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 take............