'Priests all shavedClothed in black.Convent walls,Screws and rack.Women walkin' in procession,Cravin' for a dead man's blessin'.Weepin' eyes, wailing cries,Lonely, lonely, oal alone,A heart as cold as any stoneCryin' for a hopeless love.Helpless, harmless as a dove,Others spend the damsel's gold,And only half the taale is told.'"
'Priests all shavedClothed in black.Convent walls,Screws and rack.Women walkin' in procession,Cravin' for a dead man's blessin'.Weepin' eyes, wailing cries,Lonely, lonely, oal alone,A heart as cold as any stoneCryin' for a hopeless love.Helpless, harmless as a dove,Others spend the damsel's gold,And only half the taale is told.'"
'Priests all shaved
Clothed in black.
Convent walls,
Screws and rack.
Women walkin' in procession,
Cravin' for a dead man's blessin'.
Weepin' eyes, wailing cries,
Lonely, lonely, oal alone,
A heart as cold as any stone
Cryin' for a hopeless love.
Helpless, harmless as a dove,
Others spend the damsel's gold,
And only half the taale is told.'"
Now, as I said when I commenced writing this history, there are many things which happened to me that I cannot understand. For my own part, I have tried to explain away what Betsey told me even in the light of after events, which I shall tell presently. I have tried again and again to show that her words were very vague, and could have no definite meaning. I maintained this to Mr. John Wesley when I told him the story, but he shook his head, and said something about dreamingdreams and seeing visions. Not that I attach any undue weight to Mr. Wesley's words. I have nothing against this man; but, for my own part, the old religion of the parish church and the Prayer-book is good enough for me. These Methodists, who have grown very mighty these last few years, who claim a sort of superior religion, and tell a man he's going to hell because he's fond of wrestling, are nothing in my way. The Penningtons have been wrestlers for generations, and never threw a man unfairly; besides, they always shook hands before and after the hitch as honest, kindly men should, and when I'm told that they were on the wrong road because of this I say the new religion does not suit me. At the same time, Mr. John Wesley, who is doubtless a good man, although some folks call him a Papist and others a madman, did believe Betsey Fraddam had powers which the common run of folks do not possess. Not that he believed that those powers were good; concerning that the great man was very reserved.
But I am going away from my story, and that I must not do, for I have many things to tell, so many that it will not be well for me to stray away from the track of the tale.
I must confess that the words which I heard Betsey say impressed me very much, so much that they were engraved on my memory. Besides, I had become more and more interested in what she was doing, and was now eager to hear more.
"What is the half of the tale which is not told?" I asked, eagerly.
But she did not reply.
"Eli, Eli, you hear?" she cried.
"Iss, iss," grunted Eli. "'Tes the smugglin' gang."
"'Tes Jack! Jasper, you mus'n be seed. Git out in the gar'n."
"He caan't," laughed Eli. "The spence, Jasper. Run to the spence."
I entered a door which opened into a small compartment, in the which Betsey's firewood, a box of tools, and many household utensils were hidden.
I had scarcely closed the door when I heard the voices of Cap'n Jack Truscott and others of his gang.
I kept very quiet, for I knew that if I were discovered my life would not be worth an hour's purchase. I was very anxious, too, for I was not quite sure of Betsey's feelings toward me. All the same I listened very intently.
"Well, Betsey, my deear," I heard Cap'n Jack say, "still on yer ould gaame. I hop' we've brok' the spell, my deear. Ted'n vitty, I tell 'ee. A pious man like me do nat'rally grieve over the sins of the flesh. But 'ere's Cap'n Billy Coad; you ain't a spoke to 'ee 'et."
I wished that there had been a hole in the door, for I had a great desire to see Billy Coad, of whom I had heard Cap'n Jack speak so often. I heard his voice, however. It was softer even than Cap'n Jack's, and was of a wheedling tone, as though he wanted to get on comfortably with every one.
"Hope you be braave, Cap'n Billy," croaked Betsey. "Eli, put away this broth; thews booys doan't want none of that soort."
"No, Betsey, it do grieve me, yer nearest blood relation, to zee 'ee follin' in such ways."
"You've bin glad ov me, though," retorted Betsey.
"Iss, you be a gifted woman. You got et from Granfer. He tould 'ee a lot ov things, ded'na then?"
"Mor'n I shell tell."
"Come now, Betsey, laive us be oal comfortable like. You've got your gifts, and I've got mine. I doan't care 'bout sperrits to-night, Betsey; but you've got somegood wine—that I knaw. Ah! Cap'n Billy ded some good trade on his laast voyage."
"Good traade," sneered Betsey. "What's your traade nowadays? Zee wot Granfer ded."
"Iss, I've wanted to talk to 'ee 'bout et, Betsey, my deear. I've bin very good to you."
I heard some clinking of glass, and I knew they were drinking. I had heard only two voices, but by the footsteps I judged that more than two might have entered the cottage. In this, however, I was mistaken, for the others who had come with him left at the door.
"Iss, I've bin very good to you and Eli," repeated Cap'n Jack. "You've never wanted summin' warm to drink."
"A fat lot I've 'ad from 'ee," retorted Betsey, "and I ain't a wanted nothin' nuther. I've got my 'ouse, and I've got summin' to ait, so've Eli."
"Iss. I sh'll make a man o' Eli."
I heard Eli laugh in his strange, gurgling way.
"I've made money, more'n Tamsin 'll want; well, and why sha'ant Eli 'ave some ov it?"
"What 'ee'll git from you'll be good for sore eyes," snarled the old woman. "Ugh, ef I wanted money—aw, aw!—well, I knaw!"
"You'm thinkin' 'bout the treasure. But you caan't git et, Betsey. Ef ould Granfer ded bury it some where out to say—well, you caan't git et. But ded a bury a treasure, Betsey, ef 'ee ded, why ded a die so poor?"
Betsey did not reply.
"Doan't you think 'tes oal lies, Betsey? Where's the paper weth the dreckshuns? I knaw 'ee sailed weth Cap'n Blackbeard, everybody do knaw that, and it's zed that the Cap'n was very rich—took oal soarts of thingsfrom the Spaniards and the Portugeese; but then where ded a put et? Zum zay on Lundy Island, others that he found a caave in Annette Island, and others that he found a place on the South Says; but ed'n et oal a taale, Betsey, my deear?"
Betsey remained silent, while Eli grunted.
"Granfer zaid that he stailed the dreckshuns," continued Cap'n Jack; "ef a ded, where be um?"
"'Spoase I was to tell 'ee?" sneered Betsey. "Well, you'd git et. As fur Eli, 'ee cud go a-beggin'."
