i had fully intended to be up betimes on the morning following my arrival at summercourt, and although i gave the landlord of the inn no instructions to call me, i had no doubt but that i should wake early. so tired was i, however, and so much had my rest been broken, that it was past midday before i was aroused from the deep sleep into which i had fallen. consequently it was well on in the afternoon before i started for st. mawgan. i knew that the parish was largely under catholic influence. the arundel family owned a house there, but i had no idea as to the whereabouts of the chapel. this could only be discovered by searching, and, impatient with myself for losing so much time, i rode rapidly past st. columb, and reached st. mawgan just as the shades of evening were descending. i should, doubtless, have accomplished the journey more quickly if i had not missed my way and wandered several miles out of my course. arrived at the parish church, however, i found that my difficulties had only just begun. i was afraid to make too many inquiries concerning this chapel, for fear the killigrews might hear of my questionings, for, although i had seen no traces of them, i felt sure they were following mistress nancy molesworth. i found, moreover, that the few people in the parish were anything but [pg 182]intelligent, and could give no information of value. at length, after much searching and many roundabout inquiries, i heard of a haunted dell about a mile and a half from st. mawgan, where the devil was said to reside.

an old farm labourer gave me the information, and with much earnestness besought me to keep away from it.

"the devil 'ave allays come there, sur," remarked the old man. "tes a very low place. tes a 'olla (hollow) between two 'oods. the papist priests ded kip un off while they was 'lowed to live there, but since the new religion tho'ull sir nick have jist done wot 'ee's a mind to."

"how did the papist priest keep him off?" i asked.

"well, sur, they ded build a chapel here, and they ded turn the well ov water, where the devil made hell broth, into good clain watter. 'twas a 'oly well when they wos there, sur, so i've been tould. but law, sence the priests be gone he've gone there to live again, and i've 'eerd as how ee've bin zid in the chapel."

"have you seen him?"

"i wudden, sur, for worlds; but, jimmy jory zid un, sur."

"and what did he look like?"

"jist like a wrinkled-up ould man, sur."

"and which is the way to this chapel?"

"'tis down there, sur," replied the old man, pointing southward; "but doan't 'ee go nist the plaace, sur, doan't 'ee. 'tis gittin' dark, an 'ee'l zoon be out now."

[pg 183]

unwittingly the old labourer had confirmed the words of mr. trewint at penhale. evidently a hermit did live at the ruined chapel. probably he was one of the few remaining anchorites which were yet to be found in the county. one of those who, tired of the world, had sought solitude, even as the last heir of the tregarricks had sought it, when he built st. michael's chapel on roche rock.

unmindful, therefore, of the old man's warnings, i found my way down the valley. the wooded hills sloped up each side of me, which so obscured the evening light that i had difficulty in finding my way. the place seemed terribly lonely, i remember; no sound broke the stillness save the rippling of a little stream of water which ran towards the sea, and the occasional soughing of the wind among the trees.

once, as i stood still and listened, it seemed to me that the very silence made a noise, and a feeling of terror came over me, for the old labourer's stories became real. my mission, too, seemed to be more foolish at each step i took, and in the stillness i seemed to hear voices bidding me return. nature had given me strong nerves, however, and presently the spirit of adventure got hold of me again, and then i pushed on merrily. i had gone perhaps a mile from st. mawgan when i saw, in spite of the gathering darkness, a distinct footpath leading southward. this i followed, although the valley became darker and darker. by and by, however, it ended in a little green amphitheatre. this i judged to be about[pg 184] ten yards across, and the only outlet was the pathway by which i had just come. the little open space, however, was a relief to me, because the evening light was not altogether shut out, and i looked eagerly around me in the hope that i had arrived at the spot for which i had been searching.

twice did i wander around the green spot, but the trees which grew around were so thick that i could discover nothing beyond them.

"it must be all an idle tale," i mused bitterly, "and i've been a dupe to silly stories. why should i trouble more? i'll go back to the inn at st. mawgan, get chestnut saddled, and start for london to-morrow"; but even as the thought passed through my mind, i saw a dark bent form creep along the grass, and then was hidden from me by the thick undergrowth.

without hesitation i made my way to the spot where the dark object had disappeared, and then saw a slight clearage in the bushes, which had before escaped my attention. a few seconds later i had entered another open place, but it was smaller than the other, and situated at the foot of the rising ground. i again looked around me, but could see nothing, and was musing as to the course i should take, when i heard a slight groan. i hurried to the spot from whence the sound came, drawing my sword as i did so. i did not go far, however, for i saw, almost hidden by the trees, a dark building.

"hallo!" i cried aloud.

but there was no answering voice.

[pg 185]

"there is some one here," i said; "speak, or i fire."

"what would you, roger trevanion?" said a strange voice.

i must confess that my heart gave a bound as i heard my own name in this lonely place, but i quickly mastered myself.

"i would see you," i replied.

"you cannot see spirits of just men made perfect," was the reply. "they can see you while they remain invisible."

"we will see," i replied. "i have flint and steel here. i will light up this place, then perchance i shall find that the living as well as the dead inhabit the place."

i heard a low murmuring, then the voice replied: "trouble not yourself, roger trevanion, there shall be light," and in a few seconds, as if by magic, a small lamp shone out in the darkness, revealing several objects, which at first i could not understand. as my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, i discovered a rude table on which stood a crucifix; on the walls too, rough and unplastered as they were, i saw pictures of a religious order. but my attention was drawn from other objects by a pallet bed which lay in the corner of the room, on which a human body lay.

"uncle anthony," i cried, not that i recognized him, but the name came involuntarily to my lips.

"why are you here, roger trevanion?" asked a voice which i detected as uncle anthony's.

"nay, rather, why are you here?" i cried; "and where is mistress nancy molesworth?"

[pg 186]

"she is where you will never reach her," he replied, bitterly i thought, and yet in a feeble tone of voice.

"what mean you?" i cried, and then i saw that his head was bandaged.

"i mean that through your faithlessness"—he hesitated as though he knew not how to proceed.

"the killigrews!" i cried.

"ay."

"they overtook you?"

"nay, they came here. i did my best, but what was i against three? once i thought we should have beaten them, for mistress nancy wounded one of them sorely."

"but where are they gone? which way did they take her?"

"doubtless to endellion. why i tell you this i know not. had you been faithful this need not have been."

"tell me the whole story," i said at length.

"why should i? but it doth not matter now. you can do her no harm, neither can you save her from the killigrews. well, perchance it is god's will. they are of the true faith, and—and you know most of the story, roger trevanion. you followed us to penhale; the maid saw you, and so we left the house earlier than we had intended, and by a road through the fields. we reached this spot in safety, but they found us. otho was with them, and, well, i am no fighter,—i did my best, but they took her. i—i am wounded in the head—a sword cut."

why i knew not, but my heart seemed a hot fire.

[pg 187]

"and is mistress nancy gone with these three killigrews—alone?"

"her serving-maid, amelia, cried out to go with her, and they took her."

"ah!" i cried, relieved.

he gave me details of the struggle, which i need not write down here, and which i thought, in spite of the fact that he seemed to hide the truth, told that he had fought well.

"and did not this hermit help you?"

"michael is weaker than a child," replied anthony, "he did nothing but pray."

"and how long since this took place?"

"four hours ago."

"four hours!—only?"

"that is all."

"they can be followed, she can be delivered!"

"no, no," murmured uncle anthony; "tell me, roger trevanion, why would you deliver her?"

"because, because!——" then i stopped, i could not formulate the thought in my mind. "did she go willingly?" i asked.

"nay," cried the old man bitterly, "i—i think they gagged her; they bound her to her horse. she cried out sorely while she could, she struggled—and i—i could do nothing."

my blood ran through my veins like streams of fire; there were many questions i wanted to ask, but there was no time. i seemed to see her struggling with the killigrews. i pictured her look of loathing as she talked with them.

"trevanion or no trevanion," i cried, as i [pg 188]hurried up the valley, "i'll strike another blow for the maid's liberty. i know she doth not trust me; but i'll free her from otho killigrew. some one must have seen her—i'll follow them. they cannot well get beyond padstow to-night!"

a little later i had taken the road which the landlord of the inn at st. mawgan had told me led to padstow. i rode hard till i came to a roadside inn. it was the first house i had noticed since i had left mawgan. a light was shining from one of the windows, and i decided to stop.

"if they have passed here some one will have seen them," i mused, "and i must not go farther without inquiry."

i accordingly dismounted, and called for the landlord. an elderly man appeared, and in the light of the moon, which had just risen, i saw that his shoulders were bent, and that he craned his neck forward while he scanned my face.

"what'll 'ee plaise to 'ave, sur?" he asked in a wheedling tone of voice.

"a bottle of wine," i replied.

"iss, to be sure, i'll tell 'em, sur. your hoss do look flighty, sur. you wa'ant caare to laive un."

"he will stand quietly," i replied; "but i'll fasten him to your crook here. i should not advise you to go near him."

"you be'ant comin' in, sur, be 'ee?"

"just a minute," i replied.

"ah iss, to be sure," he answered, leading the way into a dark room.

"but you have a room with a light here," i [pg 189]objected, as he pushed a candle into a smouldering fire.

"iss, sur, but tes used, sur. to tell the truth, sur, for i can zee you be a gen'leman, my wife's sister is there. she's terble bad weth small-pox, sur."

"small-pox!" i cried aghast.

"aw, iss, sur. i doan't go ther' myself, and tes makin' terble 'ard agin my custom."

all the while he was pulling out the cork from a bottle of wine.

"i don't think i'll stay to drink," i said, thinking of the man's statement about his wife's sister. "of course i'll pay for it," i added, noting the look of chagrin on his face.

"you be a rail gen'leman," he remarked, as i threw down a guinea.

"have you been away from the house to-day?" i asked.

"no, sur."

"have you noticed a party on horseback ride by this afternoon?"

"what time would it be, sur?"

"about four o'clock, i should imagine."

"no, sur, there ain't no party of no sort gone long 'ere."

"you are quite sure?"

"iss, sur. be you lookin' out for a party, sur?"

"yes," i replied, "but i must have been misinformed."

"how many was in the party, sur?"

"why?"

"well, bill bennetto, maaster veryan's hind,[pg 190] was over here little while ago, and he zaid as ow 'ee'd zeed a party of five ride through st. eval. ther' wos three gentlemen and two laadies, sur. they wos ridin' 'ard for padstow, 'ee zaid."

"what time was this?"

"'bout fower a clock, sur. praps that was the lot you was wantin'."

"how far is it from here to padstow."

"oa ten or twelve mile, i shud think."

"a straight road?"

"aw, iss, you can't miss et."

glad to get out of the house infected with small-pox, i contented myself with this information, and a few seconds later i was on chestnut's back again, riding northward. i had gone only a short distance, however, when i came to a junction of roads. here a difficulty presented itself, for i knew not which way to take.

"what did the fellow mean by telling me it was a straight road?" i grumbled angrily, and then it struck me suddenly that he seemed very anxious for me to leave his house. i looked eagerly around me in the hope of getting out of my difficulty, but it was a lonely place, and no houses were in sight. presently, however, i saw a light shining, and making my way towards it, discovered a cottage.

"which is the way to padstow?" i asked of a man who held a lantern in his hand, and who evidently lived at the cottage.

"dunnaw, sur, i be sure. i speck the best way will be for 'ee to go to little petherick and inquire."

[pg 191]

"is it a straight road?"

"lor bless 'ee, sur, no. 'tes as crooked as a dog's hind leg."

i wondered at this, and asked the man if he knew the landlord of the farmer's rest.

"aw, iss i do knaw un, sur."

"what kind of a man is he?"

"a littlish man, with a long neck like a gander, and sharp eyes like a rat."

"yes, i know, but is he a respectable man!"

"iss, 'ee've saved a braavish bit of money. i do 'ear as how 'ee've got vour hundred in tura bank."

"his wife's sister has small-pox, hasn't she?"

"what do 'ee main, sur?"

i repeated my question.

"why, bless 'ee, sur, his wife aan't got no sister. she's jenny johnses onnly darter. as fur small-pox, i never 'eerd tell o' noan."

giving the man a piece of money, i rode back towards the farmer's rest again. evidently the landlord had been purposely deceiving me. why? my heart thumped loudly against my ribs, for i had grave suspicion that he desired to hide something from me. i made my way very quietly to the house. if he had reasons for deceiving me, it behoved me to be careful. i saw that the light still shone from the window of the room in which the landlord said his wife's sister lay. telling chestnut to stand still, i crept silently towards the house. i saw that the door was closed, and although i listened intently i could hear no sound. placing my hand on the door handle, i was about[pg 192] to try and open it, when i saw a woman come from a building close by which was evidently used as a washhouse. she did not see me, neither did she come to the front door at which i stood. as far as i could judge, she was making her way to the yard at the back of the inn.

"surely," i thought, "that is amelia lanteglos."

i started to follow her, when, the girl hearing my step turned around, and i saw that i was right.

"amelia," i whispered.

"good lord, sur, is that you?" was her answer.

"yes, where is your mistress?"

"aw, i be glad, i be glad," she sobbed, "we've 'ad a terble time, sur—a terble time."

"is your mistress ill?" i asked.

"she'll go mazed zoon."

"why?"

she looked anxiously around, and then turned towards me again.

"ther's nobody harkenin', nobody do knaw you be 'ere, sur, do mun?"

"no one. i called here less than an hour ago, and the landlord told me that his wife's sister had small-pox. so i rode away, but i found out that he told me false. that's why i've come back again. no one has seen me but you."

"and you be my young missus' friend, be'ant 'ee, sur? you doan't main she no 'arm."

"no."

"then i'll tell 'ee, sur. she's inside there weth master otho."

[pg 193]

i suspected this, so waited for her to proceed.

"colman es in the 'ouse too, sur; but 'ee's in bed. mistress nancy ded fire a pistol at un, and 'urt 'es arm. that was when uncle anthony was weth us."

"but there were three."

"iss, sur. maaster clement es gone to padstow."

"what for."

"gone to fetch the priest, sur."

"why? to marry otho to your mistress?"

the maid sobbed. "she'll go mazed, sur. she's in ther weth maaster otho. you do knaw his way, sur. i believe he'll jist frighten her till she do marry un."

"but why did they stop here?"

"'twas on account of mistress nancy, sur. she made out to faint an like that, sur, thinkin to gain time. but maaster otho can't be aisy bait. he brought her here, and ded send clement off for the priest. besides, maaster colman could hardly sit on the hoss."

i saw the danger. in the then condition of the marriage laws, the maid nancy was practically helpless. if the priest went through a form of service, even without the maid's assent, otho could, by means of the testimony of the landlord of the inn, claim that a legal marriage had taken place. what was to be done, therefore, would have to be done quickly.

"where are your horses, amelia?"

she pointed to the house in which they were stabled.

[pg 194]

"you can saddle them without any one knowing?"

"aw, iss sur."

"do, then."

with that i turned towards the front door of the inn again; and i must here confess that i hugely enjoyed the situation. the love of adventure was strong upon me, and i laughed at the thought of thwarting the killigrews. i owed the landlord a debt for deceiving me. i therefore went to the spot where i had left chestnut, and, having taken some stout cord from my saddlebag, came back, and, on trying to open the door, found it barred. then i knocked sharply.

"who's there?" it was boundy, the landlord, who spoke.

"come, boundy," i cried, "open the door quick; there's no time to lose."

"es that you, sur?" he responded, and immediately drew back the bolts. no sooner had he done so than i caught him and dragged him outside.

"make a sound, and you are a dead man!" i said, in a whisper.

something in my voice, i suppose, told him that i meant what i said, for he made no sound, neither did he struggle when i bound him hand and foot. he was no stronger than a lad of twelve, and very little heavier. i therefore took him to the stables, where amelia lanteglos had gone.

"amelia," i said, "here's the landlord. you need not be afraid. he's bound. but if he makes a noise, stuff some hay in his mouth."

[pg 195]

the girl grasped the situation in a second. "oal right, sur," she said with a grin, and i knew i could trust her. then i went back and entered the inn, closing the door after me, and silently bolting it. i heard the murmuring of women in the kitchen behind; evidently they knew nothing of what had taken place. after this i made my way to the room in which otho killigrew had taken mistress nancy molesworth.