THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA GIFT OF Mrs, Marion Randall Parsons "^^, ^- LIST OF WORKS BY SILAS K. HOCKING, f.r.h.s. In Crown 8vo, Cloth Gilt, Bevelled Boards, and Gilt Edges, Price 2s. 6d. AGGREGATE SALE, 475,000. TREGEAGLE'S HEAD: A Romance of the Cornish Cliffs. With Original Illustrations by T. M. Hemy. {Fifteenth Thousand.) REEDYFORD ; or, Creed and Character. With Original Illustrations by F. Barnard. [Fijih Thousand.) rOR ABIGAIL : A West Country Story. With Original Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. (Fijtccnth Thojisa7id.) CROOKLEIGH : A Village Story. With Original Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. {Fifteenth Thousand.) REAL GRIT. With Original Illustrations. {Twentieth Thousand.) CRICKET: A Tale of Humbie Life. With Illustrations. {Fifteenth Thojisand.) DICK'S FAIRY : A Tale of the Streets. With Original Illustrations. ( Tzvcn ty fifth TIi ousa nd. ) SEA-WAIF : A Tale of the Sea. With Original Illustrations. {Tzuenty- fifth Thoiisajid.) IVY: A Tale of Cottage Life. With Illustrations. {Forty fifth Tho2isand.) HIS FATHER; or, A Mother's Legacy. With Original Illustrations. {Fortieth TJi07isand.) HER BENNY : A Story of Street Life. Fully Illustrated. {Seventieth Thousand. ) CALEB CARTHEW; A Life Story. With Steel Portrait. {Tzuent.'eth Thousand.) ALEC GREEN : A Story of Cornish Life. With Illustrations. {Forty- fifth Thousand.) *,(.* ALEC GI\FE.\' is also issued in a cheap edition, small crown Zvo^ sewed /ict?i?-e cover, is. ; or cloth giit^ is. bd. In Royal Wmo, Cloth Gilt, Price Is. OTJR JOE. With Illustrations. {Twentieth Thousand.) POOR MIKE : The Story ol a Waif. {Thirty fifth Thousand.) CHIPS : A Story of Manchester Life. Original Illustrations. {Sixty- fiJih Thousand.) In Fcap. 8uo, Cloth, Price Is., or Gilt Edges, Price Is. 6i. SOCIAL MODELS : A Series of Addresses on Social Themes. LONDON AND NEW YORK: FREDERICK WARNE & CO. E- But no oue paid heed to Dicky; every eye was fixed upon a nioviuj,' but headless lisure out on the lieadland,"— P. ,15. TEEGEAGLE'S HEAD §. ^lomiiucc of ibc Cornislj Cliffs. SILAS K. HOCKING, F.R.H.S., AUTHOll OF u TT-1- >' a *'heu jjexxy, "ivy," "for Abigail,' ETC., ETC. WITH ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIOXS BY T- Jf- HEMY s^:^ LONDON AND NEW YOEK : FFvEDEllICK WARNE AND CO. 1890. Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay. i GlfT DEDICATION My dear Ernest, This little book having grown out of a suggestion of yours, I dedicate it to you. Probably you have forgotten the circumstance; but some time ago you paid me the somewhat doubtful compliment of wishing I would " write a book that boys w^ould like — a book with adventures in it, and escapes, and all that." I confess I had been labouring under the impression that boys did like my books, notwithstanding their lack of the " adventure and escape '' element. I see now how easily one may be mistaken in such matters. Still it is more than probable your suggestion would have borne no fruit, had we not soon after visited to- gether my native county. It was while standing with you on one of the bold headlands that dot the Atlantic seaboard, watching the long rollers breaking into foam upon the rocks, and listening to their thunder as they echoed up the deep, dark caves, that the idea flashed across my mind which I have tried to work out in the following pages. I freely confess that to myself the attempt is not very satisfactory, and I can hardly hope that it will approacli M8i.(i'Ji6 DEDICATION. your ideal of what a story ought to be. In one respect perhaps you will be pleased ; there is no preaching in it, and I am not certain even, that it has a moral. Such as it is, however, I offer for your acceptance. I know you will read it for my sake. I hope you may find it interesting. It may not come up to your expect- ations ; but it will be at least another token of my love for you, if that you need. I remain, dear Ernest, Your affectionate Father, Silas K. Hocking. CONTENTS, rn.vr. I. IXTRODUCTORY II. EXPLAXATIOXS III. SUSPICIOXS IV. CONCLUSIONS ... V. THE STORM BURSTS ... VI. THE ARREST ... VII. A DISMAL SUNDAY VIII. THE INQUIRY BEGINS . . . IX. EVIDENCE X. love's RESOLVE XI. THE WITCH OF CARN DULOE XII. NANNY MAKES A RROMISE XIII. ABEL GETS IMPATIENT XIV. IN DISGUISE ... XV. KEEPING WATCH XVI. " NIL DESPERANDUM " XVII. AN ANXIOUS NIGHT ... XVIII. DISAPPOINTMENT XIX. IN SIGHT OF FPvEEDOM XX. EXCITEMENT ... XXI. IN THE NIGHT 1 9 18 26 35 43 51 59 08 77 sr^ 03 100 109 118 128 135 14t 153 1G:? 172 viii CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XXII. PEEPLEXITY ... 180 XXIII. "he knew the worst" 190 XXIV. " BE STRONG AND FEAR NOT " 195 XXV. THE END OF THE STRIFE 204 XXVI. A DISCOVERY 214 XXVII. AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR 222 XXVIII. SMUGGLERS AT WORK ... 230 XXTX. LEFT ALONE ... 238 XXX. HOPE AND DESPAIR ... 246 XXXI. THE WITCH TO THE RESCUE ... . 252 XXXII. FOR DEAR LIFE 261 XXXIII. HOME AGAIN . 268 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. But no one paid heed to Dicky ; every eye was fixed upon a moving but headless figure out on the headland ... To face page 15 Soon after dawn he began to steer for home, and when on a line with Tregeagle's Head, his son Billy called his attention to some dark object in the water ... 70 Mary stood at the gate as the witch stalked past ... 121 Gladys managed to secure an early copy of the proclamation ... 169 With a curl of his lip, and quick as thought. Jack stuck the flame under Dan's nose ... ... 231 Jet and her rider were far in the distance ... 263 TPiEGEAGLE'S HEAD. CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY. " Yet over all there hung a cloud of fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said as plain as wliisper in the ear, The place is haunted." — Hood. Jack Duxstan and Harry Penryn went out togetlier on Tregeagle's Head. Several hours later Harry re- turned alone. He did not say what had become of his companion; indeed he appeared anxious to avoid all alkision to the subject. When he got home he shut himself up in his father's study, and remained there till Farmer Dunstan came across to the Vicarage to know what had become of his son. Tregeagle's Head — as every one knows who has sailed round the Cornish coast, or tramped its seaboard — is a huge rocky promontory, that pushes itself at least a mile out into the Atlantic surf, and remains at all states of the tide standing deep in the water. In shape it is not unlike a giant's head, especially if you can get a profile view sailing up or down the channel. Right and left, as well as far out in front, it is safely guarded by an army of small rocky islands. At high water these rocks cannot be seen, but when the title is low they stand up out of the water like a regiment TREGEAGLE'8 BEAD. of black dragoons, and break the Atlantic rollers into a myriad shreds of gleaming foam. Strange stories are told even to-day about Tregeagle's Head. But at the time of which we Avrite — and that was long before the present century opened — every one believed it to be haunted. In stormy weather, when the night lay thick upon the angry sea, and the rocky sentinels tore the long billows into shreds, and churned them into foam, the spirit of Tregeagle might be heard calling into the darkness, and shrieking out his despair in notes so fearsome, that people felt their blood curdle in their veins. The Rev. Leslie Penryn — who was not a super- stitious man — pooh-poohed these stories, and called tbem silly trash; said it was far more likely that the cries came from drowning sailors Avhose bark had got entano^led among^ the rocks around Treg^eaoie's Head, and who w^ere perishing with none to save. But the fishermen of Pentudy on one side and of Porthloo on the other would have none of it. They knew better. Had not their fathers and grandfathers told them how the restless spirit of Tregeagle had been doomed to dwell in the gloomy caverns which honey- combed the great headland ; to make rojDos of sand, and stem the roaring tide, until by long centuries of penance he had purged away his guilt, and secured rest for his long tortured soul ? What more reasonable to suppose, therefore, that when the nights were dark and wild, and the raging storm scattered his ropes of sand like dust, and the angry sea Avrecked his labour, and hissed defiance in his ear — what more reasonable, that he should wail out the misery and despair of his tortured soul. There w^ere dozens of people in Pentudy and Porthloo who had not only heard strange cries coming across the sea- from Tregeagle's Head, but had seen strange lights flickering about, as though many other spirits than that of Tregeagle's dwelt in its caves. And one or two INTRODUCTORY people declared that they had in the daytime seen smoke issuing from its crown. But the majority of the fisher-folk were unable to ^ji\Q credence to this last o statement. Yet Sam Trewalsick, one of the most daring and reckless fellows on the whole coast, was of the opinion that there might be some truth in it. " You never know," he said, '' what those ghostes is up to. My b'leef is, the oal head is crammed full ov 'em. Me an' our Billy have heerd some strange things when we've been coastin' purty near them sent'nels." " An' I reckon," said Dan Polslee, a little wizened man with lantern jaws and large hungry-looking eyes, " that you've a sail'd as near them rocks as any ov us." " I've a sail'd nearer 'em than I ever intend to do again," said Sam, sweeping the little crowd of upturned faces with a meaning glance. " It's best to give 'em a purty wide berth," said two or three voices in chorus. " And for why ? " said Sam, with a savage frown. *' Aye, give us your views," said Dan, edging his way nearer the centre of the group. " Foaks say as 'ow you've not on'y heerd things but seed things as well ; ez there any truth in it ? " " \yell," said Sam, emptying his mouth of a quid of tobacco and indulging in sundry preliminary oaths, " I ain't no talkin' man, and I ain't no narvus man, but some things there ain't no denyin'." " That's true," was the general response. " And I don't care the wuth of a pilchard what that passon over to Restormel sa3'S about it," went on Sam. " I know what I've heerd an' what I've seed, an' I teH'e, boys, I wouldn't go on Tregeagle's Head arter dark for all the gold of the Ingies." " Nor me nuther," said Dan, with a shrug of his shoulders, and a curious leer of his hungry eyes. " Me an' our Bdly," went on Sam, without heeding TBEGEAGLWS HEAD. the interruption, '' made up our minds one day that we 'ud defy Tregeagle an' oal his himps, the oal boilin' on *em. So the tide being 'igh, an' most of the sent'nels under water, we hoisted sail an' made for't." At this point Sam returned the quid to his mouth, while a visible shudder ran through his frame. The effect of this on his little audience was almost electrical. Sam Trewalsick was not the man to be " skeared " by shadows. It must have been a fearful sight that the memory of it could affect him so. " I'd rather not tell it, boys," he said after a long pause. *' But you may depend I keep as far away from Tregeagle's Head as possible." " Oh, but you'd better tell," suggested Dan. " We be all * daggin ' to hear." " Fact is," said Sam, shrugging his brawny shoulders and indulgino^ in a few more oaths, " words ain't biof enough to tell it. There ain't nothin' to liken it to. You've seen the mouth o' the cave from the sea ? " " Iss, iss," was the response. " Well, far up the cave is a fire. A hawful fire, like a smeltin'-house oven — a fire as don't give no light, but burns blue, wi' strakes of yeller an' green in it, that curls and twists around like * brakety ' sarpents, and hiss wi' forked tongues red-hot. And all round, danc- in' an' squirmin' with three-claw 'd pikes in their hands, such imps as never afore was seen — all shapes, all sizes, all colours, jabberin', fightin', squealin'. Boys, you ain't no idee." ; " That's true," said Dan, who was spokesman for the rest. " But that ain't all," said Sam. " If me an Billy hadn't lowered our sail sudden it 'ud a been all up wi' us." " How d'ye make that out, Sam ? " asked two or three voices. " Well," said Sam, taking the quid out of his mouth again, and indulging in more profane language, ^' that's INTRODUCTORY. jist where I'm floored. I can't explain — I can on'y tell jist what happened. We'd got opposite the cave, an' fairly near, when we feel'd ourselves pulled, drawed, sucked like very mad. There wer'n't no wind stirring sca'ce, for nobody 'ud go near the sent'nels in windy weather; but our sails filled out, or were sucked out, in a moment, and we found ourselves going like light- ning straight for the mouth of the cave. You may bet we got out of that cun^ent as soon as possible, and we ain't been near it since." After this deliverance there was a long pause, Sam deliberately spat on the ground, then pushed his hands deep into his trousers pockets. Then Barnicoat Tabb, or Barney, as he was always called, after a preliminary cough, remarked that " his grandfather had seed somethin' like it. And his own opinion Avas, that the fire went out for years an' years, then blazed up again." '' My b'lief is it's a kind o' burnin' mountain," chimed in Tommy Mudge. " But 'ow about them himps ? " queried Dan. " They of course be after Tregeagle," said Tommy. " Everybody knows that if he ceases work for a minit till his time's up, the devil will have him. But while he keeps at it they may squirm around 'im, but they can't touch 'im." To this deliverance there was a general nodding of heads. It was in harmony with the universal belief respecting the fate of Tregeagle. '* Any road," Sam remarked as a parting shot, '' there may be somethin' in the stories 'bout the smoke coming- out o' the head. But you'll not catch me tryin' to find out where it comes from." " Nor me nuther," said Dan, with a curious k'cr. And then the little company broke up to go their several ways. In this way superstition was kcj^t alive, and stories TREGEAGLWS BEAD. grew with the frequent telling, and any man who was bold enough to express a doubt regarding their authen- ticity was looked upon as an infidel, or something worse. As yet newspapers were unknown, railways were undreamed of. Even the stage-coach did not come near Porthloo and Pentud}^ ; and for an inhabitant to receive a letter was an event to be talked about weeks and months after. The weather, pilchards, and the mysteries of Tregeagle's Head were the principal topics of conversation. Now and then some rumour of what Avas doing in the outer w^orld reached their ears, but they paid little heed to it as a rule. They lived in a little world of their own — a world made fearsome by their own fancies, and darkened by gloomy super- stitions. With the inhabitants of Restormel, scarcely more than two miles away, they had little or nothing in common. Restormel was the principal village in the parish of St. Orme, and out of sight of the sea. A quaint, quiet, picturesque spot, rich in timber and all kinds of vegetation, sheltered from the Atlantic gales by a steep hill grown thick with pines, and equally sheltered on the east by the wooded slopes of Carn- Duloe. Restormel boasted a fine old church, a cosy and commodious vicarage, and three or four good residences, the principal one of which was occupied by Farmer Dunstan. The vicar, though somewhat stern and forbidding in manner and aspect, was very popular in Restormel, but with his parishioners at Porthloo and Pentudy he was, as we have already hinted, at a decided dis- count. He had as good as called them fools, and that was an offence they were not likely to forget or forgive. He had told them to their face that Tregeagle was a "myth," whatever that might mean; that Nanny Flue, a reputed witch who lived in a little hut on the slope of Carn-Duloe, had no more INTRODUCTORY. power over men's lives or property than he had ; that charms were folly and worse, and that ghosts did not exist. Nor was that all. He had even hinted that they were cowards, because they did not man their fishing- boats — when on stormy nights they heard low cries of agony and desjmir coming across the sea from the direc- tion of Trec(eao:le's head — and go to the rescue of those . . . who were perishing in the storm. ''I tell you these stories about Tregeagle are all bosh," he said angrily. " My fear is that the race of wTeckers .has not died out yet. But I shall keep my eyes open, and any man I discover engaged in such a nefarious and dastardly practice will have to swing for it." And with a toss of his well-posed head the Rev. Leslie Penryn marched away. But his words rankled in their memories and in their hearts. To be called fools and cowards, with a hint that they might be wreckers, was rather more than such human nature as theirs could stand. "What do 'e know 'bout it?" they said in angry, sullen tones to each other. "He ain't no native of Restormel. He'd better mind 'iz oan business, an' look arter that big boay o' his. Keep 'iz eyes oppen, will 'e ? He'd better be careful ; other folks can keep their eyes oi^pen as well as 'e." So it came about that the fisher folk disliked and mistrusted their vicar, refused to attend church, turned a deaf ear to his instructions, and hugged their super- stitions more tenaciously than ever. He had been vicar of Bestormel fifteen years. Harr}^, his son, was four years of age when he came; he was now a tall, muscular fellow of nineteen. Gladys, his daughter, Avas five years younger than Harry. The day she was born the mother died, and ever since a housekeeper had presided over the domestic arrangements of the vicarage. Gla(.lys was tlic apple of her father's eye, but Mrs. TIIEGEAGLWB HEAD, Gaved, the housekeeper, gave nearly all her love to Harry. *'If anything should happen to Harry," she was often heard to declare, " she was quite sure it would kill her." And now something had happened, but as yet no one knew what. EXPLANATIONS. CHAPTER II. EXPLANATIONS. "Tlic man of i>nrc and simple lieart Tbroug-li life disdains a double part ; He never needs the screen of lies His inward bosom to disguise." — Gay. Mrs. Gated opened the door in response to Farmer Dunstan's knock. " Is our Jack here ? " he asked hurriedly. " No, he is not," slie said, starting back a little, for the farmer's tone and manner alarmed her. " Nor Harry either ? " he queried. " No, I think not," she answered ; " at any rate, I've not seen him." The farmer dre^v a sigh of relief, then added — " They ought to have been back hours ago. I wonder what they can be after." " Are you sure they are together ? " Mrs. Gaved asked, for she knew the young men had not been very friendly with each other for a considerable time past. "Quite sure," was the reply. "They patched up tlieir quarrel yesterday, and this afternoon they started together for Tregeagle's Head, of all jolaccs in the world. I wish to my heart they would come back, for I'm getting anxious." "Oh, I dare say they arc all rig] it," Mrs. Gaved 13 10 TBEGEAGLWS HEAD, answered. "They are not like children; they know- how to take care of themselves." " Yes, that's true," said the farmer ; " but I'm fidgety all the same." " What are you fidgety about ? " asked a sweet childish voice from the doorway of the dining-room. '' Is that you, Gladys ? " the farmer asked cheerily. " Yes, it's I," was the answer ; " but what's fidgeting you, Mr, Dunstan ? " " Those boys," he answered ; " they went out hours ago on Tregeagle's Head, and haven't returned yet." " Oh, yes," she said, " Harry has been home a very long time." " Home ? " questioned Mrs. Gaved and the farmer in a breath. " Yes, he came home just as it was growing dusk. He came in at the side door, and v/ent at once to the study." " Why did you not let me know ? " Mrs. Gaved asked sharply. " Because he said he did not want to be disturbed, as he wanted to read," was the answer. Both Mrs. Gaved and the farmer drew a sharp breath that was almost a gasp. Perhaps the same horrible suspicion flashed through the mind of each at the same time. Mr. Dunstan was the first to recover himself. ^' I must see him at once," he said, and he marched straight past Mrs. Gaved to the study door, where he paused for a moment, then turned the handle and entered. Harry was seated on a low chair, with his elbows on the table, and an open book before him^ Two candles were lighted, and were placed one on each side the volume he was reading. He rose instantly when the door opened, gave a little start at sight of the farmer, then advanced to meet him with extended hand. EXPLAXA TIOXS. 11 ^Ir. Dunstan, however, ignored the friendly sign ; he was tingling to the finger-tips with excitement, and with a dread he could not shape into words. But by a manful effort he repressed his feelings, and asked in tones unnaturally calm — " Where is my boy Jack ? " " Is he not home ? " Harry asked, in a voice equally calm and passionless, but a close observer w^ould have noticed an unusual tremor of the lij)s while he spoke, while a momentary pallor swept like a flash across his swarthy face. " If he were at home I should not come here seeking him," the farmer answered, in tones that betrayed his feelings in spite of his effort to be calm. " I am sorry he has not returned,'^ Harry answered, meeting fearlessly the farmer's steady gaze. "I hope he has not been caught by the tide." " Caught by the tide ? " Mr. Dunstan questioned quickly. " How ? — where ? — in what way ? " " Well, he started to walk round Tregeagle's Head ; it was low tide, you know, and he said he could get round on the rocks." " Madness — folly ! I'm sure he attempted no such thing," thundered the farmer, letting go all restraint under the force of a terrible suspicion. '' Sir ? " questioned Harry, stej^ping back a pace, and looking at the farmer vrith flaming eyes. " Yes, you may say ' sir,' " roared Mr. Dunstan ; '' but do you think any one will believe a story like that ? " " It's little concern of mine what people believe," was the quiet but defiant answer. " I am simply speaking the truth." "God grant you may be," said Mr. Dunstan, quailing a little before the fearless gaze of the young man. "But go on." "1 have little to add," was the answer. ''We went first to the top, and had a race across the turf, in which 12 TREGEAGLE'B HEAD. he came out first ; then we wrestled and I threw him ; then we went down to the beach on Pentndy side, and walked out as far as we could get, and I never saw a lower tide." "Aye, it's full moon to-night," assented the farmer. "Well, then Jack joroposed we should attempt to walk round the head upon the rocks. He said it had been done, and could be done ag^ain, and he was o-oino- to do it." " And you let him ? " questioned the farmer angrily. " I could not prevent him/' was the answer. " Did you try ? " " Well, I said I thouofht the s^ame was not worth the candle, and that we should be foolish to run any risks ; but he would not have it that there was any risk at all." ''Well, and what then ? " " Then he started out alone. He said he intended to make the acquaintance of Tregeagle, and have a peejD into his cave if he had time." " What time would that be ? " " About a quarter to six. He said the tide would be at its lowest at six, and that it would be the lowest tide for the year." "Well?" " I watched him till he was out of sight. He seemed to have no difficulty in getting from rock to rock, and soon after he started he called back that he would be back at Restormel as soon as I should." " And why did you not come across to see if he had returned ? " " I really don't know — I had no anxiety on his account; and besides, I had no particular wish to be seen at your house again to-day." The farmer heaved a long sigh, and stood for several seconds with bent head, and eyes fixed upon the ground. " If Avhat you say is true," he said at length, raising EXPLANATIONS. 