I had been beaten. I knew it, and the fact maddened me. The old hermit and the maid had divined the thoughts in my mind. In all probability the wine I had drunk was drugged. Thus while I was asleep, they had gone away, leaving me alone on the lonely rock. Which way had they gone? I knew not. They in the silence of the night had left me, leaving me in entire ignorance.

I looked from the chapel window, and saw a vast tract of country around me, for the moon had risen high in the heavens; then, yielding to the impulse of the moment, I climbed to the highest peak on the great mass of stone. From this point I could see far in all directions, but no signs of life were visible. I could see Roche church tower among the trees, I could see the little village near. For the rest, nothing was in sight save vast stretches of moorland. Here and there was a cultivated field, but mostly the country-side was barren and forsaken.

I listened, but all was silent. The night was very calm, save for a sighing wind which as it entered a valley near made a low moaning sound. For a moment a superstitious dread laid hold on me. I remembered the story I had been told years before. It was said that the last heir of the Tregarrick family, on whose lands the rock stood,[Pg 169] became weary of life, built the chapel in which old Anthony had taken up his abode, and called it St. Michael's Chapel. Here he lived many years and died in sorrow. Rumour also had it that Tregeagle's spirit, that ogre of Cornish childhood, haunted the rock and the moors, and often breathed forth his sorrow in sighs and moans. But I mastered my fears by an effort. I remembered how I had been beaten, and anger drove all other feelings away. The last heir of the Tregarricks and the Spirit of Tregeagle was nothing to me, living or dead.

I looked at my watch, and by the light of the moon discovered that it was midnight. I had, therefore, been asleep for ten hours. Darkness came on about six o'clock, so that in all probability they had left me long hours before. I racked my brains sorely in order to divine the direction they had taken, but without avail. Then I remembered that they must need horses, and wondered how they managed. I felt sure, however, that Uncle Anthony would be too full of devices to remain long in difficulty about horseflesh. As he had said, many horses grazed among the moors; they were of no great value, but doubtless he could obtain a couple that would serve his purpose. One they had already, on which Amelia Lanteglos had ridden, a useful animal which Benet Killigrew had taken from his father's stables. This set me thinking again, and without more ado I cautiously crept down to the moors. Giving a long shrill whistle which I had taught Chestnut to obey, I awaited results. In a few seconds I[Pg 170] heard the sound of horse's hoofs; then in a short space of time the animal I had learnt to love came up to me, and with a whinny of gladness began to lick my hand.

"Ah, Chestnut, old boy," I laughed, "at any rate they could not steal you from me. Which way are they gone, my lad?"

As though he understood me, he turned his head southward.

"Well, Chestnut," I said, "I want to find them badly. You know which way they went. I leave everything to you."

Whereupon, I went to the hollow place under the rock into which I had thrown my saddle, and to my delight I found that Uncle Anthony had left both saddle and bridle untouched. A few seconds later I was on Chestnut's back.

"Follow them, Chestnut," I said; "I leave everything to you," and as though he understood me, he carefully picked his way among the rocks till he reached the highway, then without hesitation went westward towards the church. Presently we came to some cross-ways, where he hesitated, but only for a second. Putting his nose to the ground he sniffed uneasily around and then started on a brisk trot southward.

When I had gone perhaps three miles, all my hopes had departed. If the truth must be told, too, I felt more and more like giving up what seemed a useless quest. In spite of Chestnut choosing the southward road in preference to any other, I was very probably riding away from the maid Nancy and her companions, and even if[Pg 171] I were not, what should I gain by following them?

"Let her go," I cried bitterly. "It has been an ill game I have been playing—an ill game. Let Uncle Anthony take her whither he will."

But this feeling did not long possess me. For the first time since I had seen the maid, the promise I had made to Peter Trevisa became really binding; moreover, I hated the thought of being beaten. If I gave up at this point, I should never cease to reproach myself with being outwitted by a girl, and it was not my nature to accept defeat easily. Besides, I was curious to see what the end of the business would be. In spite of myself I was interested in the maid. I admired her coolness and her far-sightedness. Even though I was angry with her for calling me a traitor, her very feeling of distrust of me made me sure she was no ordinary schoolgirl. Nay, I carried my conclusions further. The intuition that warned her against deceit, the power by which she made me stammer like a boy, and hang my head like a thief, convinced me that here was a pure-hearted maid, and one who might be trusted.

A little later I came to St. Denis, but, as Chestnut showed no inclination to halt, I rode straight on. I did not guide him in the least, and although I felt myself foolish in allowing him to take the St. Stephen's road, I laid no weight on the bridle rein.

While passing through a little hamlet called Trethosa, the morning began to dawn, and by the time I had reached St. Stephen's it was broad[Pg 172] daylight. I found a little inn in the village close by the churchyard gates, called the King's Arms. Here, in spite of the fact that Chestnut seemed as if he would go on, I stopped. The truth was, I felt hungry and faint, and I knew that my horse would be all the better for a gallon or two of oats and a good grooming. The landlord's name I discovered to be Bill Best, and I found him very communicative, which is not a common trait among Cornishmen. He told me his history with great freedom, also that of his wife. He related to me the circumstances of his courtship, and mentioned the amount of his wife's dowry.

"'Tis a grand thing to have a good wife," I remarked.

"'Tes, and ted'n," was his reply.

I asked him to explain.

"Well I be a man that do like my slaip, I be. When I caan't slaip ov a night, I be oal dazey droo the day. Why now I be as dazey as can be. Ordnarly I be a very cute man, avin a oncommon amount of sense. Ax our passon. Why, 'ee'll tell 'ee that as a boy I cud leck off catechism like bread'n trycle. But since I've bin married I caan't slaip."

"Why, does your wife keep you awake?"

"No, ted'n that. Tes the cheldern. But my Betsey cud slaip through a earthquake, and zo tes, that all droo the night there's a passel of cheldern squallin, keepin' me wake. Laast night, now, I 'ardly slaiped for the night."

"Indeed," I replied, "and was it your children last night?"

[Pg 173]

"Paartly," he replied, "paartly the cheldern, and paartly summin else. Be you a gover'ment man?"

"No."

"Nothin' toal of a passon nuther, I spects?"

"No, why?"

"Well now I'll tell 'ee. But law, ere be your 'am rashers and eggs. Haive to em now. They rashers ded cum from a pig thirty-score wight, the beggest in this parish. Look top the graavy too; they'll make yore uzzle like a trumpet fer sweetness. Ait em and I'll tell 'ee while you be feedin'. But law, ther's nuff fer boath ov us, I can allays craake better wen I'm aitin'."

Accordingly he sat down by my side and helped himself liberally.

"Well, naow, as I woz a-zayin'," he continued, "I ded'n go to bed till laate laast night. I was avin a bit of tolk weth the 'ow'll Martin ovver to Kernick. Do you know Martin?"

"No."

"Doan't 'ee fer sure, then? He's a purty booy, 'ee es. Years agone 'ee used to stail sheep in a coffin. Stoal scores an scores that way. Ave 'ee 'eerd ow 'ee nacked ovver the exciseman, then?"

"No."

"Ded'n 'ee? law, that wos a purty taale, that wos. 'Twud maake 'ee scat yer zides weth laffin. But there, you genlemen waan't care to do that. Wot wos us talkin' bout, then?"

"You said you couldn't sleep last night."

"To be zure I ded. I'll tell 'ee. Old Martin[Pg 174] do do a bit ov smugglin', and do dail weth the smugglers, and as you be'ant a gover'ment man I may tell 'ee that he brought me a vew ankers of things laast night laate. He ded'n laive me till after twelve o'clock. Well, when 'ee wos gone off I went to bed, and wos just going off to slaip when our Tryphena beginned a squall. That zet off Casteena, and Casteena off Tamzin, and in a vew minutes the 'ouse wos like Bedlam. You be'ant married, be 'ee, sur?"

"No."

"Then you doan knaw nothin bout life, you doan't. Gor jay! ow they cheldern ded screech for sure. But they ded'n waake mauther, not they. She slaiped through et oal, and snored like a tomcat into the bargain. Aw she's a gefted wumman, my wife es. But owsummever, I got em off again arter a bit and got into bed again. I wos just gittin braave'............