"Eli shud 'ave aaf," said Cap'n Jack, with a most terrible oath, "and Billy and we'd 'ave the other aaf far our share. Tha's fair, Betsey."
"No, no, no!" cried Eli, "it's oal lies, oal lies!" And there was, I thought, a note of fear in his voice.
"Mind, Betsey," cried Cap'n Jack, "whether you tell me or no, we'll vind out. Ef you've eed away they dreckshuns, we'll vind um, mind that!"
"You've zaid zo afore," sneered Betsey.
"'Ave us? Zo we 'ave," replied Cap'n Jack, "but I be a religious man. I want to trait my relaashuns fair, I do; everybody that do knaw me, do knaw that, doan't 'em, Cap'n Billy? An' Billy is a religious man, too; hes religious experience es a powerful sermon. Well, I've talked oal soarts of ways 'bout that treasure, Betsey—I 'ave. I've zaid I doan't bleeve in et, zo I 'ave. But wot then? Well, I'm a-goin' to vind et!"
"Aw, aw!" chuckled Betsey.
"I'm a man to my word, zo's Billy. Whenever I've zaid a thing I've done it."
"Aw, tha's ev et es et. I've 'eerd you zay that any man who runned away from your gang you'd kill. I've 'eerd you zay you'd do fur Jasper Penninton. 'Ave 'ee,Jack Fraddam? Why, 'ee got off bootiful—jist through a maid—iss, and went to say, and no one stopped un!"
"And why, Betsey, why? 'Cos I am a fond and lovin' vather, that's why. Tamsin made a vool ov me, tha's why. I maade a mistake in takin' Jasper to Kynance, 'cos Tamsin got to like un. Well, I lowed un to git away. I promist Tamsin that while he kipt his tongue 'atween hes teeth I'd laive un go. But laive un tell things, laive un tell anybody where our caaves be, laive un split 'bout other things he do know—well!" and Cap'n Jack grunted significantly.
"Aw, aw," sneered Betsey, "he strangled Israel Barnicoat, and thrawed the lantern ovver the cliff. An' ther' was no wreck that night. Aw, aw! You be a man, you be!"
"A merciful, pious man, tha's wot I be. But doan't 'ee laugh, Betsey. Do 'ee think I dunnaw that Jasper landed in Fammuth to-day? He's watched, I tell 'ee."
At this the sweat streamed out over every part of my body, and I hardened my muscles to fight for dear life. I felt that Cap'n Jack's was no vain threat, and that I owed my life to Tamsin.
"Where es a now, then?" queried Betsey.
"He's lyin' luff in Fammuth town, my deear; but 'ee must be very careful."
At this I breathed more freely again.
"I'm a kind man," continued Cap'n Jack; "I've bin kind to you, Betsey. I knaw that ef you've got they dreckshuns you've kipt 'em for Eli. But, Betsey, my deear, 'ee caan't do nothin' by hisself. We'll share fair, Betsey; I'll give my Bible oath to that."
"I taake no noatice ov yur Bible oaths," snarled Betsey, "but I knaw you'd kipt to what yer promised. Efyou ded'n, I'd make yer flesh drop off yer boans bit by bit; I'd make yer joints twist wrong way 'bout; I'd make 'ee suffer pains wuss'n the fires ov the bottomless pit; I'd raise the sperrits of—"
"Doan't 'ee, Betsey," cried Cap'n Jack, and his voice trembled with fear. "I knaw you be a gifted woman; I knaw you can do terrible things. Ef there's a treasure, Betsey, laive me vind et, and Eli sh'll live in the finest state o' land in this blessed county."
"I'll think 'bout it. I caan't raid, that you knaw—but, but come out 'ere in the gar'n, Jack."
With that, Billy Coad, Cap'n Jack, and Betsey went into the garden, while Eli sat by the chimney and chuckled as though a great joy had come into his heart.
They did not stay long, and I suspected that Betsey told them something she did not wish me to know. When they came back again I heard Betsey tell Eli to fetch the crock and brandis into the middle of the room.
After that Betsey blew on the pot again, as I had seen her blow, and she made the two men repeat things after her which I did not hear distinctly, and all the time I heard Eli chuckling and grunting as though he enjoyed himself vastly.
After this all the four went into the garden, and they stayed there a long while, leaving me to muse over the strange things I had heard. Not that it came altogether as a surprise to me, for I had often heard of Granfer Fraddam knowing something about a treasure. I do not think any one had taken much notice of it, for there were scores of meaningless stories about lost treasures that passed from lip to lip among the gossips in the days when I was young.
Now, however, that which I had heard caused memuch food for thought, and I wondered whether there was any truth in the story. I determined, too, that I would ask Eli, for I believed that what Betsey knew he would know. I saw, too, that he loved me, and I was sure that he was anxious to serve me.
When Betsey and Eli came back the two men had gone, and then I came from my hiding-place, and began to ply them with questions. But neither of them would give me answers. Betsey seemed very thoughtful, while Eli pulled some sacks from under the settle, so that I might have a bed.
Before Betsey climbed the creaky stairs which led to the room where she slept, she fixed her whitey, shining eyes upon me, and, holding up her hand, she bade me be silent about what I had seen and heard.
"Ef you tell, Jasper Penninton," she croaked, "ef you tell—you've eerd ov fallin' flesh a'ant 'ee? Well, think ov it."
"I shall say nothing," I replied.
"No," she said, continuing to look steadily on me, "no, you wa'ant. I c'n zee you wa'ant."
Then she left me, while I lay down on the sacks fearing nothing living, but fearing the dead terribly. For it seemed to me as though Betsey had been doing that which was unlawful, and that I was a party to her plans. And so I could not sleep for a long time; not, indeed, until the light of morning began to stream through the cottage window, and then I felt to laugh at it all. Betsey's signs and Betsey's words were so much foolery, while the conversation about the buried treasure was no more true than the stories which were believed in superstitious days. Besides, thoughts of Naomi drove away all else, although everything came back to me afterward.When my fears went, however, sleep came to my eyes, and I did not awake until I felt Eli fondling my hands, and heard him telling me that breakfast was ready.
Then I arose, upbraiding myself for having slept so long, for I had intended finding my way to Pennington in the early morning. I know this seemed very foolish, for if the Tresidders found me on the land they called theirs all my purposes would be frustrated.
"Breakfas', breakfas', Jasper," said Eli.
"No, I'm going out," I replied.
"Ted'n no use, ted'n no use," grunted the poor dwarf, "she ed'n there."
"Where is she, then?"
"Jist agone by, ridin' to Fammuth town."