13 Lis eyes and looking hard at Harry, " I fear my poor boy is lost. Oh ! Jack, Jack ! " and the farmer's voice ended in something like a sob. " I hope he's safe somewhere," HaiTy answered, after a pause. " He can swim like a shark and climb like a squirrel; and as for fear — well, he doesn't know what it is." "That may be true enough," Mr. Dunstan answered; "but if he were safe he'd have been back before this." '' He may have been caught by the tide, as I suggested," was the rej^ly ; " he may be now perched upon some ledge of the cliff, waiting for the tide to ebb again. Hadn't we better get ropes and go in search of him ? " " A very good suggestion, if we can get anybody to go with us ; but who likes to go on Tregeagle's Head after dark ? — tell me that ! " " It's not a question of liking, but of duty," Harry answered. " Ah, yes, you can talk of duty now," the farmer said bitterly. "If you had minded your duty when you were with him all this might have been pre- vented." For a moment the young man's eyes blazed, but he made no further answer. Half an hour later a dozen men, bearing along with them large coils of rope, and headed by the tall form of the Vicar, might have been seen marching with long, hurried strides in the direction of Tregeagle's Head. Mr. Penryn had returned from visiting some of his sick parishioners just as farmer Dunstan was taking his leave. It only required a few words for him to take in the whole situation, and then he started with the farmer to beat up recruits for the expedition. He had tramped nearly a dozen miles that afternoon over 14 TBEGE AGLETS HEAD. his broad parisli, and was now almost faint witli fatigue. But he forgot his own weariness in presence of an emergency like this. Moreover, he was not so dense but that he could sec how his own son was implicated. If anything had happened to Jack Dunstan — if he were drowned, for instance — how easy it would be for suspicion to fall on Harry. The two boys — for they were still boys to him — had not been friends of late, as every one knew. Jack had shot Harry's dog, and Harry had vowed vengeance on the slayer of his favourite. True they had patched up their quarrel, though that was not generally known; and people were very quick in putting what they called two and two together. A cold perspiration burst out over the Vicar, and stood in big drops upon his forehead as he thought of this. But he had a resolute will, and a stout heart, and after a few moments he put the feeling aside. There was no time to be wasted in speculating about what might be. " Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," he mut- tered to himself, and with this reflection he entered the first house in the village. There was no great eagerness, however, to join the expedition. Many of the men had only just got in from the fields and stack-yards, for the harvest was late this year ; and a weary tramp out on Tregeagle's Head, Yiith the chance of falling over cliffs, was not a very taking prospect. Besides, Tregeagle's Head was not the place one cared to go after nightfall. They might not believe all that the fisherfolk of Pentudy believed, but they believed very much more than they cared to confess ; and if any place in the parish was haunted, there could be no doubt it was Tregeagle's Head. When they knew that the Vicar himself was going to lead the expedition they were somewhat reassured. They knew he never went out without a copy of the EXPLANATIONS. 15 Prayer-Book in liis pocket, and that in itself was sufficient to exorcise even the devil. It was a glorious night; the moon was at its full, and not a single cloud flecked the heavens. The spirit of the wind lay still as if asleep. Now and then it whispered faintly in the pine wood, or drew a deep breath, like a long-drawn sigh, that shook the pine-needles for a moment, then slept again in utter silence. On turning the slope of the hill they came in sight of the sea, which lay like a greptt silver sheet in the light of the moon. Here they paused for a few moments and listened. If any one were calling for help his voice would be distinctly heard on a night like this; but only the low moan of the sea as it surged among the rocks and caves broke the stillness of the hour. " I'm afraid it's all up with my poor boy ! " moaned Farmer Dunstan. " If he were clinging to the rocks anywhere he would be calling for help." " Let us not give up hope till we are compelled to," said the Yicar, kindly; and then the little company marched on again in silence. Suddenly they halted with a simultaneous exclam- ation, — " See ! see ! What's tliat ? " The next moment Dicky Tredinnick had fallen upon his knees, and was muttering with chattering teeth, " Our Father, 'chart in 'ebben," as fast as his tongue could give utterance to the words. But no one paid heed to Dicky, every eye was fixed upon a moving but headless figure out on the headland. It did not seem to Avalk, but glided with a graceful motion across the spongy turf, then paused, stretched its ghostly figure to its full height, then slowly sank into the earth. For several seconds after the apparition had dis- 16 TREGEAGLWS HEAD. aj^peared there reigned the most perfect silence, then each member of the little company drew a long breath, as though a great load had been suddenly lifted from their hearts. Mr. Dunstan was the first to speak. " It's a token," he said, " my poor boy is dead. We need not go any further. How he has come by his death, Heaven only knows; but it is said only the ghosts of those who have come to their death by unfair means ever walk the earth. But time will reveal the secret; '' and he looked hard at Harry, who stood pale, silent, and unmoved. " Come, friend Dunstan, no hints or insinuations, please," said Mr. Penryn, sternly. " You are like other folk, frightened at a shadow." "I can't help my thoughts," said the farmer, in subdued tones. "You can help expressing them, at any rate," was the reply. " But come, let us be marching, we can learn nothing by standing here like frightened children." " Not a step furder for me," chattered Dicky Tredin- nick. " I wouldn't s^o on that 'ed to-nig^ht for a million poun's." " Nor me nuther,'' said Davey Polgooth. " Nor me ! " " Nor me ! " came from the lips of two others. "Cowards and cliildren," said the Vicar, contempt- uously. " I really thought the Restormel folk had got beyond such nonsense." " But we caan't git ovver what we've seen wi' our own eyes," said Dicky, with his teeth still chattering. " You've seen a man or a woman," said the vicar, "what is there to be frightened about in that?" " Nay but, Maister Passon, it was a sperit," said Davey Polgooth ; " real men an' wemmin don't vanish inter the ground in that way." " We are wasting our breath and time in talk of this EXPLANATIONS. 17 kind," the Vicar answered, shortly. " Those of you wlio have hearts above chickens, come on," and he marched forward, not deigning to look behind him. But only half the little company followed his Icader- sliip, the others returned to Restormel at a rate of speed that beat all j^revious records, and earned for themselves thereby an undying reputation. 18 TBEGEAOLE'S BEAD. CHAPTER III. SUSPICIONS. " And shall we all condemn, and all distrust, Because some men are false, and some luijust? Forbid it, Heaven 1 for better 'twere to be Duped of the fond impossibility Of light and radiance which sleep's visions gave, Than thus to live suspicion's bitter slave." Mrs. Norton. Mr. Penryn's long and hasty strides sorely taxed the breath as well as the courage of some of those who had elected to follow him. Gladly they would have turned back with the others, but the fear of being called cowards restrained them. Moreover, if they could only face the matter out, it would be something to boast of as long as they lived. And so with loudly thumping hearts, and teeth that chattered a little now and then in spite of themselves, they followed in the wake of the Yicar and his son. At length there was a halt. '' It was somewhere hereabouts that the figure dis- appeared," Mr. Penryn said, facing round oi> his little band of followers. " We had better spread ourselves out, and search for an explanation of the disappearance. There may be an opening into some cave, and if so it may prove a clue to many things." " I think we'd better make for the cliffs," said Farmer Dunstan. " I don't think any good ever comes of hunting ghosts." " We'd better be sure first it was a ghost," said the Yicar with a smile. SUSPICIONS. 19 " There ain't no doubt about that," said two or three voices. "Everybody knows as 'ow Tregeagle's 'Ed is haunted." " Not everybody," was the reply. '" I don't know it, for one. But no harm can come of our spreading ourselves out, and making as thorough a search as 23ossible." After some further parleying the point was conceded, but nothing came of it. The w'hole crown of the head- land was honeycombed Avith rabbits' burrows ; and in all directions were holes large enough for a child to creep into, but anything like an opening into a cave was not to be found. As they neared the termination of the headland the little party came close together again, the more timid of them falling into the rear. Now the land began to slope towards the sea, and they had to w^alk with cautious steps. The moon was at their back, and flung their shadows in ungainly lengths before them. Far below in the deep shadow of the cliffs the water looked black as ink, and surged mournfully among the rocks. The sentinels were almost hidden. Here and there a white ring of foam surrounding a black speck marked the spot of some unusually tali pinnacle, but for the most part the great sea rolled over them undis- turbed, and still the waters rose and swelled with a quiet strength and majesty that were even more impressive than its noisy fury when maddened by a western gale. Now they halted again. " Some of us," said the Yicar, " Avill have to go to the very edge of the cliff, and look over, and call, perhaps clamber down here and there, where there is a chance of doing so." " It'll be rather risky," said Elisha Teague, one of the youngest men of the party ; " but I'm wiUing to take my chance." " And I'll be another," said Harry Penryn, who had not before spoken. 20 TREGEAGLE'S HEAD. " Two will be enough/' said the Vicar ; " the rest of us will hold the ropes." A minute or two later Harry and Elisha, each with a rope round his waist, were scrambling along the edge of the cliff, calling down into the darkness, and scanning with eager eye every prominent ledge. To the right went Harry, to the left Elisha, and so bit by bit they scanned the whole circle of the cliffs. Down every crevice that offered a foothold they climbed and shouted till they were hoarse. A hundred times, but for the firmly-held ropes, they would have gone head-foremost into the sea ; but they never faltered in their determin- ation to make a complete and thorough search; and when they met again at the other end of the headland they looked at each other in silence. Their efforts had proved unavailing, no answering voice had greeted their own, no human form had met their gaze. All the while the solemn sea had seemed to mock them. Like a great monster, gorged with human forms, it lay and moaned in awful mockery — as though it knew the secret and might have told, but would not, out of very cruelty and spite. It was a silent little party that made its way back over the downs, and down by the pine wood into the wakeful village. Nobody had thought of going to bed until the searchers returned. For in the language of the modern song, " they all loved Jack." His courage and daring touched their imaginations; his uniform kindness and generosity won their hearts. Between Harry and Jack there was no comparison in the minds of the villagers ; Harry was silent and reserved, and they took, or mistook, his silence for sullenness, and his reserve for pride. They never understood him, never tried to do, in fact. He had all his father's dogged stubbornness, without his father's tact and affability. He took no one into his confidence, cared very little for company. When he was home from college he sjDent nearly all his time alone, loitering in the fields or Avoods, SUSPICIONS. 21 or rambling on the cliffs. The only j^eoplc he cared to visit -were the Dunstans. They were moneyed people, and lived in a good house, besides which Mary Dunstan, Jack's twin sister, was by universal consent the sweetest girl in all the parish. There was a general impression abroad in the parish that the Vicar s son was very fond of Mary Dunstan. But none knew how much he loved her, or guessed that he was capable of such passionate devotion. They had always been friends. Mary understood him and trusted him, when others doubted and shrugged their shoulders. He opened his heart more freely to her than to any one else, except to Mrs. Gaved, or ''Mammy," as he and Gladys generally called her, and so it was only natural that his liking should grow. Yet it was only during the last few months that he became conscious of the fact that he loved her. The truth swept over his heart one Sunday morning like a flash, and of all places in the world — in the church. She came up the aisle with her father and Jack, so daintily pretty, so simply attired, so unconscious of her loveliness; her face as sweet as the June rose she wore in her bosom; her smile like the light of heaven, that as Harry gazed at her, his heart seemed to stop ; then the hot blood went rushin(y to his face in a torrent. He had not seen her before for several months, for his previous vacation he had spent away from home ; and now her coming into the church was a complete revelation to him. The liking of years had suddenly blossomed into love ; from henceforth she would fill his heart and be the inspiration of his life. He heard nothing of the prayers or the sermon that day. He saw no one but Mary, heard no voice in the singing but hers, and wondered wliy her beauty and goodness had never stirred his heart until to-da3\ Out- side the churcli he waited until she came out, and when she came towards him with a glad smile of welcome on 22 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. her face, his heart bounded again ; and for a long while he held her hand in his, and — foolish boy that he was — fancied that it fluttered like a caged bird in his hand. What a lot he had to say to her that morning. Love seemed to have imloosed his tongue. And when Mr. Dunstan and Jack went towards their home, and leffc them talking together in the old churchyard, it seemed like a special stroke of good fortune. " I will walk along with you, Mary," he said. " We do not dine till two." " Why where are father and Jack ? " she said, looking quickl}^ round. " They have run away and left you," he said, with a laugh. " You see how much they care for your company." "Then I'll pay them out by not going home any sooner than I can help," she answered, her eyes brim- ful of mirth. "Then we'll go the long way, round by the plant- ation," he said. " It's a pity to be in-doors on such a glorious day as this." " Oh, yes, that will be delightful," she said ; and they sauntered away together. But of his love Harry said nothing. To be with her was enough for the present; to hear her free, un- trammelled talk, and catch her sweet, spontaneous smile. If he told his love she might run away from him, and put an end to such delightful intercourse, and so he wisely locked the secret in his own heart, and fed his affection on the smiles she gave him in the sweet unconsciousness of her generous nature. But if he liked visiting at the Dunstans before, he went more frequently than ever now, and from Mrs. Dunstan and Mary he always received a welcome. At least he always received a welcome from Mrs. Dunstan when she was able to see him, for being in delicate health, she was sometimes unable to leave her room, SUSPICIONS. 23 and when that was the case Mary atoned for her absence by a warmer greeting than usual. As yet the innocent heart was untouched by love's young dream. She was a year younger than Harry, and though tall and well-developed for her years, she never thought of herself in any other light than as a girl. And so the tall, dark-eyed young fellow came and went without restraint, and no one suspected for awhile — least of all Mary — what was in his heart. At length, however, Jack began to grow suspicious, then jealous. The thought of his twin sister Mary caring more for Harry Penryn than himself almost maddened him for the moment. Mary was his all — his councillor, confidant, and friend. He loved her as perhaps few brothers love a sister, and could not brook the thought of another coming between them. Ostensibly Harry came to see him, but he knew better now. It was Mary he wanted all the while, and he resolved, if possible, it should never be. From henceforth he began to treat Harry with marked coldness and disfavour; hinted broadly that he came to Trevose oftener than he was wanted, and finally completed the breach by shooting Harry's dog, which he found poaching in their preserves. In justice, however, to Jack it should be said, he did not know at the time to whom the dog belonged, though it must be stated also, he made no apology to Harry until a considerable time after for what he had done. When Mary got to hear she took him severely to task for his conduct. "You ouci'lit to TowinQ; white, then rcMl. " No * buts,' man," said the witch. '' Thou surely art not going to turn soft ? " " No, not if I know it," asserted Abel ; " but it's agin rules, and everything is made tight for tlie night. I'm bound to refuse." " Thou'rt b(,)un(l to make thyself an ass," said the witch, in a tone of ineffable scorn. "I'm wiliin' t(j oblige you in most things, Mrs. Flue," 102 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. said Abel, bringing out the words with an effort ; " but in a case like this you will excuse me, I'm sure." " I'm sure I shall do nothing of the sort," was the rej)ly. " I have come on purpose to see thy prisoner, and I'm going to see him. Now get out thy keys." " An' what ef I refuse ? " said Abel, straightening himself up and trying to look brave, but feeling dread- fully frightened all the while. The witch laughed. " What if I smite thee with St. Vitus' dance, or double thee up in a fit, or paralyze thy hands that thou canst not move, or shake thee for ever in a palsy ? But no, I wish thee no harm. Now, man, no more parleying, but obey." Abel hesitated for a moment, then sulkily got out his lantern and his keys. " Now thou art wise," she said ; " and do not again hesitate as though I were thine enemy; and if thou makes me thine enemy it will be worse for thee." " I don't know why you should want to see the prisoner, and at this time o' night too,'' Abel muttered. "'That's no business of thine. Now march, and cease thy chatter." A few minutes later they stood before the door of Harry's cell. " He's fast asleep by this, like enough," Abel muttered. " And what if he is ? Oi^en the door, and be quick about it." Reluctantly Abel inserted the key and turned it, then pushed open the heavy door. " Thou canst wait outside, and lock the door upon us if thou wilt. Thou wilt have both of us safe then." "I'd rather remain with you," Abel said. " I do not wish to harm thee," the witch said im- patiently ; ''but if thou wilt be a fool, thou wilt have to pay the penalty. Now give me the lantern, and Avhen I knock, open the door and let me out, and see to it that thou asks no questions." ABEL GETS IMPATIENT. 103 Abel hesitated no longer. Without a word he handed her the lantern, then slammed the door behind her and locked it, and for the next half-hour he paced uneasily iqD and down the dark corridor. Once or twice he paused before the door and j^laced his ear against it, but he could hear no sound. If they were eugac^ed in conversation, the sound of it was completely muffled by the heavy door. He was in a very uneasy frame of mind. Angry that a -woman should so completely master him, and compel liim, in spite of himself, to act in direct opposition to liis better judgment ; suspicious lest she meant mis- chief, and should contrive by means of her diabolical incantations to release the prisoner. And yet he did not see how that could possibly be. There was no way out of the cell except by the door through which she had entered, and that at present was securely locked, and he held the key. " I'm a fool for fidsretincr " he said to himself, " Slie can't go through a stone wall, nor he neither; she must come out o' the door, an' I'll see to it that only one comes out." And with this reflection he began to pace more rapidly the long corridor. But time went very slowly ; every minute seemed as long as ten. He would have opened the door and gone into the cell if he had dared, but fear of incurring the anger of the wdtch kept him outside. "She might 'ill-wish' me," he reflected; "that evil eye o' hers could do 'most anything that's bad. There's Jonas Trethurgy, he's never looked up since that day he call'd her an old hag. They say she never spoke to liim, but just look'd at'im straight wi' those hawfuleyes of hers, an' he felt it all go through 'im down to his toe-nails. He was creepy an' shivery all over as though poison 'ad got into his blood, an' soon after ho was took wi a seizure ; then his gray mare was knocked uNLT wi' blind staggers; then his best cow Avas chucked 104 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. wi' eating a swede turmut ; then his old sow lay on three vears (farrows) one night. And so it's gone on, an' the poor old chap have never 'a,d no luck never since. No, I'd better keep on the lew side o' her, or it may be worse for me." And so he continued to pace up and down the corridor, but getting more and more im23atient all the while. Meanwhile the inmates of the cell were not inactive. Harry was very much astonished Vvdien the tall, gaunt form of the witch stood before him, holding in her hand the constable's lantern. He had heard no voices or footsteps in the corridor outside, and when the sound of the key grating in the lock fell on his ear he supposed that it was Abel coming to see that he was safe for the night. He had been trying to make himself as com- fortable as his plank bed would allow, and to keep away as far as possible all unpleasant thoughts. He fully believed that his days were numbered, that he was doomed to die. But no good could come of brooding over the matter ; better make the present as pleasant as possible with sunny memories of the past. So he lay there in the darkness, trying to imagine that he was in his own room at the vicarage, or else wandering in tlie quiet lanes with Mary Dunstan. Yesterday and the day before he had succeeded in keeping Mary very largely out of his thoughts. He thought it would save him pain if he could forget her ; but to-night a different feeling had come over him. Might he not live in a sort of dreamland for the rest of his days ? He could give his imagination play ; he could dwell with Mary and Gladys, and his father, and Mrs. Gaved, and all those he loved, and forget the bare walls that surrounded him, and the awful doom that awaited him. And so he lay there on the hard boards with wide-open eyes, 23eopling the darkness with the forms and faces of those he loved, and filling his brain with memories of the past. The light from the lantern ABEL GETS IMPATIENT. 105 brought liim back to himself, and with a start he sat up and stared hard at his visitor. " Tlioii didst not expect to see me ? " she said, laying the lantern on the floor, and proceeding to take off her big coal-scuttle bonnet and long heavy cloak. " I did not," he answered. " Well, I did not come of my own free will," she replied ; " I came at the urgent request of another. " " Of another ? " he asked, with up-lifted brows. " Aye, at the request of one who loves thee." " My father ?" he questioned eagerly. " Dost think thy father would seek the aid of a witch ? " slie questioned. " You are right," he answered ; '' and yet I do not know who else w^ould ask you to come." " And don't inquire," she said, " for I am not going to tell thee. And now to business." " Wliat business ? " he asked. " Thou mayst w^ell ask that," she said with a cynical laugh ; " but there's no time for parleying. Thy friend believes that thou art innocent. I know not if thou art or not — " " But I thought you knew everything," Harry inter- l^osed, a little bit maliciously. " Don't sneer," she said, " or I wdll leave thee to thy fate. I came to release thee if I can persuade myself that tliou art innocent." ." What evidence do you want ? " he asked. " That is not an easy question to answer," she said. "Three times in my little home on lone Carn Duloe's slo])e I liave heard a voice calling across from Tregeagle's Head. It has sounded like a cry for help, and in tone it Avas like his voice." " Like whose voice ? " " Jack Dunstan's." Harry started to his feet, and breathed hard. " And wliat do you make of it ? " he asked. "I liardly know," she said. ''If lie has be<'n mur- 106 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. dered I can understand it. It is his spirit calling for vengeance. And yet I am loth to believe thee guilty." " Tush ! " he said, " you do not believe in spirits. Don't try to impose on me with talk of that kind." She started a little, and looked at him steadily. " Thou knowest/' she said, " that Tregeagle is often heard on stormy nights." " I know nothing of Tregeagle," he said, " and don't believe the talk; and I'm of opinion that you don't believe it either. It may suit your purpose to make people think so." "Thou hast amazing impudence," she said, evidently taken a little aback. "Art thou not afraid of what I may do to thee ? " " Afraid ? " he questioned, Avith a bitter laugh. " What have I to be afraid of? If you could smite me dead here and now I should be grateful. Nothing worse can come to me than has already come. Have I not lost all — liberty, love, home, friends? and life is nearly ended. Come, witch, do thy worst or thy best." "Nay, nay," she said, "I came not to kill, but to set thee at liberty." " You cannot," he answered ; " and if you could, to what end ? Life has nothing to offer me. Is mere existence so precious that I would be willing to be hunted as a fugitive, and live in terror the rest of my days ? No, no ; go your way, and leave me in peace. I am dead to the world, and the world is nearly dead to me." " But for the sake of others," said the Avitch, " for the sake of those who love thee. And if thou art inno- cent thou oughtest to be eager to live in the hoj^e of proving thy innocence." " Ah, if I could do that ! " he said, witli sudden energy. " Then thou art innocent ? " she questioned. " The magistrates say no," he answered bitterly. " Come," she said with temper, " this is a game of ABEL GETS IMPATIENT. 