have before mentioned, it was no uncommon thing to hear about hidden treasures along our coast. Indeed, from earliest childhood I have heard of gangs of pirates burying treasures in many of our secret hiding-places; so common were such stories that we had ceased to pay attention to them. Consequently I had given but little attention to the conversation I had heard between Cap'n Jack and Betsey, neither did I attach much value to what Eli had been telling me. If such a treasure existed, and if Granfer Fraddam knew of it, he would have found means to have obtained it. I knew that during Granfer Fraddam's later years he was said to have tried to get religion, and wanted very hard to break away from a compact he made with the evil one in his young days. There were also stories telling how he pleaded with Betsey to give up all connection with witchcraft, and that because she would not agree to this he died in his secret cave rather than have her near him. But all these were stories to which I, who had had a fair amount of schooling, had paid but little attention.

Besides, at this time I was thinking about the sweet maid that I loved rather than the treasure that Eli spoke about. What were treasures to me if she were dead? What was Pennington, the home of my fathers even, if she had been slowly killed by the Tresidder brood? I asked myself many times what Nick Tresidder had meant by his words; I wondered, too, where the convent was in which she had been placed, and as I wondered my heart was torn with anguish, for all the world was nothing to me without Naomi.

And so for a long time I did not talk to Eli concerning that about which he had spoken. I seemed rather to be eating my heart away, and almost wished that I had died when I had plunged into the sea a few hours before, for what could I do? Where was the convent in which she was placed? How could I get to her? And if I tried, what steps would the Tresidders take to hinder me? From the fact that Nick Tresidder had come to Trevose, would it not suggest that he had come to claim the land as his? And would he not take steps even now to get me out of the way?

These and a hundred other questions I asked myself, until my brain became weary again, and my heart was sick with disappointment, sorrow, and despair.

"Will Maaster Jasper go with poor little Eli?" grunted my companion presently. "I knaw where the paper es, Maaster Jasper. 'Tes covered weth ritin' and funny lines; but Maaster Jasper es clever, he can vind et out. Spanish money, Maaster Jasper—'eaps and 'eaps ov et. You could buy back Pennington, Maaster Jasper, and pay out the Trezidders—pay 'em out; iss, an' turn 'em out, neck and crop!"

Why is it, I wonder, that the human heart turns so naturally to revenge? In my despair it came to me as a comfort, this thought of driving the Tresidders from Pennington. For the moment I became eager about Eli's story of the treasure, and asked many questions—foolish as the whole business might be—as to what Granfer Fraddam had told his mother, and what she had told him.

After a while I remembered the man who had been our companion, and I sent Eli to try and find him.

When Eli had gone I examined my clothes and found them dry. So I put them on, wondering all the time as to whose they might be, and who had worn them prior to the time the man had given them to me.

No sooner had I finished dressing than Eli and the man came in. I thought the latter looked more calm and self-possessed. He brought some bread, too, and some salted fish. Then for the first time I saw some simple cooking utensils in the cave.

"Have you been living in this cave?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied; "I have been living here for a month. But you are welcome. I want to do good deeds if I may. I want to atone."

"Have you done anything so bad, then," I asked, "else why do you wish to atone?"

He looked at me eagerly for a few seconds; then, without speaking, he put two pans on the fire, first of all filling them with water. After this he placed the fish in one of the pans, and waited while the water boiled.

"What is your name, young man?" he asked presently.

"Jasper Pennington."

"Of Pennington?"

"Yes; what do you know about it?"

"I knew of a family of that name long years ago. Pennington of Pennington. Why are you in this plight?"

"Because I have been robbed of my birthright," I replied, bitterly.

"By whom?"

"The Tresidder family."

"The Tresidder family—ah!" He said this with great bitterness and passion. After a few seconds he grew calm again. "And have you sought to be revenged?"

"I have sought rather to win back my own. But what do you know of the Tresidders?"

"Nothing—oh, nothing, nothing, nothing! What could I, a poor shipwrecked sailor, know about a great family?" This he said hurriedly, almost fearfully, I thought. Presently he continued, "And you have done no rash deeds, Jasper Pennington?"

"No."

"You have not killed any of their men, their women?"

"No; not yet."

"Oh, be careful. Do you know"—and he heaped some driftwood on the fire—"that one moment of madness drives a man to hell? I've been in hell now for—oh, nigh upon twenty years. Hell, Jasper Pennington, a burning hell! Suffer anything, anything rather than—than—oh, it's nothing. I'm only imagining still; but there—" And he became silent again.

In spite of my many doubts and fears I became interested in the man, and I watched him closely.

"Look, Jasper Pennington," he said presently, "anything got through evil, through bloodshed, through murder carries a curse with it. I've had the curse of Cain upon me now for many a year. I have been a wanderer on the face of the earth, but I have kept my eyes open. Everywhere it has been the same. Blood money, hate money, money evilly got, always carries a curse. Don't touch it, don't touch it! It does not burn the hands—oh, but it burns the heart, the soul! Oh, I have seen! I know!"

"But supposing your father had his home stolen from him by lies, treachery, fraud—suppose your father said to you with his dying breath, 'Get back that land; it is yours, it is your birthright, your true possession,' what would you do?"

"Jasper Pennington, there be other birthrights than those of law—there be those of God. There is the birthright of clean, bloodless hands and a pure heart; there is the birthright of an easy conscience, and the power to pray! It is more than money."

"You do not know everything," I said, "or you would speak differently."

"I not know!" he cried; "I not know! My God! my God!"

For a few seconds I thought him mad again, but presently he became calm. "The food is ready," he said; "we will eat of it. I got it from a cottage yonder. After we have eaten you may like to tell me all about yourself. Perchance I could help you; perchance, too, I am not what I seem."

Something about the man charmed me. As I have mentioned, he spoke correctly, and in spite of his strange attire he looked like a gentleman. So when I had eaten I told him my story.

"Is that all?" he said, when I had finished. "There is something else. Your eyes would never shine so at the thought of being robbed of lands."

"Yes, there is more," I cried, for I had not told him of my love; and then—and I wondered at myself as I did so—I told him of my love for Naomi, but only in barest outline. I did not tell her name, I did not speak of her as coming from Trevose, I did not relate how Richard Tresidder hoped through her to gain Trevose.

When I had finished he sat for many minutes looking steadfastly into the fire, while his eyes grew as red as the red coals into which he looked.

"You have not told me all yet, Jasper Pennington," he said; "there is much behind. Why do you think they have ill-treated if not killed the fair maid you love? Why should they seek to put her into the convent? Ay, more, how and by what right were you taken to yon house on the cliffs? Tell me that, Jasper Pennington."

He spoke slowly, but with terrible intensity, and for a moment a feeling which I cannot describe passed through my heart.

"There is something else, Jasper Pennington," he continued. "What is the name of the fair maid you love, and whose child is she?"

On saying this he caught my hand with a hard, tight grasp, and looked eagerly into my eyes.



CHAPTER XVIII

HOW I LEFT BEDRUTHEN STEPS AND, AFTER MEETING TAMSIN TRUSCOTT, SOUGHT FOR NAOMI

I know not why, but when the stranger acted in this way he seemed to put a bridle on my tongue. The name of my love was on my lips, but I could not utter it.

"Are you afraid to tell, Jasper Pennington?" he asked, eagerly.

"It is not for you to know," I replied; "besides, she may be dead. I have been told that she—" Then I stopped, for my heart seemed to grow too big for my bosom.

"Died of a broken 'art," mumbled Eli. "The Trezidders killed 'er."

"Tell me more!" cried the stranger, excitedly. Then he added, in calmer tones, "I may be able to help you."

But I did not speak, whereupon he walked to and fro the cave, making all sorts of ejaculations, and at times looking savagely at me, as though I were his enemy.

Presently, however, he grew calm and thoughtful; he seemed to be musing over what I had told him, as though he had an interest in it. This surprised me greatly, and set me thinking who he could be, until plans of action for myself began to form themselves in my brain.

