«s?;*^ 
 
 \C%^o
 
 THE AAVFL'L RIDE.
 
 THE 
 
 WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 
 
 a STale of tje Eantr's^SSntr; 
 
 ,/WlLLIAyVL BeNTINCK FoI^AF^ 
 
 Author of "PENTOWAN," "PENGERSICK CASTLE," 
 "KYNANCE COVE,"&c., &c. 
 
 PENZANCE: 
 W. CORNISH, THE LIBRARY, 
 
 1871. 
 
 3R
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In writing my CornisTi Tales I have always endeavoured to pourtray 
 the Cornish character in all its native wit and humour, for which 
 the genuine west-country miners are so proverbial. And I have 
 generally taken for the foundation of my Stories incidents which 
 have really happened in the localities wherein the actions of ray 
 little dramas have been laid. 
 
 The scene of my present story is laid in the neighbourhood of the 
 Land's-End, and most of the characters were well-known there in 
 days gone by; — the names only being fictitious. 
 
 The fall of the horse over the cliff is still in the remembrance of 
 some old people in the neighbourhood ; and the circumstance is 
 related by the Guides who shew the beavities of the Land's-End 
 scenery to strangers. The marks of the horse's hoofs in the grass at 
 the edge of the cliff are preserved to this day. 
 
 The Wizard (or Conjuror as he was called) was a notorious 
 character at St. Just, some fifty years ago; — and the horrid murder 
 related in these pages; and the mistaken identity of the guilty 
 parties are also veritable facts. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Brown were well-known characters, and are drawn 
 from real life. 
 
 This brief sketch of some of the scenes and characters to be found 
 in this little volume may perhaps add an interest to it, and induce 
 a large number of the lovers of Cornish lore to honour it with a 
 perusal. 
 
 Pltmoutii, 
 
 March, 1871.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 II. 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 X. 
 
 XI. 
 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Mr. Freeman 
 
 The Wreck near the Land's-End ... 
 
 Alrina 
 
 The Unexpected Meeting 
 
 John Brown and his favorite mare Jessie 
 
 The Family Party 
 
 Murder most foul ... 
 
 The Wizard 
 
 Love and Mystery ... 
 
 Abina's troubles increase 
 
 Frederick Morley obstinately determines to ride 
 the mare 
 
 PAGE 
 
 3 
 8 
 12 
 16 
 21 
 25 
 30 
 36 
 40 
 42 
 
 45 
 47 
 50 
 53 
 56 
 
 The awful ride 
 
 Its consequences 
 
 Mrs. Brown tells the Conjuror a bit of her mind.. 
 
 The mysterious stranger at the Penzance Ball 
 
 Josiah's astonishment at the effect produced by the 
 display of his Treasure-trove 60 
 
 The borrowed feathers of the peacock fail to conceal 
 
 entirely the plumage of the jackdaw ... 64 
 
 The birds have taken flight 67 
 
 The mysterious encounter 71 
 
 Aristocratic connections ... 76 
 
 The Love-chase 81 
 
 Alrina's first Love-letter 88 
 
 The Secret 92
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 
 XXYll. 
 XXVIII. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 XXXVJ. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 XL. 
 XLI. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 XLni. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 XL VI. 
 
 XL VII. 
 
 Man is born to trouble and disappointment as the 
 sparks fly upwards ... 
 
 Retrospection and recrimination 
 
 Squire Pcndray gets on his stilts and views 
 Lieut. Fowler from a lofty eminence 
 
 The step in the wi-ong direction 
 
 By doing a little wrong, great good is accom- 
 plished in the end ... 
 
 INIrs. Brown and Mrs. Trenow indulge in a croom 
 o' chat, while Cap'n Trenow gives some sage 
 advice in another quarter 
 
 The two sisters pierced through the heart 
 
 Out of Scylla and into Charybdis 
 
 Alrina's troubles are increased by an unexpected 
 discovery 
 
 Alrina visits a kind friend and makes a proposal. 
 
 Captain Courland's return and his wife's anxiety. 
 
 The desperate plunge 
 
 The broken reed 
 
 Josiah's lonely midnight watch in the Conjuror's 
 house 
 
 The Search 
 
 The unexpected meeting and mysterious commu- 
 nication 
 
 Miss Pendray's singular accident 
 
 Mysterious sounds are heard issuing out of the 
 earth at midnight. The curious cottage on the 
 heath 
 
 The poor dumb girl's sudden resolve, and its 
 consequences 
 
 The Confession ... 
 
 Mrs. Brown enjoys another croom o' chat with 
 Mrs. Trenow, and receives an unexpected 
 visitor 
 
 An awful catastrophe 
 
 The dreaded interview 
 
 Mysteries explained 
 
 PAGE 
 
 98 
 106 
 
 113 
 117 
 
 122 
 
 125 
 134 
 139 
 
 143 
 
 149 
 154 
 159 
 168 
 
 174 
 179 
 
 184 
 191 
 
 195 
 
 202 
 206 
 
 210 
 219 
 224 
 229
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XLVIII. A brilliant Cornish diamond discovered and 
 
 placed in a golden casket 232 
 
 XLIX. The wedding-bells 239
 
 Ef)t Wiim'^ of mit^t iPenbitl^. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MR. FREEMAN. 
 
 Vert near the most westerly point of Great Britain, and not very 
 far from the promontory called Cape Cornwall, you may see, as you 
 glide along the coast in your pleasure-boat of a calm stimmer's 
 evening, a pretty little fishing-cove, in shape like a horse-shoe, — the 
 two extreme points being formed by the projecting rocks on either 
 side of the entrance, — the interior, or curved part, immediately 
 under the main land, having a beautiful beach of white sand, on 
 which boats can land with safety, when piloted by those who know 
 the coast outside ; for the little cove is guarded by hidden rocks, 
 and is as safe in rough weather against invasion by the uninitiated, 
 as if it had been fortified by a range of well-appointed batteries. 
 Above this beach the cliffs rise gradually, and various zigzag foot- 
 paths are formed by the constant tread of the sailors and others who 
 frequent the cove in going to and coming from the main land. 
 
 About a mile inland is a village of some importance, inhabited by 
 sailors of various kinds, and miners and small farmers who occupy 
 a few acres of land, and fill up their spare time by working at the 
 neighbouring mines, either as mine labourers, or as carriers with their 
 horses and carts. 
 
 This part of the coast of Cornwall is almost studded with mines, 
 whose lodes, for the most part, run out under the sea ; and although 
 they are, consequently, very expensive to work, yet many of them 
 have given large and continuous dividends to the adventurers. 
 
 As many, of these rich mines were discovered by accident, it may 
 easily be imagined that the smallest indication of a metalhc lode in 
 the neighbourhood causes great excitement, and often leads to the 
 expenditure of large sums of money in forming companies and 
 searching for the riches, which iu very many instances arc never 
 found. 
 
 The village of St. Just was not, at the period when our story 
 commences, the important place that it is at present ; — it could even 
 then, however, boast of a tolerably comfortable inn in the square, 
 and an inferior public-house in the outskirts of the village.
 
 4 THE WIZAKD OF WEST TENWITH. 
 
 On a dark, tempestuous, winter's night, there sat in the kitchen 
 or pxiblic room of the inn, a goodly company, who liad assembled to 
 see the old year out and the ncAV year in — and more than this ; for 
 they Avould also on this night witness the termination of one century, 
 and the commencement of another. A huge fire was burning on the 
 hearth, and two or three of the older men had ensconced themselves 
 in the chimney-corner. In those days the fire was made on the flat 
 stones in the chimney in these old houses, with wood and sticks, or 
 peat ; and there was room round it, for those who did not mind the 
 smoke, to sit and enjoy a close proximity to the fire, while the 
 others sat round outside the firej^lace, having a small table before 
 them, on which was placed the foaming eggy-hot, and the hot beer 
 and sugar, made more potent by the addition of an unlimited 
 quantity of brandy. The wind was howling dismally in the open 
 chimney, and rattling the doors and windows, as if angry at being 
 shut out. As the night advanced the storm seemed to increase ; but 
 the comforts of the bright fire and warm room, and the good cheer 
 before them, made the party feel the more happy and exliilarated, 
 from the reflection that they were sheltered fi-om tlae storm without. 
 The song and jest went round, and many a thrilling story was told 
 by the elders in the chimney-corner, which made some of the 
 younger men draw closer to the fire and take an extra glass of the 
 warm liquor with which the table was supplied ; for superstitious 
 fear was indulged in by all, more or Jess, in those days, and both 
 old and yoimg, rich and poor, loved to hear a tale of horror, although 
 it invariably made them afraid of their own. shadows, until daylight 
 appeared again to dispel the vapours of the night, and the toils of 
 the day left no room for idle thoughts or fancies. 
 
 In. the innermost recess of the chimney-corner, almost hidden by 
 the smoke, sat a sedate looking man, who aj^peared so absorbed in 
 his o'wn thoughts, that he did not seem to take much interest in the 
 tales that amused and interested his companions so much, except 
 that, when a tale of more than usual horror was told, a slight smile 
 would steal over his countenance, and he Avould change his pipe 
 from one side of his mouth to the other. In years he might have 
 been about fifty, but in appearance he was ten years older at least ; 
 not from any natural defect or want of the usual stamina and vigour 
 generally displayed by men of his age, but from an eccentric habit 
 he had contracted of affecting the old man, — for what reason was 
 best known to himself. His habits and mode of life were very 
 different from those of Cornishmen generally ; — he had come into 
 the neighbourhood some years before in a mysterious manner, but 
 how he came, or where he came from, no one seemed to know. He 
 had acquired somehow a good deal of useful knowledge, and there- 
 fore he had the power frequently of working upon the superstitious
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. O 
 
 fears of Ms neighbours; and, although he did not pursne any 
 particular trade or calling, he did not seem to want for money, for 
 he lived comfortably and paid liberally for his supplies ; and, 
 although he was reserved and unsociable as a general rule, yet he 
 liked meeting his neighbours in the public room at the inn, where 
 he could sit in the chimney-corner and smoke his pipe, and listen 
 to their conversation, which he seldom joined in ; and when he had 
 gathered fi'om them all the information they could impart, he would 
 occasionally gratify them by telling some thrilling story. 
 
 It was generally believed that he had something on his mind which 
 troubled him at times, but what it was no one could tell. There he 
 sat, as usual, on tliis tempestuous night, smoking his pipe and listening 
 to the conversation of his companions. 
 
 At length one of the party, addressing him, said, — 
 
 " Come, Maister Freeman, we've all had our turn ; now you tell 
 es one of your stories, — they be clain off, they be." 
 
 " Well," said he, taking his pipe out of his mouth, and knocking 
 out the ashes on his hand, " I'll tell you a tale ; but remember, mine 
 are true stories. The one I am about to relate happened in your own 
 neighbourhood. Your superstitioiis fears will, perhaps, make you 
 afraid to visit the spot agam, if I tell it on such a terrible night as 
 this, after the stories you have already heard." 
 
 " No ! no ! " exclaimed his audience, " out weth et, whatever 'tes, 
 Maister." 
 
 " Well, then," he began, " you all know the ruins of the old chapel 
 above Cape Cornwall, called Chapel Carn Brea, and the Httle hiUocks 
 that surroimd it Hke graves in the chiu'chyard." 
 
 A shudder passed round the room at the mention of this weU- 
 known spot, for it was believed by most people that those ruins of 
 the old chapel were haiuited by evil spirits ; so the little circle drew 
 their seats nearer to the chimney, and instinctively looked roimd, as 
 if they expected to see some sprite or pixey enter through the key- 
 hole at the bare mention of so uncanny a spot at this hour of the 
 night." 
 
 " Those little mounds or hillocks," continued Mr. Freeman, " are 
 said to be the graves of the Druid priests and ancient kings of 
 Cornwall, and it is also said that all their riches were buried with 
 them ; but it was never known whetlier this was so or not, for no 
 one had had the courage to disturb the remains of these holy men. 
 I had no such scruples, — so one moonlight night, soon after I came 
 here to reside, I took my pickaxe and shovel, went up to the old 
 ruins, and selected the largest mound and began my work with a 
 hopeful mind, for I believed that I should be rewarded in the end 
 by a rich booty. The earth on the top was soft and easy to work, 
 but as I got down it became harder. I worked with a will for
 
 6 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 several hours, and got down several feet before the day began to 
 dawn. It was a lonely spot, in the dead of the night, to be working 
 in ; — I could hear the waves as they dashed against the high 
 cliffs under Cape Cornwall, and I sometimes fancied I heard voices 
 calling to me out of the waves. I must confess, my courage 
 nearly failed me, more than once ; but I took several pulls at 
 my brandy-bottle, and thought of the treasiire underneath, and 
 worked on. 
 
 " When the day began to dawn I left my work, intending to come 
 the next night and finish it. I knew that no one would venture 
 there if they could avoid it, even in the daytime, but I did not -wish 
 to be seen working there ; — the sight of an open grave in that spot 
 would, I Avell knew, scare people away, even if anyone was bold 
 enough to approach it during the day. A few hours' work more, I 
 thought, would bring me to the bottom, and then I should reap my 
 reward. So the next night I took my tools again and repaired to 
 the spot, when, to my utter astonishment, I found the grave filled in, 
 and all my labour lost. 
 
 " In vain I looked about for some clue to the mystery ; I could see 
 no one ; so I set to work again, and soon threw up the loose earth, 
 and came do-wn to the hard ground. I Avorked harder than any man 
 ever worked for his daily bread, and at last my pick touched some- 
 thing hard, wHch I fancied at first was a rock. I carefully cleared 
 the earth round it, and foimd that it was a large stone slab, and, from 
 the sound, I was convinced it was hollow beneath. The moon was 
 shining brightly, and threw its hght right into the grave, so that I 
 could see the stone distinctly, and could discern figures cut on it. 
 Here, then, was the coffin, no doubt ; and it doubtless contained the 
 coveted treasures, I tried to raise the cover, but it baflled all my 
 skill and strength ; — I f oimd that the pit would have to be made 
 much larger, and even then it might require the united strength of 
 two or three men to get the cover tip. I was then in the grave, which 
 was deep enough to hide me entirely from the view of anyone on the 
 surface. While I was thus dehberating what I should do, I heard a 
 loud shriek just above my head. I got up, with some difficult)', 
 expecting to see some imfortunate traveller transfixed siiperstitiously 
 to the side of the grave, with liis hair standing on end, and his knees 
 knocking together with fear and terror ; but there was no one to be 
 seen. Again I was obhged to abandon my work for the time, and 
 again I returned the next night and f oimd the grave filled in as before. 
 They say ' the third time is lucky,' said I to myself, — so, nothing 
 daimted, I went to work again, for I had now proof positive that there 
 was a hollow stone cofiin underneath, which no doubt contained the 
 coveted treasure. 
 
 " Who the intruder was I neither knew nor cared, except that I
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 7 
 
 did not like the trouble of going over my work so many times, but 
 now I was determined to complete it. 
 
 " I got do^VTl to the stone slab agam, and this time I had lengthened 
 the grave considerably at each end, and I thought I might be able to 
 raise the hd. I drove the point of my pick under the stone, and was 
 about to raise it, when I heard the same shriek I had heard on the 
 previous night, — and I felt at the same time a shower of earth 
 falHng all round me. 
 
 " ' Self-preservation is the first law of nature,' and so, to escape 
 being buried alive, I scrambled out of the grave as fast as I could ; 
 and on looking over the heap of earth, thrown up round the sides 
 of the grave, I saw a figure moving swiftly away, — but whether it 
 was a man or a woman, or an imp of darkness, I could not tell, for 
 my toe shpped out of the notch I had made for a footstep, and I fell 
 headlong into the grave again ; but, fearing another shower of 
 earth, I scrambled out the best way I could, and went home, 
 determined to give up my search after riches ; for I felt sure that, 
 as I had failed the third time, it was useless to attempt again." 
 
 " Zackly like that," said the landlord, who had been busily sup- 
 plying his guests with more liquor at intervals, during the recital of 
 the tale ; — " who wor she, I wondar ?" 
 
 " Who should she be but one of the pixies ?" replied a tall, stout, 
 well-built young man, who had been listening with breathless 
 attention to the story. 
 
 " Hould thy tongue, 'Siah Trenow," said an elderly man, rising 
 from his seat in the chimney-corner, and taking a long pull at the jug 
 of hot beer and sugar which the landlord had placed on the table ; — 
 " thee'st nevar knaw nothen. I'll tell 'ee, na, tes like as this here. 
 How could a pixie handle a showl for to showley in the stuff again, 
 I should like to knaw ; and where could a pixie get a showl from ? " 
 
 " What wor aw like, so fur as you could see, Maister Freeman ?" 
 continued he, turning round to where that gentleman had been 
 sitting a minute ago, — when, to his astonishment, he saw that the 
 seat was vacant. 
 
 "Why he's gone like the snoff of a candle, soas 1" 
 
 " That's zackly like he, na," said the landlord ; " he'll tell a story 
 till he do bring 'ee up to a point, and then lev 'ee to gees the rest ; 
 esn't et so, Peggy ?" 
 
 " I'U tell 'ee, soas," said the young man who had been addressed 
 as ' 'Siah Trenow,' but whose proper Christian name was ' Josiah,' 
 " he do knaw bra' things. Why, he ha' got a gashly g'cat room up 
 there that nobody can go in but he, where he do count the stars, so 
 they do say." 
 
 " Iss fie," said the landlord, whose name was Brown ; " many people 
 can tell about the conjuring and things, up there."
 
 8 THE WIZAKD OF WEST PENWITH, 
 
 "Hush, Brown," exclaimed his wife; "you do knaw that when 
 ■we lost so many pigs you wor glad enough for to go to IMaister 
 Freeman for to knaw something about them ; and he tould 'ee, so you 
 said, and you b'lieved every word he tould 'ee, — so don't you bark 
 nor growl. His daftor, Aliss Reency, tould me last week that she 
 shiid think that Old Nick Avor up there sometimes Aveth her fe-a-thar, 
 they do keep such a caparous, — and I've got my thof ts, too, soas ! " 
 
 " Come ! come ! Mrs. Brown," exclaimed 'Siah Trenow, rising up 
 in an excited manner ; " don't you bring IMiss Reeney's name in weth 
 her fe-a-thar's doings, or else I'll " 
 
 " Arreah I thon," replied Mrs. BroAvn ; that's the way the maggot 
 do jump, es et ? Iss sure I INIiss Reeney es a bra' tidy maid ; an' 
 frail she do prink herself up so fine sometimes, and b'en to boarding- 
 school, and all that, and do knaw bra' things, she ha' got nothin' to 
 do weth her fe-a-thar's conjuring -room upstairs, I do believe in my 
 conscience, soas ; and ef 'Siah ha' got a mind to her, there's wus 
 than she a bra' deal ; — but he do hold his nose brave an' high, soas, 
 don't aw-?" 
 
 " Miss Reeney esn't the only woman that do live in that house, you 
 knaw," said the old man who had spoken first, "with a knowing wink. 
 
 " No, sure, there's Miss Freeman herself," said Mrs. Brown, pursing 
 up her Hps ; " she's a good catch, they do say." 
 
 " That's very well," said Mr. Brown, laughixig at his wife's wit. 
 
 "Brown," said that good lady, "mind your own business; — what 
 have you got to say about Miss Freeman, I shud like to knaw ? " 
 
 This remark shut up poor Mr. BrowTi entirely ; and whether this 
 discussion of the merits and demerits of Miss Freeman and her 
 niece Alrina (familiarly called Reeney) woiild have jsroceeded much 
 further, it is difficult to say ; for just at that moment a man, who 
 had evidently been out for a considerable time in the storm, burst 
 into tlie room, and said there was a vessel wi'ecked off Pendeen Point. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE WRECK NEAR THE LAXD's-EXD. 
 
 The sound of a wreck was sufficient, at any time, to rouse the most 
 lethargic ; and old and yoimg rose at once, and left the comfortable 
 fire and warm mixtures, and crowded round the new comer to hear 
 the particulars. All he could tell them, however, was that there was 
 a vessel in distress off the Point ; he and several others had heard the 
 gun. She was not a wreck yet, the man said, but it could not be 
 long before she must strike, — for the weather was terrific, and the
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 9 
 
 wind was blowing right in ; so he ran up to the village to give the 
 alarm. There was not a moment's hesitation among the listeners, — 
 everyone prepared to go down to the Point at once. 
 
 Some took ropes, and some took baskets, or bags, or whatever came 
 to hand ; and each man got his lantern, and away they started to the 
 scene of distress. The wind Avas blomng a fearful hurricane, and 
 the rain was falhng heavily, beating into the faces of the foremost, 
 and almost taking away the breath of the older and weaker of the 
 party. As they j^roceeded, others came out of their houses and joined 
 them, — women as well as men. On they went through the storm, 
 with their hats and bonnets tied dowTi with handkerchiefs or pieces 
 of string, to keep them from being blown away. Noble creatures ! 
 thus to brave the storm on such a night as this, for the sake of saving 
 the lives and relieving the sufferings of their fellow-creatures in 
 distress. 
 
 To save life, however, was not the only object these poor people 
 had id view ; nor was it, I fear, the principal one with a great many. 
 When a vessel was wrecked on the Cornish coast, in those days, it 
 was believed by most of the lower orders, that all that was washed 
 ashore, became the undoubted property of anyone who was fortunate 
 enough to pick it up ; and so a wreck was looked iipon as a God-send, 
 and everyone took care of himself, and sometimes returned with a 
 rich booty. 
 
 At length they arrived at the Point, or as near it as it was prudent 
 to approach in this dreadful storm. The night was too dark for 
 them to distinguish the vessel ; but as the gun was fired at intervals, 
 the flash enabled them to see that she was not far from the rocks, on 
 which she might strike at any moment, and all must perish ; for no 
 boat could go out to their rescue, nor could a boat from the vessel 
 live a single moment in such a sea. 
 
 Although the watchers remained some hundreds of yards from the 
 Point, the sea dashed up every now and then against the high cliff, 
 and drenched them with its spray ; but still they continued to watch 
 — their lanterns giving out a dim hne of light as they stood closely 
 packed together, sheltering one another from the wind and rain. 
 Another gun was fired, and the watchers saw that the vessel was 
 close i;pon the breakers. A dreadful shriek was now borne towards 
 them l^y the wind, which was blowing towards the shore, and now 
 they knew that all was over and that the vessel had struck, and was 
 most likely dashed in pieces. 
 
 Nothing more could be done till daylight appeared; so many of 
 the watchers sought the shelter of the rocks to wait for it, in order 
 to begin their work ; for with tliat wind, and the tide beating in, the 
 contents of the vessel must wash on shore very quickly. The crew 
 must all have perished, — of that there was no doubt. The dreadful
 
 10 THE WIZAKD OF WEST PENWITU. 
 
 shriek they had heard was tliat of the dro\vning crew. The only 
 anxiety now was concerning the valualjles which might come in with 
 the tide. 
 
 As the day dawned, the storm abated a Uttle, and, towards 
 morning, many of tlie villagers were seen approaching the Point ; — 
 among them, Mr. Freeman was conspicuous. He came along feebly, 
 keeping the even tenor of his way, — now speaking to one, and then 
 to another, as he was overtaken and passed on the road by the more 
 energetic and youthful of the wreckers, who were all too intent upon 
 the gains in prospect to pay much attention to an infirm man, 
 although they knew not in their haste and thoughtlessness that their 
 actions were watched and noted down in the memory of one who 
 did not often forget a slight. 
 
 Long before it could properly be said to be daylight, the approaches 
 to the little cove were covered with people, watching for the prizes 
 which they expected every wave would wash in. The beautiful 
 white sand was covered with foam, and frequently a huge wave 
 would come dashing in and break beneath the very feet of the most 
 daring and reckless of the watchers, who had approached to the 
 verge of the rocks which bounded tlie innermost circle of the cove. 
 
 No one, as yet, could ventiire on the sand with safety, and it was 
 yet too dark for the watchers to see far before them, for the daylight 
 on that tempestuous morning was a long time making its appearance. 
 A long and eventful year had just terminated, and the new year 
 Beemed very unwilling to take up what the old year had left it to do ; 
 but the laws of nature must be obeyed, and so the new year's 
 morning came at last, and, with it, the prizes so much coveted by 
 the wreckers. 
 
 Timber, casks, and boxes (some empty and some full) came washed 
 in to the very feet of those who were standing on the lowest rocks ; 
 but, before they could reach them, they were carried out again by 
 the receding tide. There were some adventurous enough, however, 
 to make a grasp at the prizes as they came rolling in ; but they would 
 have met with a watery grave, had they not been held back by the 
 more prudent. As the tide ebbed, it left the little cove comparatively 
 free from danger, and then many j^rizes were seized and carried 
 away by the eager finders. 
 
 Mr. Freeman having no wish or intention, apparently, to appro- 
 priate any of the unfortimate sailors' property to himself, wandered 
 about from one place to the other, watching for the bodies that he 
 knew must be washed on shore soon, in order to ascertain, if 
 possible, by the appearance of the sailors, or from any papers they 
 might have about them, the name of the ship, and her cargo and 
 destination. In the course of the day several bodies w^ere washed 
 ashore ; but, even in this short time, they were so disfigui-ed by
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 11 
 
 the sharp-pointed rocks against which they had been dashed by 
 the angry sea, that there were no traces left in any of them of the 
 " human face divine," and even their clothes had been torn off by 
 the merciless rocks and waves. 
 
 In the course of his wandering along the coast, Mr. Freeman 
 surprised several parties dividing and disputing about the property 
 which had been washed on shore in different parts. Here would be 
 seen, perhaps, half-a-dozen men quarrelling about the possession of 
 a cask of wine or brandy, and, in the melee, the top would be 
 knocked in, whilst, in their eagerness to get at its contents, the cask 
 would be overturned, and the whole contents spilt on the sand. In 
 another place might be seen half-a-score women squabbling about 
 the possession of a cask of fruit or provisions. At length, in turning 
 a sharp point of rock, he came suddenly on a man and two women 
 who were kneeling on the sand between two rocks, intently examining 
 the contents of a large sea-chest which they had broken open. Mr. 
 Freeman stood behind a rock for a few minutes, concealed from 
 their view, and watched their proceedings, as, one by one, they took 
 the things out of the chest, with the evident intention of dividing 
 the spoil. He had not before interfered with any of the wreckers in 
 their unlawful plimder, but he now stepped forward and commanded 
 them to replace all the things in the chest and put on the cover. 
 The two women started to their feet at once (for there was a 
 superstitious dread among the people generally at being "ill-wished" 
 by " The Maister" if they thwarted him) ; while the man remained 
 kneeling over the chest, holding in his hands the last article which 
 he had taken from it, in seeming doubt as to whether he had better 
 put it back or bid defiance to the apparently feeble form before him, 
 when Josiah Trenow jumped over a rock into the little cranny, and 
 asked what was the matter. 
 
 " That chest," said Mr. Freeman, " must be taken care of ; I have 
 reasons which I shall not make known at present. If you will get 
 it taken to some safe place, Josiah, I shall feel much obliged to you. 
 In my own house it will be safest, I think." 
 
 " By all mains, sar," rephed Josiah ; " the best place I do knaw es 
 your awn house, Maister. So come, boy," continued he, addressing 
 the man, who was still kneeling by the side of the chest, and looking 
 with longing eyes at its contents, which seemed very valuable, " you 
 and I'll carr'n up." 
 
 However reluctant the man was to relinquish the prize, he 
 had not the foolhardiness to oppose two such powerful antagonists. 
 In stature and physical strength and courage, Josiah Trenow Avas 
 the acknowledged champion of the parish, and very few men liked 
 to be pitted against him, either in the ring or in more serious combat ; 
 whilst Mr. Freeman's well-known ability in foretelling the future
 
 12 THE WIZARD OF WEST PEXWITH. 
 
 and relieving those who were possessed of evil spirits, and even ill- 
 ■wishing people himself (as they believed), rendered him an object 
 of dread to the superstitious and Aveak-minded, of which there were 
 not a few in those days. Josiah had not much difficulty, therefore, 
 in procuring sufficient assistance to carry the chest to Mr. Freeman's 
 house. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Mr. Freem.\n's house seemed, in many respects, as unsociable as 
 its master ; for it was one of those oldfashioned farm-houses one 
 meets with occasionally in remote, out-of-the-way places, without 
 having a farm attached to it, — the farm formerly held with the 
 house having been added to an adjoining farm belonging to the same 
 proprietor, on which there happened to be a larger and better house. 
 It was, even then, an oldfashioned house, with an entrance-hall, if 
 such it might be called, into which you entered from the front door. 
 On the right was the parlour or best sitting-room, and on the left 
 the common sitting-room where the family generally sat. Opposite 
 the front door were the stairs, and on each side of the stairs there 
 was a door, — the one leading into the kitchen, and the other into the 
 little back garden. Over the best parlour was Mr. Freeman's private 
 room, into which no one was permitted to enter except those whose 
 superstition led them to consult " The Maister," as he was generally 
 designated, and to seek his aid in extricating them from some dire 
 misfortime, and then great preparations were made before the visitors 
 were admitted into this mysterious room. 
 
 Mr. Freeman was a widower — so it was said — and his sister kept 
 his house, and exercised strict dominion over his only daughter, a 
 young girl of eighteen. 
 
 Miss Freeman, the sister, it was generally beheved, knew more of 
 her brother's secrets than she liked to tell ; and many a severe 
 reprimand did Alrina receive from her aimt for her curiosity, in 
 trying to pry into secrets which the elder lady thought she had no 
 right to concern herself about. Alice Ann, the servant of all work, 
 was one of that neighbourhood, and therefore spoke the broad 
 Cornish dialect ; but Alrma, who had received a tolerably good 
 education, as times went, had not been infected by the dialect, which 
 is so very contagious when almost everyone s2oeaks it around you. 
 She had just attained her eighteenth year ; but, from her rotundity 
 of figure, and womanly manners, she might have been taken for a 
 girl of that age two years before, at least. She had been kept at a
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 13 
 
 boarding-scliool in one of our large towns almost from lier infancy, 
 and had seen very little either of her father or aunt until recently, 
 and therefore she knew httle more of them, or their habits and 
 pursuits, than a sti-anger, until she left school about twelve months 
 before. In stature she Avas about the middle height, — very fair, with 
 bright auburn hair, which some were malicious enough to call red, 
 but "golden" would have been the more correct term. Red hair is 
 not generally admired, but there was such a golden hue cast over 
 Alrma's hair, that made her soft blue eyes look softer in the contrast. 
 Hogarth's hne of beauty vras displayed in the contour of her figure ; 
 and such a pretty little foot and ankle might be seen as the rude 
 wind waved the drapery aside, when, like a fairy, she gHded over the 
 rocks — so bold and varied on those high cliffs — that, taken tout 
 ensemble, she was just the very girl a man would fall in love with at 
 first sight. There were so many beauties visible at once, and such a 
 happy combination of them all ; and then the pretty dimples in her 
 cheeks, when she smUed, betokened a temper mild and amiable, and 
 yet with spirit enough to resent a -RTong, and assert her own rights 
 against all the world. And thus, although she was obliged to put 
 up with many indignities from her aunt, she managed, by her 
 tact in yielding in minor jDoints, to have her own way in greater, 
 and, to her, more important, ones. 
 
 Alrina was in the kitchen assisting Alice Ann on the morning after 
 the wreck, her aimt having gone into the village on some domestic 
 errand, and for a quiet gossip with some of her numerous friends. 
 
 "Did my father say he would return to dinner, Alice Arm?" 
 said Alrina, as she prinked the paste round the edge of the pie she 
 had just made. 
 
 " No, he dedn't," replied Ahce Ann. " When do he say what time 
 he'll be home, or where he's going to ?" 
 
 "I am tired of all this mystery," said Alrina; — "I wish I knew 
 the meaning of it all. That room upstairs puzzles me very much. 
 I should like to peep into it one day, and see where all the noise 
 comes from, when those ' goostrumnoodles' come here to know who 
 has ill-wished them, and wait in the best parlour while my father 
 goes upstairs to prepare the room for their reception." 
 
 " So shud I too, Miss Reeney," replied Alice Ann ; " but 'tes no 
 good to try, I l>'Ueve ; for I tried to peep in through the keyhole one 
 day, and a ?jlast of gunpowder came out and nearly bhnded me." 
 
 " Hush ! here he comes," said Alrina, who heard her father's foot- 
 step in the passage. 
 
 "Alrina," said he, opening the kitchen-door, "give these men 
 some beer for bringing this chest up from the cove. Take it to the 
 top of the stairs, men, and I shall be able to put it under lock and 
 key myself till the proper owner comes to claim it."
 
 14 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 "While the other men were taking the chest upstairs, and drinking 
 their beer, Josiah went into the kitchen to speak to Alice Ann, for 
 whom he had a sneaking kindness, as the gossips said, although 
 ^Irs. Brown tried to insinuate that it was for the sake of the fair 
 Alrina herself that Josiah so strenuously defended the sayings and 
 doings of the family. 
 
 " You've had a bra' night of it, I s'pose," said Alice Ann, — " fust 
 weth your drink wp to Maister Brown's, to watch in the new year, 
 and then weth your walk to Pendeen to watch in the wreck. What 
 have 'ee picked up, thon, 'Siah ? " 
 
 " Why nothin' at all, Alice Ann," replied he, *' 'cept the g'eat chest 
 that's carr'd up in the Maister's room," 
 
 " What is that chest brought up here for ? " said Alrina, returning 
 from giving the men their beer ; "I think we've got lumber enough 
 here already." 
 
 " So shud I, Miss Eeeney," replied Josiah ; " but I'd see the inside 
 of a good many things ef I wor you." 
 
 " Come, Josiah," exclaimed Mr. Freeman, " we'll go down to the 
 cove again ; there may be more valuables washed in, and more dead 
 bodies perhaps, — living ones I don't expect to see." 
 
 Even the bright eyes of Alice Ann were not sufficiently attractive 
 to keep Josiah from trying his luck once more in search of the stray 
 treasures which the sea might yet wash in. 
 
 While the men went down into the cove, and over the rocks, in 
 search of treasure, Mr. Freeman took the higher road which led to 
 the Point, and there he stood watching the waves as they dashed 
 against tlie bold cliffs and fell back again into the white foam 
 beneath, enveloping all the svurounding objects in a hazy mist. 
 
 About a quarter of a mile fi'om the promontory on which Mr. 
 Freeman stood, rose a large cluster of high rocks, over which the sea 
 rolled at intervals. As the mist cleared occasionally, Mr. Freeman 
 fancied he could see something move in a crevice of one of the 
 topmost of those rocks ; but, after looking again and again, he began 
 at last to think it was nothing but imagination, for it seemed as i£ it 
 was impossible for any living creature to remain on those rocks so 
 long in safety. He could not rest satisfied, however, so he sought 
 Josiah and brought him to look at the object also. 
 
 " 'Tes a man or a woman, I do b'lieve ! " exclaimed Josiah, after 
 looking on the object for some time through a glass wliich he had 
 borrowed from one of the wreckers ; " but how he got there, or how 
 long he'll stay there, I don't knaw." 
 
 It was impossible for any boat to go out, and it seemed almost 
 certain that he must perish, -whoever or whatever it was. They made 
 signals by holding up their handkerchiefs tied to a stick, that the 
 poor creature might have the consolation of knowing he was seen, 
 and cared for ; and that was all they could do.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 15 
 
 Night came on once more, and all hands returned to their homes 
 to rest after the fatigues of the past day and night, and examine the 
 treasures they had picked up. 
 
 Josiah had been so much engaged in attending on Mr. Freeman, 
 that he had not succeeded in picking up anything worth carrying 
 home. He thought, therefore, he would remain at the Cove a little 
 longer ; so he stole round the Point, and stooped down between two 
 low rocks to conceal himself until the others were gone ; and as he 
 stooped, he saw something partially buried in the sand a few yards 
 from him. At first he thought it was a rock ; but the waves, as 
 they rolled over it, seemed to move it. He watched for an oppor- 
 tunity when the waves receded, and at last he ran out, at the risk 
 of his life, and seized his j)rize. It was as much as he coiild do to 
 pull it up out of the sand, in which it was embedded ; — he succeeded, 
 however, and got back to his hiding-place in safety, but not without 
 a good wetting, for a wave washed completely over him while he 
 was getting up the object of his cuj)idity, and he barely saved 
 himself from being carried out to sea, and that was all. It was a 
 small box, very strongly made, and very heavy. There was some- 
 thing valuable inside it, he had no doubt ; so he took ofE his coat, 
 which was very wet, wrapped it round the box, and made the best 
 of his way home with his treasure. 
 
 The next morning Mr. Freeman was early at the Point, but 
 could see nothing of the object which had before attracted his 
 attention, and. he supposed it must have perished ; — but he did not 
 like to give it up ; and towards the middle of the day, the sea 
 having calmed down a good deal, he induced some stout sailors to 
 go out to those rocks, and see if there was anything there or not. 
 
 It was a perilous undertaking ; but the boat was got ready and 
 manned, and four brave fellows started amid the shouts of their 
 comrades on the beach. After a severe struggle with the waves, 
 they succeeded in getting near the rocks, but it was impossible yet 
 to land, — so they returned for more help, and to wait till the tide 
 was lower. They saw somethmg lying between two of the rocks, 
 they said, but what it was they couldn't tell. 
 
 When the tide was at its lowest, the sea having subsided yet a 
 little more, two boats were manned, and ropes and grappling-irons, 
 and all that was deemed necessary, were put on board ; and this time 
 two of the boats' crew succeeded in landing on the rock, where they 
 found a man, apparently lifeless, grasj)ing a sharp rock so firmly, 
 that it was witli thfiiculty they were enabled to extricate him ; — it 
 seemed like a death grasji ; but, on examination, they found that ho 
 still breathed. They brought him on shore and rubbed him, and 
 poured a little brandy down his throat, which revived him ; and ho 
 was carried at once to the inn, where every attention was paid to him.
 
 16 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 
 
 It was at first thoiiglit he would sink from exhaustion and the want 
 of food for so many hours, but, after a night's sleep, he rallied so 
 as to be able to thank his deliverers, and to give them some 
 information respecting himself, as well as of the vessel which had 
 met with such a melancholy fate. 
 
 The ship was an East ludiaman, he said, returning to England 
 with a valuable cargo. The captain died on the voyage, and the 
 mate was too fond of the brandy-bottle, and flirting -with the 
 lady-passengers, to attend to his duty, so he missed his reckoning 
 and got on the rocks before he expected, notwithstanding the 
 warnings that were given him by the sailors. The storm arose so 
 suddenly that even the most wary were caught. 
 
 The lanterns on the cliffs deceived them too, he said ; for they 
 seemed to be close to the edge of the cliff, whereas they were some 
 distance inland. The boats were launched, and filled, but he believed 
 everyone perished. He got hold of some spars that were floating 
 round the wreck when she broke up, and held on as long as he 
 could, but was eventually lifted on to the rocks, where he was so 
 providentially found ; — he got jammed between two sharp rocks, and 
 there he held on with all his might ; but he could scarcely keep his 
 position, for when the storm was at its height the sea washed over 
 him continually. There were several passengers on board, — some 
 bringing home gold, and others indigo and other kinds of wealth, but 
 all had perished. He was one of the crew, he said, and therefore 
 had not lost much. The ship belonged to the East India Company, 
 and so he supposed they could afford to lose a Httle ; but he believed 
 they had taken care of themselves by insiu-ances. 
 
 The poor man was well treated, and when siifHciently recovered a 
 subscription was made for him, and he was sent on to his friends. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE UNEXPECTED MEETING. 
 
 Although Mr. Freeman was not at all inclined to be sociable or 
 familiar with bis neighbours himself, yet he did not object to his 
 sister and daughter being on friendly terms with them ; — indeed he 
 rather wished it, and was never more pleased than when they were 
 visiting at the farm-houses in the neighbourhood, or giving enter- 
 tainments at home — at which he was seldom seen except in some 
 mysterious manner. Strange noises would sometimes be heard in 
 " The Maister's" private room, in the dusk of the evening, before the 
 candles were brought in ; and, in the midst of the terror of the
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 17 
 
 \'isitors, and almost before the noises had subsided, Mr. Freeman 
 would walk quietly into the room, and relate some thrilling story, 
 and disappear again in the same mysterious manner. These scenes 
 would be talked over the next day by the gossips, and after going 
 the round for a few days, the most extraordinary additions would be 
 made and circulated. And so he became a man of great importance, 
 and was looked upon as a superior bemg, and people feared him and 
 believed that his powers were much greater than they really were. 
 