107 cross purposes ; and but that I promised one who loves thee that I would help thee to escape, I would go and say no more. Perhaps thou art guilty. I have heard his voice three times — there is no mistaking that." Harry started again. " Are you not fooling mc ? " he said. " I am speaking the sober truth/' she answered, " so help me, God.'' For a moment or two he paced his cell in silence. Then stopping before her he said slowly, " This is a solemn matter. Do not deceive me, as you hope for heaven." " I am not deceiving thee," she answered. " I have nothing to gain by deceiving thee." " And you have heard what seemed his voice ? " " Three several times," she answered, " borne by the night Avind across the valley to my lonely eyrie among the rocks." " You are sure you were not dreaming ? " "Quite sure. Dost think I'm a love-sick maiden? I've heard voices before — blood-curdling cries — perhaps Tregeagle's — perhaps the cries of drowning men." "And the tones seemed those of Jack Dunstan's voice ? " "Yes; but in that I may have been mistaken." " Oh that I were free 1 " he said, as if speaking to himself, "that I might probe this matter to the bottom." " So thou art coming to thy senses, eh ? " she said cynically. " Coming to my senses ? No, it is idle to talk of freedom." " It is not idle," she said. " Obey my instructions, and in ten minutes from now thuu slialt bo under the stars, in the free air of heaven." " Freedom for a few days would be welcome," he said, 108 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. " to search, to j^rove. If wliat you say is true there is no cowardice in desiring to be free." " Then you will obey me ? " " Yes, I will." " Good. Now listen ; " and the witch dropped her voice to a whisper while she unfolded her plan. IN RTSGUISK 100 CHAPTER XIV. IN DISGUISE. ' "And is it that tho li;i/.e of grief Ilatli stretched my former joy so great ? The lowuess of tlie present state, Tliat sets tlie past in this relief? Or that tlie past will ahvays \vin A glory from its being far ; And orb into the perfect star We saw not, when we moved therein ?" Tfa'xysox. " Tiiou art just a little taller tlian I am," AvliispercJ llie witch, " but not sufficient to be noticed. Thy face is bare, and Avitli the aid of this bit of charcoal I can put in all the Avrinkles necessary. Now bo still, and I Avill make thee the very image of myself." "There," she cliuckled at leni^th, "the likeness is nearly perfect. Now get on this old dress of mine which I have brought for the 2^i^ii"l>*'"'^e. But thou art chimsy. Art excited ? " "No, I'm as cool as a cucuiul>er,"' lie whispered. "That's right. Never mind if it (h>esn't fit around the waist, the cloak will cover tliat. Now for the bonnet ; " and she lifted up her coal-scuttle and placed it on his ]iea-e is absolutely perfect. If I were to meet thee and did not know, I should swear thou Avert my double." "I feel as though I were," he said, with a low laugh. " At least I don't fe(d myself at all." 110 treCtEAGle'S head. " So mucli the better," she replied. " Now take two or three turns round the cell to get used to walking in skirts." '' All rio'ht," he said, followinof out her instructions. " But thou art taking^ much too longr strides. Now bow thy head forwards so. That's better." " Anything else ? " he whispered. *' Yes ; keep thy mouth shut Avhen thou art passing out. He will never recognize thee unless thou speaks. When he opens the street-door let the lantern drop, and while he is picking it up take thyself off as fast as possible." " But what of you ? " he questioned. " Never mind me," was the answer. '' I can spend a night here very comfortably, and it will be easier than toiling up to Carn Duloe. When he comes in the morning he will be glad enough to let me out. He is so frightened of me that he will do nearly anything I tell him." " Poor man ! " " Aye, poor man ! But art thou ready ? " " Quite." " Then knock at the door and keep thy mouth shut. I will do all the talking." Instantly Harry raised his foot, and gave the door two or three vigorous kicks ; while the next moment he was startled by hearing the witch's voice almost close to his ear saying, "Come, make haste, thou model jailer, I want to get out of this hole." " And I'll be glad eno' to have you out," muttered Abel. " I thowt you Avere goin' to stay all night." " Hold thy clatter and obey, or it will be worse for thee." " I caan't be no quicker," growled Abel, turning the rusty key slowly in the lock. That done, he cautiously pushed open the door, until there was just space enough for one to pass out. IN DISGUISE. Ill " Thou need not fear any one will attempt to come out with me," spoke the witch ; and the next moment a cloaked and stooping figure came through the narrow opening. Abel was still holding the door firmly, and quickly pulled it to, and closed it with a snick. " I feared he might ha' tried to come through at the same time," muttered Abel; but the cloaked figure marched quickly towards the outer door without vouch- safing a reply. Abel seemed quite as eager to get into the open air as was his prisoner. Indeed he was thoroughly out of temper at having to wait so long, and all the more so because he knew his supper was waiting for him, and he feared was spoiling. He wasted no time, therefore, in unlocking and throwing open the street-door, and Harry, dropping the lantern as he had been instructed, passed swiftly out into the night. By the time Abel had picked up the lantern and locked the door the supposed witch had vanished into the darkness. Abel paused for a moment and looked up and down the street, then with something hke a sigh he strode towards his own door, and soon forgot his worries in the odour of boiled hake, which greeted his nostrils. In the meanwhile Harry was striding rapidly in the direction of the vicarage. Where else could he go but to his own home ? He had no thought of escaping to some distant 23art of the country, or of putting the ocean between himself and his pursuers. Indeed he had no formulated plan of any sort. His escape had been so sudden and unexpected, that he had had no time to tliink of what he should do when he found himself at liberty. His first feeling was one of intense relief at finding himself free. It seemed an age since he had been led away to prison. He had counted almost every moment 112 TREGEAGLWS HEAD. of the time, and could hardly persuade himself that it was less than three days ago since he was apprehended. When he reached the churchyard he paused, and took off the huge bonnet that enveloped his head, and turned his face towards the west. He wanted to breathe again the fresh sea-breeze, and feel its strong cool breath play- ing round his neck and face. After the stuffy atmo- sphere of his cell, it seemed like new life to him ; and throwing back his shoulders, he took deep inspirations, as though it were nectar. Around the old church the wind wailed and whistled, and across the grassy hillocks it swept with a low swish, as though it would hush into a deeper sleep those Avho lay beneath the turf He had no fear of being discovered, none of the villagers ever crossed the churchyard at night-time. It was too suggestive of ghosts to be frequented after sunset. And even should some adventurous native cross his path, he felt sure that his disguise would be a perfect protection. So he loitered among the graves for fully ten minutes. The time and the place suited his mood. Moreover, now that he was close to his own home an unaccountable nervousness came over him — a fear lest he might not be welcome, or lest his un- expected appearance should be too great a shock to their nerves. Once the idea suggested itself to him of going at once to Trcgeagle's Head and spending the night there, trying to fathom the mystery of that cry of which the witch had spoken ; but he dismissed it after a moment's consideration. He was too weary and exhausted yet for such a vigil. Evidently his first duty was to get a good night's rest and sleep. So replacing his bonnet at length, he struck out for the vicarage, and soon felt the gravel of the path crunchinor beneath his feet. He saw a liGjht in the dining-room window, which tempted him to go close ujj to it and listen. Perhaps he might be able to get a peep IN DISGUISE. 113 within. He did not know why he should act in this way. He was a puzzle to himself. He felt like a stranger rather than a son. At one corner the blind was not quite down, so that nearly all the room was exposed to liis view. At the head of the table sat his father, with an open Bible before him; near the door sat the two serving-maids; close to the lire was Mrs. Gaved, with her back to- wards him ; and by her side was Gladys, sitting on a low stool hugging her knees. He could not help noticing how haggard and troubled his father looked. He seemed to have added ten years to his life during the last few days. Very mournfully, too, his voice sounded as the words fell distinctly on Harry's ear — '' Why art thou cast down, O my soul, and wliy art thou disquieted Y»'it]iin me ? " "Poor father!" Harry thought, as the tears welled up into his eyes and nearly blinded him. But he hastily brushed tliem away, and fixed his gaze ufon Gladys, who, though pale and hollow-eyed, had a strangely resolute look upon her face. Gladys too looked older, as though she had put away childish thoughts and things, and was now going to face the world with a woman's heart and will. The psalm ended, they all knelt down to pray. "I'm glad I did not disturb them at prayers,'"' he said to himself, as he bowed his head and listened. It was a beautiful prayer his father offered, full of tenderness and sympathy. Evidently grief and anxiety had already begun to soften his austere nature, and to bring him more into touch with those who suffered and sorrowed around him. Harry could not keep back his tears when allusion was made to himself " Father in heaven, bless my boy," the Vicar pleaded. "Alone in silence and darkness he pines tu-night; be very near to him, and grant him Thy peace. We may 114 TEEGEAGLE'S HEAD. not see him or speak to him a word of hope ; but bolted doors are no barrier to Thee. Oh, let my poor boy feel that Thou art near him, and know that he is not for- saken. We yearn to give him comfort, while a sight of his face would be like medicine to our sorely-stricken soul. Oh, Father of mercies, reveal Thy mercy to him and to us, unravel this tangled skein, if it please Thee, and let light arise upon our darkness, and hope take the place of our despair." Harry felt no longer like a stranger when the prayer was ended. Going quickly up to the door, he gave three distinct raps, and a moment after it was oj^ened by one of the maids. But at sight of him she started back with a little cry of alarm, which instantly brought the Vicar to her side. " You can go to the kitchen, Jane," he said ; " I will attend to Mrs. Flue." And nothing loth, Jane instantly retreated with an alacrity that was most unusual with her. Meanwhile Harry had come into the hall, and closed the door behind him. *' And now, madam," said the Vicar, turning to Harry, ''to what am I indebted " Then he suddenly paused, and stared hard at his visitor. " Ah," he said sternly, " and who are you ? I see I am mistaken ; this is an unwarrant " But he did not finish the word. " Yes, father," Harry interposed, " you are mistaken this time." " W — w — w — hat. W — w — hat ! " he exclaimed^ stammering as though seized with an attack of ague. But before Harry could again reply he had grasped the truth, and seizing Harry by the arm he dragged him into the dining-room, much to the astonishment and even consternation of Mrs. Gaved and Gladys. " Why, look at him ! " he exclaimed, laughing and crying at the same time. " Isn't it fine ? I think it is just splendid," and he stood back a little from Harry, and laughed again till his sides ached. But Mrs. Gaved and Gladys could not see where the IN DISGUISE. Hi laugli came in. To havo the witch of Carn Duloe thrust upon them in this unceremonious manner was not a laughing matter. Indeed, Mrs. Craved resented it most unmistakably. She got up from her chair with an ominous frown upon her brow, and was about to march out of the room, when Harry, who could no longer maintain his gravity, burst into peals of laughter. Instantly Gladys leaped to her feet, exclaiming, " Why, it's Harry. Oh, you dear, blessed old Harry." And the next moment her brother had caught her in his arms, and had half smothered her with kisses. Mrs. Gaved stared hard at the intruder, then dropped into a chair and began to cry. But a kiss and a kind word from her heart's idol soon comforted her. " Now, Mammy," he said, " dry your tears, and get me a good supper ; we'll talk after. I'm hungry enough at present to eat a gravestone." " My poor boy, I wonder you are not dead," sobbed Mrs. Gaved. " But, oh dear ! how did you get here, and are you quite safe ? " " I'm safe enough for to-night, at any rate," he answered. " For the rest you must wait till I have had some supper. Meanwhile you can draw down that blind at the corner, and I will have a wash and a change of raiment," and he rushed away up-stairs to his own room. "Oh, papa!" exclaimed Gladys, climbing on the Vicar's knee. " What does it mean ? " " I don't know, my child," said the Vicar, blowing his nose violently. " He has evidently duped his jailer, but how he has managed it I can't tell; we must wait till he explains." In a few minutes a substantial supper of cold meat was laid on the table, and Harry proceeded to attack it with a vigour that left nothing to be desired. The Vicar was greatly affected as he sat watching his son, and more than once stealthily wiped away the tears that rushed unbidden to his eyes. It seemed almost 116 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. an age since he had h)oked upon his face, and even now he felt it was only a stolen glimpse he got ; any moment he might be marched away again to prison, perhaps to death. Harry seemed the most unconcerned of the little group, and when he had satisfied his hunger, he pulled up his chair nearer the fire, and i^roceeded to tell the story of his escape. "I think Nanny is an old brick," he said with a laugh. " If she has done nothing else, she has secured me a good supper, and that I sorely needed, and I fancy I shall sleep to-night without rocking." " But what object can she have had in interj^osing," the Vicar asked. " She has run considerable risk, and even now she may find herself in jail in consequence." " Well," said Harry, after a pause, '' I am more than a little puzzled over that matter myself. She told me she came at the urgent request of some one who loved me. For the moment I thought she meant you ; but of course you would not seek the aid of such a woman." " Not I indeed," said the Vicar. A moment's pause followed this remark, during which Mrs. Gaved began to poke the fire in an unusually vigorous manner. " I should not have attempted to escape," Harry went on, '' but that I felt I should like to probe to the bottom the secret of this cry Nanny declares she has heard." " Do you think it possible Jack Dunstan may be yet alive ? " Gladys asked suddenly, with an eager light in her eyes. "I don't know what I think," he answered slowly. " It seems impossible that he can be still living. But the witch is positive she has heard a voice like his. I am not superstitious, but I am certainly curious." "Harry," said the Vicar, getting up from his chair, and looking very white, " you will excuse me, I am sure, for seeming to doubt ^^ou, but it would satisfy me J^Y iJimUIS^:. 117 to liear it from your lij^s, that neither by accident or design has Jack sufferec" harm at your hands." " Foroive me, father, if I have been too reticent. But I am as innocent as you are. " My boy, that is enougli," the Yicar said, blowing liis nose violently. " And now wliat about the future ? " "I don't know. I liave had no time to think yet. Suppose we let matters drift until to-morrow. I want a good night's sleep, that Avill clear my brain; to- morrow we can put our heads together. At present I have no desire to ' cut the country,' as they say. I'd rather be hanged than be hunted like a fugitive all my life, ^[y only hope lies in the secret of Tregeagle's Head." ^ ^ " We are in God's hands, my boy — in God's hands," said the Vicar solemnly. Then silence fell upon the little group. After a while Harry got up, and kissing them all good night, betook himself to bed. "And so dear old Mammy Gaved is the friend who got the witch of Carn Duloe to interest herself in my behalf," he said to himself, as he closed the door behind liim. "Well, well, she played her cards very well. Her 2)rofessed indignation at the presence of the su})posed witch in the dining-room was well put on ; but she should not have poked the fire sg vigorously — that let the cat out of the bag. Well, well ; here I am, safe in this dear old room once more. Now for a soft brd and some refreshing sleep." 118 TKEGEAGLE'S BEAD. CHAPTER XV. KEEPING WATCH. " With ine, youth led. . . I will speak now, No long-er watcli you as you sit Eeading by firelight, that great brow And the spirit-small hand propping it Mutely, my heart knows how." — R. Browning. Abel was in no hurry to visit his prisoner next morning, for he had decided that Harry should have the luxury of a day's rest in Restormel " lock-up " between his trial before the magistrates, and his removal to Bodmin gaol. " He kep' me for near a hour without my supper las' night," Abel soliloquized ; "he can wait for his breakfas' this morning." So Abel took his time over his griddled pilchards, and appeared* to enjoy the performance. Perhaps the thought of Harry pining for his stale crust gave an added relish to his own toothsome meal. After six pilchards and a small loaf of bread had disappeared dowm his capacious throat, Abel paused, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, sjmt out sundry small bones that adhered to the sides of the cavity he called his mouth, and finally rose from his chair, kicked the cat under the "dresser," and then called to his wife. " Iss, Abel," she answered, from a small room at the rear of the house. ''I'm agoin' down to Pentudy after I've took the KEEPING WATCH. 110 prisoner his breakfas'/' he said, "so you needn't wait denner for me." " All right, Abel," she replied. " There's more in Sam Trewalsick then he's let out," Abel said, '' so I*m agoin' to pump 'im." " I would, Abel." " I've got to see Nathan Fraddon to come along wi' me to Bodmin to-morrow ; we'd better be two of us." " Yes, Abel." " Nothin' like bein' on the safe side, so 'ore's off." And Abel put on his hat, unhung his bunch of keys, and departed, taking a small basket with him which contained the prisoner's breakfast. As usual, he oi:)encd the cell door Avith great caution, and took a peep before venturing inside. He hardly knew why he did so, for Harry had manifested no desire whatever to escape. The prisoner was lying full length on the hard bed, his head Avrapped in the solitary blanket which was his nightly covering. Abel grunted to himself, pushed the door a little farther open, and entered. Scarcely had he done so, however, than he found himself seized by the throat, and swung to the further end of the cell, while over him there loomed — not Harry Penryn — but the witch of Carn Duloe. In a perfect agony of fright Abel sank trembling upon the floor. He was too terror-stricken to speak or even to move ; his teeth chattered as though lie had been smitten with ague, his legs refused to support him, his brain was in a whirl. What did it mean? But before he had time to frame an answer to the question, the witch, ghost, or whatever it was, disappeared, slamming the door behind her. Abel did not try to get up. The Avhole proceeding had been so sudden and startling, that his slow brain could not grasp the situation. Was he awake or dreaming ? Was he drunk, or pixey 120 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. led ? or had he been ill-wished or bewitched ? He staggered to his feet at length, and sat down on the plank bed, trying the while to think out the problem. But he Avas not able to make head or tail of it. Evidently the whole thing was a piece of diabolical witchcraft. That he had let the witch out of the cell the previous night he was quite certain. He had taken particular notice of her appearance, had seen her face with the light of the lantern shining upon it, had noticed the deep furrow^s on her cheeks. That much w\as cjuite clear. And yet that only made the more mysterious the present mystery. How did she get back into the cell again, and how did the prisoner get out ? He had locked the doors carefully enough, and no one had touched his keys during the night. Long Abel sat upon the bed knitting his brows, and scratching his pate ; then suddenly leaping to his feet, he said to himself, "I have it ! It weren't her at all, it weren't; it w^ere 'im. She's given him some drug as have transmuggri- fied 'im, that's what she's done. I've heerd about sicli things afore; elixir, of hemp seed distilled wi' mundic water '11 do it, so they say. He'll look like somebody else, likely as not, an' nobody '11 know 'im. But, good Lord, what be I to do ? " And Abel w^ent to the door and beoan to i\\^ at it with might and main, then he commenced kicking at it, and finally he shouted, " Help ! murder ! " at the to]) of his voice. Getting exhausted at length, he lay down on the bed with a feeling gnawing at his heart akin to despair. All his dreams of blood-money and promotion vanished into thin air. Would the magistrates and the officials at Bodmin believe his story when he told it them ? He feared not. The chances were he would be cliarged w^ith neglect of duty, if not with a criminal defiance of prison rules and regulations. "Mary stood at the gate as the witch stalked past."— r. 121. KEEFINd irATCR. 