After I had thought awhile I went out of the cave and stood in the bay called Bedruthen Steps. Accustomed as I had been all my life to the sight of a fine rock-bound coast, I could not help being awed at the scene. The great rocks which lift their mighty heads in Kynance Cove were not equal to these. Often while living at Cap'n Jack's house I had wandered along the many-coloured cliffs which stretch from Kynance to the Lizard, and had seen the waves leap on them, sometimes playfully, sometimes in mad anger, while thousands of streamlets ran down their rugged sides afterward, as if to laugh at the anger of the sea; but never had I seen anything so fine, so awe-inspiring as this. For a moment it made me forget the objects dearest to my heart. The tide was not high enough to reach the mouth of the cave at which I stood; at the same time the angry seas rolled madly along the sand, and were churned into foam by the great rocks along the beach. I had heard about rocks standing as sentinels, but never until then did I realise the meaning of the words. That day, however, the meaning of such language was quite plain. The cliffs stood from three to four hundred feet high, almost perpendicular, save here and there where some narrow gully sloped somewhat. These cliffs were dark gray, rough, jagged and forbidding, and seemed to quietly mock the roving, rushing sea which beat upon them.

Along the beach, perhaps a hundred yards or more from the cliffs, a number of huge rocks stood alone. I suppose at some time they must have slipped from the mainland, but that was undoubtedly in the far-back past. One of them, I remember, was shaped like a spire, and seemed to look with derision on the foaming waters that sometimes nearly covered it, and at others left it standing ill all its majesty on the white, hard sand.

"Surely," I thought, "God has been lavish of His grandeur here," and even as this came into my mind the relentlessness and the cruelty of the sea impressed me. Everything made me feel my littleness, my impotence. A strong man would be but as a bit of rotten wood if he were thrown into it; those cliffs would beat the life out of him, while the white foam, which looked so soft and inviting, covered that which would smash the sides of a boat as easily as a man snaps a piece of wood across his knee.

A feeling of despair possessed me again, for I was utterly lonely. It is true Eli stood by my side saying loving words and fondling me, while the stranger walked to and fro the cave; but no one felt my grief or understood it. By-and-by, however, my mood began to change; the roaring sea, the gray, leaden sky, the mighty cliffs inspired me, they urged me to action. I must find out the truth about Naomi; ay, I must find her, for, standing there that morning, I could not believe that she was dead.

A few minutes later I had made preparations to leave the cave and go away from the neighbourhood of Bedruthen Steps.

"Where do you go, Jasper Pennington, and what are your plans?" asked the stranger.

"That is a matter which concerns myself," I replied, not very graciously. A moment later, however, I felt I had acted like a cur, for this man had endangered his life to save mine, and but for him I might not have been alive. "Forgive me," I continued; "my mind is much distracted, and I scarcely know what I say."

"Perchance I could help you, if you would trust me," he said.

"I can scarcely trust myself," I replied, "much less a stranger."

"Am I stranger?" he cried, with an hysterical laugh, just as though he were a madman.

"If you are not, who and what are you?" I asked. "What is your name?"

"Name!" he said, wildly. "Esau is my name, my true name."

"Why your true name?"

"Because I have sold my birthright."

"Your birthright! To whom did you sell it?"

"To the devil!" he cried, his eyes glittering. "My birthright was my manhood; it was a clear conscience, it was the power to fearlessly think of the past, and to—" He stopped suddenly, then he went on again: "Perhaps Cain is the truer name, but I know not; call me Esau."

"Yes, he's mad," I said to myself. "I can trust him with nothing—nothing." Still, I humoured him. "You have been very good to me," I said. "Some time, if I live and gain my own, I will repay you."

He came to me again, his eyes still shining brightly, and he looked eagerly into mine, as though, too, he had decided to impart something to me; but a second later an expression of doubt rested on his face. "No," I heard him say; "I must do it myself, and alone, if I can—if I can."

We parted then. I made my way up the side of a sloping place along the cliff, while Eli followed close at my heels. When we reached the grassy headland I looked back, and saw the stranger still standing at the mouth of the cave. I looked around me. Not a house of any sort was to be seen; only a rugged, bleak coastline was visible. I saw, however, that some of the land was cultivated, and so I knew that there must be some farmhouses in the near distance.

After walking for about a quarter of an hour we came to a lane, but it was grass-grown, and was evidently but seldom used. I looked around me and espied a gray church tower. This gladdened my heart, for it was pleasant to think of the House of God situated in a bleak, barren countryside. I was about to make my way toward it when I heard the click of a labourer's pick. I jumped on a fence and saw a man hedging.

"What is the name of that church?" I asked.

"St. Eval, sur."

I looked at the man more closely. He looked far more intelligent than the ordinary labourer. "Do you know much about this neighbourhood?" I asked.

"I've lived 'ere oal my life, sur."

"Do you know of any convent in this neighbourhood?"

"Convent, convent?" he repeated, questioningly.

"Yes," I replied; "a place that belongs to the Catholics—a place where priests and nuns live."

He looked at me suspiciously, as though he suspected that I had evil motives in asking such a question. "No, sur," he said presently. Then he gave a start, and I turned and saw that Eli had come to my side. "Is he—is he the devil?" he gasped.

"No; only a dwarf."

"You'm sa big and 'ee sa small, it do seem funny," he laughed, nervously.

"What is the nearest town?" I asked.

"St. Columb, sur."

I made up my mind to go to St. Columb, and was asking the man how far it was, when another thought struck me. "There's a parson at St. Eval, I suppose?"

"Aw, iss, sur; hes 'ouse ed'n fur from the church."

"Is he a man that you like?"

"Aw, iss, sur; everybody do like the passon."

I made my way toward St. Eval, and after half an hour's walking found a church and perhaps a dozen houses. I was not long in finding the vicarage, for it was the only house of importance in the neighbourhood.

Parson Thomas received me very kindly. He was a little man, well fed, and apparently on good terms with every one. I don't think he knew much about religion as Mr. John Wesley taught it, but he was kind-hearted and full of merriment. Moreover, if he neglected people's souls, he did not neglect their bodies. He insisted on giving me refreshments, and although he looked very curiously at Eli, he sent him into the kitchen and gave instructions that he must be looked after.

"I am a bachelor," laughed the jolly vicar. "So much the better all around. I've no one to bother me. I've got my dogs and my horses. At St. Ervan there is a pack of hounds, and I've the best hunter within six parishes. I have a service every Sunday afternoon in the church, and so far we have no Methodists. I've some good wine, good home-brewed ale, and plenty of cider. I rear most of the flesh eaten in the house, and am happy—ha, ha! Now, what can I do for you?"

I asked if he knew of any religious house belonging to the Catholics in the neighbourhood.

"There are a few Catholic families," he said.

"Who are they?"

"Well, there was a Catholic family at Trevose House—an old house built on the cliff not far from Trevose Head. At least, Mrs. Penryn was a Catholic, and the girl was brought up a Catholic. A priest from Padstow used to visit the house."

"Do you know anything about them?" I asked.

"Mrs. Penryn is dead; her husband—well, it's a sad story. Poor fellow, he committed suicide well upon twenty years ago. Everything was left to the daughter. She has gone to the West to stay till she's of age, or married, under the guardianship of a Richard Tresidder. I think I heard something about Tresidder's son marrying Naomi, but I'm not sure."

"Did the priest who visited Trevose belong to any religious community?—I mean, is there a convent or nunnery at Padstow?"

"No. Let me see—oh, yes, I remember now; my friend Page, from Mawgan, was telling me about it. Close to Mawgan Church is the Manor House of Lord Arundell. I daresay you will have heard of it—Lanksome. It is a delightful spot. Well, the Arundell family has always remained Catholic, and were terribly bitter against the Reformation. The present Arundells came into possession about thirty-five or forty years ago, and it is quite a home for priests and Catholics generally. Some of the priests, I believe, visited Trevose from there."

"But it is not a convent or nunnery?"

"Oh, no; not that I am aware of. It is simply the headquarters of the Catholics in this district. I have heard it said that some young Catholic girls, religiously inclined, have been taken there as novitiates, but I doubt its truth; not that the place is not admirably suited for such a purpose. It is surrounded by a high wall, over which no one can see, and in one of the walls is a secret chamber in which it is said a priest was concealed for eighteen months in the reign of Elizabeth. At present, however, it is not recognised as a convent."[1]

"But it is a Catholic centre?"

"Oh, bless you, yes; the place is full of Catholic priests, nuns from France, and what not. I should not like to say what is done within those walls. That house is full of secrets, and the people who go to Mawgan Church, which is adjoining it, look upon Lanherne as a home of mystery. The servants are silent, the priests are silent, the very atmosphere seems full of secrets."