"How do you know?"
"I zeed um. She and Maaster Tresidder, and Maaster Nick Tresidder, and Miss Em'ly."
"Are you sure, Eli?"
"Iss."
Then I quickly ate what had been prepared for me, and when I had given Betsey a guinea out of the few I had been able to earn during the time I had been away, I tramped to Falmouth. I arrived there in less than two hours from the time I had left Betsey's cottage, trying to make plans as I went. I walked up and down Falmouth street several times, all the time looking around in the hopes of finding her, not because I could do anything if I found her, but because I longed greatly to see her, longed more than words can tell. At length noonday came and still my eyes continued to ache for a sight of her, while my heart grew heavy. I found, too, that the streets became more and more crowded every minute, until I asked myself if it were a fair. But suchwas not the case. The reason of the crowd was that Mr. John Wesley had come to Falmouth, and his coming had caused a great uproar. I heard all sorts of stories about him, and many were the threats that were made. Some said he was a Papist, who wanted to bring back Popery to the country, while others declared that he wanted to raise a rebellion against the king and crown. Several clergymen from distant parishes had come into the town, and these, almost without exception, were very bitter toward him; while the publicans, who did a very big trade that day because of his coming, cried out against him very loudly. On the other hand, I heard that many people had come because of the great good he had done, and because through him they had been led, to use their own language, to become new creatures. This I will say, those who befriended Mr. Wesley seemed very steady folks. They used no bad language, neither were they mad with drink as many of the others were.
I did not pay as much heed to the state of the town as I might have paid under other circumstances, for I cared for little but the sight of Naomi's face, while to hear her voice I felt I would give anything.
Now as I walked disconsolately along the street, finding my way among the crowd that grew greater and greater, I stopped outside a linen-draper's shop, which was kept by one Humphry Bolitho, and to my great joy I saw Naomi coming therefrom. By her side was Emily Tresidder, and I was wondering how I could speak to my love, when the woman in the shop called Richard Tresidder's daughter back just as Naomi's eyes met mine.
She gave no start of surprise at seeing me, so that even then I was sure that the Tresidders knew of my return,but she seemed, I thought, in doubt as to whether she should speak to me. But I had found my opportunity, and I determined not to be baulked in my purpose, especially as Emily Tresidder had gone back into the shop again. And yet at that moment I knew not what was fitting to say, for my heart seemed in my mouth, and every inch of my body quivered with a strange joy.
"Miss Naomi," I stammered, hardly knowing the words that came from my mouth, "thank you for what you did months ago. I loved you then, I love you a thousand times more now."
I saw the blood mount to her brow, and for a moment I could not tell whether she was angry or no. She looked anxiously back into the shop, then up and down the street.
"You are in danger here," she said.
"I care not, now I see you," I cried. "I have done nothing wrong, except that I am doing wrong in loving you. I have not won back Pennington yet, but I will do it, God helping, I will, if—if you will give me just one word of promise."
I spoke in a low tone so that no one could hear, and indeed the crowd seemed too much bent on other things to notice me.
"It is no use," she said—"it is no use. Do not try any more, it is hopeless."
"I shall never give up hope," I said.
"Even now my guardian is seeking to do you harm," she cried. "This I know."
"I am not afraid of him," I cried. "You know what I told you—that night—last November. You did not scorn me then. I hoped then that some day you might care for me; it is my hope still."
"It is no use," she cried again, looking anxiously around her—"it is no use. I am to be married to Nick Tresidder; at least they all want me to marry him."
"No!" I cried. "No!"
"I cannot help myself," she said, piteously.
"Do you love him?" I asked.
"No," she said, again looking eagerly around.
"Then!" I cried, "you shall not marry him. I will keep you from that, even if I found you by his side at the church communion-rails."
Then my heart jumped for joy, for I saw a look of gladness flash into her eyes.
"Come with me," I continued; "come away where it is quiet. No one will notice us among all this crowd."
"No, no, I dare not; I am watched everywhere, and you are watched. We may be safe here for a few minutes longer, for when Emily is talking about finery she is forgetful of all else, but I must not leave here."
"Look here," I cried, "Betsey Fraddam told me last night that all sorts of lying stories have been told about me."
"I have believed none of them," she cried.
"Also that Nick Tresidder has told the parson to have your banns called at the parish church."
"But not with my consent," she said, eagerly, and again my heart thumped aloud because of my joy.
"Naomi Penryn," I cried, "I know I seem a worthless, thriftless sort of fellow, for as yet I have done nothing to get back Pennington, but if you could love me just a little"—and I looked toward her appealingly. "Anyhow, trust me," I continued, "and be not afraid. Remember I shall love you till I die, and I will be always near you to be your friend."
I said this in the heat of my love and youth, for nothing seemed impossible to me then. Somehow, I knew not how, a greater strength had seemed to come into my life, and I laughed at difficulty and danger.
"Go!" she cried—"go; Emily Tresidder is coming. Go!"
"Not yet, the woman is showing her something else," and I felt thankful because of this girl's love for finery. "Promise me," I continued, "that you will not yield to those Tresidders. Stand firm, and they will be afraid to force you. Remember, I will be always near, if I can, and that they dare not harm you. Besides—oh, if you knew all you are to me!"
She looked at me eagerly while a film seemed to come over her eyes, and I thought she was about to say something. Then a look of terror flashed across her face. "Go!" she cried—"go! There is my guardian! Oh, take care of yourself!" and then she rushed into the shop, leaving me standing by the door, and only partially hidden from the crowd by some things which had been placed by the door.
I quickly got among the crowd, but I know that both Nick Tresidder and his father saw me, and I knew, too, that if they went into Humphry Bolitho's shop they would find out that Naomi had spoken to me. And yet I felt very joyous. I knew, although Naomi had not told me she loved me, that she thought of me with more than passing kindness, while the flash of her eyes told me that she could not be moulded at will, even by such men as the Tresidders and such a woman as Richard Tresidder's mother. Naturally I felt afraid for her, and for all she would have to suffer, and yet the remembrance of the fact that she would speak to me kindly, and hadtold me to take care of myself, as though she were anxious for my welfare, filled me with a great hope, and hope giveth wings of strength to those who are weighted with great burdens.
I had not been in the crowd above a minute before I felt myself carried along the street, as if by the force of a mighty torrent. I was hemmed in on every side by a seething mass of men and women, some of whom were praying and singing, while others used many profane words, and uttered threats which would not be seemly for me to write down. I quickly learned that the people were making their way toward the house of a lady who, I was told, was called Mrs. Bennetto, although I am not sure that this was the correct name. I asked why they wanted to get there, and was told that Mr. John Wesley was there, and that many were determined to kill him. Most of the crowd, as I have said before, seemed exceedingly bitter toward him, but others were loud in their praises of the great man, and although they were severely buffeted they kept singing the hymns he had composed, some of which seemed very fine in their sentiment, although I must confess that the meaning of some of the verses I could not understand.