121 " I may as well lie 'ere quiet till they come searching for me," he said to liimself. "P'raps I'd better sa}' notliin' 'bout the witch ; say as 'ow tlie prisoner jumjDod up as I was a bringin' in his breakfjis' all of a sudden, an' knocked me down afore I know'd what I was about, and 'ow I lied 'ere unconscious for several hours, knowin' nothin' 'bout nothin'. Iss, iss, I think that'll be the best way out ov the mess arter all." And having come to this conclusion, Abel turned over on his side and tried to make himself as comfortable as the circum- stances would permit. Meanwhile, Nanny was making her way with all possible haste towards her home on the slope of Carn J)uloe. She knew that once there she would be safe from observation, while in the labyrinths of her cave she would be able to defy pursuit. Mary Dunstan had been on the look out for her all the morning. She had been in a fever of fear and anxiety all the night, courting sleep in vain, and watching eagerly for the dawn. Nanny was nearly opposite Trevose wlien ^lary caught sight of her, and running out at the back witliout a bonnet, she crossed the farm-yard, and stood at the gate as the witch passed. Nanny did not appear to notice her, she stalked straight on, but whis- pered as she passed the young girl, — "' I liave set him free." Mary's heart gave a great bound, but she foibore to ask any questions, as she saw plainly enough tliat Nanny did not wish to be noticed. For several minutes longer Mary remained at the gate, then quietly retraced her steps across the yard, and stood for a moment or two to stroke Jet's nose, who had eagerly trotted up to her. The farmstead was very quiet — all tlie hands wore out in the fields gathering in the reumants of the late liarvost. The W(jrk must go on, however heavy the trouble that pressed upon tlieir hearts. But all tlie joy 1 122 TEEGEAGLE'S BEAD. had gone ont of the work. Duties were done because they must be done, and not because there was any pleasure in the doing of them. Everything about the place seemed to feel the general depression. Down in the pool the ducks quacked in a subdued kind of way, as though there was something in the atmosphere which checked a full expression of their feelings; the peacock had not spread its tail for four whole days — perhaps the lack of sunshine had something to do with that, for the sky had kept persistently overcast, while the wind moaned sadly all day long. Yet while Mary stood stroking Jet's nose, the sun- shine broke through a riffc in the clouds just for a moment or two, and flooded the old farmyard with a golden light. " Oh, Jet," she said, turning a moment to look up at the sky, " we will not give up hope yet. Harry is free, and oh 1 nobody knows what is going to ha23pen. The light is behind the clouds," and with eyes beaming with hope she tripped lightly across the yard and disappeared through the doorway. About noon the men came in from the fields, and the children crowded out of school with laugh and whoop and shout, and for a few minutes the sleepy old village seemed wide awake ; but it soon settled down again into its normal state of somnolence. Mary wondered that nothing was said about the escape of Harry. It seemed strange, if what the witch had told her was true, tliat no one had heard of it. Several times while the '' hands " were getting their dinner in the large kitchen she made some excuse for going amongst them, in the hope of gleaning some fragment of inform- ation ; but their conversation turned on " crops," " cattle," and "the weather," and not a single word was said respecting the matter which lay nearest her heart. She began to fear after a while that Nanny had deceived her, and to consider how or in what manner she could prove the truth or falsehood of the old woman's words. KEEPING WATCH. 123 She longed to question her father on the subject, but had not the courage, so as usual the meal passed in silence. Directly dinner was over he went up-stairs, and sat for nearly an hour with his wife. " Oh, I wish I knew," she said, as she busied herself clearing the dinner-table. "This strange silence and uncertainty is becoming oppressive. I must summon uj) courage to ask father when he comes down if ho has heard anything." She was shaking the table-cloth out in " the court," surrounded by a flock of chickens, when her father came out. "I think mother is a little brighter to-day, Mary; don't you think so ? " he said. "Yes, she has seenaed a little more cheerful, but she is very weak and prostrate." "No wonder, no wonder," he said, absently. "But perhaps time will soften the pain." " Time seems to go very slowly," she answered. " I seem to have lived through a lifetime in these last five days." "Aye," he said, his voice shaking just a little, "it seems five weeks ago since this trouble came." " Do you know if they have taken Harry to Bodmin, to-day ?" she said, after a moment's pause. He was looking away out across the fields with an absent stare in his eyes, and so he did not notice her heightened colour as she spoke; indeed, he did not seem to heed her Avords at all, though he heard them distinctly enough. The silence that followed the question brought him back to himself. " AMiat were you saying, j\[ary ? " he said. " Oh, yes, I remember. No, they have not taken him to Bodmin, to-day, they start early to-morrow morning," and with a sigh the farmer turned on his heel and walked slowly away. Mary went bark to the liouse feeling more porj^loxed 124 TREGEAGLKS HEAD. than ever. It seemed incredible that Harry should have escaped and no one in the village know of it. And yet the witch had distinctly told her that he was free. And so she alternated between hope and fear, until the uncertainty seemed almost unbearable, and she resolved to pay a visit to the vicarage ostensibly to see Gladys, but really with the hope of gaining some information respecting Harry. At the vicarage the nervous tension was even more acute ; to all callers the Vicar was " not at home." He had resolved that he would see no one. He was a very conscientious man, and was afraid that some one would ask him j^omt hlank if he knew anything of his son's whereabouts. And he felt that sucli a question would offer a very strong temptation to equivocate, and under the circumstances he was not at all certain if he would be able to resist the temptation. In the seclusion of his own study he found himself debating the question, whether or not, under certain circumstances, an un- truth was not justifiable. If telling the truth, for instance, would condemn an innocent man to death, and telling a lie would save his life, would not tell- ing a lie be justifiable, and telling the truth a moral Avrong ? For a long time he wrestled with this problem with- out arriving at any satisfactory conclusion. In truth the c{uestion had never come home to him in this way before. He had been very fond of quoting the old adage, " Speak the truth and shame the devil," but to-day he felt that there might be circumstances in which, to say the very least, the truth ought not to be spoken. So he resolved he would see no one; he would as far as possible keep out of the way of temptation. He had had a long talk with Harry during the morning, and had strongly urged him to consider some plan of escaping out of the country. But Harry only shook his head. He had thought of the same thing KEFA'IXa irATCR. 125 himself diirino- the nicjlit, but the difficulties seemed so great, and the chances of escape so feeble, that he put the idea aside as not worthy of consideration. Moreover, he had availed himself of Nanny Flue's aid with the distinct and definite purpose of probing the mystery of tlie cry which the witch had heard coming from Tregeagle's Head, and to run away now, he felt, would be to be false to himself, and disloyal to the memory of his friend. " No, father," he said, " I will not run away ; my duty is here for the present. Nothing may come of it, but I shall have the consciousness that I have done my best." "As you will, my boy," the Vicar answered, with a sad look in his eyes ; " but I have no faith in the witch's story. And even though we keep you safe for a few days, we shall have to give you up again." " If nothing comes of this matter, yes," Hany answered, slowly ; " I am not building much on it. The shadow of the scaffold is still over me, but I am not afraid." The Vicar did not reply, but he walked away to hide his emotion. "I must give him up," he said to himself; "I don't tliink he could escape if he were to try, and he evidently does not Avant to try. But oh, it is very hard!" Down-stairs a sharp look-out was kept, both at the back and the front. Every moment they expected to see Abel approaching armed with a search war- rant ; and they had duly prepared themselves for his advent. In the best bedroom was a huge old-fashioned ward- robe, which had been constructed with what was known as a false back ; behind this partition was quite sutti- cient standing room for two or three persons. Aii with hopes that may never be realized." *' I don't," she said, with a bright smile ; " but are we not to believe what God tells us ? " But Harry remained silent ; he did not like damping the child's faith and hope with his own fears and doubts. Better, he thought, that she should remain in the light of hope as long as possible. " Ah, you don't believe me," she said playfully ; " but you will believe me some day." " I hope so," said Mary, with a little sigh ; while Harry looked at her with a wistful smile, but did not speak. A few minutes later Mar}^ rose to go. Harry went with her into the hall, Avhile Gladys kept w^atch at the window. " We shall probably never meet again, Mary," he said, as he closed the door softly behind him, " so I will say farewell to you here." His voice was low, but very steady ; he had evidently nerved himself for this farewell, and his strong will was not likely to fail him. " Oh no, not farewell," she said, with a little gasp ; '' I cannot help hoping that something Avill happen to lift from your name this terrible suspicion." " Then you believe in me still, Mary, in spite of the evidence given 3'esterday ? " " Of course I believe in you, Harry ; have I not known you all my life ? " " Thank you," he said, Avitli eyes bent upon the floor ; " it is a comfort to think that there are a few people who will think kindly of me when I am dead." NIL DESPEBANDUMr 130 '•'You sliould not spea,k in that way," she said; " you know that while there's life there's hojoe/' " Ah/' he said, after a pause, " I had hopes once till this trouble came — hopes so beautiful that they made earth an Eden to me; but they are gone now. Like flowers nipped by an early frost, they have faded and fallen. Let me not talk of them ; perhaps in another world I may find again what here I have lost." She knew what he referred to, and so was unable to speak; but she felt the warm blood rush to her neck and face, and the tears leap to her eyes, Avhile her hands trembled visibly. " Oh, Harry, I must go now," she said at length ; " and oh, please don't despair." She would like to have said more ; she longed to com- fort him, for in his deep trouble and distress all her heart had gone out to him ; she knew now but too well that she loved him with all the strength of her nature. He took her hand in his and held it firmly ; he felt it tremble like a caged bird, and then her eyes drooped. Should he tell her his love ? He was half assured that she was not indilTerent to him. And would it not com- fort him to have the assurance of her affection ? Would it not soften the slow misery of imprisonment, and the shar]) agony of death ? Would he not be able to face what lay before him witli a braver heart, knowing that her heart was his, and that she would be true to his memory to the last? It was a hard struggle, and he nearly bit his lip through in trying to keep silence ; but lie mastered himself at last. " No," he said to himself, " it wouhl be a cowardly thing to speak of love under such circumstances. Even if she loves me, it would be mean of me to ask her to confess it. I, a criminal, hiding from what is called justice, may at any moment be pounced upon, and dragged to prison and to death. No, no ! Heaven help me, no He pressed Ikt hand hnnly, then dropped it. She 134 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. glanced timidly up into his face. It was hard and cold, and in his eyes there was a stony look which made her almost shudder. " Oh, Harry," she said, " please don't despair." " Despair ! " he said, after a pause ; " no, Mary, I won't. I will go out on Tregeagle's Head to-night buoyed up with hope," and back into his eyes there came a softer light, like that which follows the clearing of rain-clouds after a storm. " That is right," she said, hopefully ; '' and I will pray for you all the night." " Will you pray for me ? " he asked simply. " Indeed I will," she said, her face beaming with the light of a lofty purpose. "Then I will not despair," he answered. '^And now, Mary, good-bye. We may meet again — God only knows. But if not " " If not we will meet in heaven," she answered. For a moment he looked at her steadily, then raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, and without another word turned and walked quickly up the stairs to his own room. Mary waited for a moment, then quietly let herself out, and was soon speeding across the old churchyard in the direction of her home. AN' AXXTOrs XTCUTT. 135 CHAPTER XYIL AN ANXIOUS NIGHT. " Midniglit was come, and ever}' vital thing With sweet souiul sleep tlieir weary limbs did rest : The beasts were slill, the little birds that sing, Now sweetly slept beside their mother's breast ; The waters calm, the cruel seas did cease. The woods, and fields, and all things held their peace." Sack villi:. About ten o'clock Harry left the vicarage to keep Ills lonely watch on Tregeagle's Head. The night w^as cloudy and dark, with a fretful and intermittent breeze blowing in from the west, and a dampness in the atmo- sphere that was anytliing but exhilarating. He had spent the two hours previous to his departure in per- fecting his disguise. Nanny had been so clever with her charcoal, that he thought he might do something in the same direction by the aid of burnt cork. His efforts did not quite come up to his satisfaction, though Gladys, who kept him company, declared that the graduated series of wrinkles he produced were just perfection ; and when he put on a large wide-awake hat, with a fringe of wliitc hair attached to the inside of the crown, she lauglied till the tears ran down her face. "Why, Nanny herself would not know you now," she said ; " you look the full three score years and ten. Mr. Pcnr}^n had kept in his study most of the day. 136 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. but he came out into tlie hrJl to say good niglit to Harry. For a moment lie stood still, vdtli a curious look upon his face. " Why, Harry," he said, " I should not have recognized you ! " and he smiled sadly while he spoke. "And so you think I have been fairly successful with my disguise ? " " Successful ! the fact is, I never saw a better. In- deed, I am sure wdth a disguise like that you might safely get away from here. Think of it again, my lad " "I'll keep watch on Tregeagle's Head to-night, at any rate," Harry answered quickly. '' In fact, there lies my only hope at present." •'' But not mine," Mr. Penryn answered. " I feel certain nothing can come of your watch." " But I shall not be satisfied until I have probed this matter to the utmost," Harry answered. ''Don't think I Avish to prevent you," the Vicar s-^.id quickly. ''Do wdiat you think best; but if nothing comes of it, let us plan to-morrow some way of escape for you." But Harry only shook his head. "Nay, do not shake your head," the Vicar said, dejectedly; "I am sure it is not impossible." " Perhaps not," Harry answered, gloomily ; " but life under such conditions is hardly worth having." " Well, think of it, my son," the Vicar said, kindly ; "and the Lord be with you to-night." But Harry did not reply again. His father's ten- derness and solicitude were so new, and withal so pathetic, that it almost unmanned him, so he pulled his hat low over his eyes, and marched forth into the night. Outside the gate he paused for a moment and listened, but there w^as no sound save for the wind complaining in the trees. He knew that the villagers, would be all a-bed by ten o'clock, and so he had no AN ANXIOUS NIGHT. 137 anticiioation of eucountering a single soul. And even if he did, he thought his disguise would be a sufficient protection. Having satisfied himself that no one was near, lie straightened himself from his stooping posture, and started oi] a brisk walk. For some distance the road was level, tlien it began to wind up and around the pine wood. Just at the bend there was a stile, with a footpath across the fields, which led to the opposite end of the village. After he had passed the stile he began to w^alk more slowly, for the road began to ascend in the shadow of tall pine trees. Suddenly he started and grew pale, for very distinctly there was the sound of a quick footstep behind him. His first thought was to plunge into the darkness of the wood, but he dismissed it after a moment's reflection. If it were somebody in pursuit of him, such an act would awaken suspicion in a moment. " No," he said to himself, " I must put a bold face on the matter, and trust to my disguise." So leaning on his stick, and bending his shoulders into a very pronounced stoop, he slowly hobbled on. Steadily the quick footsteps neared him, then suddenly stopped. "Hm!" he muttered between his set lips; "I'm observed at last, so I must make the best of it." And stopping short, he began to cough in a decidedly wheezing and asthmatic fashion. Then the footsteps came on again, quicker than before, and gained upon him every moment. Harry was deep in the shadow of the wood, and the figure passed him on the outer side of the road. " A woman, eh ! " he said to himself, still persisting in his cough. "And, by Jupiter, Abel Tregonning's wife. I wonder what's up; and where can she be hurrying to at this time of night ? " Mrs. Tregonning looked hard at him as she passed, E 138 TREGEAGLE'S HEAD. but she could only discern the outlme of what seemed a very old man. " Well, I needn't ha' been skeared," she said to her- self, as she hurried on. " But I wonder who he can be. I don't know any old man 'ereabouts as is bothered wi' a cough like that." But neither the old man nor his cough occupied her thoughts for very long; she was too concerned about her husband to trouble herself about any other matter. She had got him some fresh pilchards for tea, and had even made him a potato cake " to finish up with," as she said to herself. But tea-time came and went, and hour after hour passed away, and still Abel did not come ; until when the clock struck ten she could bear it no longer, but resolved to go off to Pentudy in search of him. She was not a particularly nervous or apprehensive woman ; and had it not been that there was a prisoner locked up in the cell, she would not have been nearly so much concerned ; but she felt sure that Abel would not have left the prisoner so long without food unless something very unusual had happened. She dared not go to the cell herself, and indeed, when she came to think about the matter, Abel had never returned to the house with the keys. Evidently he had taken them with him — a most unusual thing for him to do. Hence there was nothing left for her to do but make her way to Pentudy with all possible haste. This suspense was becoming unbearable, and if any- thing had happened to her husband, the sooner she knew of it the better. Every step of the way she kept hoping she would meet him. On the brow of the hill beyond the pine-wood she paused for a few moments. Straight ahead, with the sea surging round its rocky base, was Tregeagle's Head, a place to be shunned night and day — a place given up to Tregeagle's gloomy spirit, and made gruesome by his despairing cries. AN ANXIOUS NIGHT. 139 To-uight, however, the restless ghost was silent ; no sound floated on the chill damp air, but the surge of the restless sea. Very frequently she prayed that she might not see Tregeagle, nor hear his cry. " If I was to see his ghost I should faint and die," she said to herself; "and since the murder — oh dear 1 " and the poor Avoman shuddered visibly. But anxiety about her husband kept her brave ; not even the fear of Tregeagle could keep him out of her thoughts, and drawing a long breath, she hurried along the road that now gradually slanted downwards into the village of Pentudy. The little hamlet seemed quite asleep when she reached it ; not a solitary light burned in any cottage window. The narrow and circuitous street that thi-eaded its way dovrn to the little harbour was completely deserted, and almost as dark as a dungeon. How loudly her footsteps echoed as she hurried along the narrow causeway. How oppressive was the silence. !Most of the men were out in their fishing-boats, and would not return till dawn; the women and children were fast asleep. " But where was Abel ? " — that thought haunted her like a restless ghost, and filled her with the wildest alarm, Nathan Fraddon, the constable, lived at the far end of the village. If lier husband were still with him a light would be burning in his window ; but when she got near his house her heart almost stojDped — all was dark and silent as the grave. " What could have become of Abel ? " Before Nathan's door she stood still and wrung her hands in silent misery ; she hardly dared knock, lest she should learn that her worst fears Avcre realized. Still, certainty was better than this agonizing suspense, and after she had eased her heart by a few silent tears, she went up to the door and gave a loud rat-tat-tat. She heard its echoes ring through the silent cottage, 140 TBEQEAGLE'S HEAD. but no voice came out of the darkness, so she knocked again, louder than before. A moment later a small window was opened just over her head, and the shrill pij^ing voice of a woman inquired, " Who be you ? an' what do you want ? " " I want to know if Abel Tregonning is here," was the quick and anxious reply. " Abel Tregonning here ? I should think not," was the somewhat indignant answer. " Not here ? This is Nathan Fraddon's house, ain't it ? " " Iss, it es ; but what of that ? " " Well, Abel came here to see Nathan this morning, an' he's never returned yet." '' I think you be mistook," said the woman ; " Abel Tregonning ain't been in Pentudy to-day." By this time Nathan himself was at the window. "Is that you, Mrs. Tregonning?" he said. '-'What's up i "Abel's lost, or got hurt, or something," was the quick reply. " He started off directly he 'ad his break - fas' to come 'ere to see you ; he wanted you to go wi' 'im to Bodmin to-morrow." *' Humph ! he ain't been 'ere," was the deliberate answer. " Not been here ? " she questioned. " No ; he ain't been in Pentudy to-day, or I should ha' seen 'im or heard ov 'im." " Oh, dear ! what can ha' become of him ? " tlie woman almost wailed. " And there's the prisoner a'most starvin', I expect." " This is very serious," said Nathan, rubbing his bristly chin with his hard palm. " But wait a minute, an' I'll come down ; this must be looked into at once. If Abel's out o' the way, why — " But Nathan did not complete the sentence. Instantly there loomed up before his imagination a vision of blood-money, promotion, a pension perhaps, and many AN AXXIOUS NIGHT. 141 other good things. Abel being out of the way, lie would come to the front in this murder case, which was now the talk of the county. In a few minutes Nathan was dressed and down- stairs, and Mrs. Tregonning was seated in the only comfortable chair the cottage contained, looking a picture of misery and despair. " I'll fro back with you," said Nathan, strus^c^linf^ hard to get into his shoes. " The prisoner must be 'tended to, any'ow ; I'm feared we can't do much for Abel till mornin'." But Susan Tregonning did not rej)ly; she simply rocked herself to and fro in her chair. She cared little at the moment Avhat became of the prisoner; all her thought was of Abel. "You can come down an bar the door after me," Nathan at length shouted to his wife ; " I may not be back till mornin'. Now, Mrs. Tregonning," he said, "I'm at your sarvice." Susan rose without a w^ord, and followed him out of the house. Along the crooked and deserted street they walked in single file. Neither was in the mood for speech; Nathan just then was too full of his own importance, and Susan too full of trouble. At lenuth Treg^eao^le's Head loomed into sio^ht, cuttim^ a fairly distinct outline against the sk}^ The night was not (juite so dark as it had been, and in the north and west a few stars had come out, and glimmered faintly in the deep vault of night. Steadily the road wound upward, till by and by their heads came into line with the highest point of the cliff. Suddenly Nathan paused, with an exclamation that was a cut between a grunt and a cry. '• ^Irs. Tregonning," he said, " d'ye see yon ? " pointing witli his large forefinger in the direction of Tregeagle's Head. " See what ? " she exclaimed cpiickly. 142 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. "Yon !" he ejaculated, still pointing with his shaking finger. Mrs. Treofonning^ seized his arm in her terror with a gri23 that made him wince. " It's Tregeagle ! " she gasped, in a hoarse Avhisper. ''Aye, it's him," Nathan said, Avith chattering teeth. "There's a storm a-brewin' — he always comes afore a storm." Far out on the highest point of the headland, and dimly outlined against the clearing sky, was the motion- less figure of a man, or rather of an immensely magni- fied giant; his height appeared not an inch less than twenty feet, with breadth in proportion. " What a monster ! " gasped Susan. But Nathan did not speak; he stood as if rooted to the ground, Avith his eyes fixed upon the terrible apparition. Suddenly the figure changed its shape, and there stood out a blurred dark mass against the sky; this gradually grew smaller and smaller, till by and by only the broken outline of the cliff was seen against the sky. Nathan drew a long breath, and made an effort to pull himself together. " I've heerd Tregeagle many and many a time," he said at length; "now I've seed 'im, an' 'tes a sight, sure 'nough." Susan Tregonning clung to Nathan's arm the rest of the way to Restormel; the journey was a slow and silent one, but the distance was covered at length. There was still one hope in Susan's heart, that her husband had returned during her absence ; he had a key which would unlock the door. Perhaps he was now sitting in his chair, Avaiting for her. Her heart beat very fast as she neared her own home, and when she tried to unlock the door, her hand shook so much that she could with difficulty insert the key ; but this AN ANXIOUS NIGHT. 