I did not stay long with Parson Thomas after this, although his hospitality seemed to know no bounds. I had heard enough to set me thinking, and I determined to go to Mawgan that very evening. The time was now three in the afternoon, and soon night would be upon us. Still, there would be another hour of daylight, and I started to walk in the direction of Mawgan Forth, while Eli trudged close by my heels.

We had been walking, perhaps, half an hour, when I saw, as I was passing by a farmhouse close to which the road ran, a woman on horseback. Below us we saw the sands of Mawgan Forth, but no house was near save the farmhouse to which I have referred.

"It is some woman riding home from St. Columb Market, I suppose," I said as her horse climbed the hill.

"No," said Eli; "no, Maaster Jasper. 'Tes Tamsin Triscott, Tamsin Fraddam; that's who et es."

"Tamsin!" I cried; "surely no!"

A few seconds later, however, I saw that Eli was right.

"Master Jasper Pennington!" she cried, as she saw me, and the blood mounted violently to her face. "You are free, then?"

This she said in a tone of disappointment almost amounting to anger.

"Yes, Tamsin," I replied. "What do you know about my imprisonment?"

"I suppose you got him away?" she said to Eli, angrily, without noticing my question.

"Iss," grunted Eli; "I ded, ded'n I, Jasper?" and the dwarf laughed gleefully.

"And I meant to have done it," she said, as if musing to herself. "I have travelled a long way."

"What do you mean, Tamsin?" I asked.

She hesitated a minute, then she spoke like one in pain.

"I did my best, Jasper—believe that. But for me you would have been killed. Israel Barnicoat and others vowed it, but I persuaded father. I heard about your coming back, and I tried to find out where you had been taken. As soon as I knew I started to come. I would have set you free; I would, Jasper, I would."

My slow-thinking mind was trying to find its way to Tamsin's motives for acting thus, when she went on if possible more earnestly than before.

"She didn't care for you, Jasper; if she did, why were you imprisoned in her house?"

"Tamsin," I said, for I began to see her meaning, "do you know what is become of Naomi Penryn?"

"No," she said, sullenly.

"Tamsin," I went on, "I thank you for your goodness to me; I am glad I had a friend willing to travel so far to help me. But I am in great sorrow, Tamsin. I may tell you about it, I know; I love Naomi Penryn—love her like my own life. I have heard strange rumours about her, and my heart is very sad. I can trust you, Tamsin, I know that. Have you heard anything about her?"

She became very pale as I spoke, and I thought she would have fallen from her horse, but she recovered herself presently.

"Israel Barnicoat told me that she would not marry young Tresidder," she replied, "and that she asked to be taken to a convent until she came of age."

"Yes," I said, eagerly, "and what then?"

"I heard that she died there."

"And do you know where the convent is?"

"No; I know nothing! She is dead, that's all."

"Tamsin," I replied, "something tells me she is not dead. I have heard this again and again, and I cannot believe it. I am going to search for her until I find her."

"Why do you not believe she's dead?" she asked, like one in anger.

"I have reasons," I answered. "They are real to me, although they might not be real to you. Besides, I cannot think of her as dead. Tamsin, suppose you loved a man, would you rest upon hearsay in such a case?"

"I would search until I died," she cried. "If he were alive I would find him; if he were dead I would die too."

"Then you can feel for me," I said, "for I love Naomi Penryn. I shall love her till I die, and if she be dead, I shall want to die, too."

Then the girl gave a heartrending cry. "Don't, Jasper Pennington," she said, "don't!"

I looked around me and saw that Eli had wandered toward the Porth. I was glad for this, for I realised what her words meant.

"Tamsin Truscott," I said, "I never had a sister; will you be one to me? For I love you as truly as ever brother loved sister. Can you care for me as a sister cares for a brother?"

I said this because I wanted to be true to Naomi, and because I determined to dispel from Tamsin's mind all thoughts of me as one who could ever love her. I wanted to appeal to all that was best and truest in her, too, believing, as I have always believed, that by this means alone can we get the best that people are capable of giving.

For some minutes she seemed like one fighting a great battle, then she said quietly, "Yes, Jasper Pennington, I will do for you all that a sister would do."

"Then, Tamsin," I said, "if it should please God to let me find my love, would you befriend her?"

"Yes," she gasped.

"It seems as though she hath many enemies," I went on, "and there be many who plot against her. If I find her among friends all may be well, but if I were to find her among enemies and rescue her, I know of no place to take her where she would be safe."

For a little while Tamsin sobbed as though her heart would break; and at that time I thought it was because she pitied both me and Naomi.

Presently she said, quietly, "If you should ever find the one you mean alive, and she needs a home, take her to my aunt's at Porth Mullion. She is a good woman, my mother's sister, and hates my father's ways. She will do anything I ask her."

"What is her name?" I asked, "and how shall I find her?"

"Her name is Mary Crantock, and there are but three houses at Porth Mullion. Hers is a white house, with a wooden porch painted green. The other houses have no porches."

"And how will she know about me?"

"I will ride there to-morrow and tell her."

"And where will you go to-night?"

"I will ride to St. Columb. I have another aunt who lives there."

Then a great fear came into my heart, and, almost without thinking, I had caught hold of Tamsin's hand.

"Tamsin Truscott," I said, "you once told me you loved me. I may trust you, may I not? As God is above us, you will be true if ever I need you?"

"As surely as what I once told you is true, as surely as God is above us, you may trust me."

Then she turned her horse's head, and rode rapidly toward the St. Columb road.

Now, in describing my meeting with Tamsin, I have failed to record many things. I have not told of the many questions she asked regarding my imprisonment or my escape, nor of the answers I gave, because they do not bear directly on the history I am writing. Besides, it is difficult to remember many things after the lapse of long years. So many things were said, however, that it was nearly dark when she rode away from me.

From Mawgan Porth it is about two miles to Mawgan Church, and I was anxious to get there before night had quite come upon us. So, calling Eli to my side, we hurried across the Porth, and then went up a narrow lane, where we met a man who directed us to Mawgan Church.

A quarter of an hour later we were descending into the vale of Lanherne, and in the light of the departing day I could see the tower of the church rising from the trees among which it nestled. The sight seemed to give wings to my feet, and so fast did I go that Eli had great difficulty in keeping close to me. Eagerly did I jump across the brook that ran down the valley, after which I ran along by the churchyard wall, and a few seconds later I stood before the gray walls of Lanherne Manor House.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] Lanherne Manor House, in the parish of Mawgan, Cornwall, while being a centre of Catholic influence for several centuries, did not become a recognised convent until the beginning of the present century. At that time a sisterhood of Carmelite nuns was driven from France to Antwerp. When the French entered Belgium they emigrated to England, and Lord Arundell of Wardour assigned the house to them. The inmates are at present an abbess and twenty nuns. J. H.



CHAPTER XIX

TELLS HOW I CLIMBED THE WALL OF THE MANOR HOUSE GARDEN, AND WHAT I SAW

My first impulse on seeing the house was to go boldly up to the door and ask for Naomi Penryn, but a second's reflection told me that such an act would be madness. I remembered the words of Parson Thomas. This house was the property of a man widely known and respected, and while it was given over to Papist ways and usages, I could not ask questions as though it were a public institution. My brain, slow to work as it was, told me that I must act warily, and in such a way as to arouse as little suspicion as possible. On looking back over my plan of action, however, I can see how foolish I was, and how, but for the kind providence of God, I did that which was calculated to frustrate the dearest desire of my heart.

This, however, is what I did. I waited for some few minutes in a state of indecision, then it occurred to me that I had better find an inn, so that I might leave Eli in a place of safety, and on looking round I quickly found a kiddleywink. Here I left Eli, and after telling the landlady to cook some supper, I again went back to the front of the old Manor House. Fearing to be seen, I wandered around the place, and saw that the walls around the garden were over fifteen feet high, and that from no position could I look over, except by climbing one of the huge trees that grew in the near distance. Never in my life had I realised the meaning of silence as I realised it then. Not a breath of wind stirred, and beyond the sound of the brook as it rippled down the valley, nothing was to be heard. To me it seemed like the home of the dead. "How can I discover what is behind those walls?" I asked myself, but no answer was forthcoming.