 He was greatly assisted in obtainmg information respecting his 
 neighbours, by his sister, who was a shrewd woman, and who by her 
 tact and cunning could lead on her friends imperceptibly to talk of 
 their own and their neighboiu's' private affairs. She would impart 
 those secrets to " The Maister," who stored them in his memory till 
 opportunities arose for using his information with advantage. And 
 when those ignorant people applied to him to be informed by whom 
 they were ill-wished, or to recover their projoerty, perhaps, which 
 had been stolen, he could guess pretty nearly who the culprits were 
 likely to be, having possession of these little secrets (long since for- 
 gotten by them) ; and he would so work upon their fears, that the 
 property would be restored in some mysterious way, and he then 
 would have the credit for getting it back by some supernatural 
 agency. 
 
 AJrina had a good deal of her father's fondness for the mysterious, 
 but in her it took a more romantic turn. She would spend whole 
 days, sometimes, in wandering over the cliffs and examining with 
 curiosity the ruins of chapels and ancient fortifications, of which 
 there were several in that locality ; and the tumuli in the neigh- 
 bourhood of the chapels, supposed to contain the ashes of the Druids 
 and other holy men, afforded great scope to her imagination. Her 
 father, as we have seen, was not very regular in his habits — indeed 
 it would not have suited his purpose to be so — and her aunt was 
 sometimes so intent on sifting out any little secret gossip, and 
 relating it to " The Maister," that Alrina was often left for days 
 without the supervision of either her father or aunt, and so she 
 wandered about alone. 
 
 She was sitting, one fine morning after the shipwreck, under the 
 shelter of some high rocks at the Land's-End, watching the vessels 
 as they passed round the point — some inside and some outside the 
 Longships, when she heard herself addressed by some one overhead, 
 and, on looking up, she saw a handsome young man looking down 
 on her from the rocks which overhung her resting-place. It was 
 some stranger, evidently, for lie merely said, " You seem fond of 
 seclusion, fair lady ;" — but when she looked up, he exclaimed, 
 " Alrina I can it be possible ?" and in a moment lie was at her side. 
 
 A crimson flush overspread her face, extending almost to the
 
 18 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 roots of lior hair, as she jumped up, and extended her hand towards 
 the intruder, who clasped her in his arms, wliile she exclaimed, 
 without attempting to extricate herself, " Are my dreams and hopes 
 so soon realized ? "\\Tiere have you been ? How did you get here ?" 
 
 " I have surprised you, Alrina," replied he, pressing his lips to 
 her cheek ; " and I assure you when I left England, two years ago, 
 so unexpectedly, I thought it would have been a longer separation ; 
 but it was cruel of you, Alrina, not to keep your appointment that 
 night, knowing it was the last opportunity I had of seeing you before 
 I quitted England I" 
 
 " Indeed, Frederick," replied Alrina, " it was not my fault. You 
 know that one of the servants at the school discovered our secret 
 meetings in the garden, and told Mrs. Horton, who had the window 
 nailed up through which I used to get out, and " 
 
 "Yes!" said the gentleman, hastily; "but I bribed the other 
 girl, who was not so scrupulous, to manage one more meeting, as it 
 was the last night before my departure, and she faithfully promised 
 to do so." 
 
 " Circumstances seemed to thwart us in every way," replied 
 Alrina, "The young lady who slept in my room was suddenly 
 taken ill, just after we went to bed, and the servant Avho betrayed 
 us before was desired to remain with her all night, so that I was a 
 prisoner." 
 
 " I see it all," said he ; " and this explanation has relieved my 
 mind from anxious thoughts. But why did you not write me ?" 
 
 "That was impossible," replied Alrina ; "for I was taken from 
 school almost immediately, and didn't know where to address a letter 
 to you. I wi-ote to your sister, who had been a day -pupil at the 
 same school, and through whom we first became acquainted, but, 
 not having her exact address, I suppose the letter never reached her." 
 
 " Never mind, Alrina," said he, as he took a seat by her side in 
 the little sheltered nook she had before occupied ; "we have met at 
 last ; — and now I will tell you something more about myself and 
 my position than I thought it necessary to tell, or you to ask, in any 
 of our clandestine meetings, — we had other things to think of and 
 talk about then. I have since been knocked about in the world, 
 and the romantic passion of my boyhood has lost, perhaps, much of 
 its romance, but the love I then felt for you still remains in all its 
 purity and devotion." 
 
 " I never doubted that," replied Alrina, looking fondly at him, as 
 she used to do ; — for her romance had not been rubbed off by contact 
 with the world, but, on the contrary, had increased ; — her life had 
 been one of romance and mystery from her childhood, and every- 
 thing around her seemed veiled in mystery. 
 
 " I have never ceased to think of you, and to wonder where you
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PEN WITH. 19 
 
 had gone, and wlietlier I should ever see you again," she continued. 
 " These rocks have been my refuge from the monotony and mystery 
 of home ; and here I have of ttimes given vent to my feehngs, when 
 I thought and knew I was unobserved. But tell me," she continued, 
 looking up into his fine manly face with love and admiration, " where 
 you have been, and what you have been doing, since Ave last met." 
 
 " I had just obtained my commission in the 63rd Regiment of 
 Light Infantry," he resumed ; " and my fondest hopes, as I thought, 
 were realized Avhen I met you walking in solemn procession with the 
 other young laches of Mrs. Horton's seminary. I was struck with 
 your appearance, and I asked my sister, who was, as you have said, 
 a day-pupil at the same school, who you were. All she could tell me 
 was that your name Avas Alrina Freeman ; and, I suppose, that was 
 all I wanted to know just then. She took a note to you from me, 
 and the next time I met the school procession, there was a mutual 
 recognition ; several notes passed between us ; and at last you con- 
 sented to a clandestine meeting in the garden. Our meetings were 
 discovered. My regiment was ordered abroad suddenly, and, owing 
 to the circumstances already related, we did not meet again before 
 my departure. I returned with my regiment about a month since, 
 and made all the inquiry in my power, but without avail, I went to 
 the school. The mistress Avas dead, and the school given up. I had 
 a month's furlough ; and, hearing that an old schoolfelloAV had an 
 appointment at a signal-station near the Land's-Bnd, I packed up my 
 traps in a carpet-bag, and arrived at my friend's station, at Tol-pedn- 
 Penwith about a week since. My friend is a bachelor ; — he is several 
 years my senior, but a right jolly fellow. His name is FoAvler. He 
 introduced me to the squire's family at Pendrea-house. The squire has 
 been a queer old chap in his time, I believe ; but his wife seems a good 
 old soul, and the two daughters are charming; — but the name of 
 Freeman was always in my thoughts. In the course of conversation 
 after dinner at the squire's the other day, some one said that there was 
 a celebrated conjuror residing near the Land's-End, whose name was 
 Freeman. I felt a thrill run through me at the name, and I 
 determined on paying him a visit ; for I thought that if he was so 
 clever as he was reported to be, he might be able to assist me Avith 
 some information respecting her I so anxiously sought, especially as 
 he bore the same name. You have heard of him, I dare say. I 
 came ot;t to-day alone, determined to see the conjtiror, and get all 
 the infoiTnation I could before I returned ; and seeing a young lady 
 go down over the rocks, I was seized with a little romantic curiosity, 
 and folloAved, when, as I looked over the rocks above your head, I 
 caught sight of your face, as you turned your head to watch the 
 course of a vessel which was passing. I was not (juite sure even 
 then, not expecting to see you here, — so I spoke to you, as to a
 
 20 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENAVITII. 
 
 ptrancrer, and when you looked up at me I saw T was not mistaken ; 
 and now," continued he, pressing her hand and laughing, " I need 
 not go to the conjiu-or." 
 
 " I do not know that," said Alrina, in a thoughtful tone ; " I think 
 it is most likely you -will have to go to ' the conjuror,' after all, if 
 yoii wish to know anything more of my family, for the person you 
 call 'the conjiiror' is my father." 
 
 " Your father ! " exclaimed Frederick, in great surprise. " No ! 
 no ! you are joking." 
 
 '' I am not, indeed," replied Alrina ; " there is some mystery 
 hanging over my relatives, that I have never been able to um-avel, 
 especially as to my father ; — my mother I don't remember ; she died 
 when I was very young, I believe. Where we resided before we 
 came here I don't know. My father is very clever, — there is no 
 doubt about that, — and he manages to awe the people here into the 
 belief that he knows more than he really does ; and he has a 
 mysterious room which is only entered by himself and those whose 
 fears and superstition he wishes to work upon. My aimt knows 
 something of these mysteries — how miTch I don't know; — but I 
 know nothing of them ; I am kept entirely in ignorance ; they don't 
 seem to hke to trust me. Oh ! how wretched it makes me feel ; for 
 I sometimes fancy it may be too dreadful to be told, and then I come 
 out alone, and wander over the rocks, and think of those few happy 
 moments of my life, never to be forgotten. It is very, very hard to 
 feel that no one has confidence in me;" and she burst into tears. 
 
 " Don't distress yourself about these things now, dearest Alrina," 
 said her companion, taking her hand. " I will protect you Avith my 
 life ; and I will see the conjuror and his secret chamber before I 
 leave this neighbourhood, and bring him to his bearings, or my 
 name is not Frederick Morley ! " 
 
 " Oh ! but if there should be some dreadful secret," replied 
 Alrina, sobbing, as her lover pressed her to his heart, " we could 
 never be to one another as we have hoped ; and now that you know 
 who my father is, I fear you will look cold upon me too, like the rest 
 of the world, and that would kill me. Oh ! Frederick, after all my 
 dreams of happiness, if I should lose yoxu" love when I feel I want 
 it most, and when the fondest hope of my life seems almost realized 
 by your return so unexpectedly, " 
 
 " My dearest Alrina," said Morley, " you will find no change in 
 my affections or feelings. I will sift this secret out to the end, cost 
 what it may, and nothing shall separate us now." 
 
 Thus did the two youthful lovers talk on, tmtil it was time for 
 them to separate ; and so earnest were they in their conversation, 
 and on the renewal of their former loves, that they did not perceive 
 the head that was projecting from the overhanging rocks, nor the
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 21 
 
 eager eyes and ears wliicli had seen and heard all that had passed 
 between them. 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! " exclaimed the individual to whom the head belonged, 
 as it walked qnietly away, when the interview between the two lovers 
 was draAving to a close ; " secrets worth knowing ! " 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 JOHN BROWN AND HIS FAVOURITE MARE " JESSIE." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Brown, who now kept the " Commercial" inn at 
 St. Just, had formerly lived, for many years, in the service of one 
 of the ancient aristocratic Cornish families in that neighbourhood, — ■ 
 the one as coachman, the other as cook. Mr. Brown was rather 
 effeminate and methodical in his manners and habits, and particularly 
 neat in his dress. His hair, which he always kept short, was as 
 smooth and sleek as one of his master's coach-horses. He invariably 
 wore a brown coat, always nicely brushed, with light waistcoat and 
 breeches ; a white neckerchief enveloped his neck, in which was 
 enclosed a thick pad, and tied in a neat little bow in front. His 
 hat, which he wore continually indoors and out, always looked as if 
 it had just come out of the hatter's shop ; and as to his shoes ! — if 
 Mr. Brown was more particular in one part of his dress than another, 
 it was in the polish of his shoes, which did credit to " Warren's Jet 
 Blacking" and their master's energy and skill, — for he invariably 
 gave them an extra polish himself before he j^i-it them on of a 
 morning, after Bill, the stable-boy, had done his best. If he was 
 not quite the first groom of the chamber indoors, where his wife 
 held rule, he could certainly boast of being first groom of the stall, 
 when he got into the stables, where it was natural to suppose he was 
 in his element, fi-om having been so many years coachman in a 
 gentleman's family. 
 
 He was a good judge of horseflesh, and had the sweetest little 
 mare in the stable that you would wish to set your eyes upon — a 
 perfect picture of a horse — a bright bay, with black tail and mane. 
 And, although it was January month, when most horses have their 
 winter coats, yet, what with grooming and clothing, and regular 
 feeding and exercise, Mr. Brown's mare Jessie was as sleek and 
 smooth as if it had been the height of summer, so well was she 
 taken care of and j)etted by her master. This was his hobby, and in 
 this he spent most of his time, and a good deal of his spare cash. 
 
 If Mr. Brown was too effeminate for a man, Mrs. Brown was 
 certainly too masculine for a woman, — at least so Mr. Brown thought
 
 22 TUE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII, 
 
 sometimes, although he had neither the courage nor the ill manners 
 to say so. She was neat in her dress also, but not quite so particular 
 as her husband. A chintz gown, looped up through the pocket- 
 holes, — a large coloured silk handkerchiei" thrown over her shoulders, 
 and pinned down in front and confined at the ends by the wide 
 string of her cheque apron, formed the general character of Mrs. 
 Brown's dress ; and, like her husband, she invariably wore her bonnet 
 indoors and out. 
 
 The general business at " The Commercial" was not very extensive, 
 but as Mr. and ]\Irs. Bro^vn had no children, and had saved a little 
 money, they kept on the house — which Avas their own property — 
 more for amusement than profit. They kept one servant indoors (a 
 sort of maid-of -all-work), whose name was Polly, and a boy in the 
 stables to attend to Jessie the mare, and do other little jobs to help 
 the women. Mr. Brown made himseK useful in the house if 
 required, when customers came in, by drawing beer and attending 
 to their wants, but he never did a single thing without calling some 
 one to help him ; sometimes it was Polly, and sometimes Billy, and 
 sometimes even Peggy his wife ; but he generally, poor man, had to 
 do the work alone, wdiatever it was, although fortunately it was never 
 very laborious. 
 
 On the afternoon of the day on which the two lovers met at the 
 Land's-End point, Mr. and Mrs. Brown were sitting in the kitchen 
 alone, — the latter having sent Polly upstau^s, to brush up a bit, Avhile 
 she went on with some work she had in hand for her husband. She 
 was knitting him a pair of white lamb's-wool stockings, for general 
 wear, if the truth must be told. 
 
 " I wish the boy was come to take the mare out a bit, I think," 
 said IMr. Brown, " this beautiful afternoon. I shall go out a mile or 
 two myself if he don't come soon." 
 
 " I tell 'ee what et es, Brown," said his wife ; " there's more fuss 
 made about that mare than ef she'd b'en a cheeld. I'd have a glass 
 case made for har ef I wor you ! " 
 
 " Don't 'ee be vexed, Peggy, 'cause I do take care of the poor 
 thing. There's the boy coming, I do believe," said he, rising from 
 his seat, and going towards the door. " Your sarvant, sar," he con- 
 tinued, as he met a tall handsome young man in the jmssage ; and 
 Avithout waiting for a reply from the stranger, he returned to the 
 kitchen, rubbing his hands, followed by the stranger, and exclaiming, 
 " Bless my hfe, Peggy ! bless my life ! — es the best bedroom ready 
 upstairs ? hei'e's a gentleman, my dear ! " 
 
 " Gentleman sure 'miff ! " said his Avif e, looking imutterable things 
 at her husband, and cui'tseying at the same time to tlie stranger ; — 
 " gentle or semple is all the same to you, I beheve, John Brown." 
 
 "Now, don't put yourselves out of the way for me, my good
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 23 
 
 fiiends," said the stranger ; " all I want is something to eat at once, 
 and a ' sliake-down ' here for a night or two." 
 
 " We've got nothing in the house to eat, I do beheve," said Mr. 
 Brown ; " have us, Peggy ? And as to a ' shake-down ! ' — why we 
 don't have many visitors here to sleep ! " 
 
 " Brown ! " said his better haK, in an authoritative tone, " go and 
 look to the mare ! " — and she pointed significantly to the door, through 
 which Mr. Brown made his escape, calling Billy, by way of covering 
 his retreat, without being further exposed to the stranger ; for he 
 saw he had gone a httle too far, in takmg it upon himself to answer 
 for what could or could not be had in the house. 
 
 The stranger, in the meantime, had thrown himself carelessly into 
 Mrs. Brown's seat, and extended his legs before him, as if he was 
 quite at home, and was accustomed to make himself comfortable 
 wherever he happened to be. 
 
 " Now then, Mrs. Brown," said he, "a glass of your best ale to 
 begin with, and then something to eat, for I'm devilish hungiy." 
 
 " I can give 'ee some eggs and a rasher at once, sar," replied Mrs. 
 Brown ; " but ef you can wait 'bout half-an-hour or so, you shall 
 have a roast fowl and taties." 
 
 " I'll have the eggs and bacon by all means," said he ; " I couldn't 
 wait half-an-hour for all the fowls in your yard; — and while you 
 are dressing the eggs and bacon, I will try if I can get some one 
 to fetch my carpet-bag." So he sauntered into the stable, where he 
 found Mr. Brown admiring his mare Jessie. 
 
 "Isn't she a beauty, sir?" said the landlord, combing his horse's 
 tail with a comb he kept in his pocket for the purpose. 
 
 " She is a handsome creature, certainly," said the stranger, looking 
 at the mare with the eye of a connoisseur ; " but what can you 
 possibly want with a horse of that kind in this rough country ? " 
 
 " That's to me, sir — asking your pardon," rephed Mr. Brown, 
 touching his hat. 
 
 " Oh ! of course, of course," said the stranger ; " I meant no offence. 
 I came out to know if you could get anyone to go to Tol-pcidn- 
 Penwith signal-station, where I have been staying, for my bag." 
 
 " Tol-pedn-Penwith signal-station, sir !" replied Mr. Brown ; " why 
 that's Lieutenant Foster's ' cabin,' as he calls it, near Lamorna Cove ? " 
 
 " That's the j)lace," said the stranger ; — "could you send anyone ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, certainly ; when my boy Bill do come in, he shall take 
 the mare and ride down there, — it'll be very good exercise for 
 her this fine a'ternoon. Drat the boy, I wish he was come ! " 
 
 Bill soon made his appearance, and was despatched on the mare 
 with a note to Lieutenant Fowler, written on a leaf torn from the 
 gentleman's pocket-book, while Mr. Brown walked romid the marc 
 twice, and used his comb on her tail and mane.
 
 24 THE WIZAKD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 " Isn't she a beauty, sir ? " &aid he, as the boy cantered off. " Easy 1 
 easy, now ! " exclaimed Mr. Brown, calling after the boy ; " ride her 
 gently. Wo ! ho ! Jessie ! gently, lass, gently ! " 
 
 These remarks might as well have been addressed to the wind as 
 to the boy or the mare, who seemed both intent on a gallop, and 
 away they went at full speed. 
 
 '' Drat the boy," suid Mr. BroAATi ; " he'll wind her — that's a sure 
 thing — one of these days; and then where'll the money come from 
 to buy another ? But no money could do it ! ^Vhy, I wouldn't take 
 a hundred guineas for that mare, sir, if it was offered to me to- 
 morrow morning ! she's worth her weight in gold, sir, that mare is ! " 
 
 " Don't fidget about the mare, Mr. Brown," said the gentleman ; 
 " she'll be all right ; a little gallop will do her good. And now I 
 shall try Mrs. Brown's cookery, — it smells very good ; " and he 
 returned into the house to appease his appetite, while the landlord 
 went into the stable to lament once more over the Avilfulness of that 
 scamp of a boy, as he called him, and to see that all things were 
 ready for his pet when she came back. And, having done all tliis, 
 he returned to the kitchen, Avhere he found the stranger smoking a 
 pipe in the chimney-corner after his frugal repast, and chatting with 
 Mrs. Brown as if they had been old acquaintances. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Brown," said he, " I'm going to have a glass of 
 brandy and water, and you must take one too ; so mix them, if you 
 please, and come and tell me all the news." 
 
 '• Polly ! come and get the hot water and sugar for the gentleman," 
 said the landlord, caUing to the maid, avIio was upstairs, as he went 
 towards the bar to get the two brandies. '' Come, Poll ! Poll ! Polly ! " 
 But as Polly did not come, he Avas obhged to bustle about himseK ; for 
 he received no help from his wife, although he called to her several 
 times from the bar. At length all things were placed on the little 
 table, and the stranger began to ask about " The Conjuror." 
 
 " The what ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bro-mi, dropping her needles, and 
 looking up in surprise and alarm, — while poor Mr. Brown stopped 
 short in the act of putting his glass to his lij^s. 
 
 " Hallo ! " exclaimed the stranger ; "you look as if you had heard 
 some fellow talking treason against His Most Gracious Majesty the 
 King — God bless liim ! " — and the stranger Lifted his hat, which he 
 had kept on out of compliment to his host and hostess. " I mean 
 Mr. Freeman, then," he said, correcting himseK ; " I have heard such 
 wonderful accounts of him, that I should like to know what he can 
 really do." 
 
 " He would shaw you what he could do, very soon, ef he heard 
 you speak that word, I reckon," replied ]\Irs. Brown, getting up from 
 her seat and going to the door of the kitchen, and looking into the 
 passage and closing the front door.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 25 
 
 " He doesn't like being called a ' conjuror,' then," said the stranger, 
 
 " Like it ? " said Mrs. Brown, drawing her chair nearer to the 
 chimney-corner ; " iss, — just as much as you would like to be called 
 ' no conjuror ! ' " 
 
 " That's very well," said Mr. Brown, venturing on a laugh, now 
 that his courage was being wound u^) by the brandy and water. 
 
 At this moment there came a clatter down the road, as of a horse 
 at full gallop. 
 
 " Drat the boy ! " exclaimed Mr. Brown, rising in great excitement ; 
 " he can't be come a'ready, can aw ? To ride the mare like that es 
 too bad ! too bad ! I'll kill 'n ef 'tes he. Iss fie ! tes ; for she's 
 stopped at the stable-door. Dear lor' ! Polly ! Polly ! " 
 
 When Mr. Brown went out, followed by the stranger and Mrs. 
 Brown, there was the mare sure enough, standing at the stable-door 
 without a rider, trembhng from head to foot, and covered with foam 
 and mud, with scarcely a dry hair on her body. 
 
 " Drat the boy ! " exclaimed Mr. Bro"mi ; " he's killed — that's a 
 sure thing — and the mare is ruined. Wo ! ho ! my darling ; wo ! 
 ho ! " And he took the mare's nose into his arms, and caressed it 
 as if it had been a favourite daughter, while the stranger examined 
 her all over, but coiild find no wound or injury whatever. She had 
 evidently been frightened, for she was trembhng still. They led her 
 into the stable, and then began to think of the boy. 
 
 " I'd go and search for him," said the stranger, " but I don't know 
 which way he went." 
 
 " No, nor yet I," said Mrs. Brown ; " there's no knowing where 
 that boy do go, when he's out ; he's mighty fond of taking the 
 naiTow roads and bye lanes instead of the high road. There's two 
 or three ways of going to Tol-pedn-Penwith from here ; and like 
 enough he went the way that nobody else would go ('cept ' The 
 Maister')." This latter sentence she spoke almost in a whisper. 
 
 " While we are talking here, the boy may die," said the stranger, 
 " if he's thrown and seriously hurt." 
 
 " The mare is all right," said Mr. Brown, coming out of the stable ; 
 " and now, if missus will get Polly to make a ' warm mash,' and 
 give it to her at once, you and I'll go, sir, and see what can be done 
 for the poor boy." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE FAMILY PARTY. 
 
 The two young officers had been invited to dine at Pendrea-houso 
 on that day, at two o'clock — the squire's usual dinner-hour. Lieut. 
 Fowler had some writing work to do — rather an unusual occupation
 
 26 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 for him. However, as it was a report to be sent to head-quarters, 
 which he had put off from day to day, he said to his friend in the 
 morning, during breakfast, " The ^v^iting be blowed ! but ' needs 
 must when the de\'il drives ! ' so you go out, old fellow, and take a 
 stroll, and leave me here to kick my heels imder the table for a few 
 hours. Two o'clock sharp, mind, and then we'll put our legs under 
 the squire's mahogany, and tuck into his old port like trumps. That's 
 an amusement which suits me a devilish deal better than quill- 
 driving, if I must tell the honest truth for once in my life." 
 
 Two o'clock arrived, but Morley did not make his appearance. 
 " The deuce take the fellow," solilocpiised the lieutenant ; " he'll lose 
 his dinner and get out of the squire's good books. By Jove ! though, 
 perhaps he went in to have a lark with the girls in the morning, and 
 so he did not think it worth while to come back. I'll just wash the 
 ink off my paws, and toddle down as quick as I can ; the squire 
 won't like being kept waiting. 'Tis devilish lucky the old chap 
 doesn't require a fellow to dress for dinner every time he tucks his 
 legs under his mahogany ; — I don't like getting into harness very 
 often, unless duty calls — and then we must obey." 
 
 T\Tiile the jovial officer is washing his hands, we will just look 
 round his little " cabin," as he called it. 
 
 The little dwelling in which the commander of the signal-station 
 resided, was certainly fitted up more to resemble a cabin on board 
 ship, than the habitation of a landsman. On the ground floor there 
 was a small room, or lobby, into which you entered at once from the 
 front door. Opposite this door there was a door leading into the 
 sitting-room, and beyond that another door led from the sitting-room 
 into the kitchen. On the right, as you entered the lobby, were the 
 stairs, leading to the two bedrooms, which led one into the other, 
 like the rooms below. And in the ceilings were fixed iron rings, to 
 which the hammocks were slung at night, and unshipped by day, 
 the same as on board ship, so that these rooms might also be used 
 as sitting-rooms, if required, in the daytime. 
 
 There were three men kept at each of these stations, besides the 
 officer, and they had a separate cabin appropriated to them, adjoining 
 the principal one. Their duty was to attend upon the officer ; hoist 
 signals of flags and balls, to give notice of the approach of an 
 enemy's ship; or to signal to English ships orders from head-quarters. 
 And these signals could be commimicated to and from London in a 
 very short time, — although not so quickly, nor so accurately, as by 
 the telegraph of the present day. 
 
 It was not long after two when Lieut. Fowler got down to Pendrea- 
 house, where he found the squire with his watch in his hand. 
 
 " Half-an-hour is soon lost, my boy," said the old gentleman, as the 
 lieutenant entered the drawing-room ; "but where is your friend ?"
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 27 
 
 " Hasn't Morley been here, sir ?" asked Fowler, in some surprise. 
 
 " No," replied the sqnire, " I haven't seen him, — have you, girls ?" 
 
 This last question was addressed to two young ladies, whom Lieut. 
 Fowler now approached, and greeted as old acquaintances. They 
 had seen nothing of Mr. Morley, they said, since the day before, 
 when they had all walked to Lamorna Cove together. 
 
 " That's queer," said the squire ; " but he's a stranger, and may 
 have missed his way, — so we'll give him a qiiarter-of-an-hour's 
 grace." 
 
 And during this quarter-of-an-hour — the most awkward one in 
 the whole twenty-four hoiu-s — we will introduce the reader more 
 formally than we have hitherto done, to Squire Pendray and his 
 family, the present owner and occupiers of Pendrea-house. 
 
 The squire was a pu.rse-proud man, who had made a good deal of 
 money, no one knew how, and purchased Pendrea estate many years 
 before. He wished to rank among the ancient aristocracy of the 
 county, — and his wealth enabled him to mix with, them, and to be 
 on a seeming equality ; but in those days ancestral pride was very 
 strong, and those who cordd boast of an ancient aristocratic pedigree, 
 however limited their means might be, looked down with contempt 
 on the man of a day, who had nothing but his riches to recommend 
 him. The rich man was tolerated and patronized for the sake of his 
 wealth, but he was still looked down ujjon as an inferior. Squire 
 Pendray was one of these. But he was as proud of his riches as 
 they were of their pedigree, and so he did not see nor care for their 
 patronizing airs ; — besides, he, in his turn, patronized those whom he 
 considered inferior to him in wealth, and he was satisfied. Some 
 said he was connected with the smugglers, and that they brought 
 goods up to some of his subterranean vaults, through a secret passage 
 which led fi-om a cavern at Lamorna Cove up to Pendrea-house. 
 Where the entrance from the liouse to these subterranean vaults was, 
 no one could tell but the squire himseK. 
 
 Mrs. Pendray was a homely, good sort of woman, — kind and 
 hospitable, and very much beloved by tlie poor of the parish, to 
 whom she distributed her bounties with a liberal hand. 
 
 Her two daughters will require a more elaborate descrijjtion ; for 
 they were considered the " l)elles" of the west, and were toasted by 
 all the young men of the neighbourhood at their after-dinner orgies 
 — a custom very prevalent at that period. 
 
 The elder of the two sisters, Matilda — or Maud, as she was 
 generally called — was a brunette, with dark hair and eyes, and a 
 profile so regular and perfect, that, Avhen the countenance was still 
 and in repose, as it were, you might, without a great stretch of 
 imagination, have fancied it a piece of tinted sculpture, — but tlie 
 slightest thing would rouse it into animation, and then the dark eyes
 
 28 THE ^A'IZAnn of west PENWTrn. 
 
 would flash like a piece of polished steel when stnick by the electric 
 fluid. She wore her hair in bands, which contrasted well with her 
 high intellectual forehead, and added dignity of expression to her 
 handsome features. Her stature was lofty, and her form eleprant 
 and symmetrical ; and Avhen she walked across the room there was 
 majesty in her stop, as if her foot disdained the groimd it trod upon. 
 She delighted to wander out alone over the highest lieadlands, when 
 the wind was raging ■\A'ith its wildest fury, and to stand and watch 
 the foaming Avaves, as they surged and dashed against the perpen- 
 dicular cliffs, until she was saturated with the spray and in danger 
 of being blown over into the abyss beneath. 
 
 Blanche was as unlike her elder sister as it was possible for her to 
 be. She was fair, and her beautiful auburn hair hung in graceful 
 ringlets over her soft young cheeks, as if to hide her blushes, which 
 the merest trifle would call forth. She was just seventeen. Her 
 sister was four years older ; but, in person and manners, you would 
 think there was a greater difference of age between them. \Miile 
 Maud Avalked out to witness the storm in all its majesty, from those 
 bold cliffs, Blanche Avould take some quiet book of poetry, and sit 
 alone, and read, in the little room upstairs, which their mother, years 
 ao-o, had set apart for her two daughters. And when the early spring 
 brought soft and balmy sunshine, Blanche would take her book and 
 wander out alone — not to the towering cliffs, and bold headlands, 
 but along the sheltered paths which led down to Lamorna Cove, 
 gathering wild flowers by the way. And there she would watch 
 the rippling waves, as they came dancing in over the beautiful 
 white sand, sjjarkling in the sunshine ; and when her eyes were 
 weary with watching the calm unruffled sea, she would sit beneath 
 some sheltered rock, and read, and weep over some sad tale until 
 her eyes grew dim, and then would rise again and search for some 
 rare shell, or tiny piece of seaweed, she had read or heard of, as 
 being found at Lamorna Cove. 
 
 Lieut. Fowler, whose occupation caused him to wander everywhere 
 along the coast, in search of smugglers, or enemies' ships, would 
 often come suddenly on one or other of the sisters, and would then 
 escort them home and dine Avith the old squire, who liked him, and 
 was fond of having him there to Avhile away an afternoon in social 
 chat ; for the lieutenant, although not more than thirty years of age, 
 had seen a little ser\4ce, and could tell tales that even Maud A\"ould 
 sit and listen to. But, for the gentle Blanche, those tales of hardship 
 and suffering, and deeds of daring, and hairbreadth escapes, had a 
 deeper charm than she dared to confess even to herself. He Avas not 
 a handsome man by any means, but he had a fine noble bearing, ' 
 and courage and daring were marked in his broad forehead. He 
 was sometimes the only person they saw for AA'eeks, and, therefore,
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 29 
 
 tlie two sisters enjoyed his society, and were always glad when their 
 papa asked him to dine. He admired them both, and not being in 
 a hurry to marry, or having been knocked about too much in the 
 world to have time to think of it, he did not see the danger he was 
 daily and hourly incurring by being on such intimate terms of 
 friendship with these two fascinating girls. 
 
 The old squire was very fond of his children, indulging them 
 in most of their caprices, and he did not see any danger or impro- 
 priety in allowing them to be on intimate terms of friendship with 
 a man whom he himself liked so well, and who was, in fact, so 
 necessary in assisting him to pass away his time, with pleasure and 
 comfort, in that dull out-of-the-way place. It had also been a great 
 pleasure to the squire's family to receive the lieutenant's friend, 
 Frederick Morley, at their house ; for he, too, was a very gentlemanly 
 man, had seen a good deal of the world, and could tell them of 
 foreign scenes and manners, which very much delighted them all. 
 He was more romantic and impressible than his friend. It was 
 therefore evident that Miss Pendray preferred his society to that 
 of the more matter-of-fact Lieut. Fowler, and would take him to 
 her favourite wild cliffs, and point out the beauties she saw in them, 
 to which he listened with marked attention, entering into her 
 feelings, and admiring her pursuits, more than any other man she 
 had been accustomed to meet ; but still there was something sad in 
 his manner, sometimes, which she could not account for. It seemed 
 to her as if he had met with some heavy affliction in days gone by. 
 This thought was impressed on her more than ever to-day; for he 
 had not arrived in time for dinner, — so they sat down without 
 him. As the day passed slowly on, and he did not appear, it 
 made the whole family think the more of him. After dinner, Miss 
 Pendray asked Mr. Fowler if there was anything pressing on his 
 friend's mind, as, she said, she had often observed him sad and 
 thoughtful, when all had been merry and cheerful around him. Now 
 that the subject was mentioned, everyone seemed to have observed 
 the same ; and they urged the lieutenant to tell them — if he knew, 
 and it was not a secret which he felt bound to keep — what it was that 
 made the young soldier look so sad at times when others were gay. 
 
 " My friend, Frederick Morley, has been a romantic dreamer all 
 his life," said the lieutenant. " He was the same at school, — sometimes 
 as gay and reckless as the worst of us, and at other times sad and 
 low-spirited, even when his companions were in their gayest mood. 
 About two years ago, before he went abroad with his regiment, poor 
 Fred had a romantic love-affair at the town in which his regiment 
 was quartered. His sister was living in the same place, with her 
 aunt ; and Fred fell desperately in love with a boarding-school miss, 
 and as hia sister was a day-pupil at the same school, she was tbo
 
 30 THE WIZAKD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 messenger between them. Since his return he has searched every- 
 where for the girl, biit cannot succeed in finding her. This much 
 he has told me, but he will not divulge her name. So you see, 
 ladies, my poor friend has enough on his mind to make him sad." 
 
 " Yes," replied Miss Pendray ; " but tliis afEair is of recent date, 
 and you say he Avas the same at school; — it was not a love-affair 
 then, I presume." 
 
 "Oh ! no," said the lieutenant, in a ,gi-ave tone ; " there was another 
 caiise for his melancholy then, but that is' all bloAvn over, and 
 therefore, perhaps, it is as well to leave it rest in oblivion. He never 
 speaks of it now, and so, I suppose, he wishes it to be forgotten." 
 
 " Oh ! do tell us, Lieut. Fowler," said Blanche. " Poor young 
 man ! it must have been some dreadful tale, I'm sure, to prey 
 on his mind thus, for so many years;" and she looked at him so 
 beseechingly, that he could not refuse, — indeed, Avhy should he 
 dechne to make his friends acquainted with the history of a yoimg 
 man whom he had introduced to their house? The story threw no 
 disgrace on his young friend ; and if he scrupled to tell them the 
 true story, they might suspect it was some crime or indiscretion 
 which his friend had himself been guilty of. So, looking at the 
 sweet girl who sat opposite him, with her fair curls throwa back 
 from her face, the more easily to catch every word that was spoken 
 by him whose tales she loved to hear, he said he would relate the 
 story as well as he could. But it was a sad tale ; and as it is likely 
 to be a long one, and probably an interesting one, we will give it a 
 chapter to itself. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "murder most foul." 
 
 " My friend's father," he began, " was an East-Indian merchant. He 
 married a native, by whom he had three children — two sons and a 
 daughter. The eldest son was several years older than the other 
 two children, and he received the best education that could be got 
 in India, and Avas taken into his father's factory to assist him, when 
 he was very young. Their mother died soon after the birth of her 
 daughter ; and, when they were old enough, it was thought advisable 
 to send the two younger children to England, under the care of their 
 aunt (Mr. ]Morley's only sister), to be educated ; and, as Mr. Morley 
 was anxious to visit England once more, and thought he could make 
 more of his merchandize, by coming himself and seeing how the 
 markets stood, than his agents seemed to be making for him, he 
 determined to bring the children over himself. So he freighted a
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 31 
 
 vessel with a valuable cargo, and arrived in England safely with his 
 two children, having left his eldest son behind, to manage the 
 business in India. His sister resided at Ashley Hall, a country-seat 
 about five or six miles from Bristol. The children enjoyed the 
 country air exceedingly, and the scenery — so different from India — 
 and the old gentleman enjoyed it as much as they did. He visited 
 Bristol almost every day, and watched the markets, sometimes doing 
 business and sometimes not. He very often Avalked there and back, 
 by way of exercise, when the weather was fine. One day, about the 
 middle of January, the weather, although cold and sharp, being 
 dry, he determined he would walk, as he had so often done before, 
 for he thought he should be able to keep himself warmer in walking 
 than driving. He did a good bit of business that day, and had a 
 considerable sum of money about him. 
 
 " It was a risk to walk home alone, but Mr. Morley had so often 
 done it before, without meeting with any accident, that he thought 
 he woidd start early, and in two hours he should be at the end of 
 his journey. So he buttoned up his great coat, and took his big 
 stick in his hand, and started. The stick was a very peculiar one, 
 which he had brouglit with him from Incha. It was very heavy for 
 its size, and had large sharp knots towards the big end, — not very 
 handsome, but still it was peculiar, and so it had many admirers. 
 ' A good blow from this would settle a stouter fellow than I am 
 likely to meet with to-night, I fancy,' said Mr. Morley, as he looked 
 with pride on the formidable weapon he held in his hand ; and he 
 strode down the street, with the cold wind blowing in his face. 
 
 " Before he got a mile out of the town, it began to snow heavily ; 
 but still he trudged on against the wind, which was blowing strong, 
 and beating the snow into his face, which made him hold his head 
 down, so that he did not remark a turn in the road, about three 
 miles out, — indeed, by this time, the road and hedges were covered 
 with snow, and anyone who knew the road even better than he did 
 might have taken the wrong turn. On, on he walked for several 
 miles, when he began to think he had missed his way, — for he now 
 obsei-ved that he passed no houses on the road, as he was accustomed 
 to do when he walked home before. At length, after walking some 
 distance further, he saw a light, and, thinking it might be a roadside- 
 inn, he made towards it. On approaching cautiously, however, ho 
 found it was not an inn, but a solitary cottage, jiartly surrounded 
 by a garden — the entrance to which was through a small gate at the 
 side ; and nearly opposite this gate there was a window. The Hglit 
 that he had seen, came from a window in front of the house, facing 
 the road. It was getting dark, but the white snow threw a shadow 
 of light all round, and he opened the little gate, went rovmd to the 
 front, and looked in at the window, which was but partially
 
 32 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 covered by a tliln blind, and there lie saw a woman sitting by the 
 fire alone. The room seemed comfortably furnished, and the table 
 Avas evidently laid for supper. 
 
 " It was now getting late, and Mr. Morley was cold and tired and 
 hungry, for he had been walking several hours ; so he knocked at 
 the door, which was quickly opened by the woman he had seen 
 sitting by the fire. She was apparently about forty years of age, but 
 not very prepossessing in appearance, nor very courteous at first, 
 but any shelter was better than being out in the snow on such a 
 night as this. He explained to her that he had missed his way in 
 going to his sister's house from Bristol ; and he begged her to let 
 him partake of her meal, and rest a little, and warm himseK — for 
 which he said he would willingly pay handsomely ; and he moreover 
 said, incautiously, that he had more money about him than he 
 thought it was prudent for him to travel any further with alone that 
 night. This communication seemed to warm the woman's heart. 
 She placed a chair by the fire, and proceeded to get him some 
 refreshment at once. 
 
 " ' It is a dreadful night ! ' she said ; ' and it has come on so 
 suddenly too. Who'd have thought it this morning ?' 
 
 " ' No indeed,' said Mr. Morley. ' This seems a lonely place for a 
 habitation. You have a husband, of course. He is out on business, 
 I suppose.' 
 
 " ' No, sir, I have no husband. My father and brother live here 
 with me ; — they are engaged in the seafaring line. My mother has 
 been dead some years.' 
 
 " ' You are not far from the sea, then ?' enquired Mr. Morley. 
 
 " ' No,' she replied ; ' a very short distance. I expect my brother 
 home soon, and was preparing supper for him. My father I don't 
 expect home for the night, so you shall occupy his room, if you 
 please. It is on the ground-floor, and looks into the garden. His 
 business often keeps him out late. We are gone to bed frequently 
 when he comes in, and then he can go into his room on the ground- 
 floor without disturbing us. I believe that Avas his fancy for having 
 his bedroom there.' " 
 
 "Why, Fowler!" exclaimed the squire, "you are making quite 
 an interesting story of it. What it will end in, I haven't the slightest 
 idea ; but go on." 
 