When we arrived at the house where he was there was a great amount of shouting, so great that had a storm been raging at sea close by I do not think we could have heard it.
"Laive us git to un, laive us git to un!" shouted the crowd, eagerly and angrily.
Now I have always loved fair play, and so I asked why they wanted to get to Mr. Wesley, and at that moment there being a lull, and my voice being deep and strong, my question was heard.
"He's a Canorum," they shouted; "he's a Papist, he drives men and women maazed, he keeps 'em from goin' to church, he destroys honest trade!" These among other things I heard as I struggled to get to the door.
There was no law or order in the place. Not a single constable seemed to be near, and for the moment the friends of the preacher seemed to be afraid to act in his defence.
Presently I got to the door of the house, and I think my great proportions frightened some of them.
"Look you," I said, "he is one and you are many. I do not know this man, but I have heard up and down the country that he hath done much good. If any man dares molest him, I will strike him down as I would strike down a yelping cur."
For a moment there was a quiet, and the friends of Mr. Wesley took heart, for although it seems like boasting to say so, I think the sight of one strong, courageous man, as I thank God I have ever been, always has a tendency to quell the anger of an unreasoning mob.
"He's not a friend to the people," they cried. "He's destroyed the trade of Jemmy Crowle, who do kip a kiddleywink over to Zennor. Ted'n no use kippin' a public 'ouse after he've bin to a plaace. He do turn people maazed. He do convert 'em, and then they waan't zing songs, nor git drunk, nor do a bit of smugglin', nor nothin'."
This was said not as I have written it down, but came to me in confused, excited ejaculations from many quarters.
"If that is all he has done," I said, "there is no reason for anger."
For a moment there was a silence among the crowd, and I heard voices from within the house.
Said a woman, "Oh, sir, what must we do?"
"We must pray," was the reply. This was in a man's voice, and was strangely sweet and strong, and even then it thrilled me greatly.
I believe that many, angry as they had been, would have turned away at that moment, but some drunken privateers were among the mob, and one of them came and pushed me savagely. I caught the man up and lifted him above my head and threw him from me. This angered the privateers greatly, and they smashed down the door while others swore great oaths at me.
"What will em do weth the Canorum?" I heard the people cry, and then there was a silence again. I think they were subdued, as I was subdued, by the sound of a man's voice.
"Here I am," I heard Mr. Wesley say, "which of you has anything to say to me? To whom have I done wrong? To you, to you?"
At this the people seemed eager beyond measure to catch sight of him, and they shouted, "Come out, come out. Lev us zee 'ee."
Others again shouted, "Ef we can git to un, we'll kill un. We doan't want no Canorums, we doan't want no new sort ov religion. We like our beer and wrastlin', we do."
"Look," I shouted, "give every man fair play. Let him speak for himself. If he has anything to tell us, let him tell it."
"Iss, iss," shouted the crowd; "lev un spaik."
With that I heard the same voice speaking which I had heard inside the house, only this time it was louder.It was not panic-stricken, it was perfectly calm and fearless. It was strangely sweet, too, and it reached, I should think, to the very outskirts of the crowd. A strange hush fell upon the people as they heard it. It was like a stormy sea which had suddenly become calm.
"Neighbours and countrymen," said the voice, "do you desire me to speak?"
"No, no," shouted some; "put un in stocks, throw un in the say."
Then I spoke again. "Fair play, Cornishmen," I said, "give the stranger fair play, let him speak."
"Iss, iss," cried the larger part of the crowd; "he sh'll 'ave fair play, he sh'll spaik."
With that a gangway was made, and then I turned and saw the man who had created such a great commotion in the country come bareheaded into the middle of the street, while the surging crowd hustled each other, some eager to do him injury, but many more anxious to hear what he had to say.
As for myself, I was silent, for the sight of him impressed me greatly.
There was nothing at first sight very striking about Mr. John Wesley's appearance. He was, I thought, rather undersized, and I at that moment failed to see what there was about him to cause so much commotion. And yet as I looked again I could not help being impressed with the calm strength which shone from his eyes. He seemed to possess a power unknown to most men. Had I, Jasper Pennington, been brought face to face with such a crowd, I should have challenged the strongest man there to come out and let us fight a fair battle, but Mr. Wesley seemed only desirous to do good. He spoke calmly and with much assurance about our being sinners, and being children of hell, but that we could be saved from everlasting perdition by believing in Christ, who had appeased God's anger toward us.
Now, I am not a critical man, but even at that moment I could not quite see his meaning, for it seemed as though God were divided against Himself, and that God the Son felt differently toward us from what God the Father felt, and this, to an unlearned man like myself, brought only confusion. Moreover, as he spoke, while I could not help admiring his courage, and vowing inmy heart that all one man could do to defend him I would do, I felt that he was not altogether a lovable man. He spoke with a sort of superiority which I did not admire, while he seemed to think greatly of himself. I know it sounds like presumption for me, an obscure, ignorant man, to write this, especially when I think of the good he has done; nevertheless, such thoughts came into my mind as I watched him. Perhaps his consciousness of his power over the multitudes merely gave him a confidence which I did not understand, or perhaps the fact that he was one of the principal men of the age made him feel his importance, for I think a man must be more than human if, talked about as Mr. Wesley has been, he does not become possessed of great esteem for himself.
After he had been talking a few minutes, however, I forgot all this. His little form seemed to dilate with a strange life, and many evil men groaned, as if with anguish. His voice became more and more resonant, and presently a touch of tenderness, which was at first absent, mingled with his tones.
Before long that great crowd became subdued, and then I realised the power of the human voice, of true courage, and of a good life; for I believe that the mob realised, although they might not be able to put their thoughts into words, that this man was gifted with an influence which can only come by means known to those who live with God.
After he had been speaking some time a clergyman, accompanied by some of the principal people of the town, spoke to the people, and he so angered them that I believe injury would have been done had not the town officials been present. Even with their presence Mr.Wesley seemed in great danger, and so, in my anxiety to help him, for he had stirred my heart greatly during the latter part of his address, I came to his side.
"No man shall touch Master Wesley," said I.
He looked up at me, for I think I was about a foot taller than he, and he said, "Thank you, young man."
"Whither would you go?" I said. "I will walk by your side, and will let no man harm you."