Twice did I walk around the house and gardens, and was about to go back to the inn again, when I heard the sound of singing. I listened intently, and discovered that the singers were within the Manor House, and from the number of voices and the nature of the singing, I concluded that the inmates were taking part in some religious service. I stood like one entranced, for the music was very sweet, and it seemed to my excited imagination that Naomi's voice mingled with the rest. Presently it died away, and I heard the sound of footsteps. But there was no loud voices or confusion, neither was there any laughter; all was quiet, orderly, and subdued.

The night was not dark, for the clouds which hung so heavily in the sky during the morning had been swept away, and innumerable stars shone brightly.

As I watched, I saw a man, who, from his garb, I took to be a priest. I went up to him and saw that I was right in my surmise.

"I am a stranger to these parts," I said, "and have travelled far to-day. May I ask if this is a monastery or religious house?"

"No, young man, it is not a monastery, but the house of a Catholic gentleman."

"I heard the sound of many voices just now. I thought I heard a mass being sung," I said.

"You are right, young man."

"If it had been a monastery I should have asked for shelter to-night," I said; "and from the number of voices singing mass, I concluded that it was a religious institution."

"Souls that are weary are admitted here for rest and guidance and help," he replied, "and some have passed from here to some religious home. This is by the kindness of the owner of this house. But why do you ask? Are you a Catholic? Are you, amid so much heresy, a member of the true fold?"

At this time I wished that I had prepared for a meeting with a priest, so that I might have been in a better position to have fulfilled my desires. I wished, too, that, instead of being slow to think, I had been clever to make plans, and quick to act upon them. Still, I determined to do the best I could.

"I am but a wanderer, father," I said, "and my mind hath been torn by many doubts. I have been troubled, too, about one who is very dear to me, who is of the Catholic faith, and who, I am told, found her way to a convent or a religious home, to find rest and peace. I know not where she is, and whether she has found the peace that she hoped for. I have heard that it was in this neighbourhood that she sought to find what she desired."

"Is she young or old, young man?" said the priest, looking keenly at me.

"She is young," I replied, "scarcely twenty, I should think."

"And her name?"

"Her name is Naomi Penryn," I replied; "she once lived at Trevose, close by the great headland."

I thought he gave a start, and he seemed to measure me, as though he thought of trying whether he or I was the stronger man.

"Alas!" he said, presently, "she is dead."

"Dead!" I repeated, and my heart became cold.

"Yes. She came here some time ago. She was very pale and fragile when she came. She was in sore distress, too. But she received the consolation of the Church, and died in the faith."

At this all my strength seemed to ebb away from me, and my hands became nerveless.

"How long is it since she died?" I asked.

"About three weeks ago," he replied.

"And where was she buried?"

"I would show you her grave," he replied, "but the house is not mine. I grieve to see your sorrow, but there is consolation, young man. Trouble for our young sister no longer, for she is with the blessed. I am sorry I cannot offer you food and shelter; but it is only four miles to St. Columb, and you will find accommodation there."

"But surely there is an inn here?" I suggested.

"Yes; but it is not a place you would care to stay at, and you will fare far better at St. Columb. Good-night."

Then he left me, and I went away toward the kiddleywink like one dazed. I made no pretence of eating the supper which had been prepared, neither did I speak to Eli, who looked at me pityingly; and I saw that tears dropped from his strange-looking, cross eyes, and rolled down his ugly, misshapen face.

All hope had now gone from me; I felt I had no desire to win back my own, or even to live. My life had more and more become bound up in that of Naomi Penryn, until now, when I could no longer comfort myself with the hope that she lived, nothing was of value to me.

"Eli," I said, presently, "you had better go to bed. You will need all your strength."

"Why, Maaster Jasper?"

"Because to-morrow I shall go with you back to St. Eve."

"And what then, Maaster Jasper?"

"I do not know," I said; "it does not matter what becomes of me now."

"And why, Maaster Jasper? Poor little Eli do love 'ee, love 'ee deearly."

"But my love is dead," I answered; and then I told him what the priest had told me.

His cross eyes shone brightly, and his mouth began to move just as I had seen his mother's move many times.

"I've found out things," he said, cunningly; "mawther 'ave tould me, I c'n vind out ef she's dead; ef she es, I c'n bring 'er back. Zay I shall, Maaster Jasper, 'n little Eli 'll do et."

"No," I cried, with a shudder; "Naomi, who is as pure as the angels of God, shall never be influenced by the powers of darkness."

At first I thought he was going to say some angry words, but he only fondled my hands and murmured loving words to me just as a mother murmurs to a tired or sick child.

"Poor Maaster Jasper, dear Maaster Jasper," then he went to bed, leaving me alone.

The landlady of the kiddleywink was a kind and motherly soul, and treated me with much sympathy, for she saw I was in trouble, and when I told her that I should not go to the bedroom with Eli, she prepared a bed for me on the window-seat, and left a candle burning for me.

But I could not sleep; when all the inn was quiet I went out into the night, and wandered around the old Manor House like a man bereft of his senses, as indeed I was. I found my way into the churchyard, and roamed among the grave-stones, wondering all the time where Naomi's grave was, and why the death of one who possessed so much property was so little thought of. Perhaps I stayed here two hours, and all the time I grew more and more fearful. It seemed to me that the dead were arising from their graves and denouncing me for disturbing them, while all around me evil things crawled, and mocked me in my sorrow. I thought I saw men and women, long dead, haunting the graves in which other bodies lay, and I fancied I heard them pleading to God to hasten the resurrection day. These and many more phantoms appeared to me until, with a cry of anguish, I rushed back to the kiddleywink again. The night had become clear, and the moon, which was half full, caused the church-tower and the Manor House to appear very plainly, and as I lay on the window-seat I could see both.

Toward morning I began to grow less fearful, although a great pain still gnawed at my heart. I remember, too, that I was making up my mind that when daylight came I would seek the priest to whom I had spoken, and ask him to show me Naomi's grave, when I heard a sobbing wail that seemed to come from a heart as broken and bleeding as my own.

I started up and listened for some seconds, but all was silent.

"Was I dreaming?" I asked myself, "or are the spirits of the dead come back?"

Scarcely had the thought passed my mind when I heard another cry, more piteous, if possible, than the other.

"Jasper, Jasper, my love, Jasper!" I heard. "Can you not deliver me?"

The cry was very real, and it had no suggestion of the grave. It was the voice of some one living.

"My God!" I cried; "it is Naomi!"

I looked at my watch; it was six o'clock, and thus wanted two hours to daybreak. Hurriedly I left the inn and went out again. A rimy frost had come upon every twig and bush and tree, and in the light of the moon the ice crystals sparkled as though the spirits had scattered myriads of precious stones everywhere. But I thought not of this. I made my way toward the spot from which I thought I had heard the sound come, and then listened intently. All was silent as death.

Near me was a tall tree. I made a leap at its lowest branches, and a few seconds later was fifteen or twenty feet from the ground. From this position I saw the whole garden. I looked long and steadily, but could discern nothing of importance. I continued to strain my ears to listen, but all was silent save the rippling of the brook that wended its way down the valley, and which seemed to deride me in my helplessness.

"It was all fancy," I said, bitterly—"all fancy; or perhaps I am mad."

I prepared to get down from the tree when I heard a sound like sobbing not thirty yards from me.

My heart thumped so loud that I could detect no words, but not so loud as to keep me from locating the sound. Yes, it came from a little house used as a summer bower. Instantly my mind was made up. I had no patience to consider whether my determination was wise or foolish. I madly dreamed that Naomi was near crying for my help. Else why should I hear my own name, or why should I think it was the voice of my love?

In another second I had leapt from the tree, and then ran along by the wall until I came close to the place where the bower had been placed.

I listened again. Yes, I heard sobs—sobs which came from a breaking heart!

The wall was, as I said, from fifteen to twenty feet high, but this did not deter me. I caught hold of an ivy branch, and by its aid sought to climb, but at the first pull I had torn it away. So there was nothing for me but to stick my fingers into the masonry and climb as best I could. How I managed I know not, but in a few seconds I had accomplished my purpose.

"Naomi!" I whispered, but I heard no answer.

I waited a few seconds and spoke again: "Naomi, my love," I said, "it is Jasper."

At that I heard a movement from within the bower, and then I saw some one come into the garden. It was a woman. I saw her look eagerly around, like one afraid. Then her face was turned toward me. It was my love!