 " I'm afraid I am tiring you," replied the lieutenant ; "but I have 
 heard the story repeated so often, that it is quite familiar to me." 
 
 " Oh ! do go on," said Blanche, looking at him earnestly ; " it is 
 quite like a tale one reads in the old romances." 
 
 " Old romances ! " said her mamma, in alarm ; " why where on 
 earth have you met with any old romances, I should like to know, 
 child?"
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 33 
 
 " Well, if you would like to hear the end o£ my tale," said the 
 lieutenant, " I will proceed ; but I haven't much more to tell. Let 
 me see. Where was I ? Oh ! the bedroom." 
 
 " Mr. Morley, having warmed himself and taken some refreshment, 
 said he was feeling very tired and sleepy, and should like to lie down 
 for a few hours, if perfectly convenient. The brother had not come 
 in, so he followed his hostess into the little bedroom, leaving his hat 
 and stick in the sitting-room. It was a comfortable little room 
 enough. The bed was small, and very near the door, — so near, that 
 immediately you opened it you faced the side of the bed, and you 
 had to close the door again before you could pass down by the side of 
 the bed into the room. On the other side of the bed, nearly opposite 
 the door, stood the wash-stand, and dressing-table, and one chair. 
 The window faced the foot of the bed. 
 
 " ]\Ir. Morley looked out at the night. It was very dark, and still 
 snowing a little. When he began to reflect on the acknowledged 
 irregularity of the men in the house, he did not feel very comfortable ; 
 for their calling was evidently not a very re^jutable one. The woman 
 seemed superior in her manner and address to her present situation ; 
 but there was a cunning, restless expression in her eye, which he did 
 not at all like. They might be a gang of desperadoes connected 
 with the smugglers that infested the coast. He did not like his 
 position at all ; — he was unarmed, and in their power, and he had 
 left his stick in the sitting-room. If he went back for it, it would 
 cause suspicion. He determined, therefore, to lie down on the bed 
 without taking off his clothes, and be off in the morning as soon as 
 he could see. There was no lock to the door, nor bolt to the 
 window, as far as he could find. He tried the door cautiously, and 
 found it was barred outside, and so was the window ; — so far, then, 
 he was a prisoner. He threw himself on the bed to rest, but not to 
 sleep ; and after some time he heard a man come in at the front 
 door. Then there was a savoury smell, and a good deal of talk in 
 whispers, — and then the brandy was asked for, and all was quiet. 
 
 " After a time he saw a man approach the window outside. He 
 had the appearance of being intoxicated. He opened the window 
 after a little trouble, and prepared to come in. 
 
 " ' This is the father, no doubt,' thought Mr. Morley, ' come home 
 unexpectedly, and evidently very much intoxicated,' 
 
 " The man seemed too drunk to listen to reason, even if Mr. Morley 
 had got up and spoken to him ; and a quarrel with him, in that 
 state, would be very unj)leasant, and bring the other members of the 
 household also upon him. Besides, no dou!)t these men carried arms 
 with them, wherever they went ; and if this man found a stranger 
 in his bedroom, he would not hesitate to shoot him, especially in his 
 present state.
 
 84 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 " What should he do ? There was not a moment to be lost. The 
 old man had by this time tumbled into the room through the -window. 
 He would be on the bed in a minute, for he was getting up from 
 the floor. Mr. Morley thererore sUd down, the side opposite the door, 
 and got under the bed, intending, as soon as the man was asleep, to 
 get away from that liouse at all risks. 
 
 " The old man threw himself on the bed, and was soon fast 
 asleep. 
 
 " The door was now gently opened, and he heard a few heavy 
 blows struck with a heavy bludgeon on the poor old man's head, as 
 he lay sound asleep on the bed. There was a deep moan, and then 
 the door was closed again. 
 
 " ' Murder ! ' he said, as he crept from under the bed He felt 
 the body in his fright ; it was too dark to see it. There was no 
 motion. Blood was flowing from the woimds, — he could feel it, warm 
 and clammy, although he could not see it. He knew not what to do. 
 The blows were no doubt intended for himself, and if he raised an 
 alarm he would still be victimized. He was in an agony of fright 
 and terror. His only thought was to save his own life ; for if the 
 murderer discovered that he had not killed his intended victim, he 
 would be back again, no doubt, to finish his work. He snatched up 
 the hat that the old man had dropped on the floor, thinking in his 
 frenzy that it was his own, and got out of the Avindow, which had 
 not been fastened again, and fled through the snow, he knew not 
 where." 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Fowler," exclaimed Blanche, shuddering; " this is too 
 horrible. Oh ! don't go on ! I can't bear it;" — and she placed her 
 hands before her eyes, that had before been so intently gazing on 
 the speaker. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " exclaimed the squire ; " we've heard the beginning; 
 now let's hear the end. Go on, Fowler. Those who don't wish to 
 hear any more can leave the room." 
 
 No one left the room ; so Mr. Fowler continued : — 
 
 " The brother and sister were horror-struck, on entering the room 
 the next morning, to find that their father had been murdered instead 
 of the stranger, and that the stranger had escaped, and was probably 
 then giA'ing information to the authorities. Their first thought was 
 self-preservation. Circumstances favoured the guilty pair. The 
 stranger had evidently touched the mm-dered man, and had blood 
 about bis hands — for there were stains on the 'window-frame — and 
 he had worn away the murdered man's hat, and left his own behind; 
 and it Avas with his stick that the murder had been committed. 
 Here was circumstantial evidence enough ; so the guilty pair lost no 
 time in rousing the nearest neighbours and constables ; and in- 
 formation was given to the magistrates by the brother and sister,
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 35 
 
 accusing the stranger of the murder, which appeared on the face of 
 it very plausible ; for the accused man's stick and hat were foimd 
 in the bedroom, and the name 'Morley' was written inside the hat. 
 The stick was covered with blood, and the sharp knots corresponded 
 with the marks in the murdered man's head. The stick was easily 
 identified. The murdered man's hat was missing too. But what 
 motive could such a man as Mr, Morley have had for committing 
 such a crime ? " The woman said he might have been tipsy, and 
 lost his way in the snow, and finding the window so near the gate, 
 and so easy to enter, he had perhaps gone in, and a struggle might 
 have taken place between him and her father, who slept in that room. 
 There was money in that room too, she said ; but it was not 
 beheved that Mr. Morley would murder anyone for the sake of 
 money. No one wished to believe him guilty ; but what could they 
 do in the face of this circumstantial evidence ? There were his hat 
 and stick, which he admitted at once were his — his name was in the 
 hat — and the stick was covered with blood. He was easily traced in 
 the snow, and when overtaken he was walking like a maniac. His 
 hands were bloody and so were his clothes ; and he had the murdered 
 man's hat on his head. 
 
 " The sister told the tale before the magistrates very plausibly. 
 It might have been done in self-defence, she said. He might have 
 got in at the window, j^ierhaps, for shelter ; but why not have come 
 round to the door, and why did he not alarm the house, instead of 
 going off in that unaccountable way. 
 
 " He told his own tale, and concluded by saying that he had a 
 considerable sum of money about him, which he had lost or was 
 robbed of. No money was found, however. 
 
 " His tale did not appear plausible. The woman founded her 
 belief that he was tipsy, she said, on the fact of his having come so 
 much out of his way, if he was really only going from Bristol to 
 Ashley Hall. He was a comparative stranger in England, and very 
 few knew him except in the way of busmess. 
 
 " The circumstantial evidence was so strong that the magistrates 
 could do no other than commit him to the county gaol to await his 
 trial for murder at the next assizes. 
 
 " The assizes came, but there was no evidence against Mr. Morley, 
 and he was acquitted. 
 
 " The brother and sister had foimd the bag of money, no doubt, 
 which he had drop[)ed in his agitation, and had alisconded no one 
 knew where. They were afraid of the close cross-examination 
 to which they would be exposed, and under which their evidence 
 must have broken down. 
 
 " Mr. Morley returned to India immediately, leaving his two 
 children in their aunt's care. It was a severe shock, from which he
 
 36 THE WIZAHD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 never recovered. He felt that although he was innocent, yet the 
 stigma of his having been committed to prison on a cliarge of murder 
 would still hang over his family, until it could be properly cleared 
 up by the conviction or confession of the real murderer. He died 
 soon after his return to India ; and on his death-bed he enjoined his 
 children to make every search in their power after those -wicked 
 people, who had so cruelly murdered their own father and throA^Ti 
 the guilt upon him." 
 
 " Can you wonder, now, ladies, that my friend should feel low- 
 spirited sometimes ? " 
 
 " It is indeed a dreadfrd tale," said Miss Pendray. " I wonder 
 what became of the guilty parties ? " 
 
 " It is that which is preying on Morley's spirits," replied I\Ir. 
 Fowler ; " he has searched and enquired every^vhere — at home and 
 abroad — but as yet to no purpose. They have, no doubt, taken 
 feigned names ; but they will be found out one day, I have not the 
 slightest doubt." 
 
 " Now let us change the subject, and speak of the living," said the 
 squire. " What has become of young Morley, I wonder ? " 
 
 "I shall have a search for him to-morrow morning," said the 
 lieutenant. I fancy he is gone to St. Just, for he is anxious about 
 his brother, who was expected from India about this time, having 
 amassed a large fortujie, besides what his father left, wliich he was 
 about to divide between the three childi-en, according to his father's 
 will. The wreck of the Indiaman, the other day, has upset him 
 rather ; for he has an idea that his brother might have been one of 
 the passengers." 
 
 " Poor young man ! " said ]\Irs. Pendray ; " how many troubles he 
 has had to bear, for one so young ! " 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE LAXD's-EXD COXJUROR. 
 
 Mr. Brown and his companion returned, after a three-hours' search, 
 without ha\T.ng found the boy or learnt any tidings of him. The 
 mare had eaten her warm mash, and ]\Irs. Brown had procured the 
 assistance of Josiah Trenow to give her a good rub-down and make 
 her comfortable, and he was having a glass of beer after his exertions, 
 when Mr. Brown and his companion came in. 
 
 *' Thank 'ee, 'Siah," said Mr. Brown ; " I do b'heve the mare ha'n't 
 had such a rub-down for a month. Look here's a great strong arm, 
 sir," he continued, taking Josiah by the arm, while he called the 
 gentleman's attention to it.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 37 
 
 " I shouldn't like to engage in single combat with Mm," replied 
 Mr. Morley, smiling, " if he is as strong as he looks." 
 
 " No fie ! no fie ! " said Mr. Brown, " Peggy 1 Peggy ! Polly ! 
 PoUy ! Why the women are all run away after the boy, I s'pose. 
 Peggy, my dear ! " 
 
 " Well, landlord," said Josiah ; " what news have 'ee got about 
 the boy ? " 
 
 " Why no news," replied Mr. Brown, sitting dowm thoughtfully in 
 his wife's chair, a liberty he seldom took, unless he was " up in the 
 clouds," as she called it. " Sit down, sir, if you please. Why, a 
 good many people seed the boy and the mare go up, an' a fine passle 
 seed the mare come down again all of a rattle, without the boy, but 
 nobody seed the boy thrawd, an' nobody have seen the boy since, so 
 far as we can hear. Whisht, esn't et, 'Siah, boy ? " 
 
 " Wliisht ! iss fie, 'tes whisht enough," said Mrs. Brown, coming 
 downstairs to hear the news too. 
 
 " That boy es so sure ill- wished as ever anybody wor in this 
 world," said Josiah ; " he's in a queer por, an' ha' be'n so for a 
 bra' liit." 
 
 " Why what are 'ee tellen', 'Siah," said Mr. Brown ; " how shud 
 'ee think so, boy?" 
 
 " Why for many things," repHed Josiah ; " the boy Bill wor took 
 out of the workhouse, worn't aw ? and he ha'n't growd since — not an 
 inch, I do b'heve. He can hardly reach to the mare's shoulder, and 
 yet he do keep that mare in good condition, with her summer's coat 
 up all the year round, like the squire's hunter, and better too, I 
 b'lieve. He's mighty fond of going oiit by night, too. I've seed 
 that boy, when I've been coming home from bal, two or three o'clock 
 in the morning, going iip by Chapel-Carnbrea by hisself, whistling." 
 
 "Wliat! oiu- boy Billy whistling that time o' night?" said Mrs. 
 Brown ; " dear lor' ! I should think he'd be af card of the pixies. And 
 up there, too ! " 
 
 The conversation was evidently getting too dismal for Mr. Morley, 
 and he changed the sul)ject by ordering a glass of brandy and water 
 for himself, and one each for Mr. Brown and Josiah. 
 
 " Come, Polly," said Mr. Brown, as he went to get the brandies. 
 " Polly ! Polly ! pretty Polly 1 " 
 
 He got no assistance, however ; for Polly was gone out on some 
 errand for her mistress ; and it really seemed as if he called the 
 I)eople about him more from habit than anything else, for, like him 
 who called spirits from the vasty deep, jioor Mr. Brown was not veiy 
 much distressed or astonished if they didn't come. While they were 
 drinking their brandy and water, the conversation turned again on 
 the marvellous ; and Mr. Brown said, " I wondar cf 'twould be any 
 good to ask ' The Maister' about it."
 
 38 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 " About what ?" asked Mrs. Bro\vn. 
 
 " 'Why about the mare, to be sure," replied her hiisband ; " she's 
 ill-A\ashed as much as ever the boy es. Something fiightened her 
 more than human, I'm sure ; — what do you think, 'Siah?" 
 
 " Well," said Josiah, " I never seed a beast tremble like that afore. 
 I worked my arms off, purty nigh, afore she begim for to dry, an' 
 then she di-ied up all of a rattle, an' snorted brave." 
 
 " I'll go up now and ask ' The Maister,' said Mr. Brown ; *' the 
 mare es ill-mshed, I do b'lieve ; " — so he drank up his brandy and 
 water, and started at once. 
 
 It was not, even then, very late, and Mr. Freeman's house was 
 but just outside the village. 
 
 " The INIaister" was at home, the maid said. What did Mr. Bro'^vii 
 please to want. 
 
 " I do want to speak to him 'pon private business," repUed Mr. 
 Brown. 
 
 So Alice Ann shewed him into the best parlour, and left him there 
 in the dark, as she had orders to do to all visitors who came to " The 
 Maister" on private business. 
 
 Very soon he heard a rumbling noise in the room above, and then 
 a clanking of chains ; and then he heard a voice, as if coming from 
 the floor of the room he was sitting in, teUing him to beware of what 
 he was doing, — to keep all things secret, — and to tell " The Maister" 
 aU ; and then all would be well. All these mysterious sounds — 
 coming sometimes from above, and sometimes from one part of the 
 room he was in, and sometimes from another, when everything was 
 shrouded in darkness — were calculated to strike terror into a stronger 
 mind than poor Mr. Brown possessed ; so that when Alice Ann came 
 to the door and asked him to follow her upstairs, he was confirmed 
 in his behef that " The Maister" was connected with "The Prince of 
 Darkness," and was prepared to see hobgoblins and spirits dancing 
 about as he entered the awful room. 
 
 Alice Ann knocked at the door three times, and at the third knock 
 the door flew open, and Mr. Brown was pulled in by some invisible 
 hand, and the door was closed again. He remained standing just 
 inside, having a screen of thick black cloth hanging before him, to 
 prevent his seeing what was in the room. He thought his last hour 
 was come, and trembled until his knees knocked together, and his 
 teeth chattered in his head. At last, a voice from the furthest corner 
 of the room said : — 
 
 " John Brown, your business is known, -without your teUing it — 
 as most things are. Are you prepared to go through the ordeal 
 necessary to free the mare from evil hands, and the boy from 
 witchcraft ? " 
 
 " Oh ! ye-es, Maister," said the poor man, in a tremulous voice ;
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 39 
 
 " I'll do anything. I do know that yom- power is great, and your 
 knowledge is greater." 
 
 " Then down on thy knees, trembler, and do my bidding to the 
 letter, or woe be imto thee ! And Hsten to what is now to be spoken." 
 And down flopped poor Mr. Brown on his knees, and awaited the 
 ordeal, which he interrupted occasionally, by sundry interjections 
 and parenthetical remarks of liis own. 
 
 (^The Conjuror) " You have a gentleman staying in your house ?" 
 
 (^Mr. Broivn) " Oh ! yes ; and a very nice gentleman he is." 
 
 {The Conjuror) " He admires your mare ?" 
 
 (Mr. Broivn) " He do so." 
 
 (I'he Conjuror) " He must ride her ! " 
 
 {Mr. Brown) " He shall, Maister, (Oh lor' ! a wild harum-scarum 
 like he to ride the mare. Oh lor' ! Peggy ! Peggy ! Oh lor' ! ) " 
 
 {The Conjuror) " Now listen. That gentleman must, within three 
 days from this time, ride the mare to the Land's-End point, and look 
 over the point, and the spell will be taken off which now hangs over 
 the mare, and the boy will be restored. If not, beware of what 
 may befal you and your household. The rider must have no friend 
 or assistant within fifty yards of the point." , 
 
 (ilir. Brown) " Oh lor' ! Peggy ! Peggy ! What shall I do ? No 
 mortal man would do that. Oh lor' ! " 
 
 A bell was now struck in the fiu-ther end of the room, and the 
 black curtain was drawn up suddenly, when the room appeared to 
 be all on fire. There was a brilHant red light shed all around, and 
 a thin vapour filled the room, through which he saw the conjuror 
 standing, dressed in a black gown, and white wig, surrounded by 
 ornaments composed of what seemed to be silver, and small mirrors, 
 which reflected the furniture of the room, and multiphed them 
 twenty fold. The conjuror then said, in a solemn voice, " Do my 
 bidding, or beware ! your doom is fixed ! " 
 
 The black curtain was then suddenly dropped again, and, after a 
 few minutes, the door was opened as before, and Mr. Brown was 
 pushed out by some invisible hand, and the door was locked on the 
 inside. 
 
 Thus did this pretended necromancer work on the superstitious 
 fears of the ignorant and weakminded, and make them beheve that 
 he knew more of their affairs than be really did ; and thus did he 
 gain a power over them wliich no reasoning or persuasion could shake. 
 
 This is no exaggerated picture ; for, at that period, there were 
 numbers, with less pretensions than Mr. Freeman, both men and 
 women, who practised these arts and received handsome incomes — 
 not only from the ilhtcrate and ignorant, but from people m the 
 higher walks of Hfe, so rife was the feeling of superstition which 
 prevailed at that period, not only in the county of Cornwall, but
 
 40 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 throughout the whole kingdom o£ England. Well-to-do farmers, it 
 was well known, paid one of these emperics annual salaries to keep 
 the evil eye from their cattle. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, 
 that poor Mr. Brown should place impHcit reliance on what such a 
 not:i1)Ie man as "The Maister" should tell him, and determme to 
 have " The JNIaister's" commands caiiied out to the very letter, if it 
 Averc possible that it could be done. If he had been commanded to 
 ride the mare to the brink of the Land's-End point himself, or over 
 it, he would have done it, without hesitation ; but how was he to 
 get a stranger to do so for his benefit ? It required consideration ; 
 and, as two heads are better than one, he determined to consult his 
 wife at once, and they could put their heads together, he thought, 
 and the thing would be managed somehow, — for he had great faith 
 in his wife's wisdom ; so he went home to sleep upon it. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LOVE AND MYSTERY. 
 
 The next morning, Alrina met her lover again by appointment, on 
 the rocks below Cape Cornwall ; and here they renewed their former 
 protestations of love and constancy, and the hours passed pleasantly 
 away. But sunshine will not last for ever, and the brighter the 
 Bunshine the darker will the cloud seem that obscures it for a time. 
 In the midst of their happiness a cloud passed over the countenance 
 of ]\Iorley, and he became thoughtful. 
 
 " Tell me," said Ab-ina, " what has caused this sudden gloom ?" 
 
 " It is nothing, dearest," said he, putting his arm roimd her waist; 
 "I was just thinking how much more need we have of muttial 
 sympathy than either of us imagined. You have your secrets which 
 you -wish to discover, — I mean as to your mother's and your father's 
 early histoiy, and your own, and that secret which you seem to 
 think your father has hidden in his breast." 
 
 "Indeed, Frederick," replied Alrina, "I scarcely wish now to 
 discover those secrets, — for I fear the knowledge of them, whenever 
 they are discovered, may deprive me of that which I prize more than 
 anything else on earth — your love ! " 
 
 " No, never ! " replied her lover ; " whatever your father may 
 have done, or whatever those secrets may be, as to the early history 
 of yotu- family, -will not alter my love for you, dear Alrina ! I have 
 a secret too," continued he ; " and mine is a terrible one — one that 
 would terrify you, were I to tell you — and therefore it is better, 
 perhaps, kept where it is ; I can bear it better alone. But we are 
 only dreaming — don't cry, Alrina ; — all will be well in the end."
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 41 
 
 " But you have a terrible secret too, you say, Frederick ? " she 
 replied through her tears. "I have told you all I know of myself ; is 
 your's a secret to be kept from me ? are you afraid to trust me, too ? " 
 — and the poor girl burst into tears, and would not be comforted. 
 She felt herself an object of disti-ust to all, and her heart could not 
 bear up against such cold suspicion. 
 
 " Be calm, dear Alrina," said Frederick, in a soothing tone ; " I 
 have nothing to conceal that you may not know. It will do you no 
 good to know it, and it may prey on your sensitive mind too much, 
 and therefore do more harm than good ; but if you wish to know 
 all, and yoix think you can bear to hear it, I will tell you the whole, 
 — biit you must be calm." 
 
 " Oh ! yes," replied Alrina, drying her tears ; " I would rather 
 know all. I will be firm. I can bear anythuig with you, or for 
 you." She placed her hand in his, and looked up into his face with 
 earnest love, as he related to her the tale of his father's adventure in 
 the snow, and his accusation and acquittal for want of evidence. He 
 told her also of his brother, and that he was expected home from 
 India about this time, and how he feared he might have been in that 
 Indiaman that was wi-ecked on the coast but a few days before. 
 
 " Oh ! Frederick, don't disti-ess yourself about imaginary evils," 
 said Alrina ; " bad news flies fast enough. A thought struck me 
 while you were relating that dreadful tale, — my father ! " 
 
 "Your father !" exclaimed Frederick, hastily. 
 
 " Yes," she said ; " why not ask him to help you in unravelling 
 this terrible secret. He is very clever, and knows many things that 
 other people scarcely dream of. People come here to consult him 
 from all parts of the country, and they generally go away satisfied ; 
 so I suppose he tells them what they require to know. He is gone to 
 some distant pai-t to-day, I believe, to cure some poor wi'etch who 
 thinks he is ill-wished. Remember, I have no confidence in that 
 part of his scientific pretension ; but I know he has a clear head to 
 sift out a mystery, and has resources which few else have, from 
 keeping all these ' goostrumnoodles' under his thumb, and some of 
 the shai-pest of them in his pay." 
 
 " I will think of this," said Morley, smihng ; " and if I become a 
 convert I will still consult the conjuror." 
 
 He then began to talk of his sister, Alrina's former schoolfellow. 
 She had left school, he said, and was living with their aunt, Mrs. 
 Courland, who had returned to her old house again near Bristol, 
 where they were staymg when that sad affair happened to their 
 father. Alrina must go and see them. 
 
 The time passed swiftly on in such sweet converse, and they 
 lingered on and on — rising frequently to separate, and sitting down 
 again ; and in the intensity of their love they neither of them saw
 
 42 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 that curious head, nor those curious eyes <ind ears, which were 
 ■watching them again, and noting all their words and actions. 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! " said the individual, as it bore that curious head away 
 on its shoulders; '^^ more secrets tvorth knowing!" 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 alrina's troubles increase. 
 
 JosiAH Trenow resided with his father and mother in a small but 
 neat cottage, about a hundred yards from Mr. Freeman's house ; 
 consequently, it was easy for Aliina or Alice Ann, when their elders 
 were out of the way, to rim in and have a quiet gossip with Mrs. 
 Trenow. Her husband was underground-captain at Botallack mine, 
 so that he was not much at home during the day, 
 
 Alrina could not settle down to anything when she retvuned to her 
 father's house after her interview with Frederick Morley, related in 
 the last chapter. She tried to work, but she could not get on. She 
 then took a book, but could not fix her attention on the pages ; and 
 after sitting half-an-hour with the book in her hand, she found that 
 she was holding it upside down. 
 
 Her father had returned, and had been closeted with her aunt 
 ever since, and it was as likely as not that Alrina would not see 
 either of them again for the night. They did not trust her -with any 
 of their secrets, of wliich they seemed to have a good many ; and 
 her lover had imparted a secret to her to-day, which made her feel 
 very unhappy on his account ; but he had trusted her, and confided 
 in her, so that was some consolation ; but then, if there should be 
 any dreadful secret connected with her past history, or her mother's, 
 of whom she knew nothing, and she were to lose his love in con- 
 sequence, what should she do? She would have no one then on 
 whom she could lean for support and consolation in her trials. All 
 these thoughts, crowding one upon the other, made her feel very sad, 
 and she burst into tears, as she sat down in the little parlovir. Poor 
 girl ! how sad to be in the midst of relatives and friends, and yet to 
 feel that no one cares for you ! Better to be a recluse at once — far 
 better. 
 
 Alice Ann knew that her young mistress had something on her 
 mind that distressed her, but she did not feel herself competent to 
 advise or console her. She peeped in at the door, however, and said, — 
 
 " What's the matter, Miss Reeney ? I shud think you'd lost your 
 sweetheart a'most ! " 
 
 " No, no, Alice Ann," she replied, wiping away her tears ; " if I
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 43 
 
 had one, like you, and everything was going on smoothly, like your 
 affairs, perhaps it might raise my spirits a little." 
 
 " 'Tesn't all so smooth as you may think," said Alice Ann ; " I 
 ha'n't se'n sight nor sign of 'Siah (ef that's what you do main) sence 
 the day after the wreck, when he an' ' The Maister' had such a tussle 
 up in the ' private room.' I looked in through the keyhole, but I 
 couldn't see much. When 'Siah came out aw looked all flushed, but 
 I don't think aw wor frightened, like some of them are when they do 
 come out. Hes fe-a-thar an' mother ha'n't seed much of 'n neither 
 since then, I b'lieve. I wish you could stay for to run down there, 
 an' ax about 'n a bit, Miss Eeeney." 
 
 That was a happy suggestion. A good long chat with Mrs. Trenow, 
 and, probably, another secret, would reheve her mind a httle from 
 the heavy weight she felt pressing upon it — almost more than she 
 could bear. 
 
 She found Mrs. Trenow alone, with a basketful of coarse worsted 
 stockings before her, belonging to the men, which she was " mending 
 a croom," she said. 
 
 " How are 'ee. Miss Reeney, my dear," said she, as Alrina entered ; 
 " the sight of you es good for sore eyes 1 Why, I ha'n't seed 'ee for 
 ever so long." 
 
 " No," replied Alrina ; " I have been pretty much engaged, and 
 my aunt has been out more than usual lately, and so I have been 
 housekeeper, you know." 
 
 " Iss sure," said Mrs. Trenow, looking at her visitor over her 
 spectacles. " You ha' seed an' heerd bra' things lately, I s'pose. They 
 do say ' The Maister' es worken' the oracle purty fitty sence the wreck.' 
 
 " What do you mean ? " exclaimed Alrina, in surprise. 
 
 " What do I main ? " asked Mrs. Trenow, taking off her spectacles, 
 and closing the door; — "'why, this here es what I do main. The 
 best of the things that wor picked up from that wreck es up in * The 
 Maister's' private room, and more wud ha' b'en there, ef et worn't 
 for one thing more than another. There ha' b'en more people ill- 
 wished, and more cattle an' things dead, sence that night, thaii wor 
 ever kuaw'd to be afore in so short a time ; an' where shud they go 
 to ef et worn't to ' The Maister ? ' — and what wud he do for them 
 ef they dedn't cross his hand ? " 
 
 "I don't at all understand you?" said Alrina, more surprised 
 than ever. 
 
 " No, I s'pose you don't, my dear," replied Mrs. Trenow ; " you 
 must go abroad for to hear news about home, so they do say. An' 
 poor Maister Bro\vu, too, ha' b'en up tliere, an' came home frightened 
 out of his life. Our 'Siah wor up to ' the public' when aw came in. 
 He wudn't spaik a word then, so 'Siah said ; but to-day Mrs. Brown 
 told 'Siah all about et. But 'tes a secret, my dear ; — hush !"
 
 44 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 " What is it, Mrs. Trenow ? don't keep me in this suspense," said 
 Alrina, in an excited manner ; " do tell me what has happened." 
 
 " Happened ! " replied Mrs. Trenow ; " why, nothcn' ha'n't hap- 
 pened yet, that I do knaw of ; ?jut how he'll git 'n to do it I don't 
 knaw. I wudn't ef I wor he." 
 
 " What ! is Josiah to do something for Mr. Brown ?" asked Alrina. 
 
 " No, my dear, not 'Siah," replied Mrs. Trenow. " There's a young 
 gentleman up tliere stopping, so 'Siali said, and he must ride Maister 
 Brown's mare to the edge of the clifE 'pon the Land's-End point, an' 
 look over, to save the man and the boy from witchcraft. Now, mind 
 you don't tell nobody, for 'tes a secret, my dear, down sous." 
 
 " I'd see them both at the bottom of the sea first," said Alrina ; 
 " why should a stranger be mixed i;p with Mr. Brown's misfortunes?" 
 
 " Why 1 sure nufE ! " replied Mrs. Trenow ; " you may say Y or 
 X, whichever you mind to, but ef ' The Maister' do give the orders 
 to the likes of Mr. Brown, 'tes likely to be done, ef et can be any 
 way in the world." 
 
 " What did my father know of the stranger, to give such an order 
 as that ? " said Alrina. 
 
 " That I do no more knaw than a child," replied Mrs. Trenow ; 
 " but here's fe-a-thar ; mayhap he can tell." 
 
 " Your sarvant, Miss Reeney," said Captain Trenow, as he entered 
 the room ; " you're a stranger, ma'am." 
 
 "Not much of a stranger, Captain Trenow," said Alrina ; "but you 
 are so seldom at home when I can run down for a gossip with your 
 good wife." 
 
 " Zackly like that," said the captain ; " she's a bra' good hand for 
 a gossip, I do b'lieve. I'll back har agen the parish for tongue. Miss 
 Eeeney. She don't do much else, I b'lieve in my conscience." 
 
 " Areah ! then," said his wife, indignantly ; " I shud like to knaw 
 how you'd get your victuals cooked, and your clothes mended, ef I 
 was so fond of gossipping as some people I do knaw ? " 
 
 " Are 'ee going for to see the gentleman ride over the cliif to- 
 morrow, Miss Reeney? " said Captain Trenow, by way of changing the 
 subject. " I do hear that he's determined upon et, 'cause somebody 
 said he cudn't. More fool ho, I do say." 
 
 "Oh ! Captain Trenow," said Alrina, in the greatest terror ; "don't 
 let him do it — pray, don't." 
 
 " Me ! Miss Reeney," said the captain ; — "why, I don't knaw the 
 gentlemen. Nobody here have ever seed 'n, 'ceps 'Siah an' the 
 landlord's people." 
 
 " But won't Josiah prevent him ?" said Alrina. 
 
 " That I can no more tell than you can, ma'am," replied Trenow. 
 " 'Siah es gone up there now." 
 
 " Why, Miss Reeney ! " exclaimed Mrs. Trenow, who had been
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PEXWITH. 45 
 
 Icioking intently on Ali-ina for the last few minutes ; '• I shud think 
 that strange gentleman wor yoirr sweetheart, ef I ded'nt knaw that 
 you never clapp'd your eyes ujx)n om in your life. *Siah do say, 
 Trail, that he's a hkely young chap enough.*' 
 
 This last expression of Mrs. Txenow's put Akina on her guard. 
 She did not. at present, wish the gossips of St. Just to know that 
 Frederick Morlev was either her friend or her lover ; nor would he, 
 Tinder existing circumstances, have wished it either. There were 
 secrets on both sides to be discovered and exj^lained. before it would 
 be prudent for them openly to declare their attaclunent to each 
 other. Frederick had not yet even seen Alrina's father, and she was 
 as yet entirely tmder her fcither's control. She went home, therefore, 
 witii a sad heart : and nothing that Alice Ann could sjty or do, could 
 induce her to tell her what she had heaixi, nor why she was so sad. 
 She hoped that it might not be true, — that was her only consolation. 
 But it was true, nevenheless. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 FREDERICK MORLET OBSTENATELY DETERMINES ON KIDIXG THE MARE. 
 
 When Frederick Morley retturned to the inn, after his meeting with 
 Alrina, he foimd his friend, Lieut. Fowler, there in deep couvei-sc\tion 
 mth Mr. and Mrs. Brown. 
 
 "Hallo! old fellow," he exclaimed, as his friend entered; '"a 
 pretty fellow you are, to keep the squire's dinner waiting, and two 
 pair of bright eyes languishing for something more sprightly than 
 a poor Ueutenant K.N. to rest their weary lids tipon. Why, where 
 the deuce have yo\i been .' You are not ill-wished, too, are you ? " 
 
 *' It seems very like it," replied Morley; ''fori seem to bring 
 trouble wherever I go. Only last night, when I simply Avjinteii a 
 note taken over to you, and my bag brought Ixick, the boy was taken 
 off by tlie pixies, and the lamllord's mare caught St. Vitus's dance, 
 or something worse. — so the sooner I retiun to the place from whence 
 I Cijme. the Wtter.'' 
 
 '• I don't know that," replied Fowler ; '• for you have work cut out 
 for you here, it seems." 
 
 " What do you mean .'" replied his friend, smiling. "The French 
 haven't lauded, have they ? and you want me to take the command 
 of the volunteers ? "' 
 
 "No. no," s;iid Fowler; "but our friend, Mr. Brown, has been 
 to the conjiux»r about his mislbrtimes ; and what do you think he 
 told him I "
 
 46 THE \VIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know," replied Morley ; " some humbug, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " Nothing of the kind, I assure you," replied Fowler. " lie merely 
 said that it would depend on the courage and skill of the person who 
 was the innocent cause of the misfortunes, to extricate hira out 
 of them." 
 
 " If you mean me," replied Morley, " you know I don't want for 
 pluck ; as to the skill, that's another thing, — that will depend on 
 what there is to do." 
 
 " Well, then, Mr. Brown has confided to me the history of his 
 visit to the conjuror," said the lieutenant, " and he told him that tlie 
 gentleman (meaning you) must ride the mare to the edge of the cliff 
 at the Land's-End, and look over, — having no friend or assistant 
 within fifty yards of him." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! that's easy enough," said Morley ; "I was con- 
 sidered the best horseman in my regiment, and I am passionately 
 fond of riding. Why, I have jumped on the back of a colt that 
 had never been haltered before, and broken it in, so that a child 
 could ride it, before I got off its back again. I know the secret, and 
 can tame a horse by whispering in lais ear. So you may consider 
 your misfortunes at an end, if that will do it, my good friend Brown?" 
 
 " No, sir," said Mrs. Brown, very decidedly ; " there shall be no 
 such risk as that rim for anj-thing belonging to me. Lev the mare 
 alone, — she'll get round again ; an' ef she don't, 'twas no fault of 
 yours, sir." 
 
 " But, ef the gentleman esn't afeard," chimed in poor Mr. Brown, 
 " why not " 
 
 " Brown !" said his mfe, in a voice which made him start ; "I wish 
 to gi-acious ' The Maister ' had told you to ride the mare yourself. 
 I b'heve you wud have b'en fool enough to have done et, and then I 
 shud ha' got rid of two troubles together. Drat the mare ! " And, 
 in her anger, she took up a large bunch of furze, and threw it on 
 the fire, which was burning on the hearth, and sent it blazing iip the 
 large chimney, while her hiisband shufiled away towards the door, 
 intending to go into the stable, his usual place of re frige fi-om the 
 two fires, which generally blazed together within ; for when his wife 
 was in one of her tantrums, and exercised her tongue more than 
 usual, she generally put a good blast into the chimney, and they 
 blazed away together. Before poor ]\Ir. Brown reached the door, 
 however, he w^as brought up " loith a round turn,^'' as Lieut. Fowler 
 expressed it, by the sweet voice of his wife, who said, sharply, — 
 
 " Brown ! did you hear Lieut. Fowler ask for a glass of ale for 
 self and friend ? " 
 
 " No, Peggy, dear, I dedn't," said he ; " but I'U draAv the glasses, 
 of course I will. Polly ! Polly ! Why, wherever es that maid ? "
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 47 
 
 So the glasses of ale were drawn, although the order was entirely 
 in Mrs. Brown's own imagination ; for neither of the gentlemen had 
 given one; — but it was the very thing they both Avished, and, no 
 doubt, would have ordered very soon, had not their wishes been 
 anticipated by the landlady, who always had an eye to business. 
 
 The two gentlemen then took a stroll together, and Lieut. Fowler 
 tried to dissuade his friend from this rash and foolish undertaking, 
 but to no pu.rpose. He was determined to do it, he said, — it was 
 just the thing he liked ; for English sports were so tame, after those 
 he had been accustomed to for the last two years. Hunting tigers 
 and lions, — that was the sport for him. 
 
 " If you are really determined," said Fowler, " I shall bring the 
 girls up from Pendrea-house to have a look at you ; but I think you 
 will alter your mind before the morning." 
 
 Mrs. Brown had prepared a very nice dinner, and so the friends 
 enjoyed two or three hours' social chat. Morley had heard no tidings 
 of his brother, he said, nor had anyone found anything that was 
 likely to have been his, as far as he could learn ; and so he supposed 
 he was not in that ship. But he shoidd remain a day or two longer, 
 he said, to make further search. 
 
 When his friend rose to leave, Morley said he would go out a 
 little way with him, and he would ride the mare to try her temper 
 and her paces. 
 
 Mrs. Brown was obliged to yield when she found that the gentle- 
 man was determined on the feat, and she trusted that the well-known 
 good temper and tractability of the mare would carry them both 
 through with safety, — although the fright into which the mare 
 had been thrown two days before, without any apparent cause, as it 
 seemed, tended to weaken Mrs. Brown's confidence in the perfect 
 steadiness of her husband's pet. 
 
 CHAPTER Xn. 
 
 THE AWFUL RIDE. 
 
 The eventful morning arrived. But it had been kept a profoimd 
 secret, fearing that, if a rumour of tliis dangerous feat being al^out 
 to take place got generally known, there would be a concourse of 
 people on the groxmd, — and the mare, however steady she was, might 
 get frightened. 
 
 Mr. Jirown walked up early to the point, and sat behind a rock, 
 from whence he could have a good view without being seen. Lieut. 
 Fowler and the young ladies from Pendrea were early on the ground
 
 48 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 also ; and they took their stations also behind some rocks, but in a 
 more conspicuous place than i\Ir. Brown. There were a few other 
 spectators, but very few, scattered about among the rocks. They 
 waited some time in anxious expectation, but no rider appeared. 
 
 " Morley has altered his mind, no doubt," said Lieut. Fowler to 
 the ladies ; " and I am glad of it ; for it is a dangerous feat to 
 perform, on a strange horse," 
 
 " Oh ! I msh it may be so," said Blanche ; " for, although I came 
 to oblige Maud, I shall shut my eyes when he goes down to the point." 
 "Nonsense," said the majestic ^laud ; I don't think I should be 
 afraid to perform the feat myself, if I were a man ; — I should like it. 
 But here he comes. I thought he wouldn't shew the white feather." 
 At that moment the object of their soUcitude came towards them, 
 mounted on the famous mare, Jessie. She had been well fed, and 
 carefully groomed, and her master's comb had evidently gone through 
 her tail and mane more than once that morning. 
 
 Morley took off his hat to the ladies, and chatted with them a few 
 minutes, laughing at the idea of there being any danger in his riding 
 quietly to the point and back. The ladies admired and patted the 
 beautiful creature he was riding ; and even Blanche thought there 
 could be no danger on such a beautiful quiet animal as that. 
 
 Lieut. Fowler, however, even then, tried to dissuade his friend 
 from the attempt. 
 
 " Don't be such a faint-hearted old codger," said Morley, laughing. 
 And, taking off his hat again to the ladies, he cantered easily down 
 towards the point. 
 
 The promontory, clothed with short grass, slopes gently do-wn 
 towards the extreme point of the Land's-End for about fifty yards, 
 and then breaks off suddenly, and the cliffs go do-\vn perpendicularly 
 some two or three hundred feet, except that, here and there, in the 
 side of the cliff, at various distances, may be seen, by a person whose 
 head is steady enough to look down, projecting rocks just sufficient 
 to break the fall, but not large enough for a body to rest upon for 
 a single moment. 
 