143 ■was accomplished at last, and pushing open the door, she plunged into the darkness. In a moment she had reached Abel's chair ; alas ! it was empty, and she dropped into it herself with a low cry. " Abel's dead," she sobbed ; " Abel's dead." 144 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. CHAPTER XVIII. DISAPPOINTMENT. '' Out, out, brief candle ! Life's but a walking shadow ! A poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more : it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing." — Shakespeare. It was a dreary and disappointing night which Harry spent on Tregeagle's Head. He had hoped almost against hope that he would hear that cry of which the witch had spoken, but it was not to be. No sound broke the silence save the low sob of the sea, and the fretful voice of the complaining wind. Across the headland he stalked in all directions; along the cliffs he crept on hands and knees ; on the spongy turf he lay still and listened, but no human cry pierced the silence, or trembled on the startled air. The night was painfully long to him. Every minute seemed as long as ten, while the hours appeared in- terminable. Yet that lonely vigil was not without its influence upon him. He realized as he had scarcely ever done before the joy of freedom, while the prospect of imprisonment and death, to which he thought he had become reconciled, became horribly sickening and re- pulsive. Out there under the free heaven, and with the boundless sea chanting its dirges all about him, mere existence seemed a joy. Almost any kind of DISAPPOINTMENT. 145 life was to Lc preferred to the cruel fate which he had looked upon as inevitable. " Perhaps father is right," he said, " in wishing me to make an effort to escape. Life is from God, and I ought not to yield it up any sooner than I can help. We will discuss the matter when I get home." Long before the gray of the morning began to steal up the eastern sky, the hope of solving the mystery of Tregeagle's Head — if mystery existed — had almost died out of his heart. *' Nanny may have heard a cry," he said to himself, " or many cries. She may have fancied that it sounded like his voice. But fancies are not facts. She is not to blame; but clearly there is no hope in this direction." The cotters of Restormel were early abroad in the fields, and as Harry had no wish to be seen, he stole homeward ere the night began to melt, sadly dis- appointed with the result of his watch, and much per- plexed about the next step he should take. Meanwhile Abel Tregonning was raving and fuming like a man possessed. His taste of solitary confinement produced anything but a softening effect upon him ; the gnawings of hunger were not as yet a means of grace. He was angry at everybody and everything, himself included, and in his frenzy he shouted himself lioarse, and beat the door until his hands were bruised and bleeding. "She must be a born fool," he said to himself, "that she don't come here and look me up, and see that everything is straight ; but if ever I get out o' this hole, she shall feel the rough side of my tongue, if not something wuss." He did not consider tliat he had taken the key witli liim, and had told her that he was going to Pentudy to see Nathan Faddon and Sam Trewalsick. He thought her own common-sense should lead her to the lock-up 146 TREGEAGLE'S HEAD. directly she discovered he did not turn up when expected. " But there," he groaned, " women ain't got no com- mon-sense. You might as well expec' sense out ov a spar stone. An nobody knows what stupid things she'll be a-doin , an' 'ere be I forsook ; an' only the Lord knows what'll become ov me." By the time night had closed round liim he was almost exhausted, and too hoarse to shout. He could only sit, like Bunyan's Giant, grinding his teeth and biting his nails, and threatening unutterable things to all and sundry who had helped him into his present predicament. It was considerably after midnight when Nathan, after doing his best to encourage Mrs. Tregonning, began to consider how he could best get at the prisoner. He had some keys of his own, and he resolved he would do what he could with these as a first attempt. Much was his surprise, therefore, in trying the street-door, to find that it was unlocked. For Nanny, in her eagerness to escape unobserved, had not waited to turn the key in the door. " Hello," said Nathan to himself, '' what in the name ov Moses is the meanin' of this ! " But he did not stay to debate the question. Marching along the corridor to the cell door, he tried that also. " Hum," he grunted to himself, " Abel's not " But he never finished the sentence. The next moment he was startled by a hoarse voice calling from within. "Is that you, Susan? Do let me out, for God's " Let you out 1 " called Nathan, nearly letting the lantern fall in his terror. '*' Who be you ? " '' Who be I ? " snarled Abel from Avithin. " Why I be Abel Tregonning, you fool. Who be you ? " But without waiting to reply Nathan rushed out of the place, and bursting in on Mrs. Tregonning, shouted, DISAPPOINTMENT. 147 " Abel's locked up in the cell. Come this very minute." Bewildered and incredulous Susan followed him, and was soon j^ounding on the cell door with her hands, calling — " Be you really there, Abel ? " '' Of course I be here," he snarled. " Where else should I be ? Do let me out." " But wdiere's the key ? " she asked. "How do I know?" he snapped. "Dosttha think I've locked myself in for the fun ov it ? " " Then Avho locked you in ? " she called. " The Lord knows, I don't," he groaned. " But Fce about getting me out, and don't chatter so much." "But ^ow" are 'ee to be got out?" she asked. "We caan't undo the door without a key." Abel groaned savagely, then after a moment said — " Ain't Nathan there ? " " Aye," Nathan answered, with a touch of disappoint- ment in his tone, for the hope of stepping into Abel's slioes had vanished since he discovered that he was alive and well. '■ Can't you get me out ? " Abel asked querulously. "I don't know," said Nathan, a little bit sulkily. " W^here's your prisoner ? " "Bolted," snarled Abel. " Then there's two on you bolted," chuckled Nathan v.ith a sudden inspiration of wit, which was an astonish- ment to him for the rest of his natural life. " Don't be a hass, Nathan," snarled Abel. " No need," said Nathan. " One ass in this place is enough at a time." Abel ground his teeth, but did not reply, for he felt that the rebuke was only too well merited. " What are 'ee agoin' to do ? " he asked at length in a mikler tone. 148 TKEGEAGLE'S HEAD. "I'm trying- my keys," said Nathan, "but they'll none on 'em fit." " Can't you get a crowbar and jDrize the door open ? " asked Abel. " Do 'ee think I carry a crowbar round wi' me in my waistcoat pocket ? " Nathan asked maliciously. " Where be I to get a crowbar ? " " Moses Dingle will lend 'e one," said Abel. "Moses Dingle be in bed an' asleep hours agone," Nathan answered. " Then go an' rouse 'im up," roared Abel. " And let all the place know you've made a fool o' yourself, and let your prisoner 'scape ? " said Nathan. Abel groaned, but did not reply. " 'Ain't you a bar about the place as '11 answer the purpose ? " Nathan asked at length. " No," grunted Abel. " Then you'll 'ave to bide the consequences," was the retort, "Good Lord, 'ain't I bided the consequences long enough already ? " growled Abel. " Why, man, I'm nearly famished, and as sore as Jerry Fidler's cow." " Sarve 'e right," said Nathan. "A purty mess you've got the constabulary into, for we'll all be blamed for it." " What's the use o' rakin' that up ? " complained Abel. " Why don't 'e do somethin', and jaw less ? " " I be doin' what I can," said Nathan, " so how'd thy noise." For the next couple of hours Nathan, assisted by Abel's wife, tried every method they could think of for the purpose of getting the cell door open, while Abel waited within in a fever of impatience. But nothing came of the attempt. " It's as firm as a hact of Parliament," said Nathan ; " and nothin' less than a batterin' ram '11 bring it down, in my opinion." DISAFFOINTMENT. 149 "Oh dear," sighed Susan Tregonning in reply. ''I don't know what poor Abel '11 do ; I'm 'fraid he'll faint." " Not he," said Nathan, " he's too mad to faint ; but we may as well let the cat out ov the bag first as last, and get Moses down with a crowbar an' some wedges." " Aye," assented Susan. " Shall I go an' fetch him ? " " No ; you stay 'ere an' comfort Abel. Moses '11 be sleepin' as sound as a church by this time, so I'll go myself." And Nathan started off to wake up the village black- smith, and enlist his assistance if not his sympathy. Moses was not the most amiable of men at the best of times, and so it may be taken for granted that to be roused out of a sound sleejD between two and three in the morning did not tend to improve his temper. But when he learned the object for which he had been called, he first swore, then laughed, and finally declared that Abel might remain in the cell till his ears grew moss, for all he cared. " But won't you come an' try open the door ? " said Nathan. " I'll eat my ears off fust," said Moses. " He clapped me in that lock-up once when I was a little over the bay, an' I ain't forgotten it yet, nor ain't likely to this year." " But the prisoner's 'scaped," j^leaded Nathan. " I'm glad of it," said Moses. " An what's more, I hope you'll never catch him again." "What!" said Nathan, aghast. "Do 'e rejoice in the 'scajje ov a murderer ? " " Get away, man, and shut up tliy tatey chopper," roared Moses. " He's no more a murderer than thou art." " But," pleaded Nathan, '' Abel's been in the lock-up since yesterday mornin' with notliin' to ait." 150 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. ''' I'm glad to hear it," said Moses, with a great burst of laughter. " But he'll starve," said Nathan. '' Well, let him," was the reply. *•' He's been so mighty perky of late, that it's quite time somethin' took down his conceit." " And so you'll not come ? " questioned Nathan, making a last appeal. " Come ? — no ! " roared Moses, growing angry again. '^ But if you are not gone, and that mighty soon, you'll repent it." And he shut the window with a bang, while Nathan stole away into the darkness in the direction of the court-house. Both Abel and Susan were getting very impatient at his long absence, and when at length he returned, and told the result of his errand, Abel began to swear and his wife to cry. " Now, you may as well hush," said Nathan, feeling very much out of temper himself. " Neither swearin nor blubberin' is agoin' to mend matters; Ave' 11 'ave to 'bide till mornin ; we'll get help then, and batter down the door." "But I'll be dead wi' hunger afore that," groaned Abel. "Caan't 'elp it," said Nathan, hidifferently ; "I'm dead beat wi' tiredness an' want ov sleep, so I'm goin' in to your ^ouse and try an' get a nap," and without waiting to hear Abel's reply he marched away. Susan followed him a few minutes later and fetched a chair, which she placed close to the cell door, that she might keep her husband company. But she soon fell into a sound sleep, for Abel w^as too angry and hungry to talk, besides which, she was almost worn out with anxiety and fatigue. When she awoke the light of day was all about her, and Nathan was standing before her with the missing key in his hand. DISAPPOINTMENT. 151 " Come, get out o' the way," he said ; " I want to unlock the door." "Unlock the door ! " she said, starting up with a look of bewilderment in her eyes. *'Aye," he said, "look spry. Don't 'e see you're blocking the keyhole ? " " Have you got the key ? " she said excitedly. "Where did 'e find it?" "Didn't find it at all," he said. " Davey Polgooth found it as he was goin' to his Avork." " Where ? " she asked quickly. " In one ov the fields on the way to Carn Duloe," he said. The next moment the door was thrown open, and Abel staggered fortli out of the foul reeking atmosphere, looking as worn and haggard as though he had risen from a bed of sickness. He did not say anything, he was too faint and dejected to speak. Slowly and un- steadily he walked between his wife and Nathan to his own house, where he dropped into a chair with a gasp, muttering, "Do get me something to eat, Sue, or I shall die." The potato cake which had been prepared for the previous evening was soon fished out of the turf ashes where it had been kept warm, and Abel proceeded to attack it with a vigour that left nothing to be desired, washing down large junks of it with deep draughts of warm milk and Avater. When he had appeased his hunger he washed himself, then staggered up-stairs to bed ; half-way up the stairs he paused, and called to Nathan. " Don't go away," he said. " Send somebody's boy down to Pentudy to let your wife know you're not coming home just yet ; I'll have just an hour's sleep, an then, Nathan, we must tackle this business." " All right," Nathan answered. " And meantime," said Abel, " you can go ovei' to 152 TREGEAGLE'S HEAD. Squire Trelawney's an' get a searcli warrant ; we caan't afford to lose no more time than necessary." " We've lost a purty mess ov time a'ready," Nathan answered. " Aye, that's true 'nough," Abel said, with a groan. "But we'll get the best o' this affair yet." " I hope so," was the reply. " Well, thee start for the squire's," said Abel. " Tell him the whole story ; how as I was a enterin' the cell wi' his breakfas' in my hand, he springed upon me sudden, an' knocked me down, an' while I was lyin' senseless he walked off, slammin' the door behind 'im." " He'll be purty mad," said Nathan. " He can't be no madder than I be," Abel replied. " Dunno 'bout that," said Nathan. " Anyhow I'll do as you say," and he picked up his hat and stick and walked away. IN SIGHT OF FREEDOM, 153 CHAPTER XIX. IX SIGHT OF FREEDOM. " Tlion, who hast a vague foreboding That a peril may be near, Even when nature smiles around thee, And thy conscience holds thee clear — Trust the warning — look before thee, — Angels may the mirror show, Dimly still, but sent to guide thee, We are wiser than wc know." Charles Mackay. Mr. Penryx was waiting up for Harry's return. He recognized his knock, and let him in witliout a word ; tlien securely bolting tlie door, he followed him into the study, where a bright fire was burning, and a tempting meal spread on the table. Harry threw himself wearily into a deep wicker chair before the fire and sighed. " Come, my boy," said his father, " you had better get something to eat while you have the chance of having it in peace." " Yes, you are right," he said absently. " I don't know when I may be able to get another good meal." " We are in God's hands," said his father solemnly. " The issues of life and death alike arc with Him." "I've discovered nothing," Harry said after a j^ause. " I expected as much," was the answer. Then silence fell between them while Harry resolutely attacked the joint of cold meat before him. Mr. Penryn sat and watched him with an anxious look in his eyes I. 154 TREGEAGLE'S HEAD. and deep lines of care upon his brow. He was wishful that Harry should be the first to allude to any future plans. " I do not think any good can come of my going on Tregeagle's Head again," Harry said at length. " I am of the same opinion," his father answered. " Yet liberty is very sweet, father." " It is, my boy." " And life is a precious thing, after all." '' It is from God," the Vicar said solemnly. " Perhaps I ought not to yield it up lightly," Harry said after a few moments of silence. "Not unless some great and good purpose is to be accomplished thereby," his father answered. *' Just so. But by hanging me I don't know that good will come to anybody." " That is true, my boy. And that is why I have been wishful you should try to get away from here to some place of safety." " Have you thought of any plan of escape ? " Harry asked after a pause. " I have thought of many," the Vicar replied, " but only one of them seems feasible." "And that one?" " That when night comes on you start and walk to Lugger Sands." " It's a long walk," said Harry. " It's just twelve miles," said his father. " You can walk it easily in four hours ; that is, if you start from here at midnight, you will get there about four in the morning." " And when I get there ? " he asked. " When you get there board Captain Will Paterson's brig, the G-i])sy, which is lying close up to the quay. You can't miss her, for she's the only brig there. There are two or three small schooners besides, so that you can't possibly make a mistake." IN SIGHT OF FREEDOM. 155 '"' And what tlieu ? " *' Ask for Captain Will if you don't see him, and give a letter into his hand which I will give you/' '' Well/' said Harry, " and what Avill that lead to ? " " Will Paterson, as you know, is an old friend of mine/' said the Yicar. '' He came to see me ten days ago, you may remember him. He walked all the way from Lugger Sands for the sake of old times." " Yes, I remember him," said Harry. ''Well, I have learned that the Gipsy sails to-morrow morning. It will be hi^h tide about six ; and as he has only ballast on board he'll weigh anchor perhaps an hour before that. Now I know Will Avould do anything in reason to oblige me, and when he discovers who you are, he'll be only too glad to help you." " Do you mean that I remain on board, and go to sea with liim ? " " That's just what I do mean," the Vicar replied. "He owns the Gi]jsy ; he is bound to no port in j^ar- ticular, and if he likes he can run you across to the Irish coast, or the Welsh coast, or the French coast, anywhere where you and he may think best." " It looks feasible, though not unattended with risk," Harry said after a pause. " There's risk whatever you do or don't do," the A^icar said quickly. '' It's risky remaining here." " I never thouoht at one time I could entertain such a proposal," Harry said, as if speaking to himself; then raising his eyes suddenly to his father's, he said, '' Do you think it's cowardly to try to skulk off in this way ? " " If I thought so I should not propose it," was the quick reply. "Then I'll make the attempt," Harry said, with a touch of passion and energy in his voice. " I can but fail ; and now for bed and forty winks." When Harry had gone up-stairs the Vicar drew up his chair to the fire and for a long time sat perfectly • 156 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. still, gazing into the grate. Though he had sat up the whole of the night he was not in the least sleepy. He sometimes felt that he would never sleep soundly again. He did not notice the daylight beginning to peep through the joints of the window-shutters. He Avas thinking of some future time when, Harry having got safe to some distant land, he and Gladys would join him. To continue to live in Kestormel, he felt, would be an impossibility. Whether Harry escaped or was re-taken, the fact remained that the majority of his parishioners believed, and would ever believe, that he was guilty of the murder of Jack Dunstan. Hence to dwell amongst them as their minister while they cherished such a belief would be more than he could endure. He was roused at length by Mrs. Gaved coming into the room. " You should have gone to bed and got a few hours' sleep," she said, beginning to open the shutters. "You'll be knocking yourself up at this rate." " I will have a bath," he said, " that will do me more good," and he left the room at once. Mrs. Gaved sighed, then marched away into the kitchen, and soon the usual stir and bustle began to make themselves felt all tlirough the house. Mr. Penryn had just completed his toilet when there came a loud rat-tat at the door, Gladys sprang up in bed, her heart beating wildly, while Mrs. Gaved ran into the dining-room, that she might get a peep at their early visitor before letting him in. Harry slej^t on undisturbed. "It's Mr. Dunstan," said Mrs. Gaved to the Vicar, Avho was hurriedly descending the stair. Mr. Penryn gave a sigh of relief. " I feared it was the constable," he said. " But open the door, Mrs. Gaved, and show him into the study." A moment Jater Mr. Penryn and the farmer stood face to face. IN SIGHT OF FREEDOM. l.V " Have you licard the news ? " tlie farmer burst out, without waiting even to say good-morning. " Wliat news ? " said the Vicar, quietly. "Wliy, the village is in an uproar," said Mr. Dunstan. '' Your son has escaped, and Abel's been discovered locked up in his cell." " Abel locked up in the place of my son ?" questioned the Vicar, with a curious twinkle in his eye. '•' Aye ! he says as how yesterday mornin' he took in his breakfas' as usual, when Harry sprang upon him like a tiger, knocked him down and nearly killed him, and that while he lay stunned, made his escape, locking the door behind him." The Vicar laughed, while the farmer regarded him with a puzzled expression. "It's awful curious," w^ent on the farmer, after a pause. "It seems Davey Polgooth, going to his work as soon as it Avas dawn, found the lock-up key in a field on the way to Carn Duloe. Of course he didn't know who the key belonged to, so he thought he'd return it to Abel, but when he got to the house he found Fraddon there. Abel Avas locked up, Fraddon said, and he had been trying all night to prize open the door, but with- out success. Of course when they got the key Abel was liberated directly." " It is a curious story/' said the Vicar, reflectively, "very curious." " I'm precious glad he's escaped all the same," said ^[r. Dunstan, " for I fear he'd have no chance before a jury. And they haven't had a hanging at Bodmin for such a long time that they'd be glad of the chance of convicting him." "Don't say that, Dunstan," said the Vicar. "We must try not to be ungenerous." " I do try," said the farmer, " but it's hard work sometimes. I do hope Harry '11 get safe away. It's hard enough for me to lose my boy; I don't want you. Vicar, 158 TREGEAGLE8 HEAD. to lose yours also ; " and Mr. Dunstan blew his nose violently. For a few minutes there was silence in the room. The Vicar hesitated whether he should tell the farmer the whole truth about the matter, but finally decided that the fewer the people who knew the secret the better. " I expect Abel'll be here directly," said the farmer, jerking out the words abruptly. " What makes you think so ? " said Mr. Penryn, with a touch of anxiety in his voice. " Well, I saw Fraddon hurrying off to Squire Tre- lawney's for a search warrant," said Mr. Dunstan ; " so I expect he'll search your house first off." " He is quite welcome," said the Vicar, calmly. " I shall put no obstacle in his way." " Mother's quite delighted," said Mr. Dunstan, after a pause. " The news has been like medicine to her. Next to the news that Jack was living, nothing could have done her more good." "I am glad she is better," said Mr. Penryn, with evident sincerity, " very glad." " I hope she'll not get bad news to knock her down again, that's all." " I hope not, indeed." "Well, I must be going," said the farmer, sidling towards the door. "Work can't stop, whatever happens." " That's quite true," said the Vicar. " Oh, by the bye," said Mr. Dunstan, pausing with his hand on the door-knob, " I forgot to tell you that Treo^eao^le's been seen asrain." " Nonsense and fiddlesticks 1 " said the Vicar, im- patiently. " You always say that," answered the farmer, " but I believe there is something in it. Both Fraddon and Susan Tregonning declare they saw him as plain as ever they saw anything in their lives. He was standing IN SIGHT OF FREEVOM. 159 on the farthest point of the headland, clear and distinct against the sky, and they say he was as tall as four ordinary men." " Hem ! " said the Vicar, suddenly remembering that they might have seen Harry. " You say ' hem ! ' " said the farmer, " but you sec if there ain't a storm after tliis ; he never apj^ears excejDt before a storm." ''Dunstan," said the A'icar, seriously, "you ought to know better than to give credence to such silly superstitions." "Perhaps I ought," he said; ''but time'll tell, all the same." And the next moment he was gone. Two hours later Abel and Nathan were espied by Gladys coming across the churchyard at a rapid rate. Harry had been up some little time, and all the beds were made, and everything about the house was neat and orderly, " Quick, Harry," said the Yicar, " there is not a minute to be lost." ''All right," was the reply; "but if you look as excited as you do now, they will begin to suspect something." "Don't trouble about me," was the answer, "but get into hiding at once." A few minutes later there was a loud double knock at the door. One of the maids opened it, while the Yicar remained in his study. Gladys and Mrs. Gaved were by this time in the dining-room. " Is Mr. Penryn in ? " said Abel in surly tones, and in liis most pompous manner. " I believe so," said the maid. ''I will go to his study and see." Abel and Nathan followed her. "Excuse us not standin' on ceremony," said Abel, trying to look defiant. " Your son have escaped, an' we've come here to search for'n," 160 TREGEAGLE'S HEAD. " You say my son has escaped ? " said the Vicar, pre- tending to look incredulous, a guilty kind of feeling comino: over him at the same time. " We do, sir ; an' no\y you'll excuse us if we search your house." " Of course I will excuse you," said the Yicar, blandly. " And be assured of this, I will not put the least obstacle in your way." Abel's face fell, while Nathan whispered to him — " I towld 'e 'twern't no use comin' 'ere. We'd 'ave better made for Carn Duloe first thing." " Hold thy voice," said Abel^ angrily. " Thee hold thine," snarled Nathan ; while Mr. Pen- ryn looked on with an amused smile upon his face. The next moment the search began. They started with the cellars, and steadily mounted upwards, carefully examining each room in turn. At length they came to the Vicar's bed-room. Harry in his place of hiding could hear every word that was said. And now that they were so near him, and he knew that the least sound or movement would betray his presence, he be- came painfully nervous. He badly wanted to sneeze, the dust of the old wardrobe had got into his nose, and the irritation was becoming unbearable. What a position to be in — life trembling upon the ability or otherwise to suppress a sneeze. Oh, the tor- ture of those moments ! He could hear Abel and his companion pulling out drawers, and the almost noiseless sound of heaps of clothes being thrown on the floor. Oh, how he wished that Gladys and Mrs. Gaved Avould come in and start up a clatter of conversation, or make a noise of any kind, under cover of which this dreaded sneeze might have play. But the room was almost painfully silent. He knew that his father was there watching the proceedings, but he was evidently in no mood for conversation. " It is of no use," he said to himself at length. " I IN SIGHT OF FREEDOM. 161 shall be compelled to sneeze in spite of myself, and then my doom is sealed." Never did life seem more sweet than at that moment ; never did liberty seem more worth an effort. He was already, he thought, within sight of freedom. Once on board Paterson's boat, and he would defy all the con- stables of England to recapture him ; and in another land perhaps Mary might come to him, and all his hopes be realized. He pinched his nose until it ached, but the imtation would not cease. In spite of every effort it seemed to be steadily growing worse. Could he hold out ? He feared not. Now they had reached the wardrobe. He heard the twist of the handle, but the door was not opened. Then Abel spoke in very pompous tones. " Will you kindly unlock this door, Mr. Vicar ? " " With pleasure," he heard his father say ; " though I really do not think it is locked." " Excuse me, but I say 'tes," said Abel. " Perhaps you are right," said Mr. Penryn ; '' but let me try it. There," — as the door flew open — "it only sticks a little. I thought it was not locked." Harry's heart thumj^ed so loudly that he thought they would be certain to hear it. "Unhang those clothes," said Abel to Nathan, "an bundle 'em out." "It's no useruckin' up all the gentleman's clo's," said Nathan. " He caan't git into the pockits, an' he ain't 'ere, that's sartiu." " Well, stand aside, an' let mo have a look," said Abel. " Look as much as thee hast a mind to," Nathan said, standing aside iov Abel to make an inspection. Abel evidently had no scruples about " ruckin' up the frentlcman's clo's." He flunoj coats and vests rioht and left, and finally, with something like an oath, he banged the door to and marched out of the room. 162 TREGEAGLE'S HEAD. But he had scarcely reached the door when the sound of a suppressed sneeze fell distinctly upon his ear. Nathan was close upon his heels. In a moment both men paused, and turned quickly on their heels. But with a rare hit of diplomacy the Vicar, who was standing close to the wardrobe, was ready for them. He too had heard the sneeze, and quick as thought had pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket, puckered up his face, bent his shoulders forward, and was in the act of applying the handkerchief to his nose wdien the constables turned round. They did not speak, they looked at him for a moment, wdiile he seemed to be preparing for a second paroxysm of the nasal membranes, then turned and marched away. The Vicar followed them through the other rooms and up into the attic, and finally led the way down- stairs, opeued the front door for them, and politely bowed them out. A moment or two later Gladys put on her hat and followed them. She came back again after about ten minutes. '' They're off across the fields in the direction of Carn Duloe," she said; ''so I think they won't trouble us any more to-day.". EXCITEMENT. 163 CHAPTER XX. EXCITEMENT. " And though he posted e'er so fast, His fear was greater than his haste ; For fear, though fleeter thau the wind, BeHeves 'tis always left behind." — Butler. Naxxy's reception of tlie constables was characteristic. In harmony Avitli her invariable custom, she came to meet her visitors. " I knew thou wert coming/' she said to Abel, "so I came to meet thee." " How did 'e knoAV ? " said Abel ; " did ^e sec us ? " " Nay," she said, with a scornful toss of her head, " I did not see thee. Dost think I can sec through a stone wall ? " " I don't know what you can see through, or what you can do, except mischief," said Abel, sullenly. The witch laughed. " A purty scrape you've got me into," Abel said. " Me ? ■"' she said, lifting her eyebrows in seeming astonishment. "Yes, you," said Abel, while Nathan listened in surprise. "Ah, Abel !" she said mockingly, " thou art a trusty jailer — a very trusty jailor. But why art thou so down in the mouth ? Has thy bird flown ? " "You needn't ask that," Abel answered bitterly: "it 164 TREQEAGLWS HEAD. was you as transmuggerified 'im with your drugs an' witchery." " Thou believes that ? " she said in a tone of triumph. " I'm sure on it," he answered savagely. " Well, and if I did ? " she asked, '' what then ? Have I not the right to exercise my power sometimes. Come with me into my house, and I will exercise my jDOAver over thee ! " " Not if I know it," said Abel, starting back. " But thou camest to search my dwelling, and brought this fool with thee " (with a scornful look at Nathan), " because thou hadst not courage to come thyself." " Who said so ? " said Abel, looking dreadfully fright- ened ; while Nathan literally shook in his shoes. "Who said so?" she asked, in a tone of ineffable scorn. " I said so, man. Dost think because thou art a fool, that everybody else is equally devoid of sense ? But come, and I will lead the way." But neither of the men moved. " Art afraid ? " she said, mockingly. "P'raps we be an' p'r'aps we bain't," said Abel in a sudden inspiration of lucidity. " Ah, Abel," she said with a smile, " thy caution is worthy thy intelligence, and both do thee credit." " I don't know," said Abel, looking puzzled, " but you are sich a old hand." The witch laughed again. " Me an' Nathan, 'tes true, 'ave come up here searchin' for the prisoner ; but if you'll swear on the Bible as he ain't 'ere we'll be satisfied." " Aye," said Nathan, speaking for the first time. " We don't want to search your house, Mrs. Flue ; indeed, we don't want to give you no trouble at all. We'll take your word giv'd on oath." " How very considerate," she said, with a curl of her lip. " But come a little further, for no harm shall come to you while you remain in the open air;" and she EXCITEMENT. 165 turned on her heel and walked away toward her house. After some considerable liesitation Abel and Nathan decided to follow, and by and by found themselves on the little plateau on which the witch's house stood. It was an eerie spot even in the daytime. Perched on a ledge of rock was a raven, which begnn to croak in most sepulchral tones, while any number of magpies were hopping and chattering about the place. " Don't 'e think we'd better go ? " whispered Nathan. " I don't like the look ov this shop at all." " We'll be all right 'ere," said Abel ; " keep your heart up an' put a bold face on it." " Easier said than done," Nathan replied. " Ah," said the witch, looking at them with a curious twinkle in her eyes ; " you are a worthy pair of guardians of the peace. Your courage does you infinite credit." But neither Abel nor Nathan replied. " Well, come, you are wasting time," she said at length. ''There is my dwelling — enter, make diligent search ; mayhap your prisoner is there. I will not say he is not." " If we go in and search, will you promise no harm shall come to us ? " Abel asked. " Nay, I will promise thee nothing," was the reply. *' Whoso enters there does so at his own risk." Nathan shuddered. " This much, however, I will tell thee, that if thou crossest that threshold thy search will not end to-day. ]\Iy house is but the vestibule of a cavern. Whither it extends, what it contains, I will not disclose. Search for thyself, I give thee permission." But Abel only shook his head. " Afraid ! and thou a constable ? " she said mockingly. " Come, I will lead the way, and find thee tapers." " No, not to-day, Mrs. Flue," Abel said, drawing back a pace or two. 166 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. _ "But you came for this purpose/' she said, with a scornful glance at the two men. " Well, no, not exactly," said Abel ; " we did not Avant to do any searching ; but we thought if you had the prisoner 'ere 3^ou might give him up to us, or that if he was not 'ere you'd say so on oath." " Weak cowards, away with you," she said, with a curl of the lip. "And let jowv pace be rajoid, lest evil over- take you. I give you five minutes to be out of the forest ; and if — " But neither waited to hear the end of the sentence. Nathan was the first to take to his heels. Abel's step was more measured at the outset, but as soon as he had turned the spur of rock he started off like the wind. " That woman's the very devil," he said, as he tore ahead of his panting and atfrighted comrade. ''I know it," gasped Nathan, quickening his pace; " but don't leave me, Abel." " Every man for himself these times, an' the devil take the hindmost," Abel called back, without in any degree slackening his pace. " No, don't say that," gasped Nathan, " for I believe she's after me." " Caan't help it," was the only rej^ly he got, and a minute or two later Abel was out of sight. At the foot of the hill, however, he waited for Nathan, and side by side, with very measured steps, they made their way into the village. " We've been madepurty fools of," remarked Nathan, as soon as he had recovered his breo.th. " Aye, but say nothin' 'bout it,^' Abel replied. '' If she's got him there she won't keep him long ; he'll be trying to clear off some ov these nights, so we mus' be on the look-out." It was the wakeful dinner-time when they got into the village, and the whole j)lace was in a ferment of excitement. Everybody was in the open air, and every- EXCITEMENT. Wi body was discussing the strange and unex2:)ected turn in the tide of affairs. Abel and Nathan were surrounded by an eager and inquiring crowd directly they came into sight. They would gladly have escaped if they could, but there was no chance for them ; so they stood their ground, and answered the torrent of questions poured upon them to the best of their ability. Abel had to give his version of the escape of the prisoner, and Nathan had to tell the story of the appearance of Treg- eao'le on the headland. And to this was added the further mystery of the old man Susan Tregonning had seen under the shadow of the pine wood, and which now she firmly believed was a ghost, though she did not think so at the time. Abel had his own theory about this ghost, which, however, he kept to himself. He had no doubt in his own mind that Nanny, by means of drugs or incanta- tions, or perhajos both, had what he called " transmug- geritied " the prisoner. Hence it was as likely as not that this old man his wife had seen was none other than Harry Penryn, stealing off under cover of darkness to some place of hiding. It is true that against this theory there were a great many objections, but this was equally true of nearly every other theory. In fact the wliole affair at present was shrouded in myster}^ Still he was resolved that if he ever came across this old man he would arrest him on suspicion. At an informal meeting of magistrates that morning it was resolved to offer a reward on their own account for the apprehension of the prisoner, and an hour later Peter Guy's printing establishment was in a state of great excitement. To receive an order for a hundred bills during tlie forenoon, and exjoect them to be posted durin<4 tlie afternoon, was an unheard-of thincf in Kestor- mel. To begin with, Peter was not at all certain that he had jjaper enough in stock to meet such a large demand. Then his type had got considerably mixed, 168 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. for he scarcely got a printing order once in three months. In the present case, however, there was no time to be wasted in excuses or regrets — the thing must be done, so while Peter and his boys struggled to decipher the " copy " and set up the type, Peter's wife and the girls cleaned the " press," mixed the ink, and cut the paper into lengths. By three o'clock in the afternoon the first bill was posted on the door of the court-house. It was a unique specimen of the printer's art. On the top of the page in large type was the word " murder," followed by the announcement of ten pounds reward ; but in the un- usual hurry of production it was only natural perhaps that a few mistakes should have crept in unobserved. Moreover, some of Peter's sons, who lent a heliDing hand, had never attempted type-setting before, and so were not to blame for getting in a few letters upside down. Indeed, the wonder is that they got in the letters at all. The crowd that soon gathered round the door of the court-house found not a little difficulty in reading the placard, of which we append a copy. MUy;DaIl ? WhERas on tHE morNinG oj tHe 13th DAy of sEPtemBer ona: HEnRy PeNRYn diD ajter wiL ^uUy malTaavTiug his J viler EsoYdE Fnom j;Rison Ha BeeixG CoMMiTaT For triAL On ThE cHYUGe of WillfaLL muRdER AnD siNca SAH noT Seen BeeN or HaviiD of ThE ABove •^EWVHD wil Be jAiD To YNA onE wHo shALl CaPx^R HiM or give ScH iivifoREMatun as shAL LEaQ to his aRregT. By Order. Gladys managed to secure an early copy of the proclamation."— P. 160. EXCITEMENT. 169 By ten minutes past three four more copies Lad been struck off, after which time, the machine having got into working order, the rate of production was much more rapid. The posting of these placards produced intense ex- citement, not only in Restormel, but also in Portliloo and Pentudy, where they were conspicuously displayed. Gladys, who was always on the look-out for news, managed to secure an early copy of the proclamation, and hurried off home with it with all possible haste. Harry, who was the first to inspect it, laughed till the tears ran down his face, notwithstanding the increased gravity of the situation. " Peter deserves a gold medal for this," he said ; " and if it does not secure him immortal fame, then all I can say is, tliat this is an ungrateful world." The Yicar, however, only saw the serious side of the question. A hundred people would now be on the look- out instead of two, and so the difficulties in the w^ay of Harry's escape would be increased a hundredfold. " This is a very grave matter, my son," he said to Harry, after he had glanced over the bill, " a very grave matter." " Yes, it makes escape more difficult," Harry replied ; "but I think we shall manage to outwit them." " I hope so ! I hope so ! " said the Vicar, gravely ; "but my heart begins to misgive me." " Nay, nay, father," Harry answered, cheerfully, " don't despair so soon. And even if the worst comes to tlie worst, why it won't matter nuich ; a few years more or less of life is not worth troubling about." But the Vicar did not reply; he walked away into liis stufly with a sadly troubled face, and an oppressive foreboding in liis heart. The remainder of the day wore slowly on. When tea- time came no one had any appetite for it. The nervous tension was becoming very painful ; un every face there M 170 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. was a look of apprehension; while poor little Gladys declared she had a feeling as though there was a great stone in her heart. Each one felt that a crisis had come. At twelve o'clock Harry would go out from the Vicarage to return to it no more. If he escaped he would be an exile for the rest of his days, and years might pass before they looked upon his face again. If he were retaken, two or three weeks at most, in all probability, would be the measure of his life. Hence it was impossible to be cheerful under the circumstances. Slowly the hands travelled round the white dial of the clock, brinoiuo: nearer and nearer the time when the long farewell would be spoken. Mrs. Gaved tried to sew ; the Vicar tried to read, biit the effort in each case was a fruitless one. Harry paced up and down the hall, restless and excited. He was eager for freedom now, anxious to live ; to go back to prison again would be a thousand times worse than at the first. Better never to have escaped than to be retaken. By eleven o'clock Harry had completed his disguise, and packed the small bundle of things he would take with him. Then all the lights were put out, and to all outward appearance the vicarage ^vas Avrapped in slumber. Yet every eye ^vas wide aw^ake. Close together in the dim firelight they sat, Harry holding his sister's hand. It Avas a pathetic picture. What the future had in store no one could tell; but even the most hopeful out-look seemed full of pain. The Vicar's mouth Avorked painfully all the while; Mrs. Gaved wept silently, letting the tears fall into her lap without an effort to wdpe them away. Harry's face was stern and resolute; but every now^and then he pressed his sister's hand, while a tender, pleading look stole into his eyes. Gladys seemed the most hopeful of the four. " I have been praying to God for you," she whispered EXCITEMENT. 171 to him, " and He has put the peace into my heart again ; so I knoWj dear Harry, it will bj all right." For answer he pressed her hand again, then all was silent once more, save for the ticking of the clock, and the pitiful moan of the wind up the chimney. So the minutes wore slowly on till close upon the stroke of midnight ; tlien Harry rose, and without a word went up to his father's chair and kissed him. "Good-bye, my son," the Vicar said in a choking voice, " and God be with thee." But Harry did not answer. In silence he kissed Mrs. Gaved, and then he gave Gladys a great hug ; he tried to speak to her, but the words would not come. " My darling Harry, don't be down-hearted," she said with a j^laintivc smile. And for answer he kissed her acjain and af^ain. Then he stole quietly into the hall, where he donned his hat and shouldered his bundle. The others came after him, and the Vicar noiselessly opened the back door and held it ajar. " Good-bye, and God bless you all," he struggled to say, then stej^ped out into the night. For a moment he stood on the threshold, then turned for one last glance, and without a word plunged into the darkness. 172 TREGEAaiE'S HEAD. CHAPTER XXL IN THE NIGHT. "Well may dreams present us fictions, Since our waking moments teem With siicli fanciful convictions, As make life itself a dream. Half our daylight faith's a fable ; Sleep disports witli shadows too. Seeming in their turn as stable As the world we wake to view." — Ca^mtbell. Harry's heart beat fast when the door had closed behind him, and he found himself once more alone in the night. He never before felt the sense of forsaken- ness as he felt it now. Home, kindred, friends — all were lost to him again, and he was once more adrift with but one glimmering star of hojje to guide him. At the gate he paused for a moment, and looked back at his old home dimly outlined against the cloudy sky. It seemed a strange fate that he should be leaving it thus. What had he done that he should have to creep away like a thief in the night, startled by his own foot- steps and trembling at his own shadow ? He had often heard his father preach about Providence, but somehow the memory of his father's words brought him very little comfort no^v. He had a feeling that Providence had forsaken him, and gone into league with a cruel fate to blight his life. All that was dear to him he was leaving behind, IN THE NIGHT. 173 never perhaps to see again. How cosy and restful and warm seemed that liome-nest to him now ! How peace- ful its daily uneventful life ! How loving its embrace ! And yet he would never, he thought, enter that door again, nor sleep in that cosy room doubly dear to him now — where he had slept almost ever since he could remember, lulled to slumber ofttimes by the dreamy wind singing in the pines. " Dear old home," he said to himself. " We never value our blessings till they are lost to us. Oh, to be free again, to go and come as I used to do ; to ramble with Mary Dunstan u]) through the sloping pine wood, and dream of bliss which was once within my reach, but now is lost to me for ever." And he drew his hand quickly across his eyes to wipe away the unbidden tears. Suddenly he started back. Was that the figure of a man lurking in the shadow of the tall hazel-grown hedge on the opposite side of the road, or was it mere fancy ? Long and eagerly he looked with heart beating fjist ; but the heavier shadow — if shadow it was — against the hedge did not move. "It is my excited fancy playing me tricks," he said to himself. " I wonder if all my life is to be haunted by wretched fears like this ? If so the game will be hardly worth the candle.'* A moment later he pressed his hat a little more tightly on liis head, lifted his bundle a little higher on his shoulders, pushed open the gate, and stepped cau- tiously out into the lane. All was silent and motion- less. For a moment he paused to listen, but no sound broke the stillness, and with a sigh of relief he started down the lane at a swinging pace. On either side were tall hedges covered with hazel bushes, which often over- hung the road, makini^ it exceedinij^ly dark. He rather rejoiced in this than otherwise. ])arkness seemed a protection to liim ; and night, which as a lad he used to dread so much, had become his best friend. 174 TEEGEAGLE'S HEAD. On, on he went — then paused ! Was that the soft patter of feet behind him, or but the echo of his own firm steps. He turned on his heel and tried to pierce the darkness behind him, but neither sight nor sound greeted him. " It is my foolish fancy," he said, wiping away the perspiration that gathered suddenly upon his broAV. " I shall waste all my strength in foolish fears at this rate," and he turned on his heel once more and resolutely strode on. To divert liis thoughts from all unnecessary fears, he began to picture the long and lonely road he would have to travel before he reached Lugger Sands, Half a mile further on, Restormcl valley took a sudden bend, and lost itself at length in a little creek to the south of Porthloo. His road, however, lay straight on over the hill and across a wide stretch of " downs," or moorland, then down into the valley of the Lugger, whose tortuous course he would follow till it found the sea. "I wish I was there, at any rate," he said to himself; "for with this promise of ten pounds, I do not know who may be on the watch. But hist ! " A shrill whistle sounded clear and distinct, and went echoing down the valley. Harry felt his heart give a great bound, then it seemed to stop. "Can it be that some one is on my track," he muttered between his clenched teeth. " If so, there shall be a run for it." But no other sound startled the midnio^ht silence, and after a few moments he pressed forward again. " I expect some smugglers are about," he said to him- self. "This is just the night for them, and very likely the sound I heard is a signal." Yet all the while he kept fancying he heard the sound of footsteiDS behind him. Not loud and firm, but soft and muffled, as though a dog were following him. Fifty yards further on the road took a quick bend to IK THE NIGHT. 175 the right, with a stile on the left, or, more correctly, straight in front, leading to some farm-houses not far away. Harry had nearly reached this stile, when suddenly a man bounded over it into the road and confronted him, while very distinctly now came the sound of the footsteps behind him. '' Trapped ! " was the word that leaped to his lips ; but before he had tii\ie to utter it he felt himself grasped by the collar of his coat, and a voice, which he easily recognized as Abel Tregonnings, hissed in his ear, " You're a prisoner ! " He did not speak, but quick as thought he slipped out of his coat, which was loose and unbuttoned ; and ere Abel's slow brain could grasp v\diat had happened, he found himself grasping an empty coat, while Harry was bounding away at the speed of the wind. " What 1 'scaped again ? " said Nathan, running up, his feet well muffled in old stockings. ^' Curse 'im, iss ! " said Abel, pulling his whistle out of his pocket and blowing it vigorously, an example which Nathan quickly followed. Then both set off at a run after their prisoner, shouting in gasps, and at the top of their voices, '' Stop 1 Murder ! Stop 1 Murder ! " Scattered all over the country side were lonely farm- houses and secluded cottages, and many a light sleeper that night Avas startled by these unusual sounds, and sprang up in bed, and threw up their windows to know what they meant ; wliile farmers who happened to be in their farmsteads attendino- to sick cattle rushed off in the direction from whence the sounds came, and so almost unwittingly joined in the chase. Harry felt that his chance was hopeless from the first, but he was resolved not to give in without a struggle. He had not gone far when he met a farmer rushing to meet him with a pitchfork in liis hand. 176 TBEGEAGLE'Si HEAD. " What's up ? " shouted the farmer. But instead of replying Harry leaped the hedge, and went bounding across the fields. In a few minutes there was a great hue and cry behind him, and the thud of many feet on the grassy sward. " It's like a game of hunt the fox," he said to him- self, with a touch of his old cynicism, as he bounded on like a startled hare. ^' There he is ! " shouted a voice. " Where ? Where ? " cried two or three other voices. " Yonder against the thicket." And then the chase became fast and furious. Harry plunged into the thicket, cut across a corner of it, and then doubled back in the shadow of a tall hedge. This gave him a momentary advantage, for his pursuers began to search the thicket, thinking he had sought it as a i^lace of hiding. Meanwhile he was steadily creeping back towards the spot where the chase began. He had given up all thought of reaching Lugger Sands, nor did he think of trying to make his way back to the vicarage ; but if he could reach Nanny Flue's hut on the slope of Carn Duloe, he thought for the time being at least he would be safe. For a few moments he paused to recover his breath, then ran on again, still keeping in the shadow of the hedge. He had no real hope that any good would come of it. If he were not captured to-day, he would be to-morrow, or the day after that. Yet there was some small satisfaction in foiling his pursuers. All his nervousness by this time had passed away, and he was as cool as he ever had been. To extract a little fun out of Abel and Nathan, and those who had joined in the fray, was the most he expected to accomplish. Now a broad open field had to be crossed. Could he gain the other side without observation ? It seemed exceedingly doubtful. His j^ursuers were still beating IN THE NIGHT. 177 the thicket, but from various sounds which greeted his ears, recruits were joining them in all directions, and so his chances of escape were diminishing every minute. Still " nothing venture, nothing win," was the thought which passed through his mind, and stooping till his liands touched the ground, he began to creep on hands and feet across the open field. Half way across the field and still unobserved, and a feeble hope began to steal into his heart and to stir his jiulse to quicker motion. If he could gain the shelter of the wood which sloped up the hill-side, he might under its friendly cover steal round to Carn Duloe, and find a refuge in Nanny Flue's cavern. It was worth the effort, if only for the pleasure of foiling the blood- thirsty dogs who were at his heels. Siill on, and three-fourths of the distance cleared. " I shall do it now," he said to himself. " Once in the shelter of the wood I shall defy them." The next moment he was startled by a loud whoop, and a moment later the thud of running feet, coming, it seemed to liim, from all directions, fell upon his ear. " Trapped again ! " he ejaculated. ''' Now I must run for it," and rising to his feet, he bounded forward in the hope of reaching the wood before he was overtaken. But it was not to be. He saw a dark figure running up the field with the evident purpose of intercepting him ere he could reach the slope ; so he veered sud- denly to the left, and kept straight up the open valley, in full view of his pursuers. It was now a race for life pure and simple. But the odds were against him. Many of the runners were fresh to the work, besides which, they knew the ground better than he did. Still while thcjj were running for a share of a paltry ten- pound note, he was running for life — and life was sweet even yet, notwithstanding all lie had passed through. He still had a hope of reaching the wood and baffling them in its darkness ; if he failed in that his fate was 178 TBEGEAGLWS HEAD. sealed. Evidently, from the sounds which fell upon his ears, all his pursuers were now behind him. He could hear their laboured breathing, and the quick thud of their feet on the turf. Still on, and, judging by sounds alone, he was hold- ing his own. Some of his pursuers might be fresher than he, but he was lighter and more active tlian they, and so clearly they were not gaining upon him. This gave him a measure of confidence, and he began gradually to shape his course in the direction of Carn Duloe. But the race was beginning to tell upon him. There was not the same spring and elasticity in his step as at the first, and yet the chances are he w^ould have won the race but for a wooden hurdle that lay across his path, and which in the darkness he did not see. Coming suddenly upon this he fell heavily forward, and for a moment lay stunned and bewildered ; and when at length he scrambled to his feet his pursuers were all about him. Yet no man seemed to have the courage to touch him, but they closed round in a compact ring, and waited for Abel, who had been left far in the rear, to come up. " So you have caught me," he said, staring at them with a look of defiance. But no one answered him. "Cowards," he hissed between his teeth. "You might have given a man a chance to escape." But they growled sullenly and shook their heads. Then some one called out, " Here comes Abel ! " and the next moment the constable, angry and exhausted, broke through the ring and gripped Harry by the throat. But the next moment he had cause to resrret his savage passion, Harry would have submitted to the handcuffs without a word, but this unprovoked assault was more than his IN THE NIGHT. 179 English blood could bear ; and shaking himself free, he doubled his fist and dealt Abel such a blow between the eyes that the guardian of the peace fell to the ground like a log, and would have remained there for a considerable while had not friendly hands lifted him up. "You shall pay for this," muttered Abel, shaking with rage. "My turn will come next." *'You are welcome to do your worst," Harry said, defiantly, " and all these other cowards can help you if they like." By this time Nathan had slipped a 2>air of handcuffs on Harry's wrists, and the march commenced towards Restormel. Half an hour later he was alone in his cell once more, a prey to keener misery and deeper despair than he had ever known before. 180 TREGJJJAGLRS HEAD. CHAPTER XXII. PEKPLEXITY. "I stand like one ^vllO luis lost His way, and no man near him to inquire of ; Yet there's a providence above that knows The road whicli ill-men tread, and can direct Inquiring justice." — Siii E. Howard. Harry's second period of detention in the lock-up was of short duration. No sooner had Abel got him safely under lock and key once more, than he began to make prej^arations for their journey to Bodmin. First and foremost he fortified himself and Nathan with a substantial meal of potato cake and fried ling, w^ashed down with frequent draughts of herb beer. This was followed by neaidy an hour's sound sleej^. Then Abel started up, washed himself, put on a bran new worsted muffler, and started out, followed by Nathan. Nathan, however, was in a very complaining humour, and very much disposed to quarrel with Abel, for being in wdiat he termed " sich a tearin' 'urry." But Abel was not to be deterred from his purpose. He would " clear out wi' the dawn," he said, " an afore the foaks were stirrin'." The morning was raw and chilly, with a tendency to rain. The wind blew in from the west in fitful gusts, and moaned sadly up the long deserted street of the quaint old village. Nathan yawned incessantly, and grumbled at every PERPLEXITY. 181 step, but be assisted nevertbeless m getting tbe borse and trap ready, and drove round to tbe court-bouse door, wbile Abel went to apprise tbe prisoner of tbe next step in tbe little drama. Harry, in spite of weariness and disappointed hopes, bad dropped off into an uneasy slumber, from wbich Abel bad some little difficulty in awaking bim. " Come, stir yerself," saitl Abel, in bis gruffest tones. But Harry only turned over on bis side, muttering incoberently as be did so. Abel beld up bis lantern tbat tbe ligbt migbt fall full on tbe prisoner's face, wbicb was now turned towards bim. For a moment or two be looked at it witbout moving. It was a bandsome face spite tbe swartby skin, and a somewbat scornful curl of tbe lip. Abel was in no sense a tender-bearted man, and yet tbe sigbt of tbis doomed youtb — bis wrists still locked in tbe cruel steel, bis brown bair falling in beavy waves over bis noble forebead, bis eyes closed in deep forgetful sleep — toucbed bim strangely. He forgot for a moment tbe j)ain and bumiliation be bad been made to suffer, forgot even tbe blow tbat bad felled bim to tlie eartb, and from wbicb be bad not yet fully recovered, forgot tbe crime of wbicb be deemed bim guilty. He only saw tbe still more tragic side. It did seem a pity to bruise tbat sbapely neck with tbe bangman's rope, and burry a youtb of so mucb promise so suddenly out of time. "Poor young beggar, it do seem 'ard," be said to liimself, "for I reckon be wont 'ave mucb more sleep till tbe bangman 'as finisbed wi' bim. Well, be'll 'ave sleep enougli arter tbat to make up for't, so 'ere goes." And be went and took bold of tbe cbain tbat united tbe two wristbands, and pulled gently but firmly, saying at tbe same time, " Come, wak' up now, you 'ave to be out ov tbis." 182 TBEGEAGLE'S BEAD. Harry moaned uneasily, but did not open his eyes. " Come, wak' up/' repeated Abel, tugging at tlie chain he held. Slowly the large dark eyes opened, and stared in bewildered fashion round the narrow cell. " Come, pull yersel' together," persisted Abel. " You 'ave to get out o' this." " Get out of what ? " Harry questioned, still only half awake. " Why out of this cell, man," said Abel in harsher tones. "You have to go to Bodmin to-day." Harry was wide awake now. With something like a groan he sat up and yawned. But he took Abel's advice, and pulled himself together. " I will never show the white feather before this cowardly constablQ," was his thought ; and slipping off the bed he stretched him- self as well as his manacled wrists Avould allow, and then stooped and lifted the brown pitcher to his lips, and took a deep draught of the almost icy water. "Rather weak stuff this, Abel," he said, laying down the pitcher. " I've brought some bread with me," Abel answered gruffly, " but you can ait that on the way." " Why it's not daylight yet," Harry answered. " So much the better," was the reply. " I want to clear you out before the town's a stirrin'." Abel liked to speak of Restormel as a " town," it seemed to add somewhat to his own importance. " As you will," said Harry. " It doesn't make any difference to me, as far as I know." " But it do to me," was the reply. " Am I to keep these bracelets on ? " was Harry's next question. ''Aye!" " Afraid of my bolting again ? " "P'r'apsso." PEBPLEXITY. 183 '•'Well, it was a rather shabby trick Nanny and I played you," Harry said with a laugh. " You think so, do you ? " "And that chase last night," he went on, without heeding Abel's question, " was quite exciting ; don't you think so, Abe] ? " " Fur you I expect it was," said Abel gi^uffly. " A feller whose life's at stake feels queer, I reckon." " You think so, Abel ? Well, you have a vivid imagin- ation, no doubt. But if it had not been for that hurdle I believe I should have beaten the lot of you." " Ye' re welcome to the b'lief," muttered Abel. " Yes, you have the upper hand of me now," Harry said with a grim laugh, "and I am not going to complain. We shall say good-bye after to-day, Abel." "Aye, you'll have another jailer to-night," Avas the reply. " Well, I guess we shall not separate in each other s debt. I think we're about quits, don't you ? " "We shall be when th' hangman's done with 'e," said Abel grimly. Harry ground his teeth and shuddered inwardly, but he answered jauntily enough, " I hope he won't be such a bungler as you are, Abel. I should like a quick despatch, and then a long rest. Perhaps you'll envy me, Abel, when I am asleep. And perhaps you'll regret your eager haste in acceiDting such flhnsy evidence." But the constable did not reply. Opening the door, he led Harry out into the corridor, and then into the street. : Nathan was standing at the horse's head, the rein over his arm, his hands in his pockets, his knees bent, his teeth chattering. " What in the name ov thunder 'avo 'e been doin' so long ? " he growled, as Harry and Abel came upon the scene. 184 TBEGEAGLE\S HEAD. " Hold thy chatter," said Abel sternly, and proceeded to help Harry into the trap. The next moment he took his seat beside him, and gathered up the reins, while Nathan went round and climbed into the trap on the opposite side. Restormel was still asleep. Above the rim of Carn Duloe the sky was beginning to pale with the first promise of rising day. A solitary light was burning in Trevose as they passed at Avalking pace. Harry wondered if the room was Mary's, and if she was still awake praying for his safety and escape. He was feeling very wretched and ill. His teeth were almost chattering with the cold. He had bantered Abel, and tried to appear indifferent, but his heart was like lead. Life had become a desolation again, and death seemed the only friend he had left. Before the morning's sun had kissed away the dew- drops, and awakened the woods to melody, Restormel was far behind them, and before them a seemingly interminable road leading to the place Avhere the final scene of this little drama was to be enacted. Restormel awoke unconscious of what had happened, but it soon began to be whispered abroad that the prisoner had been caught during the night, and was now on his way to Bodmin. Once started, the ncAvs ran like wildfire. Mary Dunstan was setting out the breakfast-table, when her father came in from the farmyard. "They've caught him," he said abruptly, and he flung his hat into a chair with an impatient gesture. " Caught him ? " she said, turning pale. " Do you mean — "Yes, I mean Harry Penryn," he answered hastily. " It was a most exciting chase, by all accounts, but they were too many for him." But Mary made no reply, nor did she give any sign of what she suffered, save for a sudden pallor that PERPLEXITY. 185 swept over her face. Had slie spoken she would have betra3^ed her feelings; had she even looked at her father she nii^ht have burst into tears. So she went (quietly on with her Avork as though nothing had happened. "I feel downright sorry," the farmer said after a little pause; ''for hanging Harry cannot bring Jack back again." "It'll be just murrler," she said with sudden energy. ''I don't know," he said reflectively. "But I do think they often hang people who don't deserve hang- ing;" and the fanner took up his hat and went out again. ''Breakfast will be ready in a minute or two," she called after him; and then finding herself alone, she dropped into a chair and pressed her hand to her side, while her breath came and went in gasps. She was quite herself again Avhen her father returned. But the meal as usual was a very quiet one. " It is only a week to-da}^" said the farmer at length, pushing back his cup and saucer, "since poor Jack disappeared. It seems like a year to me." " So it does to me," she answered. " I suppose it is because so much has happened." "Aye, it's been a full week," he said, "a very fidl week." "The world can never be the same again," she answered, as though she were speaking to herself. "Aye, it's very hard on us and the Vicar," he said, " very hard. And mother '11 be terribly troubled over this. I've said nothing to her about it yet." " But she'll get to know," Mary answered. " Yes, yes, we'll have to tell her, for she'll be asking directly ; " and Mr. Dunstan got up from the table and left the room. Two hours later Gladys Penryn rushed into the room unannounced. N 186 TBEGEAGLE'S HEAD. " Oh, Mary/' she said, rushing up to her, '^ Harry's been taken again." " Yes, love, I know," Mary said, kissing her. " Oh, it's wicked, it's cruel," Gladys replied between her sobs. "I know it is," said Mary, caressingl3\ ''But we must bow to the will of God." " No, Mary," the young girl answered with swimming eyes. " Never say that again. I am sure it is not God's will. It is only the will of cruel people." But Mary was silent, she felt the rebuke of Gladys' words. Moreover, she h?Jf felt the same herself. "Pa is almost beside himself," Gladys went on at length. " He had hoped so much ; and oh ! we felt so confident last night. But now all our hopes are dashed." " And have you lost hope also ? " Mary asked. " Oh, I don't know. I almost fear I have, though the peace has not quite gone out of my heart yet." "Perhaps things may happen different to what we expect," Mary said soothingly. " At least let us try to hope so." " Pa said this morning that he thinks now it must be the will of God," Gladys replied, after a pause. " Of course I could not contradict him; but it hurt me very much to hear him say so." " It all seems very strange," Mary answered, going to the window and looking out. ''But perhaps the light will shine out from behind the cloud again some day." " Oh, I hope so," Gladys said, coming and standing by her side. " Oh, I hope so ; " and then silence fell betAveen them, and for a while they stood watching the swaying of the branches of a pear-tree in the rising wind. " How the wind is getting up ! " Mary said at length. " Father said last night we should have a storm." " Why so ? " Gladys asked. PERPLEXITY. 187 " Well, you know, it has been reported that Treg- eagle has been seen again out on the headland, and they say he never appears except before a storm." " But you do not believe that, Mary ? " " Oh, I don't know," was the reply. '' There are so many strange things in the world, that one hardly knows what to believe." " But Harry spent the night on the head," said Gladj^s, " and he saw nothing of Tregeagle ; and so you may be sure he was the Tregeagle this time." •; "I never thought of that," said Mary. "But it is singular the wind should get up just now." But Gladys only smiled, and soon after took her dejDarture. At noon Mr. Dunstan came in looking quite excited. "I knew it would be so," he said. "Didn't I tell you there'd be a gale ? " "Yes, you did say so, father," Mary answered, but ventured no further remark. Steadily the wind rose all the afternoon, till by sun- down it was blowing great guns, while the wide Atlantic rollers were breaking with thundering crash upon the rocks around Tregeagle's Head. Down at Pcntudy and Porthloo the boats were drawn higli and dry upon the beach, for everybody had heard of the aj^pearance of Tregeagle, and all knew what that appearance portended. Sam Trewalsick, Dan Polslee, Barney Tabb, and many others kept out of doors all the afternoon, and swept the sea in all directions with a view to possible wreckage. Sam even ventured to climb the haunted slopes of Tregeagle's Head, that he might command a wider view of the main. But if he saw any storm-beaten craft in the offing he made no remark on his return. Indeed he was quieter than usual, and just as it was getting dark he said he thought he would <^o indoors and have a smoke. But it was noticeable that Sam was seen in Pentudy no more 188 TREGEAGLE'S BEAD. that evening, and that Dan suddenly vanished soon after dark. And still the wind rose and raved, and shrieked np the wretched street, and tore the thatch from the house roofs, and lifted the slates from the newer dwellings. While on the beach the great white waves fell with a crash that was terrible, and the wind catching the spray carried it far up the street, and splashed it like rain against the window-panes, and sent ifc hissing through chinks of the doors. Only those who were steady on their feet, and strong to face the fury of the gale, dared venture forth into the night, and those who did venture forth could see nothing for the blinding spray. But it was reported that soon after midnight Tregeagle was heard crying in the dark- ness. Above the hissins^ wind and the thunder of the waves could be heard now and then wild, heart-breaking, despairing cries coming from the direction of Tregeagle's Head. Those who heard had no doubt as to the identity of the voice. It was the same old cry — wild, bitter, despairing; the cry of a restless spirit doomed to see the labour of his hands swept away by the pitiless gale, doomed to atone for his sin by unavailing toil. As the morning advanced the storm began to abate, and by sunrise the strife of the elements was at an end. But on the foamy beach of Porthloo and Pentudy was evidence, abundant as it was sad, of the havoc it had played. Then about noon a body was washed ashore, the body of a well-dressed muscular man, which an liour later Mr. Penryn recognized as that of his friend, Caj)taiu Will Paterson. It was with strange and mingled feelings that the Vicar of Restormel looked upon the face of the dead. Oh, how he had hoped and prayed that his son might reach the Gi]psy, and claim the protection of Captain PERPLEXITY. 180 Will. Had his prayers been answered, he too would have been swallowed up by the sea. But would that have been worse than the fate that had overtaken him ? lie did not know. He was still in darkness, w^aiting and hoping for the dawn. 190 TBSGEAGLE'S HEAD. CHAPTER XXIII. "HE KNEW THE WORST." " So memory follows Hope, And Life both. Love said to me, ' Do not die.' And I replied, ' Love, I will not die. I exiled and I will not orphan Love.' But now it is no choice of mine to die : My heart throbs from me."— E. B. Browning. Within a week of Harry's re-arrest the trial was over and judgment given. Very little that was new came out in evidence ; some of the weak places had been strengthened a little, and the chain rendered thereby all the more complete. But practically the evidence was the same as that given before the magistrates. The only noteworthy feature of the trial was the speech of Harry's " counsel." Mr. Trefry was a young barrister, w^ho was not yet overburdened with briefs, and so had plenty of time to make a thorough study of the case. Moreover, he had known Mr. Penryn and Harry a little for several years, and Avas thoroughly satisfied in his own mind that Harry was innocent. Hence he pleaded not as one wdio was speaking against his convictions, but as one whose heart and conscience were in his work. He took up a bold and striking line in his defence. Submitting first that there w^as not a tittle of positive evidence that the prisoner was guilty ; secondly, that there was an entire absence of motive ; and thirdly, that ''HE KNEW THE WOBST/ 101 if there had been any motive, no sane man would resort to such an insane method of getting rid of bis foe. On these points he developed a speech of striking force and eloquence, and closed with a pathetic appeal to the jury to let their hearts as well as their reason have voice in this painful case. "Consider the prisoner's youth," he said; ''consider his previously imblemished reputation. Consider the intimacy and friendship that existed and still exists between the famihcs of the deceased and the accused. Consider how easy of other explanation is the evidence set forth by the prosecution, and how impossible it has been found to produce any reasonable motive for such a deed. Consider the education and intelligence of the prisoner, and how unlikely it would be^ even had he contemplated murder, that he Avould have resorted to such a clumsy method for its accomplishment. Gentle- men of the jury, to say that he is guilty of this crime is to say at the same time that he is insane, for no man in his right mind — even had he the heart for such wickedness — could be capable of such egregious folly. It has been suggested by the prosecution that he pushed the deceased over the cliff in a sudden fit of passion, but no tittle of evidence has been given in support of that gratuitous assumption; while we have shown clearly enough that the accused has never been given to fits of passion, and does not act on sudden impulses, his temper has always been rather sullen and slumberous than quick and passionate. " Admitted for argument's sake that appearances are against my client, and that there is presumptive evidence of his guilt. I submit that presumptive evidence is not sufficient to condemn a man, and especially a man of such antecedents. Consider that he has not been reared amid surroundings calculated to blunt his moral sense, or to call into play the lower side of his nature, lie has been reared in a Christian home, and taught 192 TREGEAGLE'S HEAD. from childhood to keep watch over his conduct, and do the right at all hazards. He is the only son of a Christian minister, his father's hope and stay, his sister's pride. In that home love has ruled, and peace from year to year has remained unbroken. In one of our great public schools he has taken an honourable position, and was entering with hope and pride on an honourable profession. I ask you therefore, gentlemen, is it credible that he should of deliberate purjDOse, — or so far change his nature as to yield to sudden passion — madly destroy all his hopes and j^rospects, nij) in the bud love's young dream, cover with disgrace a name long revered, break the heart of his young and beautiful sister, and bring his father's gray hairs in sorrow to the grave ? Gentlemen, the thing appears to me, and I think it will to you, quite incredible. How the deceased came by his death may never be known, but that the prisoner at the bar foully and cruelly murdered his friend is an assumption so outrageous, that I trust you will at once dismiss it from your minds, and that you will without any hesitation whatever bring in a verdict of 'Not Guilty.'" ^ If the jury had retired at that moment, it is possible that the appeal of Mr. Trefry would not have been without its influence ; but the calm and unimpassioned summing up of the judge intervened, and so j^lenty of time was given them for reflection. It was clearly evident what was in the mind of the judge. He meant no doubt to be strictly fair and impartial, yet he marshalled the evidence in such a way that it told heavily against the prisoner. Harry felt this to be so, and began to nerve himself for the worst, though he was not without hope that he Avould be given the benefit of the doubt, and set at liberty. The jury were forty minutes in considering their verdict. To Harry it seemed an age ; every moment was a concentrated point of agony. Yet outwardly he ''HE KNEW THE WORST.'' 193 betrayed no emotion. He paced the room to which lie had been taken to await the verdict with folded arms and with a steady step, but he counted every heart-beat in that agonizing time, and more than once feared that his courage would utterly fail him. To his warders his demeanour appeared that of callous indifference, and on that ground they concluded that he was guilty, and so sliowed him no sympathy whatever. At length the long waiting came to an end, and amid an exciting movement and buzz, he was hurried once more into the dock. Then a silence that might have been felt dropped down upon the scene. Tlie clerk stood up; the jury remained standing. At the back of the room 2:)eople craned their necks ; women who were present grew pale to the very lips ; counsel looked anxious and excited. The judge sat pale and unmoved. Clearly the usual questions were asked. In a voice somewhat tremulous, but painfully distinct, the foreman of the jury gave the answer. " Have the jury agreed U230n their verdict ? •" '' We have." " Do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?" A moment of breathless silence followed; the foreman seemed swallowing a lump that had risen in his throat, then came in a low and distinct voice the one word — ^'Guilty." A moment of confusion — a palpable shudder — a deep inspiration through a hundred lips — a suppressed groan here and there, and then silence again. The judge was speaking in grave, solemn tones, telling the prisoner that he had been found guilty of the awful crime of murder, and holding out to him no liope of a reprieve. Had he anything to say why sentence of death should not be passed? Harry lifted up his head and looked the judge calmly in the eyes. A great hush fell upon the scene. 194 TREGEAGLL^'S HEAD. " My lord, I am as iDnocent of this crime as you are/' he said, and then dropped his eyes again to the ground. Another moment of confusion, then sentence of death was pronounced in the usual form, of which Harry, however, scarcely heard a word. Then like one in a dream he walked back to his cell, glad to escape from the eager eyes of the crowd, and feeling in a dull stolid way thankful that the drama was ended, and that he knew the worst. He "knew the worst," but he did not feel the worst that day; indeed, for the moment he was almost past feeling. He had suffered so much, the nervous tension had been so long and so keen, that now it was over, he experienced a dull relief which was almost pleasure after the previous pain. All grief was over, all joy had come to an end ; for him the end of the world had come. Nothing more could ever disturb him, or waken his interest. Pleasure and pain alike were past, and so he threw himself upon his hard bed, thankful for the sense of rest it yielded him ; and closing his eyes, he was soon wrapped in a dreamless sleej). His jailer finding him thus an hour later did not disturb him ; for a moment or two he looked at him, as Abel had once done, and felt his heart soften as he did so. " He don't look like a murderer," he said to himself; " 'tis strange he should ha' done it." Harry lay with his head upon his hand, his crisp locks falling carelessly upon his brow, his lips just a little apart, curved into the faintest shadow of a smile. " Iss, iss," muttered the jailer, as he stepped q^uietly out; " 'tis strange he should ha' done it." b:e stbong and fear not." 195 CHAPTER XXIY. "BE STRONG AND FEAll NOT." " Through prison bars I catch the glory of the milky way. The vivid stars In golden groups above the circus stray ; To-morrow. Ah, to-morrow these poor eyes Should look upon the lights of Paradise." The day preceding that fixed for the execution Mr. Penryn and Gladys drove to Bodmin to pay Harry a farewell visit. It was a sad journey, especially for the Yicar. Gladys was less depressed. With a ^^erversity that had no foundation in reason, she refused even yet to believe that Harry would be hanged ; her simple faith was pathetic in the extreme. " I have prayed/' she said, " that Harry may live, and God has sent a great peace into my heart, and so I know he Avill not die." The Yicar did not like to damp his little daughter's faith, and yet he feared the effect upon her mind when she discovered how vain had been her belief " I Avould not be so confident, darling, if I were you," he said, with a sad look in his eyes. " If it's God's will that our Harry be taken from us, we must try to be resigned." " But he is not going to be taken," she persisted with a bright smile. *' God is going to spare him to us." " I fear not, darling," he said, stroking her shining 196 TREGEAGLE'S HEAD. hair with his long thin hand. " There is no \\o])(i of a reprieve." " Oh, pa, you are unbelieving ! " she said, smiling w^t at him. " In matters like these we must be governed by reason," he said sadly, " Faith is belief upon evidence, and there is no evidence anywhere to lead me to believe with you." " I don't think I understand what evidence is," she said, looking a little puzzled ; " but I've got the proof inside. I feel it here ; " and she placed her hand upon her bosom. The Vicar smiled sadly and shook his head; but Gladys held on to her belief notwithstanding. Very little conversation passed between them during the long drive to Bodmin. The Vicar was too over- burdened with grief to indulge in conversation. It was a bright sunshiny day, though there was a touch of frost in the air when they started in the morning ; but the Vicar did not feel the sunshine, nor see the glory of autumn which lay on all the hills. The birds sang cheerfully in the brooding woods, and in the hamlets through which they drove the children laughed and made merry ; but he did not hear the birds or see the children. He drove on hour after hour like one in a dream. One face was ever before him — the face of his only son ; one bitter grief filled all his heart. He had set himself a very difficult task, and he very much feared that he would not be able to carry it through. Over and over again he had said to himself during the last week — " I must speak to my poor boy about his soul. I have my fears respecting his safety." But though he had resolved to do this, he feared that his resolution would fail him when he came face to face with his son. To a man of a different temperament the task would be easy enough, and not only easy, but even ''BE STRONG AXD FEAR XOT:' 107 pleasant. But Mr. Peniyn was naturally a reserved man, with very little of emotion or sentiment in his nature. Harry was as reserved as he. Neither had been given to wearing his heart upon his sleeve, or to parading his deeper experiences before the world. Each felt in his own way that religion was a personal matter, to be felt and Ikrd, but not prated about as though a matter of crops and stocks. But now that his son stood on the brink of eternity, he felt that he must no longer forbear; that if he did, he would be traitor to his conscience and to his holy calling. If Harry had not made his peace with God, lie must exhort him, counsel him, pray with him. And who could tell ? — perhaps God might make him the means of leading his son out of darkness into the lidit. o Harry knew of the visit, and prepared himself for the ordeal. If he had consulted his own feelings merely he would have seen no one. He had given up everything, and felt that he was dead to the world and the world dead to him. By sheer force of will he had succeeded in reducing himself to a state of comparative apathy and indifference. He had so dulled his senses that he was only half alive. He would not think if he could help it. He would just exist in the dim twilight till the darkness closed around him, and sleep sealed his eyelids for evermore. But to see his father and Gladys would be like coming back to life again — coming back to the bitter pain, to the sense of loss, and shame, and disgrace, that he had put away from him as something long past and almost forgotten. Still the agony could not be of long duration now. Another morning would see the end. Less than twenty-four hours, and all would be over, ended alike the joy and pain, and he would have entered into the invisible, and would bo face to fiice with the realities of eternity. 198 TREGE AGLETS BEAD. His father saw him first, and alone, a privilege which he (the Yicar) was profoundly grateful for. They met in silence. Harry was the lesser moved of the two. He was pale and hollow-eyed, otherwise there was no change in him. He stood erect as ever, and about his mouth there was the old look of defiance which those who knew him little never knew how to interpret. " And how is it with you, my son ? " his father asked, as soon as he could control himself sufficiently to speak. " I think I have nothing to complain of, father," he answered, after a moment's hesitation ; '' and consider- ing the close quarters in which I live, my health is fairly good." " Ah, Harry," and the Vicar's voice shook, "the health of your body is of little moment now." " That is true, father. It will soon be all over with me." " No, not all over, my boy. Do you think that you are about to be ushered into the presence of God ? " '' Yes, I think of it sometimes, but I have no clear idea what it means. I tried to picture it to myself once, but I have given up speculating about it now. You see, father, I shall soon know." " Yes, my boy, you will soon know ; but are you ready for the change ? Excuse me speaking to you so plainly, but oh, Harry, I must ; this is my last opportunity." Harry smiled wistfully and sadly. *' I will excuse anything to-day," he said. " Y^ou have been a good father to me, true and kind. I am sorry that I have been of so much trouble to you. But it is ended now." '' But, Harry, about the future ? " the Yicar said with choking voice. " Have you made your peace with God ? " For a moment Harry hesitated. '' I do not know if I exactly understand your question/' ''BE STBONa AND FEAR NOT." 199 he said at length. " Between God and myself there has been no enmity that I am aware of. You have always preached that God loves us ; I have tried to love Him. Is that a sufficient answer ? " " No, not quite. I want to know if you are trusting in Christ. Do you feel that you are safe ? " " Oh, yes, father," he answered with a smile, " I feel quite safe. I know I am in good hands." " And 5'Ou have no fear ? " " No ; all fear has passed away. People will say to-morrow that I walked to the scaffold like a very hardened criminal." " Oh, my boy, it is terrible ! " said the Vicar with a shudder. '* But I believe Christ will sustain you." " He has sustained me hitherto," was the answer. For a few moments silence fell between them, while they looked steadily into each other's eyes. Then the Yicar said brokenly, ''Let us pray;" and together they knelt on the cold floor. But the prayer was an un- spoken one. The Yicar tried his best to steady his voice and keep back the tears that choked him, bat the effort was in vain. But the prayer was none the less real because unuttered, and each felt even while he knelt that the prayer had been answered. They were still kneeling when the bolt was shot back, and the warder came to announce that the interview must end. " We shall meet acrain," said the Yicar, risino-, and falling upon Harry's neck in a passion of tears. " Yes, father," was the whispered answer ; " we shall meet in heaven." Silently they grasped each other's hand, a long kiss followed, and then the Yicar staoforered forth with bowed head and quivering lip, feeling as though life were at an end with him as Avcll as with his son. A few moments later the door was opened again, and Gladys came into the room like a ray of sunshine. 200 TREGEAGLE'S HEAD. " Oh, Dodo," she exclaimed, calling him by an old pet name, and rushing swiftly towards him, " I am so glad to see you." He did not reply, — he could not just then, — but he caught her up in his arms and began to kiss her, while his tears fell like rain upon her face. '' Don't cry, Dodo," she said cheerfully. " We shall have you home again very soon now." *' No, little Gladsome," he said, making a great effort to steady his voice ; " I shall never come home to Kestormel again." " Oh, yes, you will," she said brightly ; " for do you know, Dodo, I have been praying for you all the while, and God put a great peace in my heart, and it has never left me yet." " God grant it may never leave you," he said, kissing her again. " You are like pa," she said, " you won't believe." " It would not be wise to entertain any such a delu- sive hope," he answered sadly. " And, besides, I don't mind going now. I have given up everything." " Oh, Dodo, don't talk like that or you will make me cry," she said, her eyes filling. "And I have come to cheer you." '' My little Gladsome," he said, " you have cheered me." " And when you come home — " she went on. " Ah, Gladys," he interrupted, '' to-morrow I shall be at home in heaven." For a moment she looked at him as though she did not comprehend, then she said — " Do you mean that these wicked people will hang you. Dodo ? " " Yes, Gladys," he said, with a slight shudder. " To- morrow, at dawn. It's not long now, is it ? I want you to be awake and pray for me then. And don't fret, little sweet, it will soon be over, and then I shall be better off." ''BE .STIiONG AND FEAR NOTr 201 " And they will never let you come home again ? " she asked, nestling closer to him. "Never, my little Gladys; we say good-bye now. We shall meet no more till we meet in heaven." ''Ob, no," she said; "I can't believe that, and I'm not going to try." " You will believe it to-morrow," he said sadly ; " and you must try to believe that it is better so. Don't lose heart. Be cheerful, for father's sake, for this is a cruel blow to him. And tell Mammy Gaved that I thought of her to the last, and that she must try not to fret about me." " Oh, but she frets all day long," Gladys answered. " But kiss her for me, and tell her it was my wish that she shouldn't do so." " Oh, she'll be bri<2jht enouo^h ao-ain when voii come home," Gladys answered. " Ah, Gladys ! But never mind," he said, after a pause. Then suddenly turning the conversation, he asked, " Have you seen Mary lately ? " " Who ? Mary Dunstan ? " "Yes." " Oh, yes ; I see her nearly every day." " And is she well ? " " I don't think she is very. Slic is like the rest, she is fretting herself ill about you." " Is slie troubliug about me, do you think ? " ho asked, with a little gasp. " I'm sure she is," was the answer. " In fact, Dodo, I believe Mary likes you better than she did Jack. And do you know, slie sent a message." " Did she ? " he said (piickly, a momentary brightness sweeping over his face. " She said she wished she could come to see you," Gladys went on. " But then she could not leave her mother very well, and I don't think Mr. Dunstan would have liked ber to come, though for my part I don't see why." o 202 TREGEAGLE'S HEAD. " I would like to have seen her," he said absently ; " but it is too late now." " But she said, ' Tell Harry for me, to be strong and fear not,' " Gladys went on. " Did she say that ? " he said, looking up. "And she also said," continued Gladys, "' Tell him w^e don't forget to pray for him.' " For awhile no other word passed between them. Out- side they heard the regular tramp of the warder's feet as he paced up and down the corridor, and each knew that the period of their brief interview was swiftly com- ing to an end. Harry looked up at length. " You will see Mary soon, Gladys," he said ; " perhaps to-morrow, after it is all over." " Yes, I shall see her to-morrow," she answered. " You will remember me to her, and thank her for her message ? " " Remember you to her ? " " Yes, give her my love," he said, after some little hesitation ; " and tell her she was in my heart to the last." Before she could reply the door was thrown oj^en again, and the jailer appeared. Harry caught Gladys in his arms again for a last embrace. '* Good-bye, little Gladsome," he said with quivering lips. " Be cheerful, for father's sake." "My dear old Dodo," she answered. It was the name she gave him when she was just beginning to talk, and it had remained as a pet name ever since. He tried to speak again, but his voice failed him. "Don't cry. Dodo," she said, kissing him in her old childish fashion. " I have the peace still, so I know it will be all right." He tried to smile through his tears as he shook his head. Then the door opened and shut, and he found himself once more alone ; and throwing himself upon ''BE STBONa AND FEAR NOT:' 203 his bed, lie burst into a tempest of tears. He soon recovered himself, however, and began to repeat to himself Mary's message, " Be strong and fear not," adding a few moments later — "I must not give way now, when the battle is so nearly won." 204 TREGEAGLE'S BEAD. CHAPTER XXV. THE END OF THE STRIFE. " I was ever a fi,<;liter, so — one fight more, Tlie best and the List ! I would hate tliat deatli bandaged my eyes, and forbore, And bade me creep past. No I let me taste the wliole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old. Bear the brunt, in a minute ]:)ay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness, and cold." — 11. Browning. It Avas four o'clock in the afternoon when Mr. Penryn and Gladys left Bodmin for their long drive to Restormel. They did not expect to reach home much before midnight, for they would need a meal on the way, and their horse would require a feed and a rest. It w^ould have been more merciful to the beast to have remained in Bodmin all night, but the Vicar could not bear the thought of such a thing. He wanted to get away from the place as quickly as possible. Everything about it Avas hateful to him. Already people w^ere coming into the town from all parts of the county, eager to be in time for the " hanging," as they termed it, on the followiug morning. The one straggling street of which the place mainly consisted was beginning to look quite lively. Shopkeepers were looking brisk and cheerful in prospect of a busy day to-morrow ; nothing ever brought so many jDeople into the town as a "hanging." Everybody hoped that the weather would THE END OF THE STEIFE. 205 keep fme, in wliicli case tlie success of the event would be assured. Some few people vrere disappointed that there was not to be a '' double " execution. Three years before, when tvro brothers were hanged for an assault on an old woman, the town was crowded from end to end, and all the publicans and lodging-house keepers had done such a roaring trade, and had been enabled to exact such exorbitant prices, that they had never ceased since to talk about it. ]3uring the punstan gave tliem their blessing, and Jack dccUired that uolliing in the world coul I have pleased him better. 2/4 TREGEAGLK 8 HEAD. And now our story is nearly done. Of Mrs. Flue nothing was ever herrd again. That she went to explore Tregeagle's cave there can be no doubt, but she returned no more to her familiar haunts. And with the witch there disappeared also Sam Trewalsick and his son Billy, Dan JPolslee, Mark Jory, and Jerry Beer. They were all seen in Pentudy on the night Jack effected his escape, but before dawn they had vanished, and were never heard of again. But Avhen Jack Dunstan had told his story there remained but little if any doubt as to their fate. Who fired the gunpowder was long a matter of speculation, and opinion was divided as to whether it was done purposely or by accident. That the powder was kept there for the purpose of destroying all traces of their nefarious traffic in case of discovery there was no question whatever. But no one Avas alive to explain the mystery of the explosion. When Jack, accompanied by a number of local authorities, attempted to find their way to Tregeagle's cave, they found the tunnels almost completely blocked by large heaps of debris. They managed to crawl on their hands and knees for a considerable distance, but only to discover that the roof of the cave had completely collapsed, and that the contents had been buried beyond hope of recovery. For a long time people avoided the headland more persistently than ever, but as the years passed on they got the better of their fears, especially as Tregeagle was no more heard of, and stormy nights had no longer the painful accompaniment of human voices crying in the darkness. Cam Duloe also lost its gruesome reputation. And when the witch's hut fell into ruins, it was discovered she had laid a bell wire from a bend in the road to her hut, so that any one approaching would tread on a spring, and so give the signal within her dwelling. HOME A a ATX. ■ 275 The collapse of Tregeagle's cave proved tl)e death- blow to many long-cherished superstitions. People talk of Tregeagle still, but the legend is no longer believed. Even the fisher-folk of Pentudy and Porthloo have long since outgrown most of their superstitions. Jack's painful experience taught him a lesson he never forgot. 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