"Naomi," I said, "do not be afraid; it is Jasper—Jasper Pennington comes to set you free."

Then she saw me and gave a glad cry.

"Jasper, Jasper!" she cried; "not dead!"



A few seconds later I had descended and stood in the garden, my heart swelling with joy until it seemed too large for my bosom. I came close to her, and then my confidence departed. All my old doubts came back to me. Joyful as I was at the thought that she was alive, I could not believe that she cared for me. How could she when I was so unworthy?

The moon shone brightly on the garden, while the rimy frost, reflecting its light, dispelled the darkness, and thus I was able to see the face of my love and the flash of her eyes. I seemed close to the gates of heaven, and yet I felt as though they were closed against me.

I stood still. "Naomi," I said, "forgive me. You know who I am—Jasper Pennington."

Then she came toward me, and I heard her sobbing again. Then I, anxious not to frighten her, went on talking.

"Naomi," I continued, "you are in trouble, and I fear that you have enemies. I have tried to make you feel my protection in the past, but I have been unable. But I have come to help you now, if you will let me."

All this I said like one repeating a lesson, and I said it badly, too, for I am not one who can speak easily. But when I had spoken so far a weight seemed removed from me, and my heart burned as though great fires were within my bosom.

"My love, my life!" I cried, "will you not come to me? I will give my life for yours."

Then I opened my arms, and she came to me, not slowly and timidly, but with a glad bound, and, as though leaning her head upon me, she found joy and rest and safety.

Ay, and she did find safety, too, for it would have gone ill with any man, ay, with many men, if they had come to harm her then. The lifeblood of ten strong men surged within me, and the touch of her little hand gave me more strength than the touch of magic wands which we are told were potent in far-off times. I felt as though I could do battle with an army, and come off more than conqueror. Besides, the first words she spoke to me, telling as they did of her helplessness and her dependence on me, were sweeter than the music of many waters.

"Jasper," she said, "I have many enemies—I who never harmed any one—and I have no one to help me but you."

Ah! but she had me—she had me! I know this seems like boasting, especially when I remember that I had been the easy dupe of the Tresidders, and that they had foiled me in every attempt I had made against them in the past. But her love made me wiser, and though, thank God, I have never been a coward, her presence made me many times braver. Besides, I felt I could protect her, that I could save her from the fear of her enemies, for I loved her—loved her a thousand times more than can be expressed in cold words on paper; and let who will say otherwise, the unsullied love of an honest heart is of more value than great riches.

All the time I longed to ask her many questions. I wanted her to tell me all her trouble, but there were other things I wanted to know more. I wanted her to tell me what I had told her.

But she did not speak further; she only sobbed as though her heart were breaking, until I, awkward and fearful, and knowing nothing of the ways of women, was afraid lest I had frightened her, or had in some way caused her pain.

"Naomi, my little maid," I said, "have I done anything to frighten you? I could not help coming to find you, for I could not believe what I have heard. I have not angered you, have I?"

"No, no," she said with a sob, "only they made me believe you were dead!"

"And did you care?—you who were so coy, and who, when you knew my heart was hungering for you, would tell me nothing!"

I will not tell you what she said. Only God and myself heard her words, and they are sacred to me. They have been my inspiration and my joy in lonely hours, they have nerved my arm in time of peril and danger. They opened the gates of heaven to me, and filled my life with sunshine. So great is the power which God hath given to woman!

She nestled her head on my bosom as she told me what my heart had been hungering to know, and for the time we forgot our surroundings—forgot everything save our own happiness. The morning, which slowly dawned, we did not heed, neither did we notice that the silvery light of the moon died away. The cold was nothing to us, the bower in which we sat was indeed a place of warmth and beauty and sunshine. No sadness was there, for each welcomed the other as one come back from the gates of death. We rejoiced in life and youth and love.

And yet we said nothing to each other with regard to our experiences in the past, or our fears for the future. In those blissful minutes we only lived in the present, regardless of all things, save that we were near each other.

Thus it was that Naomi Penryn and I, Jasper Pennington, became betrothed.

I think the realisation of our position came to each of us at the same moment, for just as the thought of our danger flashed through my mind Naomi tore herself from me.

"Jasper, Jasper," she cried, "you must not stay here longer. You are in danger here, and if we are seen together—" She did not finish the sentence, but looked eagerly, anxiously around.

Then I blamed myself for not acting differently, but only for a moment. We had been only a few minutes together, and even if the direst calamity befell us, I should rejoice that we had spent that blissful time together, living only in the joy of love.

"I must go back to the house now," she said, hurriedly. "I shall soon be missed, and searched for."

"No; do not go back," I said. "I can climb the wall and take you away. Let us leave now."

"It would be no use now, Jasper," she said. "I should be followed and brought back."

"Why?" I asked.

"There is not time to tell you now," she said; "if you were known to be here you would never escape alive. Oh, Jasper, I am beset with danger; I have almost died in my sorrow."

"What time will your absence be discovered?" I asked.

"We are supposed to attend mass at seven o'clock," she said.

I looked at my watch, it only wanted a few minutes to that time.

"Tell me how you came here, and why you are surrounded by dangers?" I asked.

"I would not marry Nick Tresidder—I could not, Jasper; you know why now. He tried to force me, and when I refused, he told me you were dead. At first I did not believe him, and then one of my old servants from Trevose came and said you had died there." She told me this in a trembling voice, as though she were frightened, told me in broken sentences, which revealed to me more than the mere words could express.

"Yes; what then?" asked I, eagerly.

"I became distracted, and knew not what I did. I had no friend, no one to whom I could go. Then a priest came, and persuaded me to become a nun. He also brought certain papers which he wanted me to sign."

"And did you sign them?"

"I scarcely knew what I did. I know that I consented to come here. That was several weeks ago. Oh, Jasper, I have been in sore straits."

I set my teeth together and vowed vengeance on the Tresidder brood, and then told her to go on with her story.

"I hardly know how to tell you, Jasper. About three weeks ago a young woman died. The priests told me it was I who died; they also tell me that I am Gertrude Narcoe, and that I am to be removed to a convent in France in a day or two. I have not known what to do. Last night I could not rest, I seemed to be going mad, and after tossing for hours on my bed without sleeping I came here in the garden, and all the time my heart was crying out for you."

"And did you not cry out to me?"

"No; only in my heart." And at this I wondered greatly.

A bell began to ring.

"There, I must go, Jasper!" she cried.

"Not yet," I said, folding her more closely to me; and I should have held her so if the lord of the manor were walking toward us through the garden.

"Be brave," I continued, "and be here to-night as soon as you can after the inmates of the house have retired to rest. I shall wait until you come, and I shall be ready to take you to a place of safety. You can come, can you not?"

"Yes, I think so, if I am not suspected of anything now. And can you take me away, Jasper? You will not allow them to harm you, will you? Oh, I will not be taken away now I know you are alive."

"Do not fear, my little maid," I said, "I will take you away. You shall not be carried off by any priests to a convent. There, go now." And I held her to me more closely.

But I let her go at length with many warning words and many expressions of my love. It was like pulling my heart out to see her walk away from me, but I comforted myself that I would take her away when the next night came. Then I climbed the wall again, and made my way toward the inn, strangely glad, yet with many misgivings, for I was sore afraid lest I had acted foolishly in not taking her with me even then.

As I passed the front of the Manor House I caught a glimpse of a frocked priest, and from the look on his face I fancied he suspected me of something. But I paid little heed to him. I went back to the inn to make my plans for rescuing Naomi. I did not know then that Naomi and I had been watched all the time we had been together by a wily priest.



CHAPTER XX

HOW I FELLED A HORSE WITH MY FIST, AND CARRIED NAOMI SOUTHWARD

When I got back to the inn I found Eli anxiously awaiting me.

"Jasper better?" he said, looking at me questioningly.

"Yes, better, Eli."

"Jasper 'eard 'bout the purty maid?"

"Yes, Eli."

He chuckled joyously, and then gave several expressive grunts. After this he asked me some questions, which showed me that he understood more than I had thought, and had formed correct reasons why my love had been taken away.

"Neck Trezidder's awful deep; all the Trezidders be," he grunted. "Made et up with the priests—go shares. I zee, I zee!"

"Eli," I said, "we must take her away to-night; take her to a place of safety."