 At the bottom, the sea washes the base of the cliffs, coming 
 booming in with every wave, and surging and dashing against the 
 rocks and cliffs beneath, sending its spray sometimes in rough 
 weather completely over those towering cliffs, — a fearful sight for a 
 man with a steady head to look down upon, but for a horse ! 
 
 On comes the bold rider, — steadily, — careftdly. The mare doesn't 
 like it at first, and turns round when she is within a few yards of 
 the edge of the precipice. The turf is soft, and she capers a httle. 
 The rider pats her neck, and turns her head again, gently, towards 
 the cliffs. She goes on gently ! gently ! he patting her neck, and 
 sitting steadily on her back. At last they are standing on the very
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 49 
 
 edge of the precipice, and are both looking over. Hurrah ! ! The 
 deed is done ! ! All eyes are bent on the bold rider, and are holding 
 their breath, A single false step, even now, would precipitate them 
 into the abyss below, and both must be dashed in pieces. Awful 
 thought ! The deed is done, however, and Mr. Brown's misfortunes 
 are at an end. The rider turns his horse to ride back to his friends in 
 triumph. He has just turned her head round towards the green turf 
 again, when something attracts the mare's attention. She trembles ! 
 Her back is towards the precipice, — her hind feet close to the edge of 
 the cliff ! Neither horse nor rider sees the extent of the danger, for 
 theii' backs are towards it. The mare refuses to proceed ; the rider 
 urges her ; she rears ! Another moment and they must be dashed 
 in pieces, — nothing can save them. All is breathless anxiety among 
 the spectators. No one has the presence of mind to speak. A voice 
 at this moment is heard distinctly, stentorian in its anxiety, — " Throiv 
 yourself off the horse, and hold on ! ! ! " The young officer obeys 
 the voice instantly, as if it had been a command from his superior 
 officer. He flings himself off, and holds on by the turf, like grim 
 death, digging his fingers into the soft groimd to hold on the firmer ; 
 for he now hears the horse go down over the precipice, — down ! 
 down ! bumping on the projecting rocks in the fall, and screeching, 
 as horses and all animals will do in extreme danger and suffering. 
 The rider had fallen on the turf, it is true ; but he had barely saved 
 himself, for his legs dangled over the edge of the precipice ! 
 
 He could not stir. He felt as if he was holding himself up by his 
 fingers, which he had dug into that soft turf, and this seemed giving 
 way every instant ; but it was not so in reahty. His body was safely 
 lodged on the ground, although his feet were hanging over, and as 
 long as he could hold on he was safe ; but he couldn't hold on so 
 very long. And then — oh ! horror ! — his terror and friglit caused 
 him to fancy a thousand horrid deaths in an instant of time. Before 
 he had been lying on the turf two minutes, however, a tall, strong- 
 built, powerful-looking man, came bounding down towards him 
 from one of the rocks just above, and, seizing him round the waist, 
 lifted him up in his strong aiTns, and carried him to a safer resting- 
 place. By this time he had fainted, and was unconscious of the 
 attentions which were being paid him. 
 
 His providential dehverer was no other than Josiah Trenow, who 
 had come there to see the feat, and was standing behind a rock, at no 
 great distance from the point. And he it was who had the pi'esenco 
 of mind to sliout to the rider to throw himself off, when he saw the 
 horse rear ; and it was his strong arm that lifted the poor terror- 
 stricken man from his perilous position. 
 
 Had it not been for the presence of mind of this bold strong man, 
 the young officer might still have gone over ; for he had not the
 
 50 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 
 
 power to move a limb, and, when he fjiiuted, and let go his hold in 
 the grass, he must have followed the horse,— down ! down ! Oh ! 
 terrible fate ! ! ! 
 
 CHAPTER Xni. 
 
 ITS CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 No one thought of the fate of Mr. Brown's favourite mare. All the 
 spectators clustered roimd the prostrate man. Maud Pendray looked 
 on him as a hero ; she seemed to worship him with her eyes. Blanche 
 wept tears of joy that he was saved from what everyone thought 
 inevitable destruction. Poor Mr. Brown didn't know what to say or 
 do. He called upon Peggy, and said several times, as if talking to 
 his pet, " Wo ! ho ! Jessie ! gently, mare ! steady, now ! " And then 
 the poor man sat down on a rock, apart from the rest, and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 Those of the party who alone were equal to the occasion, were 
 Lieut. Fowler and Josiah Trenow. They collected the few men 
 together who happened to be present, and, between them, they 
 carried the terror-stiicken man to " The First and Last Inn," at 
 Sennen — that being the nearest pubHc-house to the scene of the 
 accident. 
 
 A man on horseback was despatched to Penzance for a surgeon, 
 and the patient was put to bed at once. 
 
 A fortnight passed away, and the patient was fast recovering, but 
 he could not shake off the gloomy and depressing thoiights, which 
 were continually recurring, whenever he heard the sea, or saw 
 the cliffs. 
 
 One day, the surgeon announced that there was to be a grand ball 
 at Penzance, in about a fortnight, — the precise day was not fixed ; 
 and he advised his patient to go. Change of scene, and the excite- 
 ment of the music and the dancing, and the company, he thought, 
 would draw his mind away from those ever-present and depressing 
 thoughts. His friend Fowler had promised to go with the Pendray 
 party, and they were all delighted to learn that Morley had consented 
 to join them also. 
 
 Poor Alrina ! it was an anxious day for her. She knew that her 
 lover was gone out on the mare to attempt that daring feat ; and she 
 knew, also, the extent of the risk he was incurring, — for she had 
 often, in her sohtary rambles, walked down to the edge of the Land's- 
 End cliffs, and looked over, out of curiosity, and it made her shudder 
 when she thought of him. Even should he be able to get the mare
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 51 
 
 down to the brink, — sitting there at the mercy of the horse, one 
 false step, or a moment's giddiness, must be fatal to both. In the 
 midst of her meditations, news was brought that the horse and its 
 rider had both fallen over the cliff, and were dashed in pieces. 
 She threw herself on her bed, and tried to believe that the report 
 was false ; but no, — she feared it must be true, for she had before 
 worked her mind up to the beHef that the feat could not be accom- 
 plished in safety. 
 
 She was overwhelmed with grief ; and when Ahce Ann came up, 
 a few hours afterwards, and told her that Josiah was downstairs, and 
 had brought a message for her from Mr. Morley, the sudden and 
 blessed news that he was ahve, affected her almost as much as the 
 dreadful news of his death had done. She was quite overcome by 
 her feelings. Sometimes she would laugh heartily, and then bui'st 
 into a torrent of tears, until it ended in a violent tit of hysterics. 
 
 It was a long time before AJice Ann could pacify her, and she 
 dared not call in the assistance of Miss Freeman, for she knew that her 
 aunt did not sympathize with " young ladies' vagaries," as she called 
 them. Besides, she was again closeted with her brother, who had 
 been from home nearly all the day, and had but just returned. 
 
 When she was sufficiently recovered, Alrina saw Josiah, and 
 received the kind message which her lover had sent her ; and from 
 Josiah she heard the true but sad tale. He told her aU, from the 
 beginning. Mr. Morley was as weak as a young baby, he said, and 
 for hours after the accident he trembled all over, as he lay in bed, 
 so that the bed shook under him. The doctor had desired that he 
 should be kept perfectly quiet, and that a watch should be kept with 
 him, night and day ; for he feared delirium. Pie had left Mr. Fowlei 
 with him now, he said ; but Mr. Morley had requested Josiah to 
 return as soon as possible, and stay with him also ; for he had a 
 strange nervous feeling that he was still falling, and nothing relieved 
 him but feeling Josiah's strong arm round his waist; — he felt safe 
 then, and so Josiah had sat for hours on the poor terror-stricken 
 yovmg man's bed, holding him in his arms ; and the siifferer would 
 cry out like a little frightened child, if his supporter did but move, 
 and beg him not to let liim fall over, — for he could not divest himseJf 
 of the idea that he was still on the brink of tlic precij)ice. 
 
 Alrina listened with profound attention to Josiah's description of 
 the scene, and of her lover's present prostrate condition. She longed 
 to go to him, and to be his nurse ; but there were many reasons, both 
 on his account, and her own, why she should not do so. 
 
 She wrote a short note, which Josiah promised to deliver into his 
 hands ; but he said he could not promise to bring an answer in 
 writing, for Mr. Morley's hand trembled so that ho could not hold a 
 pen, nor even the glass in which he took his medicine.
 
 52 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 Although her mind was set at rest in a measure, yet Alrina had 
 enough to occupy her thoughts till bedtime, and so she retired to her 
 room again, and desired Alice Ann to toll her aunt, if she enquired 
 after her, that she had a headache, and was gone to lie down a little. 
 
 Before she had been in her room long, however, Ahce Ann came 
 to the door, and said " The Maister" wanted Miss Reeney at once. 
 
 " My father !" exclaimed Alrina ; " what can he possibly want !" 
 
 " I do no more knaw than you," replied Alice Ann ; " but he told 
 me to fetch you down, frail I told 'n you wor gone to bed poorly." 
 
 "Well, I suppose I must obey," said Alrina, heaving a heavy 
 sigh. " I wonder what he wants me for? it is so unusual for him 
 to send for me. I wish I knew why he was so cruel as to order 
 Frederick to perform that perilous feat to-day, — some hidden motive, 
 no doubt. I'll try and find it out. I've a great mind to ask him, 
 point blank ; but then " 
 
 " Come, INIiss Reeney," said Alice Ann, coming to the door again ; 
 " ' The Maister' es axing when you're comin', so I told 'n you wor 
 dressin'." 
 
 When Alrina came out into the front passage from her bedroom, 
 which was in the back of the house looking into the little garden, 
 she found her father waiting for her near the door of his " private 
 room." He opened the door and desired her to follow him. 
 
 Her curiosity was to be gratified, then, at last, but not in the way 
 she very much liked, for she fancied that this interview would not 
 be a very pleasant one, — why, she didn't know. Perhaps her father 
 was now about to reveal some of those mysteries which hung over 
 them. At another time she might not have felt these painful fore- 
 bodings, but her nerves had been unstrung by the events of the day ; 
 and she felt now as if an unkind word, or an unexpected disclosure, 
 would upset her again. So much more terrible are imaginary 
 misfortunes and troubles oftentimes when seen at a distance, than 
 they are in reality, when they actually take place. 
 
 Mr. Freeman took liis seat at the top of the room, near a large 
 table, and pointed to a chair, which Alrina felt was intended as an 
 invitation for her to be seated also. This gave her courage to look 
 round the room. There were some large boxes about, and several 
 cupboards and a few more chairs ; but, in general appearance, the 
 room was pretty much like other sitting-rooms, except that it 
 required to be dusted, she thought. And, when she had finished 
 her survey of the room, she had time to look at her father again, 
 before he spoke. He was evidently trying to overawe her, and when 
 she found out that, it gave her fresh courage. 
 
 Mr. Freeman, as he sat in that large, curiously-fashioned chair, 
 seemed a fine-looking man, — much yoimger in appearance than he 
 generally looked ; because, as we have before stated, he affected the
 
 THE WIZAKD OF WEST PENWITH. 53 
 
 old man, and seemed to wish to be thought much older than he 
 really was. 
 
 " Alrina," he said, at length, " how did you become acquainted 
 with that young man ? " 
 
 " What young man ? " said she, as innocently as she could. 
 
 *' Alrina ! " he said again, looking at her sternly ; " you know 
 whom I mean, and therefore let's have no prevarication." 
 
 '* His sister was one of my schoolfellows," she replied, " and she 
 introduced me to her brother." 
 
 " Oh ! " repHed her father, smiling ; " and you each became affected 
 with that incurable malady which silly people call ' love ; ' and you 
 have met him again? And where is your old schoolfellow now, 
 pray ? " asked Mr. Freeman. 
 
 " She is residing with Mrs. Courland, I believe," replied Alrina, 
 " at Ashley Hall." 
 
 " Thank you, Alrina. That was all I wanted to know. Now, you 
 can go to your room again, if you don't feel well, and let the servant 
 bring you up some tea. Good night." 
 
 So, then, this terrible ordeal in the " private room," which Alrina 
 had dreaded so much but a few minutes before, and racked her 
 brain to imagine what her father could possibly want of her, had 
 ended in his asking a plain simple question or two, and her giving 
 him answers to match. And although she had intended to ask him 
 why he had been so cruel as to order that dangerous feat to be 
 performed by that young stranger, and many other important 
 questions, she had been dismissed so abruptly, that she had actually 
 said nothing. 
 
 The whole scene seemed so absurd that she burst into a hearty 
 lauffh when she reached her own Uttle bedroom once more. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MRS. BROWN TELLS THE CONJUROR A BIT OF HER MIND. 
 
 Poor Mr. Brown ! he remained on the rocks long after the other 
 spectators had left, and would have remained there much longer, 
 had he not been roused from his reverie by a gentle tap on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Billy," said ho, looking up ; " let's go into the stable and have a 
 look at Jessie, boy. She must have a good rub-down and a warm 
 mash to-night." 
 
 " Come along," said the boy. And, taking Mr. Brown by the arm, 
 he led him home to his amiable but eccentric wife.
 
 54 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 " Wliat ! Billy ! " she exclaimed, as the pair entered the kitchen ; 
 ''where, in the name of goodness ded yoii spring from?" 
 
 " Why, I ha'n't b'en away, have I ?" replied the sly boy. 
 
 " Now, that's enoiigh — a plenty'," said ]\Irs. Brown, looking at the 
 boy with her keen grey eyes. " I can see through a millstone so 
 well as most people. I ha'n't b'en away, says aw ! " 
 
 " No, have I ? " said he, looking innocently at his mistress. 
 
 " Areah, thon I Now, I'll tell 'ee, Billy. He that ha' b'en your 
 maister the last three days, may take 'ee for the next three days, for 
 what I do care ; for in my house you sha'n't stop, — there, na. My 
 eyes ha' b'en opening wider and wider evar sence last night. 
 A croom of chat with one, and a croom of chat with another, have 
 opened them so wide, that I can see round a corner a'most." 
 
 " I don't knaw what you do main," said the boy. 
 
 " Iss you do," replied Mrs. Brown, shaking her head ; " so you 
 march, — and dont you come anist my door agen for a bra' spiu*." 
 
 The boy saw that his quondam mistress was in earnest ; so he took 
 the hint and made himself scarce. 
 
 " And now, I\Ir. Brown," said she, turning to her husband, who 
 had seated himself in the chimney-corner, " what do you think of 
 yourself, I shud like to knaw ? Your Jessie mare es come to a purty 
 pass, esn't she ? Ef the young gentleman had gone over chfE too, I 
 shud nevar ha' b'en good no more. To go for to slock the young 
 gentleman into et like that wor a shame, an' so et wor. You an' ' The 
 Maister' too oft to be spefHicated, — iss yovi ded." 
 
 " ' The Maister' wor right, Peggy," said Mr. Brown ; — " the boy es 
 come back. Wo ! ho ! Jessie ! gently, mare ! steady, now ! Wo ! ho ! " 
 
 " John Brown," said his wife, " I ha' thoft for a bra' bit that there 
 was but one biggar fool than you in the world, an' that's me, for 
 marryin' such a g'eat lazy, knaw-nothen' pattick. John Brown, go 
 to bed ! " And this command was given in such an authoritative 
 tone, th.^t Mr. Brown took it literally, and, hghting a bed-light, 
 although it was broad daylight, he took off his shoes at the bottom 
 of the stairs, as was his wont, and went to bed in right earnest ; and 
 in ten minutes he was fast asleep. 
 
 " Well, that's a comfort," said Mrs. Bro"wn. 
 
 " What's a comfort ?" said INIrs. Trenow, who had come in to have 
 a croom of chat Avith the landlady ; " you've had yoiu- drop of gin 
 an' peppermint, I s'pose ? " 
 
 " No, sure, I ha'n't," replied Mrs. Brown ; " but we will now, for 
 I do feel that there's something wantin', cheeld vean." 
 
 So the two gossips were very soon seated comfortably over their 
 little drop of cordial, seasoned with a pinch of snufE ; and they wound 
 up their moderate carousal with a cup of tea. 
 
 " You said something wor a comfort when I came in," said Mrs. 
 Trenow.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 65 
 
 ** Iss fie ! hark ! " replied Mrs. Brown, turning up her ear in a 
 
 listening attitude. 
 
 " You've got a pig bad, I s'pose ? " said Mrs. Trenow ; " but what 
 comfort there es in that, I caen't tell. Ill-wished again, I s'pose ? 
 Semmen to me ' The Maister ' ha' got bra' work now." 
 
 " No, my dear, tesn't the pig. Hark again ! " said Mrs. Brown. 
 
 " Why, 'tes up in the chamber, to be sure," replied Mrs. Trenow, 
 listening. 
 
 " Iss fie, 'tea up in the chamber, sure nuff ," said Mrs. Brown ; " and 
 there he'd sleep and snore till to-morrow dennar-time ef I dedia't 
 rouse 'n out." 
 
 " Dear lor' ! hke that, es aw ? Whisht too 'pon om, now that the 
 mare es killed, I s'pose," said Mrs. Trenow. " Do 'ee think that ' The 
 Maister' had any grudge agen that young gentleman, do 'ee?" 
 
 " What shud he knaw 'bout the young gentleman ? " returned Mrs. 
 Brown. "I'll tell 'ee, Mrs. Trenow, ' The Maister' wean't lev you 
 nor me knaw what he do think ; for thiiiken' es one thing and 
 spaiken' es another, weth he, I'll assure 'ee." 
 
 " But the boy came back to the very minute, I do hear," said Mrs. 
 Trenow, who couJd not be persuaded out of her belief in " The 
 Maister's" wisdom. 
 
 " I tell 'ee, Mrs. Trenow," said Mrs. Brown, in a confidential 
 whisper ; " 'tes my belief that ef they two wor to take off their shoes 
 you wud see two cloven hoofs, — iss I do." 
 
 " Oh ! lor ! " shrieked both the women, as they looked vip, after 
 their little confidential whisper ; for behind them stood Mr. Freeman 
 himself. 
 
 " A glass of mild ale, if you please, Mrs. Brown," said he, in his 
 blandest tone, as he took his usual seat in the chimney-corner. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the landlady. And while she was drawing the ale, 
 Mrs. Trenow took the opportunity of slipping out. Mrs. Brown was 
 as shrewd and cunning in her way as Mr. Freeman was in his, and, 
 while she was drawing the glass of ale, she began to reflect on the 
 probable purport of this early visit ; for " The Maister" seldom came 
 there until much later in the evening, when he knew he sliould find 
 some of those peculiarly constituted individuals there, whom Alriiia 
 generally designated " goostrumnoodles," and whom he seldom found 
 much difficulty in frightening to his heart's content. On these 
 occasions, Mrs. Brown never interfered ; for she had an eye to 
 business, and she knew that the more terror there was produced 
 in the brains of these poor numskulls, the more stimulants they 
 would consume. But, now, there was no occasion for any dis- 
 simulation ; and so she determined she would tell " The Maister" a 
 bit of her mind, — for she believed that he had some hidden and 
 wicked motive for prompting her husband to induce that young
 
 56 THE WIZAKD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 gentleman to undertake so dangerous a feat as the one he had 
 att<?mptcd that day. 
 
 " Your husband has met -wdth a serious loss to-day," said Mr. 
 Freeman. 
 
 " Iss ; and I s'pose you are come down for to make et good," 
 replied Mrs. Brown, rather tartly. 
 
 " Me ! " said Mr. Freeman ; " what have I to do with Mr. Brown's 
 losses, more than havmg a feeling of symjiathy for the misfortimes 
 of an oldfi-iend?" 
 
 " You dedn't tell Brown that the young gentleman must ride the 
 mare up there, I s'pose ? " said Mrs. Brown, taking a cunning side 
 glance at her visitor. 
 
 " What motive could I have had for such a suggestion as that ? " 
 asked ]\Ir. Freeman, looking innocently at Mrs. Bro-wn ; " and who 
 could possibly have said that I had anything to do with the matter ? " 
 
 " I tell 'ee, INIaister Freeman," said Mrs. Bro-uni ; " there's more of 
 your doin's knawn than you do think. TVhat you got out of that 
 ■wreck es knawn to a bra' many, frail they're afeard for to spaik et 
 out, down sous." 
 
 This made Mr. Freeman wince a little ; for he had such confidence 
 in his own cunning and ability in frightening and decei\dng his 
 neighbours, that he never for a moment supposed that they would 
 presume to speculate on, or try to pry into, his private gains, or 
 discuss his actions or motives. 
 
 His eyes were now opened, and Mrs. BroAvn perceived that he felt 
 very luicomfortable — a most unusual and impolitic feeling for him 
 to exhibit in the presence of so shrewd a woman as Mrs. Brown, 
 who di-ew her own conclusions therefrom ; and after her visitor had 
 drank his ale, and left her alone once more, she sat down, and, 
 putting " this against that," saw the '• ins and outs of things," as she 
 expressed it, more clearly than she had ever done liefore. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER AT THE PENZANCE BALL. 
 
 Frederick Mokley was getting strong again, and had met Alrina 
 several times, and pressed her to go to the ball at Penzance ; but this 
 she could not think of doing, she said. Neither her father nor 
 her aunt would sanction that, she was quite sure ; for, although her 
 education had been such as so fit her for ball-room society, and 
 her beauty eminently quahfied her for a ball-room belle, yet the 
 equivocal position of her father, and the mysteiy which appeared to
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 57 
 
 hang over them all, precluded her from enjoying at present the 
 society of him she loved so much, in that sphere to which he of right 
 belonged. He was unwilling to go without her, and had almost 
 made up his mind not to go ; but she knew it would do him good to 
 mix in the society to which he had been accustomed, and she knew, 
 also, that if he declined accompanying the Pencbay party to the ball, 
 his motives would be canvassed, and their secret love, which it was 
 best for the present should be concealed, might become known ; and 
 so Alrina persuaded him to go. 
 
 Carriages were sent out from Penzance to take the Pendray family 
 and the two officers to the ball, which was expected to be a very 
 aristocratic affair. When they arrived at the hotel, they found that 
 the best sitting-room and bedroom — which Squire Pendray wished 
 to have secured for his party — had been engaged that morning by 
 a strange gentleman, who came in from Hayle in a carriage-and- 
 four, the waiter said. He was dressed like a foreigner, and had a 
 large trunk with him, but no servant. He seemed rich, and gave 
 orders as if he had been accustomed to be waited upon by a good 
 many servants, and would not be satisfied with any but the best 
 rooms. He took two tickets for the ball, the waiter said, and therefore, 
 he supposed, he expected a friend, but no one had yet arrived. 
 
 The ball was a very brilliant one, for a country ball in those days, 
 and everyone seemed in anxious expectation for the entrance of the 
 stranger — especially the young ladies. Miss Penckay looked splendid. 
 She had impressed Frederick Morley into her service, as her favoured 
 beau ; for she had taken a great interest in him since his accident, 
 and had paid him marked attention, — indeed, she now looked upon 
 him as a hero, whom she could almost worship. Such deeds of 
 daring had a charm for her which few else could understand. But 
 still, he did not come up to her standard of manly perfection. There 
 was scarcely enough of that romantic devotion towards herself dis- 
 played, which she so much required, and demanded from those she 
 took an interest in. This placed Morley in a very awkward position, 
 for he could not help seeing that he had attracted Miss Pendi'ay's 
 attention, and that she seemed more pleased with his society than 
 that of any other gentleman of her acquaintance. But he could not 
 return it as she evidently would have wished him to do ; for he hiid 
 a secret treasure concealed within his breast, far dearer to him than 
 all the charms of person and mind and fortune which Miss Pendray 
 possessed. He would not exchange his Alrina's love for the fairest 
 and brightest jewel that the world could bestow ; for, without her, 
 all the world to him would be an empty and worthless blank. 
 
 He enjoyed the ball as much as he could do in the al)sence of 
 her who was uppermost in his thoughts. The excitement of the 
 music, the company, and the dancing, brought back reminiscences of
 
 58 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 similar scenes abroad. His wonted spirits returned, and he entered 
 thoroughly into the pleasures of the moment, and forgot for a time 
 the scene on the cliffs, the horse's screech of terror, and the 
 sound of his falling from rock to rock, as he went down over that 
 awful precijuce, while he himself was dangling on the very edge. 
 He danced with all alike, — one lady was the same, to him, as another, 
 there, — and he did not notice that Miss Pendray had withdrawn 
 from the dancing, and was sitting alone at one end of the room, when 
 the stranger entered. All eyes were directed towards the door, as the 
 waiter showed him in ; but his eyes were evidently attracted by the 
 magnificent form of JMiss Pendray, as she sat alone on a seat nearly 
 opposite the door. 
 
 One of the stewards immediately went up to him, introducing 
 himself as " steward," and offering to present him to a partner. 
 
 The stranger bowed, and expressed a wish to be presented to the 
 lady who was sitting opposite. 
 
 He gave his name to the steward who introduced him to Mis3 
 Pendray as " Mr. Smith." The stranger was the topic of conversation 
 throughout the room. He certainly looked like a foreigner. His 
 dress was that of an Indian gentleman of rank of those days. His coat 
 was of the finest purple satin, trimmed and ornamented with gold ; 
 a white satin waistcoat, tastefully embroidered with silver ; and white 
 kerseymere breeches of the finest texture, fastened below the knee 
 with a silver band ; the white silk stocking displaying to advantage a 
 finely-turned leg, — his shoes being fastened with small gold buckles. 
 He was a tall, fine-looking man, apparently between forty and fifty 
 years of age — nearer the former, perhaps, than the latter. He 
 seemed to be making himself very agreeable to Miss Pendray ; for 
 she became full of animation, and her handsome countenance lit up 
 radiant with beauty. 
 
 The stranger would not dance, but was introduced, by tui-n, to 
 almost all the ladies of note in the room. Miss Pendray, however, 
 was the principal attraction, and he returned to her side again 
 and again. 
 
 Frederick Morley looked at the stranger several times with earnest 
 attention, and, after a time, became absorbed in thought. He 
 was not jealous of the attention bestowed on him by the lady whom 
 he had led into the room. No, it could not have been that. He did 
 not care enough for Miss Pendray to feel jealous of her attentions 
 being bestowed elsewhere. No, it was not that. He watched the 
 stranger narrowly, and he came to the conclusion that he was not 
 the person he assumed to be. "Smith" was a feigned name, 
 evidently. His dress and ornaments betokened him to have been a 
 resident in India. India was a country familiar to Morley by name, 
 and dear to him, as having been the residence of his fatlier for so
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 59 
 
 many years, and the birthplace of his mother, his brother and sister, 
 and himself. He had not seen his brother since he and his 
 sister were brought over by their father, when they were children, 
 and when that never-to-be-forgotten calamity befel his father, which 
 shortened his life. That false accusation was still hanging over the 
 family. He had been reminded of it, in almost every letter he had 
 received from his brother since their father's death ; and, in his last 
 letter, he said he had woimd up their father's affairs, and his own, 
 in India, and he intended to return to England by the next ship, to 
 arrange the property according to their father's will, and to make a 
 strict search after the wi'etches who had murdered their own father, 
 on that terrible night, and caused the suspicion and acciisation to 
 rest on an innocent man. He would travel all over England, he said, 
 and spend the whole of his fortune, to clear his father from that foul 
 suspicion. 
 
 Frederick had but a very faint recollection of his brother ; but a 
 strange, unaccoimtable idea, took possession of him during supper. 
 He thought he observed the stranger start once or twice, when the 
 name of *' Morley" happened to be spoken by anyone at the table — 
 as was frequently the case ; for Frederick was a stranger too, and, 
 therefore, received great attention from the stewards, and, indeed, 
 from the ladies, whose goodness of heart frequently prompts them 
 to show greater attention to strange gentlemen than to those whom 
 they are in the habit of meeting every day. 
 
 Ever since he had heard of the wreck of that East-Indianian at 
 Pendeen, he had been persuading liimself that his brother might have 
 been one of the passengers on board that ill-fated vessel ; and, as 
 very few bodies had been washed on shore, it was probable that one 
 of the boats might have withstood the storm, and, when the sea was 
 more tranquil, they might have landed somewhere on the north 
 coast. It was possible. There was just sufficient possibility in it to 
 keep alive hope. 
 
 Wliat if this stranger should turn out to be his brother ? It was 
 scarcely probable ; but yet the idea had seized hold of him, and he 
 could not get rid of it. 
 
 The discovery and exposure of those wretches, who had been the 
 means of hastening their father's death, and embittering his last 
 moments, was the constant theme in all his l)rother's letters, and 
 seemed uppermost in his thoughts. Year after year he longed to be 
 able to give up his business in Incha, and rctiu-n to England seemingly 
 for that one purpose. He had witnessed the effect the stain of this 
 false accusation had produced on his father's mind and bodily 
 health, and had seen him pine away under it; and he had received 
 his father's dying injunction to sift the affair to the bottom as soon 
 as he could return to EnKland.
 
 60 TOE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 ITe had refrained from marrying in India, tliat he might liave no 
 tics to keep him there after his biisiness affairs were wound up. He 
 would, of course, change his name in searching after the fugitives, 
 and he might have commenced at once, Frederick thought, however 
 remote the chance of liis finding them on the narrow strip of land 
 which terminates the kingdom of England. 
 
 In spite of its improbability, Morley could not divest himself of 
 the idea Avhich had taken such a deep hold of him, and he determined 
 on speaking to the stranger after supper, and asking him if he had 
 ever met with a merchant of the name of Morley in India. He 
 was disappointed, however ; for, almost immediately after supper, 
 Frederick was seized with one of his nervous attacks, and it was as 
 much as his friend Fowler could do to support him to his room ; 
 and when he came down to a late breakfast, he found that the 
 stranger had gone out for his morning's walk. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 JOSIAH S ASTONISHMENT AT THE EFFECT PRODUCED BY THE DISPLAY 
 , OF EIS TREASURE-TROVE. 
 
 JosiAH Trenow had been in constant attendance on Frederick Morley, 
 ever since the accident. It may appear strange that a young man so 
 strong and brave as Morley, and who had seen so much service 
 abroad, and been engaged in the most dangerous sports that can 
 possibly be pursued, should have been so entirely prostrated by this 
 accident ; but so it was. 
 
 It was Josiah's strong arm that had lifted him up from his perilous 
 position on the cliffs ; and, for many days, he did not feel safe unless 
 that strong arm was near, to be thrown round him when the ten-ible 
 thought of his perilous situation seized him ; and Josiah was beginning 
 to like his young master — for such he seemed now to have become, 
 without any formal agreement having been entered into between them. 
 
 While his young master was at Penzance attending the ball, Josiah 
 went to the mine where he had been working, to put things straight, 
 and to see the captain, and get another man put in his place ; for 
 Morley had asked him to remain with him imtU he was obliged to 
 join his regiment again — which would not be for some time, as he 
 had obtained an extension of leave, in consequence of the accident, 
 and the strong certificate sent to head-quarters from the surgeon 
 who attended him. He had remained at " The First and Last Inn," 
 at Sennen, ever since, — partly to be near his friend Fowler, and 
 partly because he fancied the removal to another place might cause
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 61 
 
 a return of those dreadful feelings of nervous terror wMch he had 
 now in a measure overcome. 
 
 On the mornuag after his return from Penzance, Josiah came into 
 his master's room, after breakfast, carrying a small box under his 
 arm, which appeared to be very heavy, and, placing it on the table, 
 he said, 
 
 " I've got something here, sar, that I do want you to see. I picked 
 'n up in the sand after the wreck, an' I oppened om, an' wor 
 frightened sure 'nuff." 
 
 " Frightened at opening a small box ! " said Morley, smiling ; " I 
 thought your nerves were stronger, Josiah." 
 
 " You shall see for yourself," returned Josiah. And he proceeded 
 to take out the screws with which the box was fastened, when, to 
 Morley's utter astonishment, he saw that the box was fiUed to tlie 
 brim with Indian gold coins, and, in one corner of the box, closely 
 packed down, there was a piece of thick white writing-paper, neatly 
 folded up. 
 
 " There, sar," said Josiah ; " es et any wonder that I shud be 
 frightened ? " 
 
 " No, indeed 1 " said his master, taking up a few of the coins, and 
 examining them ; " there must be many thousands of pounds in this 
 little box. Why, you're a lucky man, Josiah. And you consider 
 these all your own, of course, according to the doctrine of all Cornish 
 wreckers ? " 
 
 " No, I don't sar," replied Josiah ; " but I caen't teU whose they 
 are, — I wish I cud. I b'lieve that paper wud tell, ef so be that I 
 cud read 'n ; but I caen't read writen', frail I can read prent, ef 
 they're brave an' big letters. I carr'd that paper up to Maister 
 Freeman, but I dedn't car' up the box, — no fie ! Ef you had seed 
 his face when he looked 'pon the paper fust, you'd never forgit 'n no 
 more. 'Twor whisht sure 'nuf." 
 
 " Well, what did he say ?" asked Morley, who felt more interested 
 in hearing something about the conjuror, who had so nearly caiised 
 his death, than curiosity as to the contents of the paper. 
 
 " Say ?" exclaimed Josiah ; " Avhy, nothen' for a bra' bit. Pie read 
 'n down twice, quite study, like, an' then aw looked up 'pon me, like 
 one startled, an' folded up the paper. An' then he said, ' Josiah,' 
 says he to me, ' I can't make this out 'less I do see the box that 'twor 
 in ; bring et to me at once,' says he. ' 'Tes an unlucky thing for you 
 to keep in your house,' says he ; ' your pigs will die, and, maybe, 
 you'll all be laid down, and rise no more,' says he. ' Bring the box, 
 and all the contents, within one hour,' says he, ' or else you are all 
 doomed,' says he. An' weth that he wor goen' for to put the paper 
 in his pocket ; but I catched 'n by the arm, and made 'n screech ten 
 thousand murders, an' diop the paper, an' I very soon picked 'n up
 
 62 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 agen. An' then he tore to me, an' tried for to catch the paper agen ; 
 hut I wor too quick for 'n, an' I tripped 'n up weth my toe, au' left 
 'n lyin' 'pon the planchen' ; and then I trapesed away do^vn ste-ars. 
 I reckon the maid Ahce Ann wor frightened too ; for I b'heve in my 
 conscience she wor harken' outside the door, — for I nearly knacked 
 har down, poor soul, but I cudn't stop to see." 
 
 " Let me see the paper," said Morley, who was now as anxious to 
 see it, as he had been indifferent before. 
 
 So Josiah took it out, and unfolded it very carefully ; and if he 
 had been astonished to see the strange appearance of Mr. Freeman's 
 coimtenance when he perused that paper, he was perfectly astoimded 
 now, to see the effect the perusal of it was producing on Mr, Morley ; 
 and he began to think that the box and all it conta,ined were 
 bewitched, as Mr. Freeman had said, and he entertained serious 
 thoughts of carrying it doAvn to the cliffs and throwing it over. At 
 length, Mr. Morley, having finished the perusal of the paper for the 
 third time, leaned his elbows on the table, supporting his head with 
 his hands, in which he still clutched the paper, and sobbed aloud ; 
 for his nerves were still too weak to bear up against any sudden 
 shock without giving vent to his feelings. 
 
 Josiah stood looking at his master and the box alternately, having 
 a confused idea of a shipwreck and a man and horse falling over 
 cliff, with a box of gold tied to them as a weight to pull them down. 
 At last Mr. Morley recovered suificiently to see that Josiah was 
 looking bewildered ; so he thought i^ right to read the paper to him, 
 which did not, however, enlighten him very much till further 
 explanation was given. 
 
 The mysterious paper contained these words : — 
 
 " /, Alexander Morley, on my dying bed, enjoin my ttvo sons, 
 William and Frederich Morley, to malce the strictest search for 
 those two wretches, who committed the murder, of which I was 
 accused, and to use all possible means to bring them to justice, 
 or to induce them to confess their crime, that my bones may rest 
 in peace. The contents of this box to be used in the 2'>rosecution 
 thereof. " Alexander Morley." 
 
 " Well," said Josiah, " I ar'n't mvich furder footh, I think." And 
 he looked at his master with a vacant stare. Mr. Morley, therefore, 
 thought it best to entrust this faithful and honest man with the 
 whole circumstances relative to the murder, which made him stare 
 more than ever ; but it was not a vacant stare now. 
 
 " You must let me take this paper, Josiah," said Mr. Morley ; 
 "and perhaps I had better take care of the box also, for the 
 present."
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 63 
 
 " By all mains, sar," said Josiah ; " for, putting this and that 
 together, 'tes surely your father's box, and sent here for a wise 
 purpose." 
 
 " This accident has brought many sad reflections into my mind, 
 Josiah," replied Mr. Morley. " I cannot now have any doubt of the 
 fate of my poor brother. He was, no doubt, bringing this valued box 
 home, that we might proceed together in the search. He is gone ; 
 but Providence has throAvn this box in my way, as a powerful 
 incentive to use my utmost exertions, single-handed, to perform the 
 task allotted to my brother and myself by our poor father." 
 
 " You sha-ant go by yourself, sar," said Josiah ; " I'll help 'ee as 
 far as I can, ef you'll lev me to." 
 
 " You shall," rephed his master. " I am indebted to you for my 
 life, and for the discovery of this box, so that our destinies seem 
 blended together, in an unaccountable manner. You shall not go 
 unrewarded, I assure you. We will use this money, as it is ordered, 
 in searching for the guilty parties." 
 
 " Zackly like that," returned Josiah ; " an' ef I wor you I wud ax 
 Maister Freeman. Whether et wor his conjuring knawledge, or 
 what, I caen't tell ; but semmen' to me I thoft he knawed somethen'." 
 
 " No, no," replied Morley ; " it was the wish to get the gold into 
 his possession that made him look so odd. He is avaricious, and he 
 thought to frighten you into the foolish act of bringing the box to 
 him, when he would either have kept it altogether, or have taken a 
 large toll out of it." 
 
 " Well, sar," said Josiah, " I'll allow you for to knaw best ; but 
 ef I wor you, I'd see Maister Freeman ; — he might look to his books 
 an' tell 'ee somethen' more than you do knaw now." 
 
 This seemed very good advice ; for, even if Mr. Freeman knew 
 nothing, Frederick thought he should at least see the conjuror in his 
 " sanctum," as he was going to him on business, and he might have 
 a chance of seeing Alrina, whom he had not met for several days ; 
 for she did not keep her last appointment with him two days before 
 the ball, and he feared she might be ill, or might have been prevented 
 by some lynx-eyed Duenna, as she had been before, when he blamed 
 her without cause. So, for all these reasons, Frederick determined 
 he would visit the lion in his den, and make him divulge all he knew 
 respecting the contents of that paper, if indeed he knew anything — 
 which, however, the unhappy young man very much doubted.
 
 64 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE BORROWED FEATHERS OF THE PEACOCK FAIL TO CONCEAL ENTIRELY 
 THE NATURAL PLUMAGE OF THE JACKDAW. 
 
 The strange gentleman who had caused such a sensation at the ball, 
 and who called himself "Mr. Smith," continued to reside at the 
 hotel, at Penzance, in a style which evinced great wealth, and 
 perhaps rank, as the inhaVjitants generally thought ; so he was called 
 on by most of the aristocracy of the neighbourhood, and incited to 
 dine at their houses. He frequently rode out to the Logan Kock, or 
 Lamorna clifEs, where he met Miss Pendray — sometimes by appoint- 
 ment, and sometimes by accident. She seemed quite fascinated with 
 the mysterious stranger, and wovild meet him in the roughest weather, 
 and wander with him over the cliffs, while he related to her tales of 
 romance and horror, which delighted and fascinated her ; and she 
 would look into his face, and allow him to hold her hand, as they 
 sat side by side on the rocks, while he poured into her willing ear 
 those tales she so delighted to listen to, — and by degrees he blended, 
 almost imperceptibly at first, his own feelings with the more romantic 
 scenes which he depicted so well, and shadowed forth, at length, in 
 vague but unmistakeable language, his love and admiration of the 
 beautiful creature by his side, until the majestic Maud was subdued 
 into a mere mortal and received his protestations and vows of love 
 and constancy, and returned them as fully and freely and confidingly 
 as her sister, the gentle and innocent Blanche, would have done to 
 him she loved above all others on earth. But, although he was 
 always so ready and anxious to meet Miss Pendray out of doors, he 
 avoided going to her father's house. She would frequently ask him 
 the reason of this, but he wotxld never satisfy her. On one occasion, 
 after an uniisually tender and protracted meeting on the cluster of 
 rocks surrounding the Logan Rock, when he thought he had gained 
 sufficient power over her, he asked her to elope with him ; at which 
 she was at first highly indignant. She drew herself up instantly to 
 her full dignity, and, looking down with scorn on her lover, while 
 her eyes flashed with indignation, she said, 
 
 " Do you take me for a silly school-girl, that you presume to make 
 such a proposition to me ? No, sir ! while I reside under my father's 
 roof, it must be from his hands, and from his house, that I must be 
 claimed and taken, if at all." 
 