"I thank you," he repeated. "God hath evidently gifted you with great strength. Use it for His glory. I will accept your escort to Mrs. Maddern's house, but I have a strength which is omnipotent on my side. I will trust and not be afraid."
Even as he spoke I felt how true were his words, and then we walked down the street toward the sea, he continuing to preach most of the time.
When we reached the door of Mrs. Maddern's he said, "What is your name, young man?"
"Jasper Pennington," I replied.
"It is an old Cornish name," he replied, and then, looking into my eyes, he said, "Is your heart at peace with God and man—especially with man?" This he asked meaningly.
I did not answer him, for it occurred to me that the town officials who walked with him had told him who I was, although I had not heard.
"Trust in the Lord and do good, Jasper Pennington," he said, quietly, "soshalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed. Delight thyself also in the Lord, and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart."
Then he went into the house, and I felt as though a benediction rested upon me.
I waited outside with the crowd, expecting him to come out again, but after a time they heard that he had got into a boat from the back of the house, for the sea came up close to the back of the house, and by this means he was able to escape, mingling with the crowd again.
It was now well on to six o'clock in the evening, but being summertime the light was still bright; indeed, the sun was yet high in the heavens. So I left the people who wanted to have a last look at Mr. Wesley, and who found their way to the seashore in great numbers. I went slowly toward Humphry Bolitho's shop, musing upon what the great man had said to me, but thinking far more of my meeting with Naomi. It is true I was too excited to understand its real significance, but the impression left upon me was gladsome, and, although my prospects seemed dark, my heart beat high with hope. Perhaps the peaceful words that Mr. Wesley had spoken to me made me rejoice, but the fact that Naomi had spoken kindly to me was that upon which my mind rested most fondly.
When I got to Humphry Bolitho's shop I looked eagerly inside, as though I expected to see Naomi there, but only strangers were within the building, and then I came to the spot where, a year before, I had been publicly degraded, and where I had first seen my love. Then my mind and heart were full of bitterness, and yet perhaps the piteousness of my condition had caused her to think kindly of me. And so, even at the place of my degradation, I hoped that my enemies' deeds might work out for me an exceeding great reward. Neither did I feel so bitterly toward the Tresidder family. I still determined to win back my own and to fulfil mypromise to my father, but I wished my enemies no harm. Even then I wondered whether John Wesley's words were not a prophecy, providing I would fulfil the conditions.
But this feeling did not last long. I began to picture the danger Naomi was in; I thought of Nick Tresidder trying to persuade her to marry him; I thought of the threats that might be used; I called to mind the power of the woman who had persuaded my grandfather to be unkind to his only son, and then I was afraid, for if Naomi married Nick, what joy should I have in life; ay, what would Pennington be to me? It would seem only an empty tomb, while my heart would be eaten out with vain longings even to the end of my days; for such is the mystery of life, and such is the value of a woman's life to the man who loves her. I had seen Naomi only a few times, while I had had but little intercourse with her, and yet she was more to me than aught else. But for her I think I should have given up hope, and when hope is gone all is gone.
I went back toward the sea again, musing over my hopes and my difficulties, when I saw Israel Barnicoat stumbling along the street, seemingly intoxicated. Not wishing to be seen by him, I went into an inn to escape him and to get some refreshments, for I remembered that I had eaten nothing since morning. The landlord of the inn, John Snell by name, had known me in my more prosperous days, and he asked me to come into the parlour, which he assured me was empty. So, desiring quiet, I accepted his invitation. I had been there perhaps an hour, and I was planning what I should do that night when John Snell came into the room and brought me a letter.
"A booy 'ave jist brought it, Maaster Jasper," he said.
"A letter for me!" I cried, in astonishment.
"Iss; ther's your naame top of it, edn't et?"
I read the inscription—"Jasper Pennington, Esquire."
Now the word "Esquire" set me wondering; moreover, it set my heart a-beating hard, for I thought I recognised the writing, and yet I was not sure.
I did not break the seal because, although John Snell seemed friendly toward me, I did not wish him to be present when I read the missive, for I hoped that Naomi was the writer.
Presently John left me alone, and then I anxiously read and re-read the words which had been written. They were very few, but they made my heart burn with great joy, for they told me that I might soon see my love again. This is what was written:
"If you would help me, meet me to-night at Pendennis Castle gates at the hour of ten. I would then tell you what was impossible for me to say at Humphry Bolitho's shop. If you love me, do not fail; I am in greater danger than you think. If you fail our only hope is gone."
"If you would help me, meet me to-night at Pendennis Castle gates at the hour of ten. I would then tell you what was impossible for me to say at Humphry Bolitho's shop. If you love me, do not fail; I am in greater danger than you think. If you fail our only hope is gone."
Now, as I said, I read this letter many times, and pondered greatly over its contents. I made up my mind I would not fail, for the letter told me of Naomi's love and Naomi's danger. The thought of speaking to her without hindrance was joy beyond all words; so much joy did I feel, indeed, that I thought not of where Naomi was when she wrote it, or how she was to escape her guardian while she spoke to me. Enough that her own hands had penned these lines to me, while the joy coming from the thought that she sought my help made me incapable of thinking clearly. I was sure that herhands had traced these lines, for I compared them with the other letter I had received from her, and which I carried with me wherever I went; and so long before the hour of ten I made my way toward Pendennis Castle. The little town was nearly asleep. No sounds reached me save those of revellers in some kiddleywinks near the shore. As I walked along many doubts came to me. By what means would Naomi reach the castle gates? Who would accompany her? for I could not think she would come alone. What was the reason she was staying in Falmouth over night? And, above all, how would she elude the vigilance of those who guarded her?
Had I long to wait I have no doubt that many more questions would have arisen in my mind, for in spite of my joyful anticipations my mind began to clear, and I thought of many things which did not come to me as I read the letter. Besides, try as I might to throw off the feeling, a great dread laid hold of me, and I began to look anxiously around me, as if fearful of my surroundings.
Below me, in the near distance, the waves swished on the shore, while out at sea, perhaps a mile, I could see the lights of a ship twinkling. But for the musical sound of the waves all was silent; the night was clear and bright; the moon's beams played with the sea, making the waves shine like diamonds. Even although my mind was filled with many doubts, I felt that I had seldom seen a fairer night, and I dreamed of leading Naomi to the lanes outside the town and telling her again of my love.
Presently I came to the drawbridge near the castle gates. I knew it was nearly ten o'clock, but it mightwant a few minutes to the hour, so I went and leaned against the castle walls.
I thought I heard a whisper, for my ears were eager to catch the sound of my love's footsteps; so I went back to the gates again; then I heard a quick shuffling of feet, and before I could turn around my arms were pinioned, my eyes were bandaged, and some woollen substance was thrust into my mouth.
I saw now what the letter meant. It was not written by Naomi at all, and in my heart I cursed myself as a blockhead for being so easily duped. I heard the gruff voices of men, and among others I felt sure I heard that of Israel Barnicoat. For some few minutes, although my hands were pinioned, I struggled fiercely, but it was of no use; besides, I heard a threatening voice near me saying, "You be quiet, Jasper Pennington, or you'll be thrawed over the cliff. Doan't 'ee make no mistake now!"
I could not speak, neither could I see, so I became passive, and they led me along a road which I knew descended. The sound of the waves became nearer and nearer, so I judged we were going to the sea. In this I was correct. A few seconds later I heard the sound of paddles, and then I was half led, half lifted into a boat.
I tried to get the woollen material with which I had been gagged out of my mouth, for it made me sick; moreover, I found it hard to breathe, but I tried in vain. So I bore up as well as I could, wondering where I was to be taken and what was to become of me. I did not think they meant to kill me, or they would have thrown me over the cliff at Pendennis Point, so I came to the conclusion that Cap'n Jack Truscott's gang had got hold of me, and that they would take me to Kynance.I listened eagerly to hear the sound of his voice, but could not; but I felt sure I had heard Israel Barnicoat's, and this confirmed me in my opinion.
I was angry at this, not so much for myself as for Naomi. Never until then did I feel how much she was in Richard Tresidder's power; never did I feel so certain as then that every means would be used to marry her to his son. And I had vainly thought that I would stay near to help her, and that I would save her from the power of my enemies. Now, however, a few hours after I had come back to Cornwall, I was taken a prisoner.
I sat upright in the boat. On each side of me sat a man holding me, while two men rowed. There were others near me, as I knew by the sound of their voices; how many I did not know. After I had sat thus for perhaps half an hour the rowing ceased, and I felt our boat thump against some hard substance, and by the movement of the men I knew that some new steps were to be taken.
A few seconds later I heard sounds above me; then my hands were loosed, but the bandage was not taken away from my eyes.
"Stand upright," said a voice.
I stood upright.
"Lay 'old ov this."
A piece of rope was put in my hand.
"You've got 'old of a rope ladder. Now climb."
I felt with my hands, and discovered that the man had spoken truly. I knew it was useless to disobey, so I started to climb. In a few seconds I felt my arms grasped by hard hands, and I was dragged on to the deck of a vessel.
I made no sound; I could not, for I was still gagged.
"Come weth wee."
I knew by the dialect that Cornishmen still spoke, and a few seconds later I felt myself descending a stairway with two men holding me.
By the motion I judged that I was on a pretty large vessel, and this caused me to wonder greatly, for a large vessel would not be needed to take me to Kynance, neither would Cap'n Jack use one for such a purpose. I then thought I must be in the hands of the press-gang, and this was not altogether unpleasant, for I thought I might be able to escape, or use means whereby I should be able to communicate with Naomi.
A few seconds later I knew that I was enclosed in some sort of a cabin, and then I felt a great relief, for my gag was pulled from my mouth. I tried to speak, but I could not; my tongue seemed swollen and my throat was parched, but it was pleasant to me to be able to breathe freely.
At length I made a great effort.
"Why am I taken here?" I asked.
No one spoke.
"What have I done that I should be treated thus?" I asked. "I have harmed no man. I arrived in Falmouth only yesterday. What is your will with me?"
Still no one spoke.
"Pull the bandage from my eyes and let me see, I cried. I said this because two men still held my arms firmly, but no one moved to do my bidding.
"Then give me something to drink," I cried—"water; my throat is parched, and burns like fire."
"Yes, you shall drink," said a voice.
A few seconds later I heard the sound of bottlesclinking, and then the gurgle of something being poured therefrom.
"Here is something to cool your mouth. Here it is—fine stuff. Drink it quickly, drink it all."
I felt a goblet placed against my lips, and a strange odour rise to my nostrils. I thought it smelt like rum, and a sickly feeling came over me.
"Drink quickly," said the same man who had spoken before; "it will do you good."
I feared to drink, and I shut my teeth firmly, but a great sickness came over me, and I could not keep my mouth closed, and some of the liquid was poured on my tongue. It was pleasant to the taste and delightfully cooling to my tongue, and so thirsty was I that I drank the contents of the goblet, thankful for such a refreshing beverage.
"You feel better now, don't you?"
"Yes," I said; "take away the bandage, and I shall be all right."
No sooner had I spoken than I staggered, and should have fallen had not I been kept up by the men who still held my arms.
"You are not so well, after all," I heard some one say. "You had better lie down."
I yielded to the pressure upon my body, and felt myself falling; a great roaring sound came into my ears, and then I realised that I was lying on some sort of couch.
My senses, I was sure, were departing from me, and I had a vague idea that I was falling through unlimited space, while wild winds and loud thunders were all around me; then all became a great blank.
How long I remained unconscious I do not know,neither can I tell whether the experiences through which I thought I went had any objective reality.
This was what I thought or dreamed happened to me. For a long time all was a perfect blank, except that I was left alone in darkness and allowed to rest in peace. Even now I have a vague remembrance of a delicious restfulness that came to me; every particle of my body seemed to be in repose, while all desire departed. By-and-by light seemed to come to me—a strange, weird light. I was moving, not by any action of my own, but unknown forces were carrying me through balmy air. Strange, shadowy creatures flitted around me, while I thought I heard the sound of distant music, as though ten thousand voices were singing.
This, I said, is death.
My eyes, I knew, were closed, and yet I could see. By an inward power of sight I could plainly discern the shadowy creatures around, and I remember interesting myself in trying to discern their faces. Presently one more than all the rest became plain. At first I thought it was Naomi's, so fair was it, but I soon discovered that I was mistaken. The woman was cast in a larger mould than Naomi, and looked more matronly.
She looked at me with infinite tenderness, and kept close to my side all the time.
"Speak," I said to her; "tell me who you are."
But she shook her head.
Then it seemed to me as though dark, evil forms came near, and a man with a face like Richard Tresidder's said, "Let him die; we shall never be safe while he is alive." But the woman seemed to surround me like a mantle of light, and lo! my enemies were powerless to touch me. Time after time did murderousweapons seem to come close to me, but the form of the woman received every blow, and yet they did not harm her.
"This woman bears a charmed life," was the thought that came into my mind, and I longed greatly to know who she was.
Then another form came near. I saw my father.
"Jasper," he said, "this is your mother. She is always near you. This is a mother's joy, ever to be near her loved ones. She will protect you."
"Mother," I cried, "kiss me."
Her face came closer and closer to mine, and then for the first time I knew of a mother's love and felt a mother's kiss.
"Be brave, and pure and true, Jasper, my son," she said; "fear not even in the valley of the shadow of death. Delight thyself in the Lord, and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart."
After that a great darkness fell upon me again, yet through the darkness I could see the luminous form of my mother, with love shining from her eyes, and her hand pointing upward.
After that I felt as though I were on a stormy sea. The ship in which we sailed tossed like a cork, while the waves, foam-crested, hurled themselves furiously on our bark. A great panic seized the ship's crew, and they gave themselves up for lost. But for myself I had no fear. A great benign influence was around me, and I felt as safe as a babe rocked on its mother's breast, while the wild winds that roared seemed as sweet as the lullaby of a mother to a tired child.
For a long time the darkness continued, and then, when all hope seemed to have departed from the ship'screw, I saw a twinkling light. Then I felt rough hands around my body, while evil eyes gleamed; but I still saw the love-light shining from my mother's eyes, and I heard a voice saying, "He must not suffer harm."
Then all was a perfect blank.
* * * * *
When I awoke to consciousness I found myself in a small room. It was dimly lighted, and the air seemed cold and clammy. As my eyes became accustomed to my surroundings I saw that the walls were rough and unplastered. Above my head were huge beams, covered with thick, unplaned boards. Only one window was in the room. It was very small, and through the glass I could see iron bars. The window, I judged, was eighteen inches wide, and perhaps two feet high.
I was lying on a bed which was made of rough deal, and had evidently been knocked together hurriedly. But the clothes were clean and dry. Beside me was a table on which was a basin and some cups.
"Where am I, and how did I get here?" I asked myself.
For some time I had no remembrance of the past. Then events came to me in a dim, vague way. I remembered the letter which I thought was written by Naomi, and my journey to Pendennis Castle. But it seemed a long way off. It might have been years; I could not tell.
I tried to lift myself from my bed, but I could not, I was too weak. I looked at my hands; they were white like a woman's, and very thin.
"I must have been ill," I said; "but why am I here, and where am I?"
I listened intently, but all was silent as death. Ilonged for human voices, but I could hear none. No sound reached me but the roar of distant surf, but it was a strangely muffled sound.
"I am by the sea somewhere," I muttered; "but where?"
Then my heart gave a bound, for I heard the echo of distant footsteps. They sounded strangely, just as one's footsteps sound at night when walking through an empty church. They came nearer and nearer, until they came close to where I lay. Then I was sure that some one was coming to me.
I looked eagerly toward the direction from which I had heard the sound, and saw a door opening. A little old man entered. Evidently he was a serving-man, just as one sees in most old houses. Even then I concluded that he was one who had spent most of his life in some well-ordered house. His clothes were spotlessly clean, the buckles on his shoes shone, his stockings were without blemish. His wig, too, was powdered carefully, and all his linen was faultless.
All this made me wonder the more greatly as to where I was.
He met my questioning look calmly, and looked at me critically.
"Ah, you are better," he remarked, quietly.
"Would you tell me where I am?" I asked.
"You are safe from harm," he replied, vaguely.
"And why am I here?" I asked.
"To be kept from harm."
"And how long have I been here?"
"It is not for me to tell you. You have been very ill."
"What has been the matter with me?"
"You have had fever. Once I thought you wouldhave died; but you have been nursed safely through it, and I have doctored you successfully."
"Are you a doctor, then?"
"I have some knowledge of the human system and of medicines. It is well, otherwise you would never have lived through your sickness."
His face showed no emotion whatever, neither did it in the slightest degree indicate his thoughts. He spoke in perfectly measured tones, and each word was enunciated clearly. Many thoughts flashed through my mind, and many questions rose to my lips, but the old man's presence seemed to check them. Moreover, I felt very weak.
"I shall be well and strong soon," I said.
He came to me, felt my pulse, examined me in various ways, and said, quietly, "Yes, I think you will soon be well. You are a very strong man."
"What will become of me then?"
"You will stay here."
"How long?"
"I do not know."
"But why was I brought here?"
"To be kept from harm."
"What harm?"
"It is not for me to say."
"By whose command was I brought here?"
"I shall not tell you."
"But you can tell me where I am. This seems a part of a big house, an old house. Whose is it, and where is it?"
"I shall not tell you. You will receive nothing but kindness while you behave seemingly, if not, means will be used to check you."
"I am a prisoner, then?"
"Yes, you are a prisoner, if you are pleased to call it so."
"But am I to have no liberty? Am I not to leave this room? I cannot live penned up here."
"I shall speak no further to you. Food will be brought, and no harm will happen to you."
With that he left the room as quietly as he came, and I heard his footsteps echoing again as I had heard them when he came to me. For a time my brain seemed to grow weak again, and in spite of my anxiety I dropped into a fitful sleep, from which I was aroused by the chinking of crockery near me.
My sleep made me feel stronger; I felt far better than when the old man had visited me. I looked around the room again, and saw a hard-featured woman. She, too, was elderly, fast beating on toward sixty. She placed a basin of gruel at my side.
"'Ere," she said, "ait this."
"Ah," I thought, "I am still in Cornwall. Anyhow, the woman speaks with a Cornish accent."
I thought I might fare better with her than with the old man, so I tried to gain some information from her.
"Let's see," I said, "what part of Cornwall are we in?"
"Ait yer mait, an' ax no questions," was her response.
I ate the gruel with a good appetite. It was carefully made, and seemed to be seasoned with some pleasant-tasting cordial. When I had finished the old woman grunted with satisfaction.
"It is very nice," I said—"very nice. Whoever made it knows her work. Did you make it?"
"Who es ther' that knaweth how to make sich stuff as that but me?" she said.
Her answer set me thinking, and I drew two conclusions. One was that the old woman was vulnerable to flattery, the other was that she did not hail from that part of the county in which I was reared. The word "knaweth" told me that she belonged to the northern part of the county.
I put another question in order to test the truth of both these conclusions.
"You look too much of a lady to be the cook," I said, "and yet I thought the cook would naturally make such things."
"Ther's no cook. Her's gone. I'm in charge."
She said this proudly, but although her answer was brief, it confirmed me in my suspicions. People in the western part of the county would say "She's gone," so when she said, "Her's gone," I was sure that she hailed from either Devon or from somewhere in the region of Tintagel and Boscastle.
"It must be a place of importance," I said. "Have you lived here long?"
"I was born in this parish."