"Iss, iss," he chuckled. "Where?"

"I must decide that after we have got her away from yon prison," I said.

"Can Jasper trust little Eli?" he asked.

"Yes, Eli, what do you want me to do?"

"Will 'ee tell little Eli what the purty maid tould 'ee—'bout 'erzelf?" he added.

So I told him all that I cared to tell him—everything I knew, in fact, save the story of our love.

He sat very still for some time, save that he contorted his face more than usual, and rolled his cross eyes around like one demented.

"And what be yer plans, Maaster Jasper?"

"We must get horses, Eli," I said; "from where I do not know yet, but we must get them by to-night. One must have a lady's saddle—for her."

"Is Maaster Jasper going to git 'em?"

"Yes. I shall have plenty of time through the day, and nothing can be done while we are away."

"No, Maaster Jasper, no," he grunted. "You mus' stay 'ere oal day and watch. You mus' eed out ov sight, but you mus' watch. Cos they be oal deep. They knaw, they knaw!"

I understood his meaning, and saw that he was right; at the same time, I felt I would have to risk being away, else how could I get the horses without attracting attention?

"Little Eli 'll git the hosses," he grunted; "little Eli that everybody do laugh at. But 'ee'll 'elp Maaster Jasper, 'ee will."

"But if you are caught stealing horses you'll be hanged," I said.

He laughed gleefully.

"Who'll catch little Eli?" he chuckled, "priest or knave? No, no! Is little Eli a vool? Ef 'ee es, then mawther es too. But es she? es she?"

"But where will you get the horses?" I asked, anxiously. "Anything will do for me or you; but she must have one easy to ride, for she is weak and ill."

"I knaw, I knaw," he laughed. "Maaster Jasper 'appy again, Maaster Jasper git his own. But he must watch, watch.

"Priests all shaved, Clothed in black, Convent walls, Screws and rack. Women walkin' in procession, Cravin' for a dead man's blessin', Weepin' eyes, wailin' cries, Lonely, lonely, oal alone."

"Stop," I cried; "stop, I'll have none of that here."

"Aw, aw," chuckled Eli; "mawther ded zee, mawther ded zee. Never mind, little Eli 'll git the hosses then—aw, we sh'll 'ave braave times, we shall!" And he burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

I must confess that he made me shudder, especially as I remembered how much depended on our actions during the next twenty-four hours.

Presently he became more grave, more cautious, and when he had had his breakfast, started to get horses.

"You'll be careful, very careful," I said anxiously.

"Iss."

"And what time may I expect you?"

"'T'll be dark at vive o'clock," he said, like one musing, "little Eli'll be 'ere by seven. Eli c'n zee, aw, iss, iss," and then he went on talking to himself, uttering all sorts of wild ejaculations.

"What do you mean by talking so strangely?" I said, but he gave me no answer.

"You watch, Maaster Jasper," he said, significantly—"watch. The Trezidders be'ant a-bait yet. Besides, there's the

"Priests all shaved, Clothed in black, Convent walls, Screws and rack."

Then, as he leapt across the stream, he gave a curious cry, like the cry of a wild beast in pain.

All through the day I kept out of sight, but nothing escaped my notice. I determined to be very careful, for Eli had caused me to have many suspicions. Twice only did I see any priests, and then I noticed that they talked eagerly to each other, as if they had something important engaging their attention. In the Manor House, however, all was silent as the grave. No words can say how I longed to gain admission and see my loved one again, especially when I thought of the history of the house, and the many secret places it possessed. Still I had done the best I had been able, and it was for me to follow out the plans I had made.

When five 'clock came my heart began to beat high with hope. I should soon see my loved one again, and take her to a place of safety. My many fears began to depart, too. I felt certain that no one suspected my plans, and that Naomi would be able to find her way to the bower in which I had seen her.

My hiding-place was in the sexton's tool-house at the back of the church, and from here I could see the entrances to the house, so unless there was some subterranean way leading to Lanherne Manor, no one could come or go away without my notice.

After the clock had struck five I went back to the inn. It was now dark, for the moon had not yet appeared, and the clouds hung heavily in the sky. While I was eating the beef and potato pasty which the landlady had provided for me, I thought I heard the sound of wheels, so I went to the door and listened intently, but all seemed silent. I could not be quite sure, however, for the wind had risen and wailed dismally among the trees which grew so plentifully in the valley. I went back and finished my meal, knowing that if I would be strong I must not neglect my food. I was hungry, too, for we Penningtons have always been a hearty race, and have ever insisted on keeping a good table.

When I had appeased my hunger I went to the door again. Feeling in my pocket for the rope-ladder I had been making through the day, I prepared to make a detour of the house again. I fancied that Naomi might have some communication to make now darkness had come, and so, eager for something to do, I wandered through the churchyard, and then walked up the road at the back of the house, near which another and smaller building had been reared. Still listening intently, I came to the tree which I had climbed in the early morning, then I went to the place near which the bower had been built. I threw my rope-ladder on the wall, and climbed sufficiently high to have a view of the garden. Nothing rewarded my efforts, however, for I could neither see nor hear anything worthy of attention.

I was about to get down again, when I heard the neigh of a horse, followed by a man's angry exclamation. I had scarcely time to consider what this meant, when I heard a woman's cry.

With one leap I descended from the ladder, and then, instinctively freeing it from the masonry and stuffing it in my pocket, I ran toward the spot from whence the sound came. I reached the front of the old mansion, but could see nothing; then, like one demented, I ran to the entrance which I had noticed through the day, and which evidently was seldom used. Here I saw flickering lights, and here, also, I heard the voice of the priest to whom I had spoken on the previous evening.

"Neatly and safely done," he said. "The fellow is evidently a blockhead after all. I was afraid that the neigh of the horse would give us trouble."

Excited beyond measure, I was about to cry out when I heard the sound of horses' hoofs splashing in water, followed by a rumbling noise.

"They are crossing the brook!" I cried, and then, scarcely realising what I did, I hurried thitherward.

Now, Mawgan Church and Lanherne Manor House, as every one knows who has visited that part of Cornwall, are situated in a fine wooded glen. On every hand are hills, so that no one can get away from the spot without hard climbing. It is true that one of the roads which runs northwest is less steep than the rest, but even that is difficult of ascent, especially for carriages. I comforted myself with this as I ran eagerly on. A few seconds later I saw the dark outline of what looked like an old family chariot. I did not consider the number of men that might be accompanying the conveyance, neither did I remember that they would probably be armed, while I had no weapon of any sort save my own strong arms.

The driver was urging the horses greatly, but, as I said, the hill was steep and the carriage was heavy. I came up to the carriage-door, and, listening, I heard the sobbing of a woman's voice and the stern tones of men. I was about to try and force open the carriage-door, but instinctively felt that even if I could do so, it would be useless while the carriage was in motion, for in spite of the hill the horses had been urged into a frantic gallop. Still, with the heavy chariot behind them their steps were naturally short, and their speed comparatively slow. So I hurried on, and looking up saw two men sitting on the box, the coachman and another.

It would have been possible to have caught the horses' heads, and thus bring them to a standstill, but the sound of Naomi's voice pleading for help—for I felt sure it was hers—made me careful not to render myself powerless. I remembered, then, that doubtless the man beside the driver would carry horse pistols, and the moment I caught the reins would shoot me down like a farmer shoots vermin.

So I determined to try another measure, more difficult perhaps to execute, but more effective if I were successful. Bending low by the horse's side I came up on what farmers call the "further side." Then, hardening the muscles of my right arm and clenching my fist, I aimed a blow at the horse's head close below the ear. The animal was protected somewhat by the headgearing, and my strength had been lessened by my imprisonment and by the drugs which had been placed in my food, still the blow I gave was heavy, and the aim was sure. He stopped for a moment stunned, then he fell heavily, snapping the pole that was placed between him and the other horse as though it had been a match.

Instantly the men jumped down to see what was the matter, while I hurried to the carriage-door. I had no need to open it; this was done for me, and a man from within asked angrily what the trouble was. Before he could be answered I caught him and hurled him against the hedgeside as though he had been a child, and never did I feel so thankful as then that, although God had not given me a clever head, He had bestowed upon me a body stronger than that which is common among men.

"Naomi, my love!" I gasped.

"Jasper! Oh, thank God!" It was Naomi's voice, and my strength seemed trebled as I heard it. God pity the man who had dared to oppose me then, for I would have showed no mercy!

There was another man in the carriage, a priest, I think, but he seemed too frightened to offer any resistance. So I took her in my arms, and lifted her as though she were a baby, then I ran down the hill, carrying my love.

"Don't trouble about the horses, follow that fellow!" I heard a voice say. "I will give twenty guineas for the man who brings him back, alive or dead."

As I rushed on I heard a bullet whizz by me, but it did no harm, at the same time it made me fearful. For myself I did not care, but my great strength could not protect my darling against firearms, besides if I were smitten down what would become of her?

"You are not harmed, my little maid?" I said.

"No, Jasper."

"And you are not afraid?"

"Not now, Jasper."

Then I held her more tightly, and vowed that I would crush the man who sought to take her away from me, as I have often crushed an egg in the palm of my hand by bringing my fingers together.

I heard footsteps behind me, and then I realised that I should soon be between two fires, for I was running in the direction of Mawgan Church. The footsteps came closer to me, while angry voices with many oaths bade me stop, but the black clouds which covered the sky kept them from taking anything like accurate aim. Besides, the lane was darker than the open countryside, owing to the high hedges which had been built on either side. Still my position was dangerous, and I was about to leap over a gate which I saw close beside me, when I heard the sound of horses' hoofs, and evidently they were coming from another direction.

"Can it be Eli?" I thought. But I dared not shout, as by so doing I should assist my pursuers. There were four of them I knew, possibly there might have been more.

I was in sore straits, for by this time my strength was becoming spent; and although I could not bear the thought of dropping my precious burden, her weight was a sore strain upon my already overtaxed muscles. Still I never lost heart, and I know that had I stood face to face with the men who sought me, God would be with me in my battle.

My heart gave a joyful leap, for I heard Eli's whistle. It was a weird, unearthly sound, and was suggestive of spirits of darkness rather than of a human being. I ran in the direction of the sound, however.

"Eli, quick!" I gasped; then I heard the welcome click of horses' feet again.

"Maaster Jasper, got purty maid?" he grunted.

"Yes; her horse, Eli, her horse."

"'Tes a fiery wawn. Be careful now!"

"I can ride any horse," said Naomi, eagerly; "don't fear for me now."

We were now under the trees close to Mawgan Church. It was so dark that I could scarcely see my hand, and the rain began to fall heavily.

I heard the voices of the men near me again. "Which way are they gone?" one said, for there was a branch road near us.

"Down to the left, past the kiddleywink," came an answering cry.

"No, up the hill, toward Mawgan Cross," said some one else.

By this time Naomi and Eli had mounted their horses.

Then I heard a man's shout. "Help! quick! the girl has been taken from us!"

"Who by? Where?" This voice came from the direction of Lanherne House.

"That big fool Pennington. Where's Tresidder? Quick, we shall get them."

"Are the horses good, Eli?" I asked.

"Beauties," grunted Eli; "reg'lar beauties. The purty maid shud knaw 'em, they come from Trevause."

"Is this my Nero?" cried Naomi.

The horse whinnied as she spoke; evidently he recognised her voice.

"Are you right, Eli?"

"Iss."

"Ride quietly up the hill," I said; "make no noise, if you can help it."

But the horses could not help making a noise, and the click of their ironed hoofs rang out plainly.

"There, they've got horses. Fetch out ours, quick!"

"Which way are they going?"

"Towards Carnanton Woods. Make haste."

Rapidly we rode up the hill toward Mawgan Cross, where there are four crossways.

"Naomi," I said, "shall I take you to Trevose, or shall I take you to a place of safety, many miles from here?"

"She mustn't go to Trevause," grunted Eli.

"Why?"

"Richard Trezidder is there, so es thou'll laady."

"Tresidder's mother?"

"Iss."

"How do you know?"

"I zeed 'er—zeed 'em both," and Eli chuckled as though he vastly enjoyed himself.

"He's squire there," continued Eli. "People zay that the purty maid es dead, and everything do come to he."

"Who told you this?"

"No time to tell 'ee now. They'll be foll'in' we soon. Neck Trezidder es down to Mawgan."

"No, Jasper, let us not go where the Tresidders are. Anywhere but there."

I turned my horse's head southward.

"Then we'll go to Mullion," I said. "We can get to Truro by the morning; we can get refreshment there."

At that time another difficulty presented itself. I remembered that I had no money. Eli had that morning paid the landlady at the kiddleywink at Mawgan for our food and lodgings. I said nothing about it, but Eli, by that strange intuition which divined men's thoughts, knew what was passing in my mind.

"Plenty ov money, Maaster Jasper, plenty ov money."

"How did you get it?" I asked.

"How ded I git the hosses?"

"I do not know. How?"

"Old man called Jonathan. Aw, aw!"

"Did he give it to you?"

"Iss, iss! He do 'ate the Trezidders. I tould un purty maid wad'n dead; tould un Maaster Jasper takin' 'er 'way—aw, aw!" and again the gnome laughed gleefully.

"Jonathan!" repeated Naomi. "Did you see him?"

"Iss, I ded."

"Tell me all about it, Eli—tell me."

"Wait till we git vew miles vurder on, then I tell 'ee everything."

So we rode on for several miles in silence, save that Naomi asked me many times if I were sure I were not hurt, and assured me that she was perfectly well and happy. And this filled my heart with gladness, for I knew by her questions that the dear maid loved me, and felt no fear when I was with her. This to me was wonderful, for who was I that she should love me? Was I not homeless and penniless? And had not the Tresidders beaten me again and again? Ah! but no one can describe the joy that surged within me, for the greater my unworthiness, the more happiness did the knowledge of her love give. In many respects we were strangers, for we had met only a few times, as all readers of this story know; but love laughs at the ways of men, and as she told me afterward, although she dared not tell me so when I saw her in Pennington kitchen or in Falmouth Town, she loved me even in my degradation and poverty.

That long ride through the dark night, even although I had not slept the night before, did not fatigue me at all. I was strengthened by her presence; I was inspired by the object I had in view. Sometimes as I rode along I had to reach forth my hand and take hers in mine to assure myself that I was not dreaming. Everything seemed too good to be true. For many weary weeks my mind and heart had been torn with anxiety concerning her, and during my days in prison I was like a lion in his cage. I had thought of her as loving Nick Tresidder and as marrying him; then I had imagined her as being persecuted by them because she would not yield to their wishes. I had seen the Tresidders planning to get her property, and using every cunning device to make her their tool. Then I had seen her pleading to be sent to a convent, and afterward dying of a broken heart. Ay, I had heard a priest only the previous day telling me of her death, while my heart had seemed to turn to ice covered with lead, so heavy and cold was it. And now to see my loved one by my side; ay, to remember that while we had sat in the bower she had confessed her love for me, while her lips had joyfully pressed mine, was joy beyond words.

Presently, however, I began to see many difficulties, for I determined that Naomi should have her rights, and that she should not be robbed as I had been robbed. Besides, I still remembered my promise to my father, and vowed that I, Jasper Pennington, would possess my own, if only for my dear love's sake. Then as I remembered my past impotence, my heart grew heavy again in spite of my joy.

I saw, too, that I must begin to act at once, and I determined to go to my old friend. Lawyer Trefry, when I got to Truro, and to consult him as to my future plans.

Then I remembered that Eli had not told his story, neither had Naomi told me hers; so as soon as we got two miles past Summercourt, and were on the turnpike road, where we could ride three abreast, I asked them to tell me all there was to tell, so that I might be able to fight my enemies fairly.



CHAPTER XXI

HOW I TOOK NAOMI TO MULLION PORTH AND THEN STARTED WITH ELI TO FIND THE TREASURE

Eli told his story first. With many strange ejaculations and gesticulations he related how he had sought out Jonathan Cowling, the old man who had so often visited me while I had been a prisoner at Trevose, and how, after much difficulty, he had persuaded him to be communicative. Then Jonathan told him that a messenger had brought a letter in Naomi's writing asking him to protect her from me by taking me prisoner, and that he would serve her greatly by guarding me. He told Eli, too, how his suspicions had been aroused, especially when, after the news came of Naomi's death, the Tresidders came and seemed anxious to say as little as possible. Richard Tresidder told him that Naomi had died of a disease that necessitated her immediate burial, and that no doctor had been able to visit her. This set the old man a-wondering greatly, and thus it came about that when Eli told his story he was anxious to render him what assistance lay in his power. Especially was Jonathan delighted at the news of my safety, for he did not see how I could have escaped from Trevose alive, even although Nick Tresidder had failed to overcome me in the smugglers' cave. He assured him, moreover, that Richard Tresidder had taken up his abode at Trevose, and claimed to be the owner of the estate according to the conditions of Mrs. Penryn's will.

All this Eli told me with many other things which need not be mentioned here, and after this Naomi related her experiences. Her story confirmed in almost every detail what I had surmised. Her life at Pennington had been one long series of persecutions after the time she had borne witness before my judges that I was innocent of carrying a false light along the coast. She told me, too, that after she had absolutely refused to marry Nick Tresidder, their one desire seemed to be to induce her to take the veil. She was sorely tempted to yield to their wishes, especially after the man from Trevose came, telling her that I was dead; and presently when a priest came, she lent a willing ear to his persuasions, and promised to go to a house which was in many ways regarded as an institution for novitiates. Some papers were brought to her, but although she was much distracted, she did not think she had signed any which were of importance. She understood from the priest that on taking the veil her property would pass into the possession of the Church, although she gathered from scraps of conversation which she had heard, that Tresidder and the priests were arranging the matter between them.

With regard to her experiences at Lanherne, she assured me that she had been treated with great kindness, and while not allowed outside the grounds, she had comparative liberty within them. She believed that while the lord of the manor was an ardent Catholic, and had practically given up the house to the use of the Catholic clergy, he would not be a party to anything wrong. The priests had told her that they had seen the meeting between her and myself in the garden, and this had determined them to take her to a convent on the Continent immediately. For the rest, she had been treated with kindness and consideration.

It was early in the morning when we arrived at Truro, and we determined to stay at a good inn there, which, if I remember aright, went under the name of "The Royal." The owner looked at us somewhat suspiciously, but when he saw that we were well mounted asked no questions. It was now two nights since I had had any sleep, while Naomi was much fatigued; so after breakfast we lay down for a few hours, and then I paid a visit to Lawyer Trefry.

Keen lawyer as he was, and doubtless used to many strange stories, Mr. Trefry was much startled at what I told him, and seemed much interested in my own experiences as well as in Naomi's.

"They are a clever lot, these Tresidders," he said, approvingly. "As I told you long ago, they never leave a bone until it is picked dry."

"But have they not put themselves within reach of the law?" I asked.

"Not they."

"Not in imprisoning me?"

"Who's to prove it was they? You do not know who took you away from Falmouth, and naturally they will not witness against themselves."

"And what about Miss Penryn?" I asked.

"There is no case there, Jasper Pennington. Richard Tresidder is the young woman's guardian until she is twenty one, and as far as I can see, you can prove nothing illegal against him. Indeed, he has a case against you, for you have forcibly taken her from those under whose protection she had been placed by his and her own consent. Mind, I do not think he will proceed against you publicly, because he would not care for the matter to be discussed openly, but if you sought to prosecute, he would be able to answer all your accusations easily."

"But what about him saying that she was dead? What of him taking possession of Trevose? What of the priest's trying to destroy her identity?"

"Trust Tresidder and the priest to get out of that. Besides, for that matter, we must remember that the man is her guardian still, that he has the right to place her practically where he will. If he were to come to the inn where she is staying and demand that she shall go with him, he would have the law on his side."

I was silent, for I saw that he was speaking the truth.

"Your plan, as far as I can see, is to place her in seclusion and safety until she is twenty-one, then she can claim her own. Meanwhile, my lad, you keep out of sight, for you are not safe. If I were you I would leave the county, while the further Miss Penryn is removed from the Tresidders the better, for no doubt you are right in all your surmises about them."

His words made me for the moment feel helpless, and I cursed the family who had been my enemies.

"There is no need of all that, Jasper, my lad," said the lawyer, grimly. "Neither Richard Tresidder nor his son are much worse than many others who might be in their place. It was natural for the woman who married your grandfather to seek to do well for her son; it was natural, too, that they should seek to maintain the position which they secured. You are the one man they have to fear, consequently it is reasonable to suppose that they should protect themselves against you. It is generally understood that Tresidder is in a sad way financially; he is therefore trying, and naturally, too, to save himself through his ward. If she had fallen in love with Nick, all would have been well with him; but she hasn't. Instead, she falls in love with you. Oh, you needn't blush, my lad, I can see how things stand. Very well; Tresidder sees that if she marries you, you will be owner of Trevose, and will thus be able, under your grandfather's curious will, to oust him from Pennington. He is naturally fighting for his hand; ay, and will to the end. You may call him a villain if you like, but his course is almost natural. The fact is, the old lady was, and is, ambitious for her family, and all of them love money, dearly love it. This explains their actions. Mark, I will admit that the whole lot of them have stained their honour to get their way, but not more than most others would have done had they been similarly circumstanced."

Lawyer Trefry walked up and down his office as he said this, and seemed to be speaking partly to himself, partly to me.

"But I have no money," I said, "neither has Naomi. How can I do as you suggest?"

"That shall be forthcoming if you will do as I suggest," he replied. "I will find a safe retreat for the young lady, at least I will try, although my name must not appear in the matter. Of course, it will take a week or two; in the meantime, you could, perhaps, arrange for a safe hiding-place, for I dare not let her stay at my house, much as I would like."

"And until Naomi is twenty-one?" I asked.

"Tresidder will be the nominal owner of Trevose. It cannot be helped. I don't think he will do anything very rash; in any case it seems to be the only arrangement for the present. In the meanwhile I will consider the matter more carefully, and what can be done shall be done."

I suggested many other things, but I did not succeed in altering Mr. Trefry's opinions.

Now when I had left him, while I could not help seeing that he had uttered many wise words, I was far from satisfied with his plans. True, Naomi had promised to be my wife, but my whole nature revolted at the thought of becoming entirely dependent on her income, while my rightful possessions had been robbed from me. Thus, although the lawyer had told me to leave the county, so as to ensure my safety until Naomi came of age, I determined that I would stay and seek to get back my own. True, I had been entirely unsuccessful in the past, and had played into the hands of those who had wronged me. At the same time I had been learning wisdom, and I pondered over the schemes which had come into my mind.

It was dark when we left Truro, for I did not think it wise to travel in the day. I took the precaution, however, to buy a brace of pistols in the town. This I was able to do by means of the money which Eli had obtained from Jonathan Cowling, the old serving-man at Trevose.

By the following morning we had reached Mullion Porth, and without difficulty found the house of Mrs. Mary Crantock. Indeed, we found Tamsin standing in the little green-painted porch as if she expected us.

Now I must confess that I felt uneasy at being obliged to resort to this means of finding a temporary home for my love. I did not know Mrs. Mary Crantock, and I was afraid lest Tamsin Truscott should betray me. At the same time I did not see what else I could do. To take her to Trevose was altogether impracticable; Pennington was just as bad, even worse, while Lawyer Trefry expressly stated that he could not consent for her to be taken to his house. Moreover, I trusted that Naomi by her kindness and winsomeness would make both Mrs. Crantock and Tamsin her friends.

I found Mrs. Crantock to be an exceedingly pious woman. She had been very religiously inclined previous to Mr. Wesley's visit to Cornwall, and since then her religion had become more pronounced. Her great aim in life seemed to be to make people believe in the Methodist doctrines, and to become converted according to the ideas of those wonderful people. She had found out through Tamsin that the young lady I was seeking to rescue was brought up a Papist, and this caused her to be eager to give her a home. First, because she was anxious to know the distinctive doctrines of the Papists; and, second, because she would have an opportunity of, to use her own terms, "snatching a brand from the burning."

The great thing that comforted me, however, was the fact that she seemed desirous of making my love safe and comfortable, for I determined that I would not stay at Mullion Porth, but take immediate steps to see if what Eli had told me about the buried treasure was true.

Two hours after she had been welcomed at Mrs. Crantock's, therefore, I left the house. It was terribly hard for me to tear myself away from my love, especially as she clung fondly to me as her only protector. How gladly I would have stayed with her, God only knows, but for the sake of my little maid's good name, as well as for many other reasons, I dared not.