 "Nay," exclaimed her companion, in the greatest alarm and 
 humiliation ; " I meant not to offend you. My life has been one of 
 romance from my childhood, and I thought you possessed the same 
 romantic ideas, but in a loftier, and, I perceive, more chivalrous, 
 form. Pardon me. The anticipation of the possession of a jewel so 
 valuable, dazzled and disordered my brain, and I feared its loss, if
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 65 
 
 left to others to decide ; your father might refuse his consent, and 
 a thousand things might happen in the delay, to deprive me of 
 the possession of her on whom my happiness and life depend. 
 But your wishes shall he as commands to me ; — it shall be done 
 methodically, and in as businesslike a manner as other poor mortals 
 perform the same ordeal : I will ask your honoured father, who will 
 doubtless give us his blessing : we will go to the parish church and 
 be imited, as the Cornish clodhoppers are accustomed to be, and have 
 a quiet dinner, and after tea we will jog into Penzance, and spend 
 the honeymoon in some comfortable lodgings. Let me go now, and 
 speak to the good squire," continued he, taking her hand, and kneeling 
 on the grass at her feet. 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Smith," she said, relenting a httle ; " you have drawn 
 a very rustic picture truly of the marriage ceremony. The one great 
 event in woman's life should be a little more brilliant and exciting 
 than that, certainly." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said he, rising and kissing her hand ; " I knew you 
 would not be satisfied with a humdrum marriage, and so I went, 
 perhaps, a little too far the other way." 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Smith," she said, tiirning from him, and covering her 
 eyes with one hand, while he retained the other, " I am afraid I am 
 doing wrong, even now. I ought not to be here, — I know I ought 
 not, and yet " 
 
 " Do not speak thus, dearest Maud," said he ; " you know my 
 devoted attachment to you, and my admiration of your noble 
 character, and the beauties of your mind and person. Your majestic 
 and dignified form, and the brilliancy of your eyes, attracted my 
 attention when I entered the ball-room at Penzance, and " 
 
 " Allow me to remind you," replied Miss Pendray, rather haughtily, 
 " that I do not like gross flattery ; it is repugnant to my nature ; I 
 cannot endure it." 
 
 These expressions were uttered abruptly and incautiously, and the 
 fair lady was aware immmediately that she had said too much ; but 
 she was so much accustomed to have her own way at home, and to 
 be treated with the greatest deference and respect by all, and waa 
 moreover so conscious of her own perfections, that any plain allusion 
 to them was quite repulsive to her ; it was not the first time that 
 this mysterious stranger had mixed up a little vulgarity, as she 
 deemed it, with his more refined conversation, and interesting and 
 romantic talcs. She did not quite understand him even now. She 
 had never before taken him up so sharply, although she had often 
 wished to do so ; but she feared to wound his feelings. She had now, 
 in the ex(;it(!mont of the moment, expressed her thoughts more fully 
 than she intended, and she felt sorry, and would have given worlds 
 to recall those last expressions. She was relieved, however, from her
 
 66 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 embarrassment on that account ; for, just at that moment, as she 
 turned to reassure liim, a gentlemanly looking man suddenly emerged 
 from behind one of those lofty rocks at a little distance from where 
 the lovers were standing, and approached towards them. IVIiss 
 Pendray's back was turned towards the intruder, so that she did not 
 notice his approach ; l^ut, as she was about to speak to her com- 
 panion, she saw such a terrified, horrible expression come over his 
 countenance, as he gazed at the gentleman Avho was now rapidly 
 approaching them, that she turned round instinctively to see what it 
 was that had so absorbed his attention, when she foimd herself almost 
 face to face with the stranger, as he jumped down from a rock near 
 her. She uttered a little shriek at the suddenness of the surprise, 
 but immediately recovered herself sufficiently to take a hasty glance 
 at his personal appearance, before he spoke ; for he was a remarkable 
 looking man. He was considerably above the middle height, strongly 
 built, and robust. His hair was almost white, although, from his 
 fresh complexion and general appearance, he was evidently still a 
 young man — perhaps scarcely forty. His face was tanned with the 
 sun, as if he had lived long in a warm climate. He had the appearance 
 of a gentleman, and, from his manners, he evidently was one. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, madam," he said, " for thus intruding on you. 
 I assure you it was quite unintentional. I was searching for Lieut. 
 Fowler. His men, at the station, told me he was out on the coast, 
 near by, somewhere ; and, as I wished to see him, I thought I would 
 take a stroll, with the chance of falling in with him, rather than 
 wait indoors this beautiful morning." 
 
 " Pray don't apologize," replied Miss Pendray ; " I often meet 
 Lieut. Fowler on the clifEs, and this is not at all an unlikely place 
 to meet with him." 
 
 " Thank you," said the stranger : and, taking ofE his hat to the lady, 
 he passed on in search of the lieutenant, while Miss Pendray turned 
 round towards Mr. Smith, whom she expected to find recovered by 
 this time from the shock, or whatever it was, that made him look so 
 odd, and prevented him, as she thought, from speaking to the 
 intruder, who was now out of sight. But where was Mr. Smith ? He 
 was nowhere to be seen. She looked all round, and climbed to the 
 topmost rock, but could see no trace of him. It was very odd, she 
 thought ; and that demoniacal look haunted her. What could it 
 mean ? Did he know that stranger, and fear him for some reason ? 
 No, that could scarcely be ; for he evidently saw Mr. Smith, but 
 he showed no signs of recognition. She knew not what to think. 
 "V\Tiat did she know of Mr. Smith ? Who was he ? Where did he 
 come from ? He was comparatively a stranger to her. These were 
 questions which she now began to ask herself, as she walked slowly 
 home ; and she now began to think that she had acted wrong, in
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 67 
 
 meeting a mere stranger so often, clandestinely, and allowing herself 
 to be led away by his fascinating conversation, after knowing him 
 little more than a fortnight. These reflections smoothed and softened 
 her naturally bold and daring spirit, and, instead of feeling a wish 
 now to soar to the top of the loftiest rocks and cliffs, and look danger 
 in the face without shrinking, she felt subdued and melancholy, and 
 instinctively took the path which led down towards Lamorna Cove — 
 the spot so loved and admired by her gentle sister. 
 
 Here she met Blanche and Lieut. Fowler searching for some rare 
 shells on the beach, to whom she recounted her adventure with the 
 strange gentleman with the white hair, but she did not mention the 
 other in whom she was more interested. 
 
 Lieut. Fowler knew no such person, he said, as Miss Pendray 
 described. Perhaps it was some inspecting officer. He could not 
 have come on duty, however, for in that case he would have been in 
 uniform. But whoever it was, he thought he had better go and see 
 him ; so he took leave of the two sisters, and walked away in the 
 direction of the signal-station at Tol-pedn-Penwith, wondering who 
 his stranore visitor could be. 
 
 CHAPTER XVHL 
 
 THE BIKDS HAVE TAKEN FLIGHT, 
 
 Frederick Morley determined on going to Mr. Freeman's house, and 
 taking a copy of that document with him, when he hoped to be able 
 to induce the " man of cunning" to tell him what he knew relative 
 to the contents of that paper which Josiah had found in the box ; for 
 Josiah seemed so convinced of his being able to enlighten his master, 
 that he was beginning himself to feel that the visit might turn out 
 more successful and satisfactory than he at first imagined. 
 
 " I'll go weth 'ee, sar," said Josiah ; " an' ef we caen't, both of es, 
 make 'n tell, why 'twill be whisht sure nuf . I'll maul 'n brave ef aw 
 don't tell everything ; for I'm sixre, semmen to me, that he wudn't 
 look like that there, ef he dedn't knaw somethen'." 
 
 " No, no, Josiah," replied his master ; " we must not resort to 
 personal violence. You shall go with me, for you know him, — I do 
 not, — and we shall soon see by his manner what he knows, although 
 I have my douljts, still, as to his real knowledge of anything connected 
 with this affair. It is his object to pretend to know more than he 
 really does, in order to mislead ignorant people; and he thereby 
 induces them to communicate enough to enable him to guess at the 
 rest, — and so he gets credit for a vast amount of prescience more 
 than he really possesses." 
 
 As they walked on slowly towards St, Just, on their important
 
 68 THE WIZAIil) OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 errand, Morley's mind Avas filled with various thoughts and con- 
 jectures, all of the greatest moment to him. lie might now be on 
 the point of having his great secret unravelled, or at least of gaining 
 some intelligence respecting it, and he was about to see Alrina'a 
 father, and perhaps herself. He should now also know the reason 
 why she had not kept her last appointment with him. All these 
 serious reflections passing through his mind, made him silent. It was 
 likely to be an eventful day for him. What Josiah's thoughts were 
 we do not know — our little bird is silent on that point. Perhaps he 
 •was also thinking of his Alice Ann ; but this thought did not seem 
 to disturb him. His love was not quite so ardent, perhaps, as his 
 master's, or his love might j^robably be running more smoothly ; for 
 he disturbed the air now and then by whistling snatches of some old 
 song or country jig, shewing thereby to his companion, if he felt any 
 interest in kno-wing the fact, that his faithful attendant's thoughts 
 didn't trouble him much. At length, after a weary walk, though not 
 by any means a long one, they arrived at the verge of the village ; 
 and now Josiah took the lead, as he knew every house and almost 
 every stone in the place. The village was very quiet, for most of the 
 men were out at their work — some at the mine, and others at their 
 little farms — while the women were busy indoors, cleaning up a bit, 
 and preparing the men's dinners. 
 
 They passed the " Commercial" Hotel, which seemed to be taking 
 its morning nap, and reposing its dignity in the sim, which was 
 shining brightly on its whitewashed walls, and looking in at the 
 windows, and stretching itself, as far as it could, in at the open door, 
 making the fine sand, with Avhich the passage was strewed, sparkle 
 again. The stable-door w^as shut, — all was quiet there. Poor Mr. 
 Bro-wn's occupation was gone. Morley shuddered as he thought of 
 the beautiful mare ; but they passed on in silence until they arrived 
 at the further end of the village, when Josiah stopped opposite a neat 
 looking farm-house, and, after a few minutes' reflection, exclaimed, 
 
 " Dash my buttons ! why they're gone, to be sure." 
 
 This expression, which was said in an excited tone, recalled Morley 
 from his reverie, and, looking up, he saw that the house they were 
 standing opposite, seemed to be deserted and shut up. The window- 
 shutters were all closed, and the garden-gate was locked. 
 
 " That's unlucky, if this is the house," said Morley ; " but they 
 may not be gone far. Let us enquire somewhere." 
 
 " Zackly like that," replied Josiah, in a sort of bewildered manner, 
 •while he led the way to a cottage at a Httle distance off, which he 
 entered very unceremoniously, bidding his master to follow him. 
 
 " Where's ' The Maister ' gone ? " said he, addressing an elderly 
 woman, who was up to her elbows in soapsuds, washing at a small 
 •washtub.
 
 THE WIZAKD OF WEST PENWITH. 69 
 
 " Your sarvant, sar," said Mrs. Trenow, wiping the soapsuds from 
 her hands and arms, without noticing her son's question. 
 
 " Set down, sar, ef you plaise," said Josiah, placing a chair for his 
 master ; for he saw that he was fatigued. " Mother es like somethen' 
 that's very good to eat when 'tes boiled sometimes," continued Josiah ; 
 " she don't always go foreright when she's wanted to." 
 
 " Areah, then," said his mother ; '' the world es come to a purty 
 pass, when cheldern do begin for to taich their mothers manners." 
 
 " Hush, mother," said Josiah, laughing, and slapping the old lady 
 on the back. " How are 'ee, thon ? I ha'n't seed 'ee for a bra' bit." 
 
 " No fie, you ha'n't," replied Mrs. Trenow. " He's gone, cheeld 
 vean, an' joy go weth 'n, says I." 
 
 " You are speaking of Mr. Freeman, I presume," said Mr. Morley. 
 " I came here almost on purpose to see him, and we found the house 
 shut up. Can you give us any information respecting his movements? " 
 
 " No, sar, I caen't," replied Mrs. Trenow. " About a week ago, or 
 so — I caen't tell to a day — Miss Freeman (that's ' The Maister's' sister, 
 sar) told Alice Ann (that's the maid, sar) that she might have a 
 holiday in the afternoon ; an' glad enough the maid wor to have her 
 holiday, I can assure 'ee, sar. Well, she went out and stayed away 
 till l)rave an' late in the evenin', an' she went home thinkin' she shud 
 have a bra' scold for stayin' out so long ; but when she came to the 
 gate, she found it all fastened up, an' the winder-shutters up, an' the 
 house looking quite whisht like." 
 
 " That's very strange," said Morley ; " but where are they gone ?" 
 
 " That's the very thing, sar," replied Mrs. Trenow. " ' Where are 
 they gone ? ' says you ; and ' where are they gone ? ' says everybody, 
 'ceps Mrs. Brown, — she don't say nothin'. The maid's clothes wor 
 left there for har, an' that's all she'll tell," 
 
 " Thank you, Mrs. Trenow," said Morley ; " I think we must ask 
 Mrs. Brown, Josiah." 
 
 " I b'lieve we must, sar," replied Josiah, thoughtfully. "Where's 
 Alice Ann, thon, mother ; she esn't gone after them, I s'pose ? " 
 
 " No, no ; she's up to har aunt's stopjnng a bit. Har fe-a-ther an' 
 mother do live a bra' way off, you knaw." 
 
 " Now, I'll tell 'ee, sar," said Josiah ; " you go up to Mrs. Brown's 
 an' knaw all you can, an' I'll go down an' see what Alice Ann have 
 got to say, — an', between es, we may find out somethen'." 
 
 " Quite right, Josiah," returned his master, " that is a very good 
 plan." And each of them went his way on a voyage of discovery. 
 
 Mrs. Brown was laying the cloth for the midday meal when Morley 
 entered, and her husband was sitting in the chimney-corner. The 
 old lady was overjoyed to see her visitor, and, running towards him, 
 she took his hand in both hers, and kissed it, saying, — 
 
 " I am glad to see you once more, Mr. Morley. It was a miraculous
 
 70 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 escape ; an' I hope it -will be a warnin' to you, not to risk your life 
 agen at the biddin' of a rogue an' a fool." 
 
 " I\Iy dear Mrs. Brown," replied Morley, " it was a narrow escape ; 
 but the beautiful mare ia gone ! What does Mr. Brown do, without 
 his Jessie mare ? " 
 
 " The name of the mare roused I\Ir. BroA\T^i from his lethargy, and, 
 coming out of his corner, lie said, — 
 
 " Where's my hat, Peggy ? I'm goin' to get Jessie mare out, for 
 the gentleman to try her a bit before to-morrow. Come, sir. Wo ! 
 ho ! Jessie ; wo ! ho. Come, Polly ! Poll ! Poll ! Polly ! Where's 
 that maid gone, Peggy. Billy, boy, come an' saddle the mare." 
 
 His hat, which was on his head, shone as brightly as ever, but his 
 internal brightness was gone. He never recovered the shock of seeing 
 his mare fall over the clifE, and the narrow escape of its rider. It 
 was very true he hadn't much to lose, poor man, intellectually. His 
 one idea was centred in the mare, and they both went together. 
 He wandered in and out of the house continually, and, as he didn't 
 interfere with others, no one interfered Avith Mm. 
 
 " Poor man," said Mr. Morley, looking after him. 
 
 " It's a blessin', Mr. Morley," said Mrs. Brown, " that the mare es 
 gone. She was no use here ; and she was eatin' her head off, as the 
 sayin' is. What is, is best, I b'Ueve." 
 
 " My errand to St. Just," said Morley, " was princijoally to see 
 Mr. Freeman, and I find he's gone away." 
 
 "Iss, he's gone, an' joy go weth 'n," rephed Mrs. Brown. 
 
 " Where is he gone," said Morley ; " do you know ? " 
 
 " All I do knaw es this," replied Mrs. Brown. " He came here 
 about ten days ago, an' said he wor goin' to take his daughter 
 for a little trip, as she dedn't seem well, — she was so low-spirited, 
 he said, — and he asked me to take care of the maid Alice Ann's 
 clothes for har, untel she came back ; for p'raps she wud be back 
 before they wud. I thought they wor goin' to Scilly, p'raps, or to 
 Truro. And away they went, and Alice Ann came for har clothes 
 the next day. She dedn't go. Where they're gone, I can no more 
 tell than you can." 
 
 " That's very strange ; I -wish I knew where they were gone," 
 rephed Morley, thoughtfully. 
 
 " You may wish agen, I b'lieve," returned ^Mrs. Brown ; " he'll turn 
 up again one day, like a poor penny. Come, sir, have a snack weth 
 us ; we're just going to dinner." 
 
 So poor Mr. BroAvn was called in, and the three sat down to a 
 nicely seasoned beef-steak pie, which Morley enjoyed very much 
 after his walk, notmthstanding his disappointment. 
 
 Josiah gained very httle more information than his master. AUce 
 Ann told him that, for several days before they left, her young
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PEN WITH. 71 
 
 mistress, Alrina, Avas confined to her room. She seemed drowsy, like, 
 the girl said, and didn't care to move nor to speak. 
 
 " I do b'lieve, Siah," said she, speaking in a half whisper, "that she 
 had some doctor's trade gov to har for to put har to slaip, — I do, sure 
 nxd ; and they took har away in a post-chaise while she wor slaipen'." 
 
 Morley thought that if he could find where the post-chaise came 
 from, he might, by bribing and questioning the postboy, gain some 
 clue to their probable destination ; — for, in addition to his anxiety 
 to see Mr. Freeman, which was now confirmed more than ever, he 
 was doubly anxious for the safety of Alrina, whom he was convinced 
 her father and aunt were persecuting — perhaps on his account, but 
 why, he could not imagine ; for he was not aware that Alriua's 
 relatives knew of his attachment to her, or that he had ever met her. 
 He Httle knew the resources of the " man of cunning" for obtaining 
 information of what took place in that neighbourhood. He left a 
 hasty note for his friend Fowler, stating that he was imexpectedly 
 called away on important business ; and, taking Josiah with him in 
 the combined capacity of companion, assistant, and valet, he pro- 
 ceeded on his travels in search of the fugitives. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS ENCOUNTER. 
 
 We left Lieut. Fowler on the road between Lamorna Cove and the 
 signal-station, at Tol-pedn-Penwith. Various were the conjectures 
 that passed through his mind during his walk, as to Avho the stranger 
 could be, but to no purpose. He could not think of any of his 
 relatives or acquaintances, who would be hkely to be in that neigh- 
 bourhood, without apprising him of their intended visit. If it should 
 turn out to be a good companionable fellow, he wouldn't mind, but 
 then, he was an old grey-headed man, as he construed Miss Pendray's 
 description of the stranger. His friend, Frederick Morley, had gone 
 ofE in rather an unceremonious manner, and had left him again to the 
 resources of the Land's-End for amusement and companionship ; 
 and he had therefore been more frequent in his visits to Pendrea- 
 house, and more attentive to the young ladies, than during his 
 friend's visit. 
 
 It was not often that Miss Pendray favoured Fowler and her sister 
 with her company ; for, as the reader already knows, she had more 
 attractions elsewhere ; and so accustomed were her friends to her 
 romantic wanderings over the bold cliffs alone, tliat the innocent 
 Blanche was continually Lieut. Fowler's only companion, and the
 
 72 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 time generally jiassed so pleasantly that neither of them regretted the 
 absence of a third party. 
 
 "NVlien Miss Pendray came upon them so suddenly and unexpectedly 
 on that eventful morning, they were in the midst of a veiy interesting, 
 but, to Blanche, rather an embarrassing, tete-a-tete. The gentleman 
 was trying to make himself understood, without saying what he meant, 
 in so many words ; and the lady, although — sly little creature — she 
 knew quite well what he meant to say, and -wished from her heart 
 he would say it out boldly, and not be hammering and stammering 
 about it so — making her every moment feel more nervous and 
 embaiTassed, and himself too ; yet she would not help him, even by 
 a look, but kept turning a pebble round and roimd -with her foot, 
 and looking as steadily on the sand as if she was endeavouring to 
 look underneath it, for some rich treasure supposed to be buried 
 there. 
 
 In the midst of all this, came the majestic Maud, with the tale of 
 her adventure wdth the remarkable stranger with the white hair. 
 Wasn't it provoking to be interrupted just at that critical time? 
 
 Fowler felt that it was do"wnright we wont say what. He 
 
 wished the white-headed stranger was at the bottom of the sea, and 
 Maud on the top of the chlFs, or anywhere, rather than there, at that 
 moment. However, the spell was broken ; there was no help for it 
 now ; and he had nothing to do but just walk home to see who this 
 confounded fellow was, and what he Avanted. 
 
 With all these reflections passing through his mind, as he neared 
 his little cabin, he was not prepared to receive the stranger very 
 cordially, nor to give him a very hearty welcome. He was told by 
 the men, as he came up, that the gentleman was inside ; and, as he 
 passed the window of his sitting-room to reach the front door, he 
 looked in, thinking he might catch a glimpse of the fellow before 
 he went in. He caught more than a glimpse of him ; for the stranger 
 was standing at a little distance fi'om the window, looking out over 
 the bold headland at the sea in the distance, apparently absorbed in 
 thought. 
 
 Fowler started, and turned pale, as if he had seen a ghost, and 
 was obliged to hold by the railing of the little porch for a minute, 
 before he could recover himself sufficiently to enter. 
 
 Sailors are not easily alarmed at trifles ; so he soon got over the 
 effects of his shock, or whatever it was, and, entering the room, in 
 his usual boisterous, sailor-like style, exclaimed, louder than there 
 was perhaps any occasion for, — 
 
 " Mr. Morley ! how are you ? I'm glad to see you once more." 
 
 This stentorian reception made the stranger start, and, turning 
 round, he said, bowing to his host, — 
 
 " Lieut. Fowler, 1 presume. But how you should know that my
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 73 
 
 name is Morley, I am at a loss to conceive, as I am pretty sure we 
 have never seen one another before, and am quite sure you did not 
 expect me." 
 
 Fowler passed his hand across his eyes, as if trying to recall some- 
 thing ; and then he said abstractedly, as he placed a seat for his 
 guest, — 
 
 "Not seen you before? surely, yes! — and yet, no! that cannot 
 be." And he seemed so bewildered, that the stranger proceeded to 
 explain ; for he now began to see that the lieutenant was labouring 
 under a mistake. 
 
 " You see the likeness to my poor father," said he, 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Fowler, starting up ; " I see it all now. When 
 I last saw your father, fifteen or sixteen years ago, he was the exact 
 image of what you are now. He was older, of course, but there was 
 the same remarkable white hair. Yours no doubt became white 
 prematurely, causing you to look older than you really are. When 
 I saw you standing at the window, I thought I saw your father 
 standing before me. The likeness is most remarkable ; and, almost 
 before I had recovered myself, and without reflecting for a moment, 
 I rushed into the room to welcome my old ft-iend." 
 
 " I have heard my father mention the name of Fowler often," 
 replied Mr. Morley, " with expressions of gratitude for kindnesses 
 bestowed by your family — both on himself, and on my brother and 
 sister, who were left here after that terrible catastrophe, of which I 
 believe you are fully aware." 
 
 " It is true," returned FoAvler, " that, in your father's younger 
 days, he was intimate with my father, who also resided in India, but 
 returned to England on account of his health, some time before 
 yours came over with his two children. Your father often came to 
 see him before that dreadful catastrophe, but never came after. He 
 said he would never see his old friend again, until that foul stain 
 was wiped from his name. My father did not, of course, believe that 
 he was guilty, although the circumstantial evidence was so strong. It 
 preyed on his mind, however, and, in his weak state, he could not 
 bear up against the feeling that his friend was wrongfully accused ; 
 and he, like your father, pined under it, and passed away from 
 among us in a vciy short time ; but his death we were prepared for. 
 Your father was a strong man then. But how did you find me out, 
 Mr. Morley ? " 
 
 " By the merest accident," replied Mr. Morley ; " indeed, when I 
 came here, I had no idea that you were at all connected with my 
 father's old friend, although the name was familiar to mo, — very 
 familiar, I may say ; for I knew your eldest brother in India 
 intimately. He remained there long after your father left, and 
 married a native, by whom he had one child — a daughter, I think.
 
 74 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 I shall never forget his kindness. He was the only friend whom I 
 could depend upon, when my poor father died. He remained with 
 me, day and night, until the last. His wife I never saw much of : 
 she cUed in giving birih to her second child which w^as still-bom. 
 Your brother then made up his mind to come to England. He would 
 not do so Avhile his wife lived ; for he did not like introducing a 
 native as his wife, to his English relatives and friends. He was in 
 good spirits when I took leave of him, and we both looked forward to 
 meeting in England ere long ; but, alas ! he never reached his native 
 shore alive. The ship was -wrecked somewhere on this dangerous 
 coast, and he and his little daughter perished. His body was found 
 afterwards, but the child's was never heard of again. It makes 
 passengers, and even sailors themselves, almost dread to approach this 
 rock-boimd coast. It is to be hoped that, ere long, warning-lights or 
 beacons will be erected all round the coast. They are beginning to 
 do so, I see ; but there are more wanted yet." 
 
 " True," replied Fowler ; " there are few families residing along 
 the Cornish coast who have not had to lament the loss of some 
 relative or friend in the merciless waves. But I am curious to know 
 to what lucky accident I am indebted for this visit ? " 
 
 " You have had another of those dreadful disasters on the coast," 
 said Morley. "Another East-Indiaman has lately been wrecked here. 
 I was a passenger on board that vessel. The weather was rough for 
 several days before, and we touched in at the Scilly Islands, where 
 I landed, taking a trunk with some clothes and a few valuables with 
 me ; and, meeting with an old friend of my father's there, Mr. Samuel 
 Lemon, the collector, whom you know w^ell, he pressed me so heartily 
 to remain at his house, that I determined to spend a few days there, 
 and partake of his kind hospitality, and I permitted the ship to 
 proceed to her destination without me ; and a miraculous escape I 
 have had, for I find that aU on board perished." 
 
 " Not all," replied Fowler; " there was one sailor saved. It was a 
 miraculous escape, indeed. But you must have had some property 
 on board ? " 
 
 " I had a large chest containing some valuable clothes, and silks 
 and jewellery, and a considerable sum in hard cash," replied Mr. 
 Morley, " and, what I valued more than anything else, a small box, 
 which belonged to my poor father, into which he had placed, with 
 his own hands, some thousands of gold coins, and a written injunction 
 to his two sons, to use their utmost exertions to find out the wretches 
 who committed that foul murder of Avhich my poor father was 
 accused ; and he directed that those gold coins should be expended 
 in the search. My object, therefore, in coming to the Land's-End 
 first, instead of going on direct to my relatives, was, with the hope 
 that this property might have been washed ashore somewhere on the
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 75 
 
 coast, and my good friend Mr. Lemon told me that Mr. Fowler, the 
 lieutenant at this station, would be the most proper person to apply 
 to for assistance and information." 
 
 " You may rely on my doing all I can for yon," replied Fowler ; 
 " but I have not heard of any boxes answering the description of 
 yours being picked up anywhere, and I fear there is little chance of 
 their being washed on shore now ; for their weight would sink them 
 deeper and deeper in the sand, and the calm weather we have now 
 would not throw them up. You have not lost all your property, I 
 hope ! " 
 
 " Oh ! no," said Mr. Morley ; " I had sent home the bulk of my 
 fortune, and my father's, through agents, some months ago. That, I 
 am happy to say, is safe enough. All I regret now is the loss of 
 that little box." 
 
 " Your brother was a true prophet, after all," said Fowler, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " My brother ! " exclaimed Mr. Morley ; " where is he ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I forgot to tell you," replied the lieutenant ; " I was so 
 interested in the history of your miraculous escape. Your brother 
 was my guest for several weeks, until he met with an accident at 
 the Land's-End." And he proceeded to relate to his visitor the 
 exciting tale of the fall of the horse over the cliffs, with his brother's 
 narrow escape, and the behef that Frederick still entertained, that 
 his brother was one of the passengers on board that ill-fated vessel. 
 
 After dinner, the two gentlemen walked up to Sennen, and 
 enquired at " The First and Last Inn" whether anything had been 
 heard of Frederick Morley. Nothing had been heard of him, the 
 landlord said ; but a letter had been brought there for him that day, 
 by a boy who said he was going on to St. Just, and would call again 
 for an answer should the gentleman return in time. The letter was 
 addressed, in a neat female hand, to " Frederick Morley, Esq., ' First 
 and Last Inn,' Sennen, Cornwall." 
 
 " Who was the boy ? " enquired the lieutenant of the landlord. 
 
 " I don't know," replied he ; " but my wife do say that she es sure 
 'tes the same boy she ha' seen riding the mare that went over cliff." 
 
 " I thought as much," said Fowler. " We must see that boy, and 
 I have no doubt we shall find him in his old quarters at St. Just," 
 
 So the two gentlemen extended their walk to St. Just in search 
 of the boy. 
 
 Neither of them had the slightest idea from whom the letter could 
 have come, unless it was from Morley's aunt or his sister ; and in 
 that case there would most probably have been a postmark.
 
 76 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ARISTOCHATIC CONNECTIONS. 
 
 Mrs. Courland, Frederick Morley's aiint, had been a celebrated 
 beauty in her yonth. Her father, the Rev. Octavius Morley, was a 
 scion of a high family, with a small preferment ; and his wife was 
 also of aristocratic birth. Too poor to put their only son, Alexander, 
 into a leading branch of one of the learned professions, and too prond 
 to allow him to work his way on as a merchant in England, they 
 wisely sent him to India with a friend, Avho soon put him into the 
 way of making a rapid fortune ; for he possessed business talents of 
 no ordinary kind, and steady and persevering habits of industry. 
 Having thus provided for their son, their only care now was the 
 education and marriage of their daughter, who at nineteen was one 
 of the loveliest girls that can possibly be imagined. Rather above 
 the middle height, elegant in form, and graceful in all her move- 
 ments, she attracted admirers wherever she went — very much to the 
 annoyance of her parents, who destined her either for one of the 
 aristocracy or for some rich Indian merchant. High birth, or riches, 
 were indispensable in the aspirant to Isabella Morley's hand ; her 
 heart was left out of the question entirely by her honoured and 
 honourable parents. Not so by the young lady herself ; — she had 
 already fixed her affections on a young officer, whom she had met at 
 a ball to which she had been taken by a lady friend with whom she 
 had been staying in a neighbouring town. He was the younger son 
 of a country squire in an adjoining county ; but as he was neither 
 rich nor noble, his alliance was not deemed ehgible by the aristocratic 
 parents of Miss Morley, and they therefore discouraged the intimacy, 
 when they became aware of it, although they did not positively 
 forbid it ; for they did not really believe that a young man in his 
 position — a lieutenant in a light infantry regiment only, and the 
 younger son of an obscure country squire — would presume to 
 approach the only daughter of such high-born parents, except in 
 the way of common politeness and courtesy. And, besides, they 
 placed implicit confidence in the lessons of ambition they had taught 
 their daughter ; and therefore, having heard the rumour of this 
 flirtation in a casual way, and not knowing to what extent it had 
 already gone during her visit at Middleton, the young officer was 
 received -with politeness when he called to enquire for the young 
 lady, after her return from her visit. 
 
 These calls were repeated again and again, and tetes-a-tetes were 
 observed in the garden and shrubbery, and Mrs. Morley began to 
 open her eyes to the true state of things, when it was too late. Cupid 
 had by this time planted his arrow too deej^ly to be easily eradicated. 
 The gentleman was forbidden the house, and the young lady was
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 77 
 
 kept in strict seclusion for some time ; but, " Love laughs at lock- 
 smiths," — and the two lovers managed to meet, notwithstanding the 
 locks and bars. 
 
 Mrs. Morley's aristocratic notions could not be properly satisfied 
 without a lady's-maid, such as she had been accustomed to in her 
 father's house. But she soon found that a grand, high-and-mighty 
 lady's-maid; such as she and her sisters had been accustomed to at 
 home, would not put up with the inconvenience of a small vicarage- 
 house in the country, where a suitable number of servants could not 
 be kept, and, consequently, she was continvially changing. This was 
 both annoying and expensive ; so when her daughter left school, at 
 seventeen, Mrs. Morley hired a young woman whom they met with at 
 a watering-place where they happened to be rusticating that summer. 
 She was the daughter of a sailor, with whom they lodged ; and Mrs. 
 Morley found her so shrewd and useful in most respects, that she 
 pressed her mother to allow her to go back with them in the capacity 
 of double lady's-maid — to attend on herself and daughter. 
 
 Miss Fisher was apparently bold enough, and certainly old enough, 
 to have decided for herself, — for she was upwards of thirty years of 
 age ; but she had cunning enough to read Mrs. Morley's character, 
 throvigh and through, and she knew that a seeming deference to her 
 mother's opinion would have great weight with her new mistress. 
 The old woman did not hke to part with her, but she knew it would 
 be useless to oppose it, as she saw that her daughter had set her mind 
 on accepting the situation, and so she consented ; and Mrs, Morley 
 returned to the vicarage with a lady's-maid to her mind, as she 
 thought. Miss Fisher proved all she could wish, yielding to her in 
 everything, as she supposed ; instead of which, the new lady's-maid, 
 while seeming to yield, and, indeed, yielding sometimes, in smaller 
 things, very soon gained such an ascendancy over her mistress, that, 
 by a little clever manojuvring, she could turn her any way she liked. 
 Miss Morley was not so easily ruled ; nor did Miss Fisher seem to 
 wish it, — she appeared to have taken a great fancy to her young 
 mistress, and would do almost anything to please her ; and many a 
 scold and reprimand did she prevent by her tact and cunning. 
 
 Two years rolled over their heads, and Miss Fisher still acted in 
 the capacity of lady's-maid to both mother and daughter ; and when 
 the latter received the invitation to pay a visit to her friend at 
 Middleton, for the express purpose of attending the ball which was 
 about to take place there, Mrs. Morley, in order that her daughter 
 might be properly dressed and taken care of, and also to display the 
 aristocratic style of her establishment, dispensed with the services of 
 Miss Fisher for a time, and allowed her to accompany Miss Morley to 
 her friend's house. They were more like companions than mistress 
 and maid ; for Miss Morley confided all her little secrets to Miss Fisher,
 
 78 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 and she was therefore, of course, made acquainted with the attentions 
 of the young ofHcer ; and as Miss Fisher highly approved of his 
 person and manners, and the pretty presents he occasionally gave 
 lier, she determined on favouring the lovers, and doing all in her 
 power to assist them, — so that clandestine meetings were easy, 
 although the young officer was forbidden the house, and the young 
 lady was under close confinement indoors. She was begiiuiing to 
 exhiliit signs of ill health, from the close confinement and anxiety 
 to which she was subject, and Miss Fisher suggested change of air 
 and scene. She was in the confidence of Mrs. Morley, who relied on 
 her, and believed all she told her. The yoimg officer's regiment 
 Avas ordered abroad, she said, and therefore there could be no 
 danger in that quarter. This Mrs. Morley knew to be true, for 
 her husband had been making enquiries. Miss Fisher, however, 
 managed to deceive her mistress as to the time, telling her he was 
 to sail immediately, and begging to be allowed to take Miss Morley 
 home to her father's house for a short time, as she wanted to see the 
 old people, and she thought the sea-air would quite restore her 
 young mistress's health, and the change of scene might cause her to 
 forget this foolish love-afEair. So said the designing Miss Fisher ; 
 and the pair went to old Mr. Fisher's house, there to reside in strict 
 seclusion, and luxuriate in country-walks and sea-breezes. But, 
 strange to say, they had not been there many hours, before the young 
 officer made his appearance there also, and the bloom of health soon 
 returned to the cheeks of the young lady, without the aid of the sea- 
 breezes — although they were often felt, as the two lovers took their 
 delightful walks over the rocks and along the cliffs. Lieut, Marshall's 
 time was nearly up ; but a few more days remained before he would 
 be obliged to leave her he loved so much. He could not bear the 
 thought ; — he was going to the battle-field, and might never see her 
 more ; or, if he lived to return, he might find her the bride of another. 
 
 " Never ! never ! " replied Miss Morley ; " I will never be another's 
 bride. I am pledged and bound to you, dear James, by a sacred oath ; 
 I will die rather than break my vow. Yours, and yours only, till 
 death parts us." 
 
 " I fully believe and trust in your good intentions, dearest Isabella," 
 said he ; " but, should a rich man offer himself, you will be com- 
 pelled to break that vow, made only to me. Let us bind ourselves 
 before the altar, dearest ; then nothing can sever us." 
 
 Thus did he reason with the fair girl, and persuade her, when she 
 had no one to guide her aright ; and so ably was the young officer 
 supported in his arguments, by the artful Miss Fisher, that they were 
 married, and, within a week after, were separated — perhaps never to 
 meet again. 
 
 Miss Morley (now Mrs. Marshall) returned to her father's house
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 79 
 
 with a heavy secret in her breast — one that she could not reveal. 
 Letters came, throvxgh Miss Fisher, which cheered her. Months rolled 
 on. Her husband's name was seen sometimes in the newspapers, and 
 commented on by her parents, little thinking how near and dear he 
 was to her whom they imagined cured of that foolish love-affair. 
 
 At last there came an account of a great battle, and, amongst the 
 list of killed, was the name of Lieut. James Marshall. The shock 
 was terrible. Luckily there was no one in the room at the time but 
 Miss Fisher, who immediately rang for assistance, and took her to 
 her room. She was confined to her bed for several days ; and when 
 she got a little better, Miss Fisher prevailed on Mrs. Morley to allow 
 her daughter to try change of air and sea-breezes again, as they had 
 been so beneficial before. So they went once more to old Fisher's 
 house, by the seaside, where she stayed several months, keeping up 
 a continual and cheerful correspondence with her parents, who were 
 so pleased with her apparent recovery, that the visit was prolonged, 
 week after week, and month after month. At last a letter came, 
 peremptorily requesting her to return at once, for reasons that would 
 be explained when she arrived. 
 
 Old Mrs. Fisher had died during her stay with them, so that Miss 
 Fisher felt bound now, she said, to remain with her father, who did 
 not like being left alone, although he was a strong able man yet, and 
 did something in the seafaring line beyond fishing — but what it was 
 Miss Morley (now Mrs. Marshall) could not make out ; — they were 
 very secret about that. About this time also Miss Fisher's only 
 brother, of whom she had often spoken to her young mistress, 
 returned, after a long absence. He was a handsome young man, 
 and was much struck with the beauty of their visitor, and, not 
 knowing at first her position, he began to pay her marked attention. 
 This did not suit Miss Fisher's plans, nor was it at all agreeable to 
 Mrs. Marshall. She therefore determined to leave at once, although 
 she was not quite recovered, and would be obliged to trust to the 
 safe keeping of Miss Fisher a secret which, if revealed, would 
 probably cause her parents to cast her off for ever. At first, and 
 before she was so completely in her power, she had placed the 
 utmost confidence in the fidelity of her maid ; but during her last 
 visit to the old fisherman's cottage, her attendant's character had 
 displayed itself in its true colours. She now saw that Miss Fisher 
 was working entirely to suit her own wicked ends, and that her secret 
 would only be safe, while she could supply that wicked woman with 
 funds sufficient to satisfy her avarice. Mrs. Marshall was surprised 
 and shocked at the sudden change wliich she observed in Miss 
 Fisher's manner towards her, and could not account for it in any 
 way, as she had always hitherto been so kind. It was not Miss 
 Fisher's fault, however, entirely ; for the idea of making money out
 
 80 THE VVIZAUn OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 of their too confiding visitor, was suggested by the brother. He was 
 piqued at her indignant rejection of his attentions, and, having 
 wormed the secret out of his sister, he suggested the plan which she 
 was only too ready to carry out. She now saw the advantages to be 
 derived from having this l)eautiful woman so completely in her 
 power ; for she was quite sure that ere long her parents would insist 
 on her manying some rich man; — she knew that their hearts were 
 bent on this, and there was notliing now to prevent it, except the 
 opposition of the young lady herself, whom Miss Fisher well knew 
 now how to overcome. 
 
 When Mrs. Marshall returned, she found that her father had 
 become acquainted with the captain of an East-Indiaman, who 
 brought letters of introduction from her brother. He was about forty 
 years of age, — not very prepossessing in appearance, nor gentlemanly 
 in manners, but he was rich, very rich, her brother said. So here was 
 a husband for Isabella, to whom Mr. and Mrs. Morley did not object 
 — quite the contrary. 
 