"Let's see, this is near St. Minver, isn't it?"
"Ax me no questions and I'll tell 'ee no lies," was the reply.
But she had let me know more than she imagined. She had told me that she was born in the parish where my prison was situated, and I knew by her brogue that the parish was situated a good many miles north of St. Eve.
I asked her many more questions, but she would answer none that gave me any further informationconcerning my whereabouts. As to why I was there she seemed as ignorant as myself.
After this I lay many days on my bed—how many I do not know. The mornings dawned and the daylight departed by; I did not pay much heed. From the remarks of the little man, who constantly visited me, I judged that some complication had arisen in my case, and so my recovery was delayed. At length, however, I felt myself grow stronger again, and then daily health came to my blood and vitality to my being.
By and by I was able to rise from my bed, and a suit of clothes of antiquated cut was given me to wear.
"What month is this?" I asked one day of the old man when he came to see me.
"It would do you no good to know," he replied.
"Yes it would," I replied; "I should have got better before this if I had not been harassed by so many doubts and questionings."
"Well, then, it is October."
"October! What part of the month?"
"Yes, October. To-day is the fifteenth of the month."
"Then I have been here three months."
He was silent.
"What is the year?" I asked, eagerly.
The little man smiled. "Oh, you need not fear. This is the year 1745. You have been here three months. I see you wish to ask more questions, but I shall not answer them."
For several days after that I asked no questions, for a great despair laid hold of me. Although I had not been told, I was sure I knew why I had been kidnapped and made a prisoner. I believed, too, that my illness wasnot a natural one, and I could have sworn that I was kept out of the way because Richard Tresidder feared me. This thought was not altogether unpleasant. It could not be because of the Pennington estates—there was no immediate danger concerning that—it was because of Naomi. He had discovered that she and I had met, and I believed that he had concluded what I fondly hoped, although the foundation seemed poor, that Naomi loved me. If this were so, I could understand why he should want to keep me away from Pennington, for if Naomi loved me, and was willing to wed me, even although she could not marry until she was twenty-one, the position was a constant menace to Richard Tresidder; for if, when she came of age, she became my wife, Trevose Estate would at once be wrested from his hands, while I should be able to buy back Pennington.
I considered these matters many times as I lay there. They came to me not clearly, but in a vague way; not quickly, but slowly and at rare intervals, while my strength came gradually back to me.
All this time I knew not where I was, for I was not allowed to go outside the room in which I had been imprisoned. Neither had my strength been sufficient to climb to the little window I have mentioned in order to look out. I was kindly treated, my food was good, and brought regularly; my room was kept clean, and I was carefully attended to. But not one of my attendants would tell me anything. Moreover, as I became stronger they seemed to watch me more closely.
One morning after breakfast, I judged that the sky was bright by the light which streamed into my room, and as I felt very much better, and knowing that no one would come to my prison for an hour or two, Idecided to try and climb to the window, so that I might see what my surroundings were. This proved to be a harder task than I anticipated, but after many vain endeavours I at length reached the little aperture and looked out.
My head became almost dizzy as I looked. Outside a great sea was running. I saw the breakers lash themselves into foam upon the rocks, and I saw a bold, ragged cliff stretching, as I judged, southward as far as my eyes could reach. Then I looked beneath me, and I saw that my prison had been built on the edge of the cliff. So high was I above the beach beneath that at first I could not measure the distance, but presently, as my eyes became accustomed to the sight, I was able to make my calculation. As far as I could judge I was at least two hundred feet above the roaring, rushing torrent beneath—probably the distance was greater. Escape by that means, then, was an impossibility.
I looked long and eagerly at the boiling surf and the weather-beaten cliffs which stretched far away in each direction. I watched the breakers as they hurled themselves on the rocks far, far down beneath me. The sight filled me with dull despair.
I tried to open the window, but it was fastened firmly. After repeated efforts, however, I managed to remove it about three inches from the frame, but I could not move it more owing to the iron bars that had been placed across. The fresh air blew in from the sea, which gave me great pleasure; it also cleared my mind somewhat, and acting on the impulse of the moment I tied my handkerchief to the iron bar. I did not see how it could do any good, but it could do no harm, and might possibly attract attention.
I looked again at the great waste of water, and marked the tumultuous tossing of the waves, and then I closed the window again, feeling that I could do nothing to effect my liberty.
I went back to my bed again and began to consider my condition. My mind for the moment seemed clear, and I was able to understand my position, and all the events I have related came back to my memory. Then I remembered that I always became dazed and drowsy after drinking the medicine which was given me. A torpor always crept over me, and I was incapable of definite action. This made me wonder still more.
I heard the sound of footsteps echoing along a passage, and a minute later the little old man I have mentioned came to me.
"It is time for you to have your medicine," he said.
Hitherto I had drunk it without demur; now I determined to avoid taking it.
"I will attend to it presently," I said, "but for the present I want us to talk together. I suppose you know you are placing yourself in great danger by keeping me here?"
He was silent.
"Of course," I went on, "I know that you are only the tool of others. My enemy's name begins with T, doesn't it?"
He gave a start, but did not speak.
"This cannot last much longer," I said; "I have friends who will be searching for me. Hanging's a serious matter. I shall take serious steps when I get away from here."
"When you do," he replied, significantly.
"Do you think I shall stay here always?" I retorted.
"How can you get away? This morning you climbed up and looked out of that window. You did not know I saw you, but I did. Well, what did you see? You know you are on the top of a cliff, and it is nearly three hundred feet to the beach. Well, you cannot escape that way; if you tried you would break your neck. Very well; the only other way to escape is to try and escape through that door. Well, what would happen then? You would not get up the passage a dozen steps before you would be shot."
"By whom?"
"By those who guard a dangerous madman."
"Oh, I see. I'm mad, am I?"
"Certainly."
"And is this an asylum?"
"It's not for you to know."
"Still it would go hard with Richard Tresidder if his perfidy should come out."
"It can never come out. Yes, I know what is in your mind. Well, supposing you get well enough to be set at liberty? You would be taken to Pendennis Castle as mysteriously as you have been taken here. But where are you? You cannot tell. Are you in England, Ireland, or Scotland? You do not know."
"How long shall I be kept here, then?"
"Not, I should think, more than a week. You seem to be very much improved in your health."
Now this set me wondering greatly, for I did not expect such a revelation. Still I managed to remain calm.
"You know why I am here, then?"
"Certainly. You have been a madman; as such you have been a constant menace to Miss Naomi Penryn.She has been much afraid of you, and has dreaded the thought of your being at liberty."
"Little man," I said, "you know this is a lie."