 The captain was much struck wdth the beauty of Bliss Morley (as 
 she was, of course, still called at home), who looked more lovely than 
 ever since her last illness. The rough captain paid her most devoted 
 attention, and it was evident that he had fallen desperately in love 
 with her. 
 
 Her parents and all her friends persuaded, and even urged, her to 
 accept Capt. Courland's offer ; and Miss Fisher urged it also most 
 strongly, for many reasons. Having lost her first love. Miss Fisher 
 said, she thought she ought to make a sacrifice now, to atone for her 
 disobedience to her parents in her first marriage. 
 
 Money was a great consideration too — very great — to Mrs. Marshall 
 now, — why, we need not enquire. Ladies are not exempt from that 
 passion any more than men. She was a long time bringing her mind to 
 the point, but she did consent at last. She stipulated, however, for a 
 very handsome allowance as pin-money, to do what she liked with, 
 and a liberal jointure in case of the death of her husband. This 
 made him think odd things, "^ liberal jointure, in case of his death" 
 was an awkward clause to be suggested by a young bride. However, 
 this made him think she was a good woman of business, and that he 
 should have more than beauty in his wife, after all. So they were 
 married. And he Avent his voyages as usual, and returned to his 
 lovely wife every nine or ten months, and spent a few months with 
 her, and then off again, leaving plenty of pin-money behind, and a 
 most liberal allowance for maintaining a large establishment. 
 
 Capt. Courland was very intimate with his wife's brother, Mr. 
 Alexander Morley, the Indian merchant, and brought him to England 
 when he came over with the two children, and took him back again, 
 after that dreadful murder and false accusation.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PEN WITH. 81 
 
 Mrs. Courland seemed to feel it more than anyone. She had now 
 been married to Capt. Courland, some three or four years, and he 
 treated her -with the greatest kindness and liberality ; but still she 
 seemed u.nhappy. She appeared not to have got over the loss of her 
 first love, — something seemed preying on her mind always. While 
 her husband was at home, she strove against this melancholy feeling, 
 and exerted herself to the utmost to return his kindness ; and he, 
 knowing nothing of the former love-affair, and seeing her only at 
 her brightest, when she did violence to her feelings to please him, 
 during the short time he remained at home, was happy in 
 possession and love, as he believed, of his beautiful wife. 
 
 It was a reUef and a comfort to her to have her little niece, Julia 
 Morley, with her. The superintendence of her infant education (for 
 the little girl was then but five years old) amused her, and relieved 
 her mind from other thoughts. And when she was old enough to 
 go to school, she removed into a town with her, and took a house there 
 that she might keep her still under her own eye, and sent her to a 
 boarding-school, as a day-pupil, attended by a servant ; and here 
 Julia became acquainted with Alrina Freeman, and they became 
 bosom friends, as schoolfellows ; but Alrina was not permitted to 
 visit or leave the school at all. Tliese injunctions were strictly laid 
 down by her aunt, when she placed her at school ; and Mrs. Horton, 
 who was a strict disciplinarian, carried out her orders to the 
 very letter. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE LOVE-CHASE. 
 
 Frederick Morley and Josiah met with very little success at Pen- 
 zance. No one had seen the Freemans, and no post-chaise from there 
 had gone to St. Just, except with pic-nic parties, for a considerable 
 time. There was not much difliculty in finding out this ; for there 
 were but few hackney carriages in the town at that time. 
 
 Determined to discover the fugitives, the travellers went on to 
 Trirro, by way of Ilayle, and there they were more fortunate. A 
 party, answering their description as to nvimber, had passed through 
 that town about four or five days before. 
 
 Morley bought a couple of horses at Truro, and on they went in 
 pursuit ; for he found, by dint of the strictest enquiry, that a man 
 and woman and a young girl had gone on by Russell's waggon. These 
 persons answered the description pretty nearly in all but tlie dress ; 
 but they might have changed their dresses ; so Morley determined 
 on following the waggon, which was four days at least ahead of them.
 
 82 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII, 
 
 On they went, however, over the great London road, tracing the 
 waggon, wliich they were rapidly gaining on, and changing their 
 tired horses for fresh ones occasionally, for which accommodation 
 Morley had to pay very dearly sometimes. They enquired continually 
 at the wayside inns, where the waggon stopped to change horses, or 
 for refreshment, and at first the answers were satisfactory. The 
 fugitives had generally been seen by some one at the refreshment- 
 houses, either in the house or having refreshment taken to them in 
 the waggon. This was, so far, satisfactory ; and on the two pursuers 
 went, and came up -with the waggon at Bristol. 
 
 The great lumbering vehicle was standing at the door of one of 
 the second-class inns, to which they had been directed — the horsea 
 having been taken out, and the waggon unloaded. Morley thought 
 it strange that it should be empty ; for the same waggon generally 
 went through to London ; and while Josiah saw the horses taken 
 care of, his master entered the inn and sought an interview with the 
 driver, who infonned him that he had brought three such persons 
 into Bristol, and they were gone on in another waggon ; for he had 
 the misfortune to break his axle-tree as he entered the city, and was 
 obliged to shift his load into another waggon, which was ten miles 
 on the road by that time at least. 
 
 Fresh horses were procured, while the two travellers partook of a 
 hasty refreshment, and on they went again with renewed hope ; for 
 the fugitives would not suspect pursuit, and would not, therefore, be 
 prepared for escape. 
 
 That Mr. Freeman knew sometliing of the parties connected with 
 that document, Morley felt convinced now, having brooded over it 
 so long, and had it constantly dinned into his ear by Josiah, who 
 had held the belief from the first ; but perhaps, after all, " the wish 
 was father to the thought" in Morley's case. Now that he was 
 drawing near the objects of their pursuit, a thousand reflections 
 crowded into his mind ; but, although the hope of finding some clue 
 to "his secret" was very powerful, yet the hope of meeting Alrina 
 once more, and rescuing her from the bondage which seemed now 
 to enthral her, was uppermost. 
 
 In the midst of these reflections, the sight of the heavy waggon 
 lumbering slowly up a hill, a little distance ahead of them, as they 
 turned a corner, sent a thrill through the frames of both. There 
 they were, and a brisk trot would biing the pursuers alongside of 
 the waggon in a few minutes. 
 
 They spurred on their horses in great excitement, as if they 
 thought the waggon would run away ; but it still lumbered up the 
 hill at its usual snail's pace, drawn by its eight fine horses, with the 
 bells over the collars jingling at every step. The riders soon came 
 up with them ; and, jumping off his horse, and throwing the reins
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 83 
 
 to Josiah, Morley sprang into the waggon, and was greeted by the 
 hindmost driver, who was walking by the side of his horses, with a 
 hearty crack of the whip, which made his back sting most un- 
 pleasantly, and brought him round to face his assailant, before he 
 had time scarcely to look into the waggon. 
 
 " What business have you in my waggon ? " cried the principal 
 driver ; for there were two. 
 
 " I came in search of the three passengers that you have here," 
 replied Morley, who was still feeling the effects of the crack of the 
 whip, although he thought it best not to resent it just then, as he 
 saw at once that the driver was in the right. 
 
 " I've got no passengers here now," replied the driver. " We 
 brought three coves along, as you say ; but they left us about ten 
 miles back, or so, and turned down a narrow lane. They're a queer 
 lot, I reckon ; and that young girl is afraid of her life of the old 
 birds." 
 
 This was a terrible disappointment to Morley, after having his 
 hopes raised so high at the sight of the waggon, and thinking he was 
 about to reap the reward of all his trouble and fatigue. 
 
 "Did they say where they were going?" asked Morley. 
 
 " Not they," replied the driver ; " he's as close as a box — that old 
 chap — and the old woman is upon the next stave of the ladder, I 
 b'lieve." 
 
 Morley gave the drivers a small piece of money for their informa- 
 tion, and the detention he had caused them, and held a consultation 
 with his faithful ally. 
 
 " We must follow them, my friend," said Morley, looking very 
 much disconcerted. " Alrina is persecuted and ill-used by her father 
 and aunt, according to that man's account. But why ? There lies 
 the mystery. She must be rescued, at all risks, and that at once." 
 
 " Zackly like that," replied Josiah, thoughtfidly ; " but which lane 
 ded they go into, I wondar, I seed powers of lanes both sides." 
 
 " True," said Morley ; " I forgot to ask which lane." 
 
 " 'Twud ha' b'cn all the same ef you had, I b'lieve," replied Josiah, 
 " for most of the lanes wor alike, so far I could see, as we came 
 along." 
 
 " We are losing time. Moiint, man, and follow me ; we must find 
 them." And, suiting the action to the word, Morley vaulted into 
 his saddle, and Josiah followed his example. 
 
 They turned and rode back in silence for some miles, passing 
 numerous lanes on each side of the road ; but the driver said the 
 party left him about ten miles back. The two travellers had not 
 retraced their steps, however, many miles, when they were accosted 
 by a little beggar-boy, who was coming out of rather a wide lane 
 into the turnpike -road.
 
 S4 TDK WIZAUD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 Morley gave the boy something, and asked him if he had seen 
 three travellers — a man and two females — pass up that lane. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the boy. " The man and the young woman 
 turned down another lane a little way on, and the old woman went 
 up to the house." 
 
 " What is the name of the house, boy?" said Morley. 
 
 " Ashley Hall, sir," replied the boy, 
 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed Morley ; " I had forgotten the locality. I 
 never approached it from this road before." And, setting spurs to 
 his horse, he rode on as if Old Nick was at his heels, instead of his 
 faithful friend and follower, Josiah. At the end of the lane, there 
 was a neat lodge, at which the impetuous gentleman was obliged to 
 pull up. 
 
 " You ha' found a bra' keenly lode, I s'pose," said Josiah ; " 'tes 
 looken' brave an' keenly, I must say. The gozzan an' the indications 
 do 'token somethen' good furder in." 
 
 " Oh ! I forgot to tell you," said Morley, " that this is my aunt, 
 Mrs. Courland's, place. I haven't seen her since my return ; and 
 this old place I haven't seen since I was a boy, — for my aunt left it 
 for a long time, in order to be near my sister when she was at school. 
 I meant to have seen her much sooner, but that foolish accident at 
 .the Land's-End frustrated all my plans. We will take up our abode 
 liere, Josiah, at present, and go out scouring the country every day. 
 We Avill make tliis our head-quarters." 
 
 "Very good quarters to be had here, I'll be bound," returned 
 Josiah. " That's a grand house, sixre nuf, that es," continued he, as 
 they rode up to the front door. 
 
 They were admitted at once, when the man saw the name on the 
 card which Morley gave him ; and, desiring another servant to take 
 care of Josiah, he conducted Frederick into the drawing-room, where 
 he found his sister, alone, making dehcious sounds on the pianoforte 
 — which had just superseded the harpsichord, and was then quite 
 the rage among the affluent. She was delighted to see her brother, 
 although she scolded him for not coming to see them before. When 
 he told her the reason, however, and recounted the scene of the 
 accident, which he could not, even then, look back upon without a 
 shudder, she readily forgave him. She offered him some refreshment, 
 which he was very glad to have ; for he had ridden far, and had been 
 harassed by anxious and exciting thoughts for several days. They 
 had dined long ago, Julia said, and immediately after dinner her aimt 
 was called out of the room on business, and had not yet returned. 
 " Some more buildings, or improvements, or alterations, going on, I 
 suppose," she continued, in a more subdued tone ; " wealth has its 
 troubles, Frederick, as well as poverty." 
 
 " True," replied her brother ; " and I really tliink wealth brings
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 85 
 
 most trouble very often. Aunt Courland has something of importance 
 to settle to-night, I should think." 
 
 " Oh ! I never mind her absence," replied Julia ; " she has often 
 engagements that occupy her a whole day, and I see nothing of her 
 from breakfast till tea-time. But I'll go and see where she is now ; 
 she will be glad to know that you are here ; and none of the 
 servants would disturb her, I'm sure." 
 
 Julia found her aunt, alone, in a little room looking out into 
 her private garden, from which there was a private communication 
 with the lane which branched off from the entrance-gate and skirted 
 the gardens of Ashley Hall. Mrs. Courland had evidently been 
 weeping, and had gone through some agitating scene ; for she 
 trembled still, as Julia felt when she kissed her. She soon re- 
 covered, however, and accompanied her niece into the drawing-room 
 to welcome her nephew, who was a great favourite. He, too, saw that 
 something had agitated her, and he asked her what had happened to 
 upset her so. 
 
 " Nothing," she said ; " it will be all over in a few minutes." And 
 she did get better ; but still a cloud hung over her countenance, which 
 she could not altogether dispel, although it was evident she made a 
 great effort to do so. 
 
 The next morning, Morley and Josiah were on horseback before 
 the ladies were stirring. Josiah had gained some useful information 
 from the servants, as to the locality and the different lanes, and 
 where they led to, and how far they were from the sea. 
 
 They rode all day without success. Every lane they saw they 
 explored as far as they could, and enquired everywhere, but could 
 gain no tidings of the fugitives ; and they returned late, weary and 
 out of heart. 
 
 Day after day was passed in the same Avay, and with the same 
 result. Mrs. Courland requested that Frederick would use her 
 horses to reheve his own, so that he had always fresh horses at his 
 command. One day they rode along a narrow lane which seemed to 
 lead to the sea. It was a lonely road, skirted on each side by deep 
 woods of tall forest-trees. Not a house or human habitation was to 
 be seen for miles. At length, as they approached nearer the water, 
 the trees appeared more stunted and dwindled down to short coppice- 
 wood. Still the road was lonely and destitute of human habitation. 
 
 Suddenly they came upon a solitary cottage, surrounded by what 
 had once been a garden, but which was now filled with weeds and 
 rank grass. 
 
 The entrance into the garden seemed to be at the end, through a 
 little wicket-gate, which had fallen off its hinges; but as the low 
 wall of the garden had fallen do^vn in several places, Morley had no 
 difficulty in entering; so, leaving his horses to the care of Josiah,
 
 86 THE WIZAKD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 he made his way throiigh one of the gaps in the wall, and approached 
 the front of the cottage. The door was locked and the house seemed 
 deserted. lie looked in at the windows, and, to his surprise, the 
 house seemed furnished, and everything in the rooms appeared as if 
 they had been recently used. This was very strange, Morley thought ; 
 so he went round the house, and, in one end, he observed a window, 
 rather larger than the front window; and, looking into the room, he 
 saw that it Avas a bedroom on the ground-floor, which appeared as if 
 it had been lately occupied. A sudden thought now flashed across 
 his mind, as he looked again in at that window ; and, retui-ning to 
 Josiah, he said, — 
 
 " We must make some enquiries about this house, Josiah ; it 
 seems to be shut up, — and yet the interior has the appearance of 
 having been lately occupied." 
 
 " 'Tes a whisht old house, sure nuf ," replied Josiah ; " a purty 
 place for pixies and ghostes, I reckon." 
 
 They mounted their horses again, and rode on about a mile 
 further, when they arrived at a farm-house. The farmer informed 
 them that he had not resided in that neighbourhood more than foiir 
 or five years ; but he had heard that the house Morley was enquiring 
 about, was haunted. A horrible murder had been committed there 
 many years ago, the farmer said, and no one had resided there since. 
 
 " To whom does it belong ? " asked Morley. 
 
 " I have heard that it belonged to the old man who was murdered 
 there," replied the farmer. " The son and daughter lived there witli 
 him, I believe ; but after the murder they went off, no one could 
 tell where, and they have never been heard of since." 
 
 " Do you know the names of these people ? " enquired Morley. 
 
 " Well, I have heard," replied the man ; " but I have forgotten." 
 
 Morley 's conjecture was confirmed. This was, no doubt, the very 
 house in which that dreadful murder was committed, of which his 
 poor father had been accused. The murderers had gone to some 
 distant part of the country, no doubt, or perhaps gone abroad, and 
 left the house and its contents just as they were, fearing to return lest 
 they should be discovered ; and no one else would venture near the 
 the house, on account of their superstitious fears of ghosts. The 
 premises would not be worth much, in that lonely district ; indeed, 
 no one wovild purchase them after what had happened ; and so the 
 risk of returning was not worth incurring, especially as the guilty 
 parties must have taken away a considerable sum with them ; for the 
 oney which Mr. Morley had with him at the time, and which he must 
 have dropped in his agitation, at the time he slid down from the bed, 
 was, no doubt, picked up by the fugitives and carried off. This was 
 enough to enable them to live comfortably for a long time. 
 
 It was getting late ; so Morley enquired the nearest way to Ashley
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 87 
 
 Hall, and returned by a short cut which the farmer pointed out, 
 determined to explore the interior of the house the next morning. 
 
 Julia ran down to meet her brother when she heard he had re- 
 turned, and begged him to have his dinner in the breakfast-parlour, 
 if he didn't mind, as her aunt was engaged with a stranger in the 
 dining-room. 
 
 " What ! more mysterious visitors, Julia ? " said her brother, 
 smiling ; " why, my aunt Courland must be worried out of her life." 
 
 " Yes. Now eat your dinner, like a good boy," replied Julia, 
 leading her brother to the table, which was already laid for dinner ; 
 "and then, if you are very good, I will tell you a grand secret." 
 
 " Hallo ! " exclaimed Frederick, eating at the same time — for he 
 was very hungry ; " why, this place ought to be called ' The Castle 
 of Mystery' instead of 'Ashley Hall.' You seem to have more 
 secrets here than were contained in ' Blue Beard's' secret chamber. 
 But the tables are turned here, and the ladies hold the secrets, and 
 the poor men have to guess." 
 
 '' Heighho ! " cried his sister, with a sigh ; " I am sorry to say we 
 haven't many men here to hide secrets from. Their visits are ' like 
 angels' visits, few and far between.' " 
 
 " Now, one glass of wine," said Frederick, who had been going 
 into the substantial heartily while his sister had been talking ; — 
 " one glass of wine, my little sister, and then for your secret." 
 
 " Two glasses, Frederick dear, — I must insist on your taking two 
 glasses at least ; for I want to make you able to hear my terrible 
 secret without fainting outright." And she kissed him so kindly as 
 she said this, that he could not refuse his little sister's request. 
 
 " Two glasses, then," said he, " if it must be so." 
 
 When he had finished his two glasses of wine, she said she had 
 such a surprise for him in the dining-room, where perhaps he would 
 have to take another glass of wine. 
 
 " You little mysterious puss," said he, as he drew her arm within 
 his, and suffered her to lead him to the dining-room. " What can 
 you have to shew me ? — it isn't a lover, is it ? " 
 
 " Oh ! no," replied she, sighing ; " animals of that genus don't 
 accHmatize at Ashl(3y Hall — the atmosphere here is too cold for them." 
 
 " You little satirical minx," said he, as his sister threw open the 
 dining-room door, and introduced him to their eldest brother, 
 William, from India. 
 
 It was a surprise indeed. The two brothers embraced most 
 affectionately, and then they looked at each other for some minutes. 
 At last Frederick said, — 
 
 " My recollection of our poor father is but faint — I was only ten 
 years of age when I last saw him ; but it seems to me as if I saw 
 him standing before me now."
 
 88 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 " Yes," replied his brother ; " the likeness has been remarked by 
 all otxr friends in India." 
 
 "I was iniinfully struck -with it," said INIrs. Courland, " Avhon 
 "William entered the room this morning. I felt as if my poor brother 
 had come back again, to bring to light that aAvful catastrophe. My 
 thoughts went back to that awfid time, and I shuddered as he entered. 
 I can scarcely get over it now." 
 
 " It shall be discovered, my dear aunt," said the elder brother — 
 ■whom in future we will call Mr. Morley. " We will not return till 
 the guilty j^arties are brought to light." 
 
 A sudden change came over the countenance of Mrs. Courland as 
 these words were pronoimced, in the solemn voice so like her poor 
 brother's, that alarmed her nephews. Julia had seen those fits on her 
 before ; and she motioned to her two brothers to be quiet, while she 
 held her aunt's throbbing head to her bosom. 
 
 It soon passed away ; and then she rose and begged her two 
 nepheAvs to sit a little over their Avine, as she knew they must have 
 much to say to each other. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 alrika's first loate-letter. 
 
 The wine and dessert had remained on the table, although all but 
 Frederick had dined long ago. The tAvo brothers sat over their wine, 
 as Mrs. Courland had requested them to do ; but their time Avas 
 otherAA'ise emploved than in drinking A\'ine. Mr. Morley related to 
 his brother the history of his life, from the time of their father's 
 death, and his miraciilous escape from the shipwreck. Frederick, in 
 return, related to his brother the incidents of his life, — his miraculous 
 preserA'ation on the cliffs at the Land's-End ; Josiah's prompt assist- 
 ance ; the discoA^ery of the box of gold ; the conjuror ; — indeed, all 
 except his loA'e-affair. That he retained as a secret still. They had 
 much to tell, and the brothers sat late. 
 
 It was a great relief to Mr. INIorley's mind to know that their 
 father's box was safe. That ]\Ir. Freeman kneAV something about 
 the parties, he had no doubt whatever, and he Avas tioAV as anxious 
 as his brother was to find him, in order to obtain any information 
 he might be able to give them ; for Josiah, who had been sent for 
 into the dining-room, to give them a description of the "man of 
 cunning," and his habits and mode of life, said that " The Maister" 
 kneAV " bra' things."
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 89 
 
 Alrina was mentioned by Frederick ; biit he did not tell all 
 respecting her, nor did he so far confide in his brother as to tell 
 him o£ the plighted troth which existed between them. Mr. Morley 
 guessed, however, that there was something more than disinterested 
 friendship in his brother's anxiety on her account. 
 
 The discovery of the hovise in which the murder had been com- 
 mitted was also told ; and the brothers determined to go to the 
 deserted house again the next day, and effect an entrance, when they 
 might possibly discover some clue to the mystery. 
 
 When they were about to separate for the night, Mr. Morley gave 
 his brother a letter which he said had been left at the " First and 
 Last Inn" for him; but as he supposed it had come from Ashley 
 Hall, he did not think of giving it to him before, as he had no doubt 
 heard its contents from the lady herself. Frederick took the letter 
 and put it into his pocket, intending to read it in his bedroom. He 
 could not imagine who could have written it. It could not have 
 been either his aunt or sister ; for they would no doubt have 
 mentioned it, if it had come from them. 
 
 The ladies had retired long ago ; and the brothers, being tired, 
 followed their example. 
 
 When Frederick had closed the door of his room, he took out the 
 letter and examined the address, which appeared to be written in 
 pencil. He did not know the handwriting. It was a neat lady-like 
 hand. At first he thought of Miss Pendray, — but what could she have 
 to write him about ? At last he broke the seal, and was astonished 
 as well as delighted, to find that it was a letter from Alrina — a 
 short letter evidently written in haste. So he sat down and almost 
 devoured its contents. 
 
 alhina's letter. 
 
 My own dear Frederich, 
 
 May 1 call you so ? Yes ; I feel I may, — and yet I 
 scarcely know ivhat to say or how to begin a letter to you. But 
 who else can I look to ? Oh ! Frederich, I am very, very un- 
 happy. My father discovered our meetimjs. He knows our 
 secret, — hy ivhat means I knoiv not. 
 
 I was in a state of stupor for a long time, and when I 
 recovered myself I was in a strange place. How I was conveyed 
 here, or when, I do not knoiv. I am puzzled and bewildered. 
 
 The house is surrounded by high walls on every side. My 
 father has been absent, — / have only seen him once. I think 
 this house must be near the sea ; for the owner dresses like a 
 sailor, and I overhear conversations which lead me to believe 
 he is connected with smugglers. His wife is older than he is. 
 Oh ! Frederich, she is such a tyrant, and treats that poor girl
 
 90 THE WIZAUD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 sJiamcfvlli/. (I forgot to say the?/ have a yoking girl living with 
 them, whom they call their niece.) Poor girl ! I pity her ; but 
 I am not alloived to speak to her, — indeed, she seems to forbid 
 it herself, by placing her finger on her lips whenever I happen 
 to meet her. I hear her cries, poor child ! 
 
 There is some mystery about her, — I feel convinced of this. 
 I hear ivhisperings. My aunt is in the secret, ivhatever it is. 
 The tivo icomen have been closeted continually. I am closely 
 watched and guarded — / Icnmv that ; so that I amuse myself by 
 watching too, and listening ; but I cannot learn much. Yesterday 
 the man ivent out, and took the girl ivith him ; and soon after,, 
 my aunt told me she was going a short journey, and I must 
 remain here until her return. I am accustomed lo hear of her 
 short journeys. She often ivent from home ; but the journeys 
 appeared to be long ones, — she generally stayed away a fort- 
 night. All is mystery. The old woman keeps guard over me. 
 The boy Billy, whom you may have seen in poor Mr. Brown^s 
 stable, came ivith my father, and he managed to get me this sheet 
 of paper and a pencil unknown to anyone. I am loriting now 
 as a prisoner ; for the old u'oman locks me in when she is not 
 with me. I am thankful to be alone, for then I can think of 
 you, — and oh ! how pleasant the thought. When I shall see you 
 again I knoiv not, — and whether I shall be able to send this 
 letter after I have written it, God only knows ; but it is a 
 pleasure, in my solitude, to write my thoughts and my troubles, 
 to one who will feel for me. I shall try to send this by the boy, 
 should he ever come here again. Hark ! I hear the bolt of the 
 door drawn back. She comes ! Adieu ! 
 
 Your fond and loving 
 
 Alrina. 
 
 Frederick read Alrina's letter over and over again, as he paced 
 the floor of his bedroom in mad agitation. He had Avasted his time 
 by coming after this waggon, while his Alrina was probably still 
 within a few miles of her former habitation. Had he received this 
 letter before he started, he might have rescued ner ; but now ! it 
 may be too late. Several days had passed, — days ? yes, nearly a 
 fortnight since that letter was -ivritten. " Fool ! madman ! idiot ! " 
 he exclaimed as he paced the floor. '' "Why did I not enquire more 
 strictly before I took this fool's journey ? " 
 
 Exhausted nature gave Avay at last, and, throwing himself on the 
 bed, he slept heavily till Josiah came to call him for their usual 
 early morning's ride. He had not taken off his clothes, so that, after 
 a refreshing wash, he went out into the garden followed by Josiah. 
 The fresh morning air invigorated him, and restored tranquilhty to
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 91 
 
 his mind ; and he was enabled to tell his faithful follower the 
 principal contents of the letter. 
 
 " Well, sar," said Josiah, " that's a whisht job sure nuf ; but what's 
 done caen't be helped. Bf har fe-a-ther es a conjuror, you arn't, I 
 s'pose ; so how cud you tell that she Avor there ? " 
 
 " True," said Frederick, who now began to see the folly of reflecting 
 on himself for coming to Bristol instead of remaining in Cornwall — 
 a mistake which it was impossible he could have seen the result of. 
 
 " We have done something by coming here, however," he con- 
 tinued, reflectively ; " we have discovered that lonely house. Now, 
 I think you had better remain here with my brother ; for I feel 
 convinced that by entering that house, some discovery will be made. 
 In the meantime I will return and seek Alrina and her father. If I 
 can find that boy, I shall succeed without a doubt in rescuing her." 
 
 " Iss ; but semmen to me that two 'f's' do belong to that," said 
 Josiah. 
 
 " What do you mean by ' two f's ? ' " exclaimed Frederick. 
 
 " Why, the fust es, ef yon cud find the boy," replied Josiah ; "and 
 the next es, ef she's there still. You don't knaw that boy so well as 
 I do ; but 'tes no harm to try. I'll go home, or stay here, whichever 
 you plaise ; but there's one thing I ha' got to say, that I b'lieve we 
 wor 'pon a good scent, after all." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Morley. 
 
 " Why, I heard somethen' spoke down in the servants' hall last 
 night, that I ha' b'en thinken' about a bra' deal ; but I cudn't, to 
 save my life, make the two ends to 'kidgey' like; but your letter 
 ha' opened my eyes all abroad." 
 
 " You are speaking in enigmas, Josiah," said his master. 
 
 " I don't knaw what sort of things they are, not I," said Josiah ; 
 " but putten' this agen that, I can see a bra' way this mornen', 
 I tliink." 
 
 " What are you dziving at ?" said Morley, looking puzzled. 
 
 " Why, this here es about the size of et," replied Josiah, looking 
 very wise, — " Miss Freeman wor in that woggen, so sure as my name 
 es 'Siah Trenow." 
 
 "How can you possibly know that ?" cried Morley, very much 
 excited. 
 
 " Well, I don't knaw et zackly," replied Josiah ; '• but the porter 
 said, last night, that there ha' b'en a woman up there two or three 
 times spaken' to Mrs. Courland, an' he watched her in an' out o' that 
 little gate in the garden ; and by what he said, I do b'lieve 'tes she. 
 lie chalked her out zackly, semmen to me." 
 
 " Whatever could she be doing here ?" asked Morley. "It is quite 
 absurd to think of such a thing." 
 
 "Zackly like that," said Josiah ; " but I do b'lieve 'twor she, an'
 
 92 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWlTH. 
 
 that man an' the little maid wor the ones that Miss Reeney spoke 
 about. 'Tes some new manoeuvre of ' The Maister's,' I'll be bound, 
 an' I shall watch like a cat watchmg a mouse. Dedn't Miss Reeney 
 say that he knaw'd all about you, an' everything. He wor watching 
 you when you dedn't knaw et, doAvn there, I'll be bound. An' now 
 he ha' sent she for to tell your aunt somethen'." 
 
 At this point of their conversation, they were joined by Mr.Morley, 
 to whom Frederick read the most material portions of Alrina's letter, 
 and Josiah repeated his suspicions that Miss Freeman was lurking 
 about the neighbourhood. If so, they had no doiibt she was there 
 on some errand from her brother respecting Frederick Morley. 
 What it was they couldn't imagine. It was arranged therefore that 
 Frederick should return to Cornwall again in search of Alrina and 
 her father ; while Mr. Morley and Josiah should remain at Ashley 
 Hall, for the purpose of making what discovery they could in the 
 deserted house, and of finding out whether Miss Freeman was really 
 in the neighbourhood, and what she was about. So, after an early 
 breakfast, their plans were formed, and Mr. Morley and Josiah pro- 
 ceeded to the deserted house, while Frederick rode on the wings of 
 love to the rescue of his imprisoned enchantress. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIH. 
 
 THE SECRET. 
 
 Mrs. Courlaxd was expecting her husband's return about this time. 
 She was anxious and ner\-ous. He was a good, kind husband, and 
 she endeaA'oured to do all in her power to make him happy. It was 
 a great trial to her to look that kind, good man in the face, and 
 know that she was keeping a secret from him which he ought to 
 have known from the beginning. It made her unhappy, — miserable, 
 — and she dreaded his return. Should he discover it now, and find 
 that she had been deceiving him for so many years, it would be 
 dreadful. And now he was on his last voyage ; — he would now 
 retire fi-om the sea and live at home. How should she be able to 
 keep the secret then ? Some trifling circumstance might occur at 
 any time, to discover it ; and then his kind affection would be lost 
 to her. He would not — he could not — look upon her with his wonted 
 loWng confidence, after the discovery of her deception. Oh ! why 
 had she kept it from him ? 
 
 Julia knew that her aunt was anxious about her husband's return, 
 and she did not disturb her therefore when she retired after breakfast 
 to her little private room.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PEN WITH, 93 
 
 She retired, as usual, that morning, and sat brooding over her 
 sorrows and anxieties, until she became quite low-spirited ; for the 
 more she thought of her difficult and unpleasant situation, the more 
 guilty and blameable she seemed in her own estimation ; and, placing 
 her hand before her eyes, she wept in the bitterness of her heart. 
 
 Still comparatively a young woman, and still beautiful, and the 
 admiration of all, when she chose to enter into society, — possessed, 
 also, of considerable Avealth, a noble mansion, and a splendid estab- 
 lishment — all, in short, which the world could bestow, — and, above 
 all, being blessed with a kind and indulgent husband, — yet, with all 
 these advantages, there sat that handsome and gifted lady in the 
 midst of all this splendour, a miserable, unhappy woman. 
 
 A gentle tap is heard at the little door leading into the garden, 
 which makes her start and turn pale. Strange that so gentle a tap 
 should frighten her so much. Where are all the servants, that she 
 should be obliged to open the door herself ? She seems to dread the 
 admission of the visitor ; and yet she rises almost immediately, and 
 unbolts the little door and admits the intruder on her privacy. 
 
 The visitor enters unceremoniously, and closes the door, as if she 
 had been accustomed to visit the beautiful owner of the establish- 
 ment often. She was a tall, masculine-looking woman, apparently 
 about fifty years of age, Avith an eye that betokened both boldness 
 and cunning, and a restless uneasy expression by no means pleasing. 
 The compressed lips expressed great determination of character, and 
 the strong and well-knit frame seemed formed more according to 
 the model of the ruder than the softer sex. 
 
 This was the visitor who had just been admitted into Mrs. 
 Courland's private room. 
 
 " Am I never to be at rest?" said the lady in a supplicating tone, 
 as she took her seat again. " Say, once for all, what will satisfy 
 you, and leave me in peace. This continual worry and anxiety is 
 killing me." 
 
 " You know," replied the visitor, " that I am not asking for myself. 
 It is in the cause of another that I occasionally trouble you. The 
 poor child must be educated according to the station she may one 
 day fill ; and her maintenance must be cared for. And those who 
 take the trouble, and keep the secret, must be rewarded — and that 
 with liberality." 
 
 " I know all that," said Mrs. Courland, " and am -willing to make 
 a sacrifice. What will suffice ? say ! " 
 
 " I am acting for another, as you know ; and my instructions are, 
 five hundred pounds — not a penny less," said the woman, sternly. 
 
 " I cannot comply with your exorbitant demand," replied Mrs. 
 Courland, in an abject tone; "I have not so much money in the 
 house. My husband's allowance is all exhausted, — you have been
 
 94 THE WIZAIU) OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 a continual drain upon me. I expect him almost hourly, and then 
 my supplies will be almost unlimited again. Pray leave me now, 
 and let me have a little time to recover myself before his return. 
 Then you shall be liberally rewarded." 
 
 " 1 cannot wait," said the Adsitor ; " or, if I do, the money must 
 be supplied hij liimself, and all must be known." 
 
 " Oh ! no ! no 1 not that," cried Mrs. Courland, almost in despair. 
 *' He is kind — most kind. Spare him the knowledge of that which 
 has been kept from him so long, to my bitter, bitter cost. Oh ! 
 ■would that he had known all at the beginning. It would have saved 
 me many unhappy hours." And the poor lady wept, as if her heart 
 was breaking. Her unwelcome visitor seemed moved, and begged 
 her not to distress herself so. 
 
 "You have not seen the child?" said she. " Let me bring her 
 to you. Why not take her here ? she might be a comfort to you. 
 Her misfortune and dreadful calamity may induce you to pity, if 
 you cannot love her, and will afEord some occupation for your 
 leisure hours. She is within call ; I will bring her in." And before 
 Mrs. Courland could collect herself sufficiently to decide what she 
 would do, or to ask another question, the woman had disappeared. 
 
 The grounds of Ashley Hall, as we have before said, were skirted 
 on one side by a narrow lane, very little frequented, — the hedges on 
 each side being overgrown with brambles and thick thorn-bushes. 
 In this lane, there was a door which led into Mrs. Courland's private 
 room, through a small garden, which she called her own private 
 property — no one being permitted to enter it, except herself, and the 
 gardener, who at stated times was admitted to keep it in order. 
 
 Outside this little door in the lane, on the morning of this woman's 
 visit to Mrs. Courland, stood an elderly man, dressed in the garb of 
 a sailor, and a young girl, about fifteen or sixteen years of age — she 
 might have' been a year or two more, or she might have been less ; 
 it was difficult to determine. She was plainly dressed, and looked 
 clean and neat ; but her general appearance was not at all pre- 
 possessing. She was short and stout; and extreme vulgarity and 
 impudent assurance, mingled with cunning, were depicted in her 
 forbidding looking countenance, which was deeply pitted with the 
 small-pox ; — and yet, with all this, there was a look of melancholy 
 which seemed to indicate that the girl was unhappy. Continued ill- 
 treatment had perhaps produced this harsh and repulsive expression 
 of countenance which she now exliibited. 
 
 " We must try what effect the girl will have," said the woman, as 
 she merged into the lane through the little private door, after having 
 kept her companions waiting a considerable time. " The lady says 
 she has not much money in the house, and won't have tiU the 
 captain comes home."
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 95 
 
 " She be hanged ! " replied the man. "That's her game. Not 
 money in a house like that? Tell her to pawn her jewels, or sell 
 her carriage. I tell you, mistress, if you can't manage better than 
 that, I shall go in myself and play Old Nick with her." 
 
 " Hush ! " said the woman. " Let me take the girl in. That wdll 
 be best. Leave it to me, Coojjer ; I know how to manage her." 
 
 " Now, mind," cried the man ; " no nonsense, — money down, or 
 else there'll be the devil to pay. I won't wait one day longer. I've 
 got other fish to fry, and I don't like dancing attendance upon a 
 jjarcel of women, like this," 
 
 Leaving the man alone in the lane, in not a very good humour, 
 the woman took the girl with her into Mrs. Courland's private room, 
 where she found that lady still weeping and in great agitation. 
 
 " I have brought the child," said the woman, as she entered, " and 
 I intend leaving her here on your hands. I have a bold partner 
 outside, who will publish it far and near, and your husband will 
 know all immediately on his return. I have sufficient proof of all, 
 as you have seen before." 
 
 " Oh ! spare me ! spare me !" cried the poor lady, as she looked 
 at the girl through her tears. " Oh ! terrible fate. Not that ! She 
 cannot be the child. Oh ! in pity take her away, and say there is 
 some mistake. Oh ! dreadfiil. His child can never be like that ! " 
 And she turned her head away, as if she loathed the sight of one so 
 hideous. Had she been a handsome girl, she might have reconciled 
 herself to her fate ; but to have a low, vulgar, hideous creature 
 there, and to present that creature to her husband now, — she could 
 not do it. Better die a thousand deaths than face this terribla 
 ordeal. Her husband would despise and hate her, as much as he 
 loved her now, when he discovered the extent of the deception that 
 had been practised upon him. He would be at home now con- 
 tinually ; and she would have to bear his frowns, day by day, 
 without relief. She presented to her own mind the darkest side of 
 the picture, and painted it in the dullest and blackest colours, like 
 all who give way to these low desponding thouglits. While these 
 gloomy reflections were passing in Mrs. Courland's mind, the woman 
 disappeared through the little private door, and left the poor girl 
 standing in the middle of the room. Here was a new difficulty. 
 What could she do with that repulsive looking girl ? She ran out 
 through the little garden and opened the door leading into the lane. 
 There was no one to be seen ; — both the man and the woman had 
 either gone ofE very quickly, or were concealing themselves behind 
 some of the overgrown thorns and bushes. The girl was left on her 
 hands, evidently, and she must make the best of it. Perhaps she 
 might know where to find her friends, and might be induced to go 
 to them if she was provided with some money. Consoling herself,
 
 96 THE Wl/.AKl) OF WEST PKNWITH. 
 
 as well as she could, with these reflections, Mrs. Courland returned 
 to the room, where she found the girl standing in the same place, 
 and looking, with stolid astonishment, at the elegant and costly 
 ornaments which decorated the room, and exhibited the refined taste 
 and great wealth of its owner. 
 
 Mrs. Courland seated herself once more, and tried to look at the 
 poor half-frightened girl with less abhorrence ; but it was of no use. 
 She could not endure the sight of her ; and the idea of keeping her 
 there was quite out of the question ; — she must get rid of her, at all 
 risks, cost what it would. The giil, seeing that she was not noticed, 
 turned round to look at the beautiful bijouterie with which some of 
 the tables and the mantel-piece were strewed ; and she was now 
 standing with her back to the mistress of the apartment. 
 
 Mrs. Courland summoned up resolution enough at length to speak 
 to the girl, but she did not seem to notice it. Again Mrs. Courland 
 addressed her, but she neither replied nor turned towards the lady. 
 
 " You are obstinate, girl," said Mrs. Courland. " I will soon let 
 you know who is mistress here ;" — for she felt her dignity insulted, 
 Avhich she was not accustomed to ; and rising from her chair im- 
 patiently, she approached the girl, and, taking her by the shoulders 
 (for the girl's back was still tiu'ned towards her), she gave her a 
 hearty shake, which came so unexpectedl}', that the girl jumped 
 round, and seized the lady by both her wrists, giving at the same 
 time a hideous and unearthly scream, and looking more like a fiend 
 than anything human. But, seeing that she had frightened her, she 
 released her grasp, which had been so strong and powerful, that the 
 marks of her hard, bony fingers were left on the soft and delicate 
 flesh of the lady, w^ho dropped into a seat, terrified and exhausted. 
 Her situation was even worse than she had anticipated. 
 
 The girl teas evidently deaf and dumb ! 
 
 She could not turn such a helpless unfortunate out into the 
 Avorld, alone ; — even if she filled the poor creature's pockets with 
 gold, she could not help herself nor make her wants known, and she 
 would be robbed. What was she to do ? The woman, it was evident, 
 meant to leave her there ; and now all must be known. 
 
 The poor girl was still standing in the same place, looking at the 
 lady with a penitent countenance ; for she saw, with natural instinct, 
 that she had done amiss. She had been accustomed to ill-treatment, 
 and any resentment she evinced subjected her to a more severe 
 punishment ; and so she had become hardened and vindictive, and 
 would take some opportunity of doing her persecutors some mischief, 
 treacherously, for which she often got double punishment ; so that 
 she was always conquered, and her temper became sour and morose, 
 which gave an unpleasant expression to her countenance, that, but 
 for the ravages made on it by that dreadful disease, the small-pox,
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 97 
 
 might not have seemed so forbidding and repulsive. A mingled 
 feeling of pity and compassion took possession of Mrs. Courland's 
 mind, as she sat gazing at the poor creature, who now looked so 
 penitent, and seemed to be begging for pardon, in her way. The 
 expression of her countenance was quite altered and subdued. She 
 now felt the pride of being the conqueror over that delicate and 
 beautiful lady, by the strength of her sinewy hands ; for there was 
 no hand uplifted here to fell her to the ground for her temerity 
 and rudeness. She saw, too, that the lady had been weeping, and 
 that her delicate wi'ists had been hurt by her powerful grasp ; for 
 the marks of her fingers were still visible there. 
 
 She had never, perhaps, been taught to kneel in worship or in 
 penitence to any higher being than the man and woman with whom 
 she resided — and to them only by accident, when struggling for the 
 mastery, or in endeavoiu-ing to evade the severity of her daily 
 punishment. Her natural instinct now plainly indicated to her, 
 that she was standing in the presence of a superior being, whom she 
 had injured, and who bore the pain without resenting it. She could 
 not express her penitence and sorrow for the pain she had inflicted, 
 in words ; so she threw herself on her knees before the lady, and, 
 bending her head almost to the floor, burst into tears — the first she 
 had shed, perhaps, except in pain or anger, in the whole course of 
 her life. 
 
 Mrs. Courland's heart was touched at the natural homage and 
 contrition of this poor afilicted girl. She raised her from the floor 
 and placed her in her own chair, signing to her to remain there. 
 
 The lady then left the room, and returned in a short time, and 
 placed upon the table, with her own hands, a little tray containing 
 luncheon for two, — dainty meat and wine, such as the poor girl had 
 scarcely ever seen before. She ate ravenously, and would have drank 
 the whole contents of the small decanter of wine, had she not been 
 prevented. But the kindness of those fcAV miniites had subdued her 
 into humljle submission, more than all the beatings and harsh treat- 
 ment which she had before been accustomed to receive to compel 
 obedience. 
 
 So far, all was managed easily ; but the girl must sleep somewhere 
 — imseen and unknown. There was a small apartment within that 
 private room, which might l)c used as a sleeping-room. Mrs. Courland 
 made a sign to the girl, which she quickly understood, and in her 
 strong arms she carried in a small couch ; and with shawls and rugs, 
 which Mrs. Courland managed to bring from other parts of the house, 
 they made a comfortable bed and hiding-place for the stranger for 
 the present, until Mrs, Courland could decide on the best course to 
 be adopted. 
 
 She could scarcely make iip her mind to bolievo it ; and yet it
 
 98 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 seemed but too evident that this was the child she had grieved over 
 so long, and so often wished and yet dreaded to see. The plainness 
 of the girl's features she might yet get accustomed to, and art might 
 be brought to her aid to improve her appearance ; — the vulgarity in 
 her manner might also be softened and ameliorated. But that sad 
 calamity, — oh ! that was dreadful, — no art could get rid of that. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " MAN IS BORN TO TROUBLE AND DISAPPOINTMENT, AS THE SPARKS 
 FLY UPWARDS." 
 
 Frederick Morley, in the meantime, was hastening on his journey. 
 Love added speed to his horse's feet, and strength to the rider ; and 
 by dint of frequent changes on the road, he was not many days 
 reaching Truro once more, where he halted to refresh himself and to 
 deliberate on what course he should adopt. 
 
 It was a lone house, Alrina had told him in her letter, near the 
 seaside, she believed, surrounded by a high wall, and not very far, 
 she thought, from her former abode ; because she must have been 
 taken there during the night, so that the distance could not have 
 been great. This was a very vague description. There were many 
 lone houses, in those days, near the sea, surrounded by high walls ; — 
 indeed, the exception was, to see a lone house, without having a high 
 wall round it, for the protection of the inmates against the lawless 
 bands who infested the sea-coast in those troublous times. His 
 course seemed to be, to go to the Land's-End at once, and see Lieut. 
 Fowler, Avho might have heard something, or perhaps have seen the 
 boy. He determined, however, to go by the road which would take 
 him nearest to the sea ; and, in his journey, he could look out for 
 the house in which his Alrina was confined, and, to make sure of not 
 passing her by this time, he determined he would effect an entrance 
 by some pretence or other, into every house he saw surrounded by 
 high walls in the course of his journey. 
 
 Having decided on this course, and taken some refreshment, he 
 started on his exploring expedition ; but he Avas obliged to ride the 
 same tired horse, for there was not another to be had in the town. 
 The horse, however, having been well fed and groomed, the ostler 
 assured him that the animal was as fresh as a hunter going to the 
 meet, and would carry him a long journey yet before sunset. So 
 Frederick mounted once more, and, with whip and spur, got over a 
 good bit of ground in a very short time ; for the horse was one of 
 those plucky animals that will rim till they drop, under the spur of
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 99 
 
 an impatient rider. Frederick did not intend to be cruel ; but he 
 wanted to get on, and the horse seemed willing to go, so on they went 
 at a good pace, and soon neared the sea-coast. The horse was 
 flagging a little, but whip and spur kept him up to the mark, and 
 on they went still. They passed several farm-houses surrounded by 
 walls ; but none of them at all answered the description Alrina had 
 given of her prison. At length Frederick thinks he sees, at some 
 distance ahead, some high dark walls, and he fancies he discerns the 
 roof of a house just peeping above them. " This must be the very 
 house," cried he, in the greatest excitement ; so he urged the horse 
 on, thinking of nothing but the rescue of his Alrina. The road was 
 rugged and the horse was tired. He stumbled over a loose stone 
 going down a gentle declivity towards the building ; and, not having 
 sufficient strength left to save himself, he fell heavUy. The rider 
 was thrown with violence against the wall ; he was stunned, and 
 lay insensible and bleeding beneath the wall of the house he had 
 been so anxious to reach. 
 
 The shadows of night are closing in all round, and the man and 
 horse are still lying in that lonely road, no one having passed since 
 the accident, nor has the garden-door been opened. At last a boy 
 comes out ; and, seeing that some accident has happened, he returns 
 to the house, and a man and woman come out with him and examine 
 the bodies. The horse is dead — the man sees that at once ; but the 
 rider breathes and is bleeding still. The man goes back to the house, 
 taking the boy with him, while the woman runs for some water, 
 with which she bathes the face of the wounded man, and washes 
 away the congealed blood. The man and boy presently appear 
 again, carrying a board. The three, then, with their united strength, 
 place the wounded man on the board, and carry him in, leaving the 
 horse by the roadside. The wounded gentleman is placed in a 
 comfortable bed, and the man dresses his wounds and applies 
 remedies with considerable skill. Life is preserved, but delirium 
 comes on, caused by a slight concussion of the brain. No surgeon 
 is sent for; — the man says he can cure him himself; and the woman 
 and the boy, having apparently implicit confidence in his skill, yield 
 to his wishes. They watch wdth the sufferer throughout the night, 
 and the boy is despatched, in the morning, to the nearest town, for 
 medicines and other things necessary for the patient's use and 
 comfort. 
 
 Several days and nights pass, and the patient is still delirious. 
 The man continues most attentive and skilful. The patient gradually 
 gets better. He is out of danger ; and, one evening, the man, after 
 giving the woman the most minute instructions as to her treatment 
 of the invalid, leaves, desiring her to keep strict watch over him, 
 and keep the doors locked, so that he may not get away from thy
 
 100 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 house until his return. The boy was left to assist the woman in 
 attending on the invalid and keeping watch. 
 
 Frederick had now Ijeen an inmate of this lonely house about 
 a week. He was fast recovermg from the effects of the fall, but still 
 too weak to leave his bed, although he wished most earnestly to get 
 away, or to have his questions answered ; for he didn't at all 
 remember what took place after the horse fell, nor did he know 
 where he was, nor who his attendants were. 
 
 The woman pretended not to know anything, and the boy 
 generally evaded the questions, or answered very wide of them. The 
 morning after the departure of the man, luider whose skilful treat- 
 ment Morley was progressing so favourably towards recovery, the 
 boy entered the room with a cimning smile on his countenance, and 
 said that he had a letter for the invalid. 
 
 " A letter ! " said Morley, feebl}', " who can possibly have "WTitten 
 a letter to me? no one but those I have seen about me, know where 
 I am." Taking the letter from the boy, however, he was astonished 
 to find that it Avas from Alrina. He was too anxious and impatient 
 to read it, to think of the bearer, or to ask any questions concerning 
 the letter or its writer, until he had read its contents, which he did 
 with such eagerness, that the boy was alarmed lest the invalid should 
 relapse into delirium again ; — not that he was easily alarmed or 
 frightened at anything he saw or heard, but he knew that if the 
 gentleman became delirious again, it would give him extra trouble. 
 
 In her letter, Alrina complained of her lot. She had thought, she 
 said, that Frederick would, at least, have imtten her a line in reply 
 to her first letter. She felt, now, that she was deserted by all. 
 Everything seemed going against her. Her aimt had not returned 
 yet ; but her father came frequently, and she felt convinced there 
 was some terrible secret, Avhich they endeavoured to keep fi'om her, 
 but she was determined to find it out. The boy seemed willing to 
 befriend her, she said, but she was almost afraid to trust him. And 
 so she went on to the end of the letter, in the same desponding 
 strain ; winding up by asking Frederick, if he really loved her 
 to lose no time in coming to her rescue, or, at least, to write a line, 
 that she might know there was, at least, one person in the world who 
 cared for her. It was a melancholy letter from begining to end, and 
 its perusal made her lover wTetched. She was evidently under 
 restraint somewhere ; but where ? that was the question : even if he 
 knew, it was impossible for him to go to her at present ; he was too 
 weak. The boy who brought her letter might know something, 
 and he turned to ask him, but he had left the room. He tried to 
 get up ; the exertion was too much for him, and he sank back on 
 bis pillow again. His only resource was to read the letter again 
 and again. The more he reflected on Alrina's position, however,
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PEN WITH. 101 
 
 and on the unfortunate circumstances which had prevented his 
 receiving her first letter in time, and his consequent inabiUty to 
 render her that assistance and consolation which he would have 
 given worlds to have been able to do, the more irritated and 
 unhappy did he feel ; so that when the boy returned, he was in such 
 a high state of excitement, that his attendant was afraid, at first, to 
 go near him. 
 
 The wish for further information, however, which he believed 
 the boy could give him, caused Morley to subdue his feelings, and 
 to induce him, by the promise of a reward, to be a little more 
 communicative than he had hitherto been. By degrees, the boy 
 approached the bed cautiously, when Morley asked him, as mildly as 
 he could, when and where he had received the letter, and if he knew 
 where Alrina was at that moment confined, with many other 
 questions too numerous for the boy to answer without a little time and 
 consideration. Before he answered any of them, therefore, he gave 
 that cunning smile, which had so annoyed Morley before, and wliich 
 now irritated him beyond measure, when he was so anxious to hear 
 something of her to whom he felt he had unwittingly given cause 
 for complaint ; but he soon saw that he should get nothing out of 
 the boy by threats or angry expressions, so he changed his tactics, and 
 extracted the information he wanted by asking one question at a 
 time. That was certainly the oddest boy he had ever met with, he 
 thought ; for, although, judging from his diminutive stature, no one 
 would have supposed him to be above eight or nine years of age, 
 yet, from his shrewd knowledge of the world, and aged expressioa 
 of countenance, he might have been eight- or nine-and-twenty. 
 He was the same boy whom Mr. Brown formerly employed to look 
 after his mare ; and it was said, even then, and generally believed, 
 that he was in constant attendance on Mr. Freeman, and knew a 
 good many of his secrets. 
 
 He was found one night, when quite an infant, lying at the door 
 of a farm-house in the neighl^ourhood of St. Just, wrapped up in 
 coarse flannel ; but it was never discovered who put him there, nor 
 who the child's parents were. He was placed in the poor-house ; 
 and when he was old enough, lie was apprenticed to one of the 
 farmers of the district ; but ho would never settle down under one 
 master, — and after trying to sulxkie him, without success, his master 
 gave him up to his own inclinations, and so he got his living by 
 doing odd jobs. From his constant intercourse witli Mr. Freeman, 
 ho lost the broad Cornish dialect in a measure, and only spoke in 
 that way when he was associating with the miners. Ho was fond of 
 going into Penzance and mixing with the gentlemen's servants 
 there occasionally, from wliom he picked up many a slang expression, 
 which he would retail to the frecpienters of Mr. Brown's bar, very
 
 102 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 
 
 imich to tlicir amusement. He was an awkward individual to 
 
 gain information from ; so Morloy was obliged to deal with him 
 
 accordingly, and put liis questions with caution : — 
 
 [Morley) "I think I have seen you before, my boy?" 
 
 (JBoy) " I shouldn't wonder if you had, sir ; and, maybe, I've 
 
 seed you before." 
 
 (Morlei/) " You kept that mare like a picture ; — I never saw a 
 
 better groom, either at home or abroad." 
 
 {Boy — smiling) " It wasn't much odds, as it turned out, sir." 
 (Morley) " No, no ; but that doesn't alter the fact of your ability 
 
 as groom. Now, tell me — there's a good fellow — who gave you 
 
 that letter." 
 
 (Boy — still pleased) "■ Why, Miss Reeney, to be sure." 
 
 (Morley — excited) " What ! Alrina herself ? Where did you see 
 
 her?" 
 
 (Boy — putting on his cunning look again) "Where? why here, to 
 
 be sure." 
 
 (Morley — more excited) ''Here! what, in this house ? " 
 
 (Boy) "To be sure ; why not ? She called to me through the 
 
 keyhole upstairs, and shoved the letter out under the door, and told 
 
 me to take it as before. I couldn't ask her anything, for I heard 
 
 Mrs. Cooper coming upstairs." 
 
 (Morley — rising up in bed in the greatest excitement) " Oh ! take 
 
 me to her ! — or, stay, take a message to her at once ; tell her I 
 
 am " 
 
 (Boy) " Stop, stop, sir ; you must lend me a horse to do that." 
 (Morley) " I thought you said she was here, in this house." 
 (Boy) "So she was; but 'The Maister' took her oS with him 
 
 last night." 
 
 (Morley) " Then that was Mr. Freeman who attended me ; and 
 
 Alrina has been here all the time, and did not come near me ! Oh ! 
 
 cruel, cruel ! she must be offended, indeed. Didn't she ask or try 
 
 to come to see me ?" 
 
 (Boy) " No, she didn't, sir, 'cause she didn't know you was here." 
 
 (Morley) " Not know it ? strange ! " 
 
 (Boy) " Nothing strange at all, sir, that I can see ; I have seed 
 
 stranger things than that, a bra' deal. She was kept at the top of 
 
 the house, and you down here — under lock and key, both of 'ee ; 
 
 and last night ' The Maister' took her off with him. Where they're 
 
 gone, I can't say, — I heard ' The Maister' tell Mrs. Cooper something 
 
 about America." 
 
 (Morley) " America ! do you think he intends to go there ?" 
 (Boy) " I do no more know than you do, sir. F'rall I've b'en with 
 
 The Maister ' so often, an' have seed a good many of his quips and 
 
 quirks, and helped in them too, I do no more know what he do main
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 103 
 
 by what he do say, than a cheeld unborn. He ha' got something 
 upon his mind, that's a sure thing." 
 
 The boy was beginning to throw off his reserve, as Morley thus 
 cautiously questioned him ; bu.t he saw that if he put his questions 
 too pointedly, the boy would "shut up" again; so he asked a few 
 gossipping questions about Mr. and Mrs. Brown, and Mrs. Trenow, 
 which took the boy off his guard, and he went on talking. It seemed 
 at last as if it were a relief to him to talk of " The Maister," as he 
 called Mr. Freeman, in common with most people of the neighbour- 
 hood, — and, in relieving his pent-up mind, he told, perhaps, more 
 than he intended ; but he seemed to feel that Mr. Morley was a 
 gentleman who wouldn't betray him, and so he threw off his reserve 
 and trusted him. 
 
 " You've heard of Chapel Carn Brea, I s'pose, sir ? " asked the boy. 
 
 " Yes; I've been there," replied Morley; " it is one of the curiosities 
 of the neighbourhood. No doubt it was a handsome building at one 
 time ; and those mounds near it are tombs, no doubt." 
 
 "You're right, sir," said the boy; "I've heard 'The Maister' 
 tell stories in Mr. Brown's bar, about that place, that would make 
 your hair stand on end, ef you b'lieved it all. The men he told it 
 to, b'lieved every word ; and they wnd no more go anist Chapel Carn 
 Brea in the night, than they wud clunk boiling lead. I've b'en there 
 by night an' by day ; for I wor curious to find out somcthen'." 
 
 " You were not likely to find anything there," said Morley, care- 
 lessly — which threw the boy completely off his guard ; and, being 
 in a communicative mood, he went on, — 
 
 " I saw something there one night, that made me feel uncommon 
 queer, sure nuf ; and I b'lieve that ' The Maister' ha' got some notion 
 that I do knaw somethen' ; for he slocked me up there for to try to 
 frighten me more than once. It was sometlien' that I'm sure he must 
 have put there inside one of the walls, that went off like a clap of 
 thunder, and frightened the mare, that night when I was throwed ; 
 and I'm sure 'twas his doing, for, when I came to myself, I was upon 
 a bed in ' The Maister's' house, and nobody but his sister knaw'd a 
 word about et. He gave me some stuff, and I soon got about agen. 
 He went out the next morning, and Miss Freeman kept me there 
 under lock and key ; and when he came home in the afternoon, he 
 told all about the mare, and how poor Mr. Brown was sitting down 
 'pon a rock by hisself, fretting about it, and he sent me up to bring 
 him home." 
 
 " So you never saw anything more than that at Chapel Carn Brea, 
 after all?" sjiid Morley, by way of bringing the boy Ijack to the secret 
 he seemed about to tell, — for he saw, ])y his manner, tliere was 
 something more, and he was anxious to know all he could about this 
 man, although his thoughts were, even then, dwelling, with intense
 
 104 THE WIZARD OF WEST TENWITH. 
 
 anxiety, on the probable sufferings, both in body and mind, of his 
 Alrina. 
 
 " Iss I have," cried the boy, eagerly ; *• but I never told it to a 
 single soul, from that time to this. Now, mind, you must promise 
 that you'll never tell." And, ■without waiting for the promise, he 
 went on eagerly with his tale. " When ' The Maister' came here to 
 live first," resumed the boy, " I was but a little chap." 
 
 " So I should suppose," said Morley, smiling, " even if you were 
 in existence, which I very much doubt, — for that must be fourteen 
 or fifteen years ago, according to the accoxmt of Mrs. Brown and 
 Josiah Trenow, and others of the neighbourhood ; so I fancy you 
 are about to tell me a tale in imitation of your master." 
 
 " No, no," replied the boy ; " you don't know what I'm going to 
 tell, and p'rhaps you won't. I'm older than I do look, I can tell 'ee. 
 •I'm no cheeld, frail I do look like one to a stranger, I dare say." 
 
 " "Well, how old are you ? " said Morley ; " for I confess I have 
 been puzzled several times as to your age. In stature you are but a 
 very little boy ; but when I look into your face, and hear your 
 shrewd remarks, I fancy you may be almost any age." 
 
 " Well, sir," replied the boy, looking pleased at the gentleman's 
 having noticed him so much as to be puzzled about his age ; " I'm 
 above twenty, but how much I don't exactly know." 
 
 " Billy ! " cried a rough voice from below, — " Billy ! I say. Where 
 the devil is that rapscallion?" 
 
 "There!" said the boy ; " Cap'n Cooper is come back, and the 
 old woman is gone out, I s'pose. There'll be the devil to pay if I 
 don't go down." And away he ran, leaving Morley in a most 
 impleasant state of suspense ; for he had calculated on gaining a 
 great deal of information from the boy, both with regard to Mr. 
 Freeman, and, what he was still more concerned about, the probable 
 movements and present abode of Alrina. 
 
 It was evident, from what the boy said, that he was a prisoner. 
 He wouldn't have minded the old woman and the boy so much ; for 
 lie thought he might be able to work upon their feelings, by bribes 
 and fair words, sufficiently to induce them to connive at his escape ; 
 and he speculated in his mind, even while the boy was talking ^^'ith 
 him, that he might be able to prevail on him to leave Mr. Freeman 
 and follow him as groom and valet, when he might be of the utmost 
 assistance in many ways. But now it seemed as if all his aerial 
 castles were dissolving into the element of which they were composed; 
 for here was a more formidable jaUor, if he might judge by the 
 rough voice and the commanding tone of the fresh arrival. This 
 was the master of the house, he had no doubt, from the name ; — 
 Cooper was the old woman's name, he knew. These thoughts drove 
 him almost mad, and he lay back on his pillow and gave himself up
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 105 
 
 to despair. " Alrina ! " cried he, in his agony ; " I feel that all things 
 are working against us ; but oh ! Alrina, forgive your Frederick, — 
 it was not my fault. Alrina ! Alrina ! " And, after raving like a 
 madman for some minutes, he fell back exhausted. 
 
 In the meantime, the boy, lockmg the door behind him, as he 
 passed out of the room in which Morley lay, hastened downstairs to 
 meet the master of the establishment. 
 
 " Hallo !" exclaimed that gentleman, as he stood with his back to 
 the fire ; " where's all the people ? " 
 
 "How should I know?" replied the boy, in the same uncere- 
 monious manner, — for he feared no one but " The Maister," and 
 could be as impertinent as the greatest blackguard in the parish when 
 he chose to be, for which he frequently got punished by those who 
 didn't know him well, and these he generally took some opportunity of 
 retaliating upon, so that no one gained much by punishing little Bill. 
 
 It was evident that the captain was out of sorts, and was inclined 
 to vent his spleen upon anybody or anything that happened to come 
 in his way. 
 
 " Confound your impudence," said he, advancing towards the boy, 
 with his iiplifted fist ready to make a blow at him, when he got near 
 enough ; "I'll knock you into the middle of next week, you young 
 rascal !" And he strvick at the young offender with such force, that 
 the boy w^ould have been seriously injured, had he not nimbly 
 jumped on one side. The impetus of the blow not being checked 
 by coming in contact with the boy's head, sent the man forward, and 
 he was caught in the arms of his loving wife, who entered at that 
 moment, and they both fell headlong on the floor together, at which 
 the boy laughed and ran out of the room. 
 
 Nothing makes a person feel so awkward and foolish as when he 
 measures his length on the floor by an accidental fall ; and Captain 
 Cooper and his better half felt quite ashamed of themselves, as they 
 scrambled up from their ignominious position. Fortunately there 
 were no spectators ; for the boy had escaped, and was keeping out 
 of sight for the present, but not out of hearing. A little corner 
 sufficed for a hiding-place for him, and thus he frequently picked up 
 a good many odd secrets, which he repeated to " The Maister" when 
 he was assisting him in any of his necromancy, and obtained credit 
 even from " The Maister" for shrewdness beyond his years. 
 
 " Where's Freeman ? " asked the man, opening a cupboard and 
 taking out a bottle of brandy and a glass to solace him after his fall. 
 
 " Gone," replied the woman, shaking herself to rights again ; " he 
 started last night, and took Alrina with him." 
 
 " The devil he did ! " exclaimed the man, drinking ofE a full glass 
 of the exhilarating liquor ; " that's a queer game, when he promised 
 to "
 
 106 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 " Don't you know that his promises can't always be kept ? " said the 
 woman, " Circumstances alter cases. There's been a circumstance 
 here." 
 
 " A what ! " cried the man, in an angry tone ; " why, you're getting 
 so bad as the boy, Jenny Cooper," 
 
 " Hush, Cap'n ! I've got something to tell 'ee," replied his wife ; 
 and seating herself on a low chair, opposite the fire, and blowing it 
 up lustily with the bellows at the same time, she related to her 
 husband the accident, and told him the young gentleman was still 
 in bed upstairs. 
 
 "WheAv!" whistled the captain; — "then his game is up for a 
 spiu", and t'other is out of the way and off the scent, — so no herring- 
 pool, after all ; but where is the old man gone to ?" 
 
 " I don't know," replied his wife ; " but I shoiddn't wonder if he's 
 gone doAvn to the old place again, now the coast is clear. He'll be 
 noted again in St, Just, now that the breeze is blown over, and the 
 scent is in another quarter, as you do say it is." 
 
 " Eight you are," rejoined the captain, looking more pleased than 
 he had looked yet since his return, " And now I'll tell you our bit 
 of spree." And he related to his wi£e the expedition to Ashley Hall, 
 and how his companion had left the girl with the lady, thinking to 
 frighten her into submission to their terms, and that, when she went 
 back again the next day, to see how the land lay, she found the httle 
 door in the lane locked and barred on the inside, and when she 
 applied for admission, at the front entrance, she was told that Mrs, 
 Courland could not see her. " So she's in a fix," continued the man; 
 ** but she stayed behind, and she'll blow the gaff, if they don't 
 come to, soon, I should have stopped too, but 1 thought my old 
 friend might want to be off at once, and so I came back to get all 
 things right and straight for the trip." 
 
 " And you'd better get things right and straight now," said his 
 wife ; " for he may be going off all the same, for what I do know." 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 RETROSPECTION AND RECRIMINATION. 
 
 Mr. Morley wrote to Lieut. Fowler from Ashley Hall, saying that 
 he had found his brother and Josiah Trenow there, and that they 
 had discovered a house, which they had every reason to believe was 
 the scene of the murder. He informed his friend also that he and 
 Josiah woidd remain there a little longer, to make fui'ther search,
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 107 
 
 but that Frederick had gone down into Cornwall in search of a party 
 who had slipped through their hands, so far. 
 
 In consequence of this letter, Lieut. Fowler was in daily expectation 
 of seeing his friend Frederick Morley at Tol-pedn-Penwith. And 
 the ladies at Pendrea-house were in anxious expectation too ; for, now 
 that they knew more of his history, which seemed so fraught with 
 romantic interest, he had become quite a hero in their eyes. Day 
 after day passed, but he did not arrive. The ladies were alarmed, 
 and feared some accident had befallen him ; but Fowler ridiculed 
 this idea, and attributed his non-arrival to the strictness of the search 
 he was no doubt making. Who the party was that Frederick was 
 in search of. Fowler didn't know, for the finding of the box by 
 Josiah had been kept a secret. The search after Mr. Freeman was 
 merely to get his help to unravel the mystery of that document, 
 which Josiah seemed to think, from his manner, he knew something 
 about, although it was most probable, as Frederick suggested at first, 
 that Mr. Freeman pretended to know more than he really did, in 
 order to induce Josiah to leave the box and its contents with him. 
 As a drowning man v/ill catch at a straw, so did Frederick catch at 
 this little incident, improbable as he really thought it, in the hope 
 that it might assist him in his search, or that the conjuror, by his 
 skill, might be able to give him some clue to the mystery. Fowler 
 knew nothing of all this, nor did he know of his friend's devoted, 
 and, it may be added, romantic, attachment to the daughter of the 
 celebrated Land's-End conjuror. Had he known it, he would, no 
 doubt, have tried to convince his friend of the folly and absurdity 
 of such a connection. But love is blind ; and it would probably 
 have required more eloquence than Lieut. Fowler possessed to have 
 persuaded Frederick Morley that the lovely and fascinating girl 
 whom he loved so passionately from the first moment he saw her, as 
 a schoolgirl, was unworthy or his afEection, because her father did 
 not move in tlic first circles of society. Luckily Fowler was ignorant 
 of this attachment ; and so his friend had been spared the annoyance 
 of a discussion with him on the subject. The old squire was as 
 anxious as any of them to see the young soldier once more. But 
 he didn't come. 
 
 Miss Pendray's mind was ill at ease — that was evident to all who 
 knew her. She still wandered over the cliffs, and braved the storm ; 
 but it was not now, as it used to be, for the sake of looking at the 
 bold scenery. Iler wanderings had now a more definite object ; — 
 she hoped, every time she climbed those lofty cliffs, that she should 
 meet with someone to share her admiration of the beautiful scenery. 
 She had become accustomed to those pleasant meetings with one of 
 the opposite sex ; and she felt a vacvium — a loneliness — that she had 
 never felt before. The stranger whom she met at the ball, and who
 
 108 THE WIZAUD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 seemed so enamoured of her, had disappeared in a most unaccount- 
 able manner. She was beginning to like his attentions, although 
 there was something in his manner, sometimes, which did not please 
 her; — she told him as much, the last time she met him. Perhaps 
 he was offended ; for she had never seen him since the sudden 
 appearance of that handsome man, who had intruded upon their 
 privacy at the Logan Rock. It was a strange coincidence — those 
 two men, meeting in that strange way. She was much struck with 
 the appearance and gentlemanly manners of the gentleman with the 
 white hair ; — she couldn't put him out of her mind for the whole 
 day ; and, the next evening, when Lieut. Fowler brought him to 
 Pendrea-house, after their return from St. Just, she thought him 
 the most fascinating man she had ever seen. There was an open 
 frankness and ease in his manner, which were wanting in Mr. Smith. 
 As she reflected now on the difference between the two men, she felt 
 that Mr. Smith's manners seemed put on for the occasion, and that 
 he required to be on his guard, and to be always watching himself, 
 as it wei'e, to prevent some hidden vulgarity from peeping out under 
 his apparently assumed garb of refinement. It was not so with Mr. 
 Morley ; — he was a gentleman intuitively, and, therefore, had no 
 occasion to watch himself lest he should say or do, inadvertently, 
 anything he would be ashamed of. Mr. Morley, too, was much 
 struck with Miss Pendray's beauty ; but he did not tell her so, point 
 blank, as Mr. Smith had done on more than one occasion. He 
 asked her to shew him some of her favourite scenes on the cliffs, 
 with which he expressed himself highly delighted, and he pointed 
 out beauties in the rocks and cliffs and headlands, which she had not 
 observed before, and described to her, in glowing colours, some of 
 the magnificent scenery he had himself witnessed in the East. And 
 so they continued, day after day, to walk together — sometimes over 
 the cliffs and sometimes on the smooth sands beneath — admiring the 
 beauties of Nature, almost with the same eyes and the same thoughts. 
 They seemed to have so many ideas in unison, and each became so 
 fascinated with the other, that when the time arrived that Mr. 
 Morley thought he must in duty visit his relatives, they parted, with 
 sorrowing hearts, although neither of them knew what a pang the 
 other felt at parting. 
 
 Miss Pendray had not been accustomed, in that out-of-the-way 
 place, to meet with men of that stamp ; — she had never before come 
 into contact with a congenial spirit. Frederick Morley was better 
 than most she had been in the habit of meeting ; but he would, 
 occasionally, appear so absorbed in his own thoughts, that he was, 
 at times, scarcely companionable. Mr. Smith was bold and clever, 
 evidently, and as romantic in his ideas and pursuits as she could 
 possibly desire, and frequently fiiscinated her with his thrilling
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 109 
 
 stories ; but there was something in his manner sometimes that did 
 not satisfy her ; and his aversion to join their domestic cii'cle seemed 
 most strange. 
 
 Mr. Morley was quite different, in every respect; and, now that 
 she wandered over the chffs alone, day after day, she could reflect 
 on the difference between the three men. She had always looked 
 down with pity on her younger sister's susceptibility, and often 
 upbraided her for exhibiting, so unreservedly, her attachment to 
 Lieut. Fowler, who was not at all suited to her, either in age or 
 position. Miss Pendray thought. 
 
 The gentle Blanche could now turn the tables on her more prudent 
 and high-minded sister ; for she saw that the handsome Mr. Morley 
 had made a conquest, and that the majestic Maud watched his every 
 look and action, and was pained, beyond measure, when, even in 
 common politeness, he paid the slightest attention to anyone else. 
 
 While Maud and Mr. Morley were thus revelling in each other's 
 society, over the bold cliffs and headlands, Blanche and her lover 
 were taking their quiet walks along the rocks and sands beneath, 
 where they would, ever and anon, stop and rest themselves, and look 
 out on the broad ocean which lay before them, talking of the 
 future, and hoping that all might turn out smoothly in the end ; 
 for, although Blanche quite understood what her lover meant now, 
 and returned his love with the fondest affection, and wished to her 
 heart that all could be settled at once, yet she was still afraid for 
 her father to be spoken to on the subject, lest he should get angry, 
 and forbid their intercourse altogether. Poor silly child ! her timid 
 nature feared she knew not what ; and the more her lover urged her 
 to allow him to ask her father's consent, the more did she recoil 
 fi-om the ordeal, dreading what the answer might be. She knew her 
 sister's thoughts and opinions on the subject, and she feared her 
 father might hold the same opinion, for they were much alike in 
 pride and lofty bearing ; and so her timid fear overcame her prudence, 
 and she held her lover back from doing that which he well knew 
 and felt he ought to do, in common honesty and honour. But he 
 loved his darling Blanche too well to thwart her ; and so the two 
 went on in tender communing, and each day brought fresh arguments 
 on either side — the one, in manly uprightness, urging the appeal to 
 the father for his sanction to their union ; the other, in timid 
 maidenly reserve, dreading the answer her stern parent might give, 
 and controlling her fond lover, who felt he could not disobey her. 
 
 " Only wait a little longer," she said, one day, as she sat listening 
 to his arguments, and looking up at him so earnestly ; — " you don't 
 know papa so well as I do. In most things he is so kind ; but I fear 
 in this he would not be so." 
 
 " Why do you think so, dearest Blanche ? " he replied, taking her
 
 110 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 hand in his; "he seems to like me, and is continually asking me to 
 come to Pcndrea-house. What objection can he have? have you 
 ever heard him say he disliked me, or " 
 
 " Oh ! no ! never," she replied ; " but Maud and papa seem to 
 hold the same opinions on many points ; and she has spoken to me 
 often of the disparity of age, and seemed so utterly against it, that 
 I fear papa will thmk so too." 
 
 " It shall be exactly as you wish," said he ; " but I would much 
 rather know my fate at once, than wait in suspense ; — what good 
 end can it answer to delay it ? " 
 
 "Oh ! don't talk in that way," replied Blanche, bursting into 
 tears; — "you know how much I should wish it settled, too; but 
 then, if papa should be angry, and refuse to give his consent, I 
 should never see you again. I cannot bear to think of that." 
 
 Poor little innocent timid Blanche ! she knew not what troubles 
 her timidity was bringing on them both. It was her fii'st love ; and, 
 childlike, she thought only of her present pleasure. She felt like 
 one in a pleasant dream, gliding through the air on azure clouds, 
 wafted gently onwards by a zephyr's breeze, with her lover ever by 
 her side to protect her from harm ; and she feared lest the slightest 
 change in their present position should cause an angry storm to rise, 
 and overturn all their blissful happiness. She did not know, poor girl, 
 in her ignorance, of the changes and chances that are continually 
 going on in the world, where the greatest pleasures and the severest 
 pains and trials last but for a season, and they are gone, and old 
 Time keeps on the even tenor of his way, and pains and pleasures 
 live only in the memory, and fade away as time rolls on, leaving, in 
 the end, but a faint shadow of the past. 
 
 Blanche knew not this ; and, anxious to secure present happiness, 
 she induced her lover, in the very innocence of her yoimg heart, by 
 tears and entreaties, to delay his application to her father for a time, 
 in defiance of his better judgment ; for he was older, and knew the 
 world much better than this poor innocent girl, but still he yielded, 
 and they loved on in secret. 
 
 While Maud was so engrossed with Mr. Morley, there was no one 
 to watch and overlook them ; but when he was gone, it seemed to 
 her as if all her occupation was gone too, — she had nothing left but 
 to wander out alone and think of him whose image ever haunted 
 her ; — and, in her wanderings, she often sui-prised Blanche and her 
 attendant lover, in one of their favourite haunts. And, wanting 
 some better occupation, she would chide her sister when they were 
 alone together. At first, Blanche didn't mind it much ; but its 
 frequent repetition angered her, and she spoke up sharply to her 
 sister, contrary to her wont, which made Maud speak her mind more 
 freely. And as they sat at work alone, one afternoon, she renewed 
 the old subject : —
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. Ill 
 
 *' I must tell you, Blanche," she began, " that I think it is very 
 wrong in you to encourage Mr. Fowler to pay you such marked 
 attention, when, perhaps, he means nothing, after all." 
 
 " I will not allow anyone, in my presence, to impeach Mr. Fowler's 
 honour," replied Blanche, looking up from her work, her cheeks 
 burning with indignant pride ; " I have the most perfect confidence 
 in his honourable intentions, and therefore I will not hear him 
 traduced." 
 
 " There we difEer," returned her elder sister, hastily ; " and, let 
 me tell you that, were his intentions ever so honourable, papa would 
 never sanction the engagement of a daughter of his to Lieut. Fowler." 
 
 "And, pray, what would be the objection?" asked Blanche, in- 
 dignantly. 
 
 " There are several," replied her sister ; " I know papa's opinion 
 of his position pretty well, for I have already sounded him on it." 
 
 •' And what right, let me ask, had you to sound papa on a subject 
 which you know nothing about ? " asked Blanche ; — " that subject 
 has never been named by Mr. Fowler, either to you or to papa, that 
 I am aware of." 
 
 " Then it ought to have been," replied Maud, " and that would 
 have settled the matter at once. It is neither honourable nor manly 
 in Mr. Fowler to ensnare your affections, and wish you to meet him 
 clandestinely, as I fear and know you too often do. What his 
 intentions are, I don't know ; but, if I may judge from this circmn- 
 stance, they cannot be honourable, and it is time papa took some 
 measures to prevent it, before it is too late." 
 
 " I am surprised, Maud," replied her sister, coolly, " that you, 
 above all others, should accuse me of doing the very thing that 
 you have been doing yourself for the last two months." 
 
 " Me ! " exclaimed the majestic Maud ; " how dare you say such 
 a thing ? " 
 
 " Yes, you ! " replied Blanche. " If I have walked occasionally 
 with papa's old friend, Mr. Fowler, I have done so openly, and with 
 him only, — while you have had three strings to your bow, two of 
 whom I know you met clandestinely, often and often, my prudent 
 sister. What has become of the stranger you met at the ball, who 
 called himself ' Mr. Smith?' did you think your meetings with him 
 were not known ? And, having lost him, you carried on the same 
 game with Mr. Morley. Did either of these gentlemen ask papa ? 
 If not, I say they ought to have done so, before they induced you 
 to meet them so often, clandestinely, at the Logan Rock, — a nice 
 secluded place for lovers to meet at, truly ? " 
 
 The timid Blanche had never spoken so fearlessly and sharply to 
 her sister before, and Maud was perfectly astonished. She felt 
 conscious, all at once, that the tables were turned on her deservedly
 
 112 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 — for she had an inward conviction of the truth of what her sister 
 had said ; but, like most people whose minds are filled with one 
 great and absorbing passion, she neither saw nor knew that her 
 actions were observed and commented on by the lookers-on in the 
 outer world. Although she looked upon the world in general with 
 cold indifference, and •would sit for hours as inanimate as a statue, 
 her handsome features looking, in repose, like a piece of beautifully- 
 chiselled, tinted, marble ; yet, when anyone approached in Avhom she 
 took a more than ordinary interest, or any subject was introduced 
 which it pleased her to discuss, her coimtenance would light up 
 instantaneously, and you might see the fire of her soul shine out 
 with dazzling brilliancy, in her dark flashing eyes. Nothing, then, 
 could control the ungovernable passion that dwelt within ; and the 
 longer it had lain dormant, the stronger would it now burst forth, 
 seeing nothing but that one object on which her mind was then 
 intent. With such an all-absorbing passion had she, diu-ing the last 
 few days of his sojourn among them, loved Mr. Morley. At first she 
 was passive ; — she walked with him, and pointed out the beauties of 
 the scenery, and listened to his description of the scenes he had 
 passed through in India, with pleasure, certainly, but not with the 
 rapture she now felt in all he said or did. She liked him, at first, as 
 a highly-gifted gentlemanly companion, — when, all at once, she was 
 seized with that ungovernable love for him, which prevented her 
 from seeing anything else ; nor did she care, in her mad passion, if 
 the whole world was looking on, — she was blind to all but him. 
 She, like Blanche, thought but of her present happiness, but, unlike 
 Blanche, she thought not of her father's consent nor dissent ; and so 
 she was taken quite by surprise, when she found that all her doings 
 had been seen and commented upon. She had been like a little 
 playful child, who covers its head, and thinks, poor little innocent, 
 that, because it cannot see the company around, it cannot be seen by 
 them. Maud was shocked at the discovery. It roused another passion 
 within her — that of anger ; and, rising from her seat, with a haughty 
 frown, she swept from the room, and left her poor timid sister 
 trembling and frightened, wondering what she had said or done to 
 cause such a terrible commotion within her sister's breast.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 113 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 SQUIRE PENDRAY GETS ON HIS STILTS, AND VIEWS LIEUT. FOWLER 
 FROM A LOFTY EMINENCE. 
 
 When Lieut. Fowler called at Pendrea-house the next morning, to 
 take Blanche out, as he had promised, to finish a sketch she was 
 making of a scene near the Logan Rock, he was met at the door by 
 the old squire himself, who, bowing stiffly asked his visitor to grant 
 him a few minutes' conversation in the library. 
 
 " This is an odd reception," thought Fowler ; " the old gentleman 
 is up on his stilts this morning." But, however, as he knew the 
 squire was very uncertain in his temper, he followed him in silence ; 
 and, when they had entered the room, the squire requested him to 
 be seated, and, after a moment's pause, in which he seemed to be 
 considering how he should begin, he said, rather abruptly, — 
 
 " I have not deserved this at your hands, Lieut. Fowler." 
 
 " What, sir ? " said Fowler, in the greatest sou'prise. 
 
 " When you came into this district," continued the squire, without 
 noticing Fowler's remark, " I invited you to my house ; and my 
 family and myself have tried to make it as agreeable as we could to 
 you, as you seemed lonely up there by yourself; and the return 
 I have had for all my kindness, has been your undermining the 
 innocent simplicity of my youngest daughter, and, in an underhand 
 and clandestine manner, gaining the affections of an unsophisticated, 
 simple girl, and inducing her to meet you in bye-places unknown to 
 her family." 
 
 " My dear sir ! " exclaimed Fowler, scarcely knowing what he said 
 — he was so taken by surprise ; " I protest " 
 
 " It is of no use your denying it," continued the squire ; " for I 
 am in possession of the fact that you have destroyed my child's peace 
 of mind, without ascertaining whether your attentions would be 
 agreeable to me or not." 
 
 " I acknowledge that I love your daughter, squire Pendray," 
 replied Fowler ; " but I hold her and all your family in too high 
 respect to do anything underhand or clandestinely, to gain her 
 affections ; and I tell you, sir," he continued, rising with calm 
 dignity, " I have not done so ; and, if you had not been Blanche's 
 father, I would not submit quietly to be taunted in this way. I 
 should have communicated my feelings to you long ago, but " 
 
 " But what, sir ! " exclaimed the squire, rising from his seat also. 
 
 " But for a timid feeling which Blanche possesses," replied Fowler, 
 " that " 
 
 " Whatever fears Blanche might have had, sir, they ought not to 
 have prevented you from acting as an honourable man and a gentle- 
 man. You are many years older than my daughter, Lieut. Fowler,
 
 114 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 and ought not to have led her away thus. It is well, perhaps, that 
 the discovery has been made before it was too late. You have taken 
 advantage of my hospitality, sir, and I desire you Avill not enter my 
 doors again ; and whatever there may have been between you and 
 my daughter, it must cease. Sir, I wish you a very good morning." 
 And, bowing to his visitor, the crusty old gentleman opened another 
 door, which led to the upper part of the house, leaving Lieut. 
 Fowler standing in the middle of the room, and wondering what 
 could be the meaning of all this, and who could have informed the 
 squire of his attachment to his daughter, and of their meetings. He 
 was conscious of the rectitude and earnestness of his intentions, and 
 knew, of course, that he had been prevented from making them 
 known to her father, only by the earnest intreaty of Blanche herself. 
 But he could not compromise her — indeed he had not an opportunity 
 of doing so, even if he wished ; for, before he had time to reply, or 
 to defend himself, the old gentleman was gone, and there was no one 
 to receive his explanation. At first he thought that, perhaps, Blanche 
 might have been questioned by her father, and had been induced to 
 confess their attachment and their frequent meetings, ^\^thout having 
 had the courage or the opportiuiity to exj^lain the reason. 
 
 He could not remain in the house, of course, nor could he call 
 again, after what had taken place ; but he thought he should like 
 to hear from Blanche herself how far she was impHcated (unin- 
 tentionally, he was quite sure) in diAOilging their secret, and thus 
 causing his dismissal from a house which he had visited with so 
 much pleasure ever since he had been in Cornwall. He determined, 
 therefore, that he would see Blanche, if possible, before he left. So 
 he rang the bell. The servant who answered it said, in reply to his 
 request to see Miss Blanche for a moment, that she was confined to 
 her room with a headache, and could not see him ; so he had no 
 alternative but to leave the house. 
 
 How little do we know what a day may bring forth ! As he 
 walked away from that house where he had been accustomed to be 
 received almost as one of the family for a period of four or five 
 years, Lieut. Fowler began to reflect on the changes and vicissitudes 
 of human life, and how easily the merest trifle, light as air, will 
 sometimes turn the scale. From his first introduction to squire 
 Pendray, to the present time, they had been, as it were, boon com- 
 panions ; for the squire, although an old man, was a jolly companion 
 over his wine, and would frequently, even then, at his advanced age, 
 take his gun and have a day's sport with his friend, and keep up 
 with him too, to the end of the day without flagging, and would 
 enjoy the bachelors' dinner, and a glass of grog afterwards, at the 
 lieutenant's little cabin, where the dinner was cooked by a jolly tar, 
 and served up in sailor fashion, as much as if the table was spread
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 115 
 
 with the daintiest dishes, and everything was done in the first style 
 of fashion. And, only two days before, when Fowler dined at 
 Pendrea-house, he thought, as they sat at their wine after dinner, 
 that it was impossible his old friend could refuse him his daughter's 
 hand, if he could only be permitted by her to ask the question ; for 
 he had been always treated more like a brother by the young ladies, 
 than like a stranger. And now, without even allowing him an 
 opportunity of explaining his conduct, or of exculpating himself 
 from the insinuations thrown out against his character as a man of 
 honour and a gentleman, he is unceremoniously expelled from the 
 house, and forbidden all further intercourse with her for whom he 
 would willingly lay down his life. 
 
 That some secret enemy had been at work, he had not the slightest 
 doubt ; but who it could be, he could not imagine. He was not, 
 therefore, in a very serene state of mind, when he arrived home, as 
 hia men soon discovered. He ordered them out on night duty, and 
 said he should himself take a long round and inspect all the outposts 
 during the night. 
 
 Blanche had not heard of her lover's having been at the house. 
 She was not very well, but a walk in the fresh air would have done 
 her good, and she sat in her room expecting to be informed by her 
 maid, as she had directed, when Lieut. Fowler called ; but none of 
 the female servants saw him come in, and they did not know he was 
 in the house ; for he had been admitted, as will be remembered, by 
 squire Pendray himself, who, anticipating that Lieut. Fowler would 
 probably try to see his daughter before he left the house, desired the 
 footman to say that Miss Blanche could not be seen ; and bo the 
 servant was prepared with his answer before the question was asked. 
 Hour after hour passed away, and still Blanche waited in anxious 
 expectation, but he did not come — as she supposed ; and at length 
 she went down into the drawing-room to join her mother and sister. 
 
 Maud had done her work cleverly and successfully, and she was 
 satisfied with herself; — she had avenged the unpleasant insinuations 
 and reflections cast upon her by her younger sister ; and she had 
 prevented her, she believed, from being ensnared into a connection 
 which was not deemed ehgible in any way for a daughter of the 
 house of Pendray. 
 
 Nothing was said by either of the ladies about Lieut. Fowler; 
 and so Blanche remained in ignorance of his visit and its termination. 
 Day after day passed away, but Lieut. Fowler did not make his ap- 
 pearance, and Blanche became alarmed. She walked out occasionally 
 with the hope of meeting him at one of their favourite havmts, but 
 he did not come. Maud would now accompany her sister, which was 
 very unusual, their pursuits and ideas being so widely different. 
 Blanche could not understand it ; and, after their late conversation,
 
 116 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 she did not like to mention the name of Fowler to her sister, and so 
 they went on — each having a secret and reserving it in her own 
 breast, fearing, and yet wishing, to talk to each other with that 
 confidence which should have existed between two sisters, who had 
 scarcely ever been separated in their lives. 
 
 Blanche, at length, began to feel unhappy and uncomfortable. 
 She declined going out when her sister asked her, and would sit in 
 her own room, with her door locked, all day long, and never join 
 the family, except at meal-times, when she shewed evident signs of 
 mental distress The tears would sometimes chase each other gently 
 down her cheeks, as she sat pretending to eat — for it was a mere 
 pretence; — she had no appetite, and merely came to the table 
 because she was obliged to do so, to prevent being questioned. She 
 feared he was ill, but she dared not ask ; and thus, poor timid child, 
 " she let concealment, like a worm i' the bvid, feed on her damask 
 cheek," and pined away in lonely sadness. 
 
 Squire Pendray and his eldest daughter divined the cause of 
 Blanche's melancholy ; but, instead of commiserating and consoling 
 her, they privately denoimced Lieut. Fowler as the cause of it all. 
 And, the more Blanche gave way io her secret grief, and pined for 
 the loss of him whose presence seemed almost necessary to her 
 existence, the more did they censure and reproach their former 
 friend. 
 
 The only comforter — if such it might be deemed — whom Blanche 
 had, was Mrs. Pendray, her kind indulgent mother. She, poor lady, 
 knew nothing of the love affair, and attributed her darling daughter's 
 illness to another cause, and overwhelmed the sufferer with well- 
 meant attentions, and loaded her with dainties of all sorts — none of 
 which could Blanche touch. 
 
 The old squire was concerned to see his little pet pining away, 
 and refusing all nourishment ; but his pride would not permit him 
 to yield in any one particular. 
 
 Miss Pendray, too, had her moments of secret anxiety ; for Mr. 
 Morley had not Avritten to anyone, as far as she knew, since his first 
 letter to Lieut. Fowler, and he had now been gone a fortnight. Lieut. 
 Fowler might have heard, perhaps, but she had been the means of 
 precluding the possibility of knowing ; for it was in consequence of 
 her tale-bearing to her father that he had been forbidden the house. 
 She did not, perhaps, calculate on the mischief she was doing, when 
 her pride and her ungovernable passion prompted her to betray her 
 sister.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 117 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE STEP IN THE WRONG DIRECTION. 
 
 It was a curious fact that everyone who spoke of Mr. Freeman, 
 wound up their description of him by saying that he had something 
 on his mind ; — but what that something was, or by what means tliey 
 had ascertained the fact, or why they had come to that conclusion, 
 they could not tell. There was, certainly, some mystery about him, 
 inasmuch as he kept a good deal to himself, and generally appeared 
 thoughtful and taciturn. He had come to St. Just from some distant 
 part of England, many years before, and had bought the house in 
 which he resided, and lived there alone for some time. Then Misa 
 Freeman came. He called her his sister; — some said she was his 
 wife ; but, as neither of them cared much what was said about them, 
 gossips got tired at last, and allowed them to be what they were — 
 brother and sister. 
 
 Years rolled on ; and Mr. and Miss Freeman continued to reside 
 at St. Just, and to mix occasionally with the people, but no one 
 seemed really to know them a bit better than they did at first. 
 Their motto seemed to be, " to hear, see, and be silent." 
 
 One hot summer, an epidemic broke out in the parish. There was 
 no doctor nearer at that time than Penzance. It was too expensive 
 for the poor to send for him at such a distance, and many of them 
 died for want of medical assistance. 
 
 Mr. Freeman did not, at first, take much notice of it, — he kept 
 aloof. At length, a boy who went errands for him, and did other 
 jobs, caught the infection. Mr. Freeman went to see him, and gave 
 him some medicine which cured him. This got abroad, and Mr. 
 Freeman was sought after, and he cured many others. 
 
 When the epidemic among the human beings was over, there 
 came one among the cattle and pigs. It was rumoured that the evil 
 eye was upon them, and that they were ill-wished. Mr. Freeman 
 was applied to again. He had been reading the minds of the people, 
 and getting at their secrets while he was attending them. And, 
 storing up in his memory the petty strifes and bickerings among 
 them, he could tell pretty nearly how they were affected towards 
 each other ; and the little boy he had cured of the fever, and who 
 was now his factotum, assisted him ; so that, by a few lucky cures 
 of their cattle, and a very slight hint at someone with whom the ill- 
 wished party was at variance, the ill-wisher was sufficiently indicated 
 to procure " The Maister " — as he was now beginning to be designated 
 — a brilliant reputation, which he profited by considerably ; and the 
 people feared him and honoured him, for his wonderful knowledge 
 and ability ; — but, notwithstanding all his skill, everyone thought 
 that " The Maister" had something upon his mind. The brother and
 
 118 THE WIZARD OF WEST I'ENWITII. 
 
 sister were an odd pair, — no one could understand them, — and so 
 they ceased to be much talked about after a time. Their movements 
 were very uncertain. They would lock up the house and go away, 
 and stay away for weeks, sometimes. Some of their neighbours 
 ■wished they would stay away altogether ; but they would not venture 
 to say so, even to themselves ; for they believed that " The Maister" 
 could read their very thoughts almost. 
 
 Years rolled on ; and one day, Miss Freeman, having been absent 
 longer than usual, brought home a beautiful young lady with her. 
 Here was food for another gossip. Who was she ? She was not like 
 Miss Freeman, nor was she much like "The Maister;" but they 
 were told she was his daughter. He had been left a widower when 
 Alrina was very young. Miss Freeman said, and so she had been at 
 school ever since, agreeably to her mother's dying request. Gossip 
 wore itself out in this instance also ; and Alrina was allowed to settle 
 down as Mr. Freeman's daughter, — indeed, there was no one to 
 dispute it ; why should they ? 
 
 The idle gossip of a country village may suggest and insinuate 
 many things ; but the proof is generally wanting when they come to 
 the test. Miss Freeman went to fetch the young lady, certainly ; — 
 and why not ? Gossip was at fault, and Alrina resided quietly with 
 her father and aunt. 
 
 Whether Mr. Freeman intended to prevent his daughter from 
 having any intercourse at all with young men of about her own age, 
 or whether he had any objection to Frederick Morley individually, 
 certain it is, that, as soon as he discovered their meetings, he con- 
 trived to confine his daughter to the house, by giving her some 
 powerful narcotic. And, leaving her in the care of his sister, he 
 "went to Portagnes, to make arrangements for their removal to the 
 house of Capt. Cooper, which was more calculated for seclusion and 
 confinement than his own. 
 
 The two men were well suited to each other, and played a good 
 game. Capt. Cooper was bold, rough, and daiing, and was the 
 captain of a nice little vessel in which Mr. Freeman held a large 
 share. And in this he would go across the water for contraband 
 goods, and Mr. Freeman assisted him in disposing of them in some 
 of the large towns where he had friends; — and many a daring 
 adventure had Capt. Cooper been engaged in, and many a clever 
 run had he made, and evaded the officers of the customs, and effected 
 landings almost under their very eyes. His house was a very large 
 one ; and underneath, there were commodious cellars, which were of 
 great use in concealing the contraband goods. 
 
 Why Frederick Morley's appearance at the Land's-End had made 
 these men so uneasy, it is difficult to say. He was a soldier, and was 
 on intimate terms of friendship with Lieut. Fowler, the avowed
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 119 
 
 enemy of smuggling ; and, if allowed to meet Alrina as a lover, 
 secrets might be told which she could not help knowing, they thought. 
 This was one reason, perhaps, why they wished to get rid of him. 
 But they hadn't succeeded yet. Mr. Freeman tried the ride on the 
 mare to the Land's-End point, but the rider was preserved. Now 
 he was completely in their power, but they were puzzled what to do 
 with him. Alrina had been removed out of his way again, and the 
 secret of his being there had been kept from her, but the boy knew 
 it. He was the first who discovered him, when he was lying in- 
 sensible under the garden wall. The boy was useful to them, but 
 they feared him ; for he knew too much, and, with all their 
 shrewdness, they could not fathom him. He might betray them any 
 day. He knew enough of their secrets ; and, although he knew 
 nothing criminal against them, he was a check upon them,— otherwise 
 Cooper would not have hesitated to get rid of their troublesome 
 visitor very quickly. Mr. Freeman, too, might have got rid of him 
 by allowing him to perish when they found him outside the garden 
 wall, wounded ; but both the woman and the boy would have pro- 
 cured medical aid, if he had not used his utmost skill in restoring 
 him, — and this would not have suited Mr. Freeman at all just at 
 that time and in that place ; so he used his utmost skill, and cured 
 him, and there he lay a prisoner still. 
 
 That unfortunate girl, before mentioned, had been a source of 
 profit to them all, notwithstanding her infirmity. Cooper and his 
 wife had had her in their keeping from her infancy. The neighbours 
 thought she was their own child ; but they always called her their 
 niece, and the poor girl was pitied for her dreadful calamity, and for 
 the unkindness with which most people knew she was treated. 
 
 At stated periods, Miss Freeman would go to Ashley Hall, Or 
 wherever Mrs. Courland happened to be, and work upon her fears, 
 as she best knew how ; for Miss Freeman was a slarewd and cunning 
 woman, and the best suited of the party for an exjjedition of this 
 kind. And the dread of her husband's knowing her secret, generally 
 induced Mrs. Courland to comply with the exorbitant demands made 
 upon her. She had been applied to for a large sum, but without 
 effect, for she candidly told them that she had not the money. This 
 did not satisfy them. They wanted a large sum for a particular 
 purpose, and they might not be able to come again for some time. 
 They did not believe Mrs. Courland's statement, that she had not 
 the money ; and, in order to terrify her into compliance, the girl was 
 brought and left on her hands, as we have seen. 
 
 A tender chord was struck in the heart of Mrs. Courland by that 
 look of penitence and sorrow which the i)Oor afflicted girl put on, 
 when she found that she had injured one who bore the puin without 
 resentment. When the poor girl dropped on her knees, and gavo
 
 120 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII, 
 
 vent to her feelings by a gush of tears, the lady yearned towards 
 her, and, looking at her with compassion, she said, " Yes, it may be 
 so;" — and, from that moment, she made up her mind to keep the 
 poor creature with her, and teach her all she was capable of learning. 
 She would, by this, be preserving the girl from the ill-treatment 
 which she saw by her countenance and manner whilst the woman 
 was in the room she had evidently been subject to, and she would 
 also, by this act, save herself from the continual annoyance of this 
 woman's visits and importunity. She might keep this poor girl as a 
 dependant, and account for her presence there, by saying that she 
 came into the garden through the little private door from the lane, 
 and fell on her knees in a supplicating attitude, which she (Mrs. 
 Courland) understood to mean, " Take care of me," — and she had 
 taken care of her, out of compassion. This was, in fact, true, as 
 far as it went ; and of course the girl hei'self could not betray her. 
 So, instead of concealing the girl in the Httle inner room, as she had 
 intended, she sent for her niece and told her the tale. 
 
 It seemed so romantic, that Miss Morley was delighted, and amused 
 herself by trying to talk to the girl by signs, which she soon found 
 she understood with remarkable qiiickness ; for, in all but the power 
 of speech and hearing, she was shrewd and intelligent. This was a 
 new occupation for Mrs. Courland ; it opened out a new life to her; 
 it relieved her mind from the anxieties which had almost over- 
 whelmed her before. 
 
 Her husband might come now, — she was not afraid of the tales of 
 her persecutors. She knew the worst, and was no longer harassed by 
 suspense. She could tell him as much or as little as she pleased, — her 
 silent protege could not enlighten him further ; and the people she 
 so much dreaded before, she would not admit to her presence again. 
 
 A suitable wardrobe was procured for the delighted girl ; and 
 Julia, assisted by Mrs. Courland's own attendant, succeeded in 
 making her look (|uite presentable in a short time. They were very 
 much amused at her utter astonishment, when she looked at herself 
 in the glass, after they had di-essed her and arranged her hair, 
 according to the " mode," — she could not make it out at all. She 
 looked into the glass and smiled, as if pleased with the change, and 
 then looked round, as if trying to find her former self. They then 
 proceeded to teach her how to conduct herself in keeping with her 
 dress, especially in the etiquette of eating and drinking among well- 
 bred people ; and it was astonishing, how soon she learned all they 
 wished to teach her. The next puzzle was to find a name for her ; 
 and, as she seemed remarkably fond of flowers, they called her 
 " Flora ;" — not that it made any difference to her, poor girl, whether 
 she had a name or not ; but it enabled her kind friends to designate 
 her the better when speaking of her.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 121 
 
 Mr. Morley and Josiah, in the meantime, had effected an entrance 
 into the deserted house, through the window in the end, which 
 entered into the bedroom on the ground floor. One glance sufiiced 
 to convince Mr. Morley that this was the house, — he had heard it 
 described so often by his father. There were dark marks on the 
 floor still, and the bed was blood-stained, although time had softened 
 it down into a faint tinge only. 
 
 That bed appeared never to have been touched since that fatal 
 night, except to remove the dead body of the murdered man from it ; 
 and the other rooms also seemed as if they had been lately occupied, 
 except that everything was covered with dust and cobwebs, and the 
 rats and mice had made sad inroads into the bed-curtains and 
 everything that they could convert into food, or make an impression 
 on with their sharp teeth. An old rat came out of one of the bed- 
 rooms to meet them as they mounted the stairs, and seemed astonished 
 and indignant at the intrusion ; but when he saw that the intruders 
 were not to be daunted by looks of defiance, he turned and scampered 
 back again to his old quarters between the blankets. The beds had 
 remained as they were when the fugitives left ; and on turning down 
 the covering of the bed to which the rat had directed its course, 
 Josiah discovered a nest of young rats comfortably settled. They 
 soon scampered off, however, and, in their retreat, roused others ; 
 and there was a precious noise through the house, as the inmates 
 rattled downstairs. No wonder that the house had the name of 
 being haunted. These noises had been heard before, no doubt, when 
 some daring thief had attempted to get in to rob it ; and their super- 
 stitious fears preserved the house and its contents from invasion. It 
 was very easy to account for the last occupiers having left all things 
 as they were ; for they were, no doubt, glad to get away as soon as 
 possible, after they had thrown the scent off from themselves by 
 accusing another ; and Mr. Morley's money, which they must have 
 taken with them, was amply sufficient to compensate them for the 
 loss of the house and furniture, and to provide them with all they 
 would require for a very long time. 
 
 The rooms were all in the same state. Some of the drawers and 
 cupboards were partially open, while others were locked, but the 
 keys had been left in them. Everything betokened a hasty flight. 
 In some of the drawers were found a few articles of clothing, both 
 male and female ; but these were moth-eaten and discoloured. There 
 were no papers of any kind to serve as a clue to the discovery of 
 the parties. 
 
 In searching one of the drawers in what appeared to have been 
 the bedroom of a female, Josiah found a gold earring, of a peculiar 
 pattern, with a small diamond in the drop end of it. This he put 
 into his pocket, with the intention of giving it to the dumb girl, to
 
 122 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 
 
 amuse her ; for all the household, at Ashley Hall, had already begun 
 to take an interest in her, and she was getting quite at home with 
 them, and familiar with every part of the house, and she could now 
 make herself understood, without much difficulty. Mr. Morley 
 thought it was very strange that such a valuable ornament should 
 be found in such a house. Those earrings, however, might have 
 been a present from some rich lady for services performed. The 
 other earring might have been lost ; or this may have been a stray 
 one, taken in a hurry, among other trinkets, which the owners of 
 that house might have appropriated to themselves from time to 
 time, when they found an opportunity ; for it was evident, from the 
 circumstances that had occurred in connection with that murder, 
 that plunder was their principal object. 
 
 When Josiah gave Flora the ornament in the evening, she looked 
 at it at first with pleasure, and thanked the donor in her way. She 
 then took it into another part of the room, and examined it more 
 minutely, and admired every part of it. At last she gave a start, and 
 her countenance became overclouded with an expression of terror 
 and pain. This w^as in the servants' hall. And, running up to 
 Josiah, she became quite outrageous, pointing to the ornament as if 
 in anger ; and then, making a sign, as if she thought it had come 
 from a long way off, she threw it on the floor, and would have 
 stamped on it, had not Josiah snatched it up. They could not at all 
 understand what she meant. Josiah was about to put the eaning 
 into his pocket again, when she snatched it out of his hand, and ran 
 out of the room. Nothing more Avas heard or seen of the ornament ; 
 and so they supposed she had thrown it away or destroyed it. 
 
 Mr. Morley was now beginning to feel uneasy about his brother ; 
 for he had heard from his friend Fowler twice, and in both letters 
 he said he had seen nothing of Frederick. So Mr. Morley determined 
 to return to Cornwall again without delay. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVin. 
 
 BY DOING A LITTLE WRONG, A GREAT GOOD IS ACCOMPLISHED 
 IN THE END. 
 
 Frederick Morlet's state of mind can better be imagined than 
 described, at finding himself a prisoner in the house which he 
 intended to have entered as the bold deliverer of his beloved Alrina, 
 who Avas, perhaps, by this time on her voyage to America. The boy 
 continued to attend upon him, and he was beginning, Morley thought, 
 to take an interest in him, and to pity his position ; for Frederick,
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 123 
 
 who was now getting strong again, had proposed taking him into his 
 service, — at which he seemed pleased, although he did not say 
 whether he would accept the offer or not. Cunning boy ! he knew 
 very well that he was watched closely by Cooper and his wife. 
 
 " Wlaat the devil were you and that chap whispering about ? " 
 said Cooper to the boy, one day, when the latter came down from 
 attending on the invalid. 
 
 " If your ears had been long enough you would have heard," 
 replied the boy, in his usual saucy way. 
 
 "Come, none of that!" said the man. "I wish 'The Maister' 
 would come and take him off, or give the orders what to do with 
 him ; for I don't like this shill-i-shall-i game." 
 
 " Nor I," said the boy ; " I'm tired too with this work. I'd rather 
 be out than here tending 'pon the sick, like a maid. I tell 'ee what 
 I'd do, ef I wor you, Cap'n, — I'd give'n the run of the cellars." 
 
 " Wliat's the good of that, you fool ? " replied Cooper, looking as 
 if a bright thought had struck him all at once. 
 
 " Why, I'll tell 'ee," said the boy, coming closer to the man, and 
 whispering in his ear, — " he'd be starved to death, or else he'd run 
 his head agen the walls and batter his brains out." 
 
 " You young rascal ! " exclaimed Cooper, looking at the same 
 time more pleased than he intended to look ; " you don't think I'd 
 treat the young fellow like that, do 'ee? He never did any harm 
 to me. If ' The Maister ' ha' got a mind to do it, he naay, but I 
 sha'n't." 
 
 " You're turned chickenhearted all at once," said the boy. " I 
 tell 'ee, — I don't like to be shut in here all day, when a turn of the 
 key in the cellar-door would settle it all, and give me my liberty 
 once more ; and I tell 'ee, Caj^'n, ef you don't like to do et, give me 
 the key of the cellar, and I'll put 'n in there this very night, and 
 nobody will be the wiser." 
 
 This was what Capt. Cooper would like to have done days ago ; 
 but he feared a betrayal on the part of the boy ; but now that the 
 young rascal, who was the acknowledged protege of Mr. Freeman, 
 had proposed it himself, he thought he might avail himself of the 
 opportunity, and his friend would thank him when it was all over, 
 and he should be very glad himself to get rid of an enemy so 
 formidable. These were his thoughts and reflections. Why he made 
 them, or what reason either of them had for their antipatliy to this 
 young man, did not appear. That they had this antipathy was very 
 evident, — and that their wish to get rid of him was about to be 
 accomplished, was now vividly apparent to the mind of Capt. Cooper 
 without the possibility of any blame being attached to him. lie 
 had sufScient control over his feelings, however, to prevent his 
 showing the real pleasure it gave him, to the boy ; but he stipulated
 
 124 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 that, to prevent an escape, he should himself be present to unlock 
 the door, and ]>ut the prisoner into this safe stronghold. 
 
 The boy then went back to the prisoner, and told him that Capt, 
 Cooper had granted permission for him to take a little exercise on 
 the beach that evening ; at which Morley was much pleased, for he 
 felt almost suffocated, shut up in a close room for so long a time. 
 AnyAvhere, he thought, was better than that. So, when the boy 
 came in the evening to let him out, he almost leaped with joy. At 
 the bottom of the stairs they were joined by CoojDer, and the three 
 Avent down another flight of steps, which seemed to Morley dark and 
 dismal. The boy whispered to him that he would soon be in the 
 open air, but that it was necessary they should reach it by a 
 circuitous route. The man also spoke kindly to him ; and down 
 they went, till they came to a door, which the man unlocked, — and, 
 in his eagerness to secure his prey, he gave his prisoner a push, 
 •which sent him headlong down another flight of steps. 
 
 The sudden fall stmmed Morley for a few minutes ; but he soon 
 recovered himself, and, on looking round, he found that he was in 
 what seemed to him to be a dark dungeon. This was worse than 
 all. The boy had betrayed him ! This he was now convinced of, and 
 he should be left there in that dark cold dungeon to perish. He 
 groped his way round the place as well as he could, and felt that the 
 walls were damp. He stumbled over some casks and boxes, as he went 
 cautiously along ; and by degrees, as his eyes became accustomed to 
 the darkness, he could see that he was in an imderground cellar, not 
 very large nor very high ; but in going roimd by the wall, he found 
 that this small cellar communicated with a large one, which he 
 groped his way into, through a small archway. Here he sank doAvn 
 on the floor from sheer exhaustion, and began to reflect on his 
 situation. 
 
 Everything seemed going against him. It was evident, from the 
 way in which the man had pxxshed him down the stairs, that he was 
 anxious to get rid of him, and would perhaps resort to some speedy 
 way of doing so ; and he feared and believed the boy was in league 
 Avith him. Why Mr. Freeman should have taken such a dislike to 
 him he could not imagine, for he had never seen him that he was 
 aware of. Altogether, it was a mystery which he could not under- 
 stand ; so he gave himself up to despair, and made up his mind that 
 he would never be permitted to leave that place again. Whether 
 his death would be a lingering one of starvation, or whether it would 
 be a quick one by assassination, he could not of course tell ; — he 
 almost wished it might be the latter, for the suspense was dreadful. 
 
 Hour after hour passed away, and there he sat brooding over his 
 unhappy fate, but no one came to end his woes. Night came on, — 
 he could feel it although he could not see it, for all was cold and
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 125 
 
 dark and dreary around him. The damp was coming out from the 
 walls, and he felt a chill pass through his frame ; for he was still 
 weak from his late illness. Exhausted nature was giving way, and 
 sleep was falling on him. He tried to keep awake ; for he feared 
 that if he slept in that place he should never wake again. He got 
 up and tried to rouse himself and keep awake by walking to and 
 fro, but it was of no use. His thoughts were terrible. It was better 
 to suffer death than continue in that state of awful suspense. He 
 sat down at last on an empty box, and yielded to that oblivion which 
 soothes and invigorates the frame, while it relieves the mind from 
 harrowing and disagreeable thoughts and feelings. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 MRS. BROWN AND MRS. TRENOW INDULGE IN A CROOM o' CHAT, WHILE 
 CAp'n TRENOW GIVES SOME SAGE ADVICE IN ANOTHER QUARTER. 
 
 The gossips of St. Just were spared the necessity of inventing idle 
 tales to keep conversation alive, — a practice so prevalent in small 
 communities, where the events that happen in everyday life are 
 generally so uninteresting and monotonous. Events had happened 
 within the last few months which gave ample scope to the most 
 inveterate and accomplished gossip for exercising the art of con- 
 versation to the fullest extent, and yet be most truthful ; although 
 they still had the power of embellishing the facts according to their 
 own lively fancy and vivid imagination. They could talk of '' The 
 Maister" now with the utmost freedom ; for he was no longer in the 
 neighbourhood to pry into their secrets, and read their thoughts, and 
 ill- wish them for talking of him and his doings. And, as a reservoir 
 of water that has broken through the embankment, after having 
 been pent up till it was full almost to overflowing, rushes with greater 
 force on its first outburst, — or the pent-up steam in a mighty engine 
 when suddenly let loose, — so did the long-restrained tongues of the 
 gossips of St. Just now pour out, to their hearts' content, their secret 
 spleen and antipathy to their dangerous and dreaded neighbour, 
 Mr. Freeman. There was not a house in which some scandal was 
 not going on continually ; — and this was not confined to the women, 
 the men being ecjually intent on " giving the devil his due," as they 
 termed it. 
 
 Business was brisk at the "Commercial" Inn. The afternoons 
 were generally devoted to a gossip over a dish of tea and a drop of 
 " comfort," between Mrs. Brown and a few of her intimate female
 
 126 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 friends, after which the kitchen was occupied until a late hour by 
 the men, who would drink a double quantity of beer if anyone could 
 be foiind to amuse them by relating some fresh tale. 
 
 The chair in which INIr, Freeman had been accustomed to sit in 
 the chimney-corner, was generally left unoccifpied by a seeming 
 tacit consent, the better to enable the speaker for tlic time being to 
 designate the person of whom he was speaking, without mentioning 
 any name, by simply nodding his head towards the vacant chair ; — 
 for they were, even now, afraid that "The Maister" might be 
 listening to them in secret. 
 
 Of all her female acquaintances, Mrs. Brown preferred INIrs. Trenow 
 for a quiet gossip, because, living very near " The Maister's" house, 
 and having been on intimate terms of friendship with both Alrina 
 and Alice Ann, she could impart as well as receive information. 
 
 The whole neighbourhood was teeming with news. Events of the 
 most thrilling interest were happening every hour — and, being told 
 and retold from house to house, they lost nothing in their transit — 
 when, one afternoon, Mrs. Trenow paid her accustomed visit to her 
 old friend Mrs. Brown, whom she fortunately found alone, with the 
 exception of her husband, who was sitting in the chimney-corner, 
 thinking of nothing, and whistling for want of thought. 
 
 As she entered, Mrs. Trenow closed the door after her, and looked 
 round the room in a mysterious manner, much to Mrs. Brown's 
 surprise, — for they had lately fallen into the habit of discussing 
 their subject rather more openly, in the conscious security of the 
 absence of the evil-eye. 
 
 " Arrah, then ! " exclaimed Mrs. Brown, smiling; "the Franch 
 are landed sure nuf now, then, I s'pose. Ef so, we'll put up a red 
 coat to John Brown, and stick 'n out afore the door to frighten 
 them away." 
 
 "I don't knaw nothen' 'bout the Franch, not I," replied Mrs. 
 Trenow, drawing her chair as close to the landlady as she could, and 
 bringing her face almost close to the ear of her friend ; " but he's 
 come back, cheeld vean ! " 
 
 "Who's come back?" asked ]\Irs. Brown, — in a tone, however, 
 ■which seemed to require no answer. 
 
 " I wor setten' up brave an' late, doen a bit of menden'," continued 
 Mrs. Trenow, — " for, what with one body an' another comin' in 
 chatting, I haan't done much by day lately — when I heard footsteps 
 outside, and a woman's voice, complaining of a long walk, and how 
 glad she was to get home once more. So, after they were gone by, 
 I opened the door an' looked out, an' there I seed a man an' a woman. 
 It was bright moonlight, you knaw, — an' who shud they be, but 
 ' The Maister' and Miss Reeney. I cud see them so plain as I can 
 see you now, as they went in through the little gate. Alice Ann
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 127 
 
 was sent for again to-day, an' there they are. Where Miss Freeman 
 es I caan't tell. They came back in a vessel, the maid said, an' wor 
 oiit a bra' while. Where they've b'en to she ciidn't tell, nor Miss 
 Reeney neither, I b'lieve, for she wor kept fine an' close ; but I shall 
 knaw more another time, — Alice Ann cudn't stop more than a 
 minute." 
 
 " Well, I'm glad they're come back, for one thing," said Mrs. 
 Bro-\vn — " an' that's for the sake of Miss Reeney, poor young lady ; 
 I b'lieve she's dragged about more than she do like." 
 
 " Iss fie ! " replied Mrs. Trenow, whispering into Mrs. Brown's ear 
 again ; "she's grieving about that young chap, so Alice Ann do say. 
 She wor took away in the night, you knaw, an' never so much as 
 wished 'n well ; an' now she don't knaw where aw es, frail she ha' 
 sent two letters to un ; and she do b'lieve he's dead, for she haan't 
 had a single line from him, evar sence he have b'en gone. An' our 
 'Siah' said that he wor mad after har ; an' ef he's alive he wud ha' 
 found har somehow, — that's my b'lief." 
 
 " Well, all I can say es," chimed in Mrs. Brown, " that I'm sorry 
 for them both. I took a mighty fancy to that young man. 'Tes 
 whisht ; but I caan't think that he's dead at all. But what's become 
 of 'Siah?" 
 
 " Here ! " exclaimed that individual, in a stentorian voice, which 
 made the two friends jump from their seats, as he stalked into the 
 room. " Wliy, I might ha' walked off weth your poor dear husband, 
 Mrs. Brown, and you wud nevar ha' know'd et ; for I was standen' 
 behind your backs a bra' bit afore I spok', an' you nevar heard or 
 seed me." 
 
 " No, sure," said his mother ; " we wor just then spaiken' about 
 you and your young master ; — why, where have 'ee b'en, Siah ; we 
 thof t you wor lost, but I'm glad you're come back, for more reasons 
 than one. Miss Reeney will be more contenteder now, — I s'pose 
 he'll make et up now, Siah. Ef they're so mazed about one t'other 
 as you do say, why the sooner they're married the better." 
 
 " Married ! " exclaimed Josiah ; " I wish they cud be, poor souls ; 
 but where es aw, says you ? " 
 
 " Where es aw ! " asked both the women in a breath ; " why, come 
 homo weth you, I s'pose, — where else shud aw be ? " 
 
 " No fie," replied Josiah, in a more serious tone ; " I wish aw wor. 
 He started from Ashley Hall a fortnight ago, or more, an' said he 
 wor comin' down here for to sarch for somebody, an' we thoft for to 
 find om here. Maister Morley, hes brother, es over to Leeftenant 
 Fowler's. Mr. Frederick not here ! that's whisht, thon. What core 
 to bill es f e-a-ther this week, mother ? " 
 
 "He'll be home from bal about six o'clock to-night," replied 
 Mrs. Trenow.
 
 128 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 " I'll have a glass o' brandy toddy, ef you plaise, Mrs, Brown, an' 
 then go home to ax fe-a-ther's advice. He ded used to have brave 
 thofts al)out things." 
 
 Captain Trenow was very glad to see his son returned safe and 
 sound ; for, as he had never been a great traveller himself, he could 
 not understand the pleasure to be derived from locomotion and 
 change of scene. " I can get along brave here," he would say, 
 " where I do knaw everybody ; but how I should get along among 
 strangers I caan't tell. I shud be in a whisht porr sometimes, I 
 reckon." 
 
 But notwithstanding his father's modest opinion of himself, Josiah 
 held his knowledge and shrewdness in high estimation ; so he related 
 to his parent the whole of his adventures, from the time he left 
 home until his return, and then asked his advice upon the whole — 
 not only as to his own course, but as to the course he Avould advise 
 his patron Mr. Morley to pursue, and especially as to the search it 
 seemed incumbent on them to make after his young master. 
 
 " I'll tell 'ee, boy," said Captain Trenow, after he had heard his 
 son's story, and had ruminated over it for some minutes, — " 'tes like 
 as this here, you knaw — he's kidnapped, that's what he es !" 
 
 " Hoidd your tongue, do," replied his son : " that's nonsense. ^Tiy, 
 who wud kidnap he, I shud like to knaw. What good Avud that do 
 to anybody ? What do anybody knaw about he, for to go for to 
 kidnap 'n ? No, no, ould man ; touch your pipe a bit. They'd be 
 glad for to bring om back agen, I reckon ; for he's brave an' heavy, 
 mon. No, he's no more kidnapped than you are ; he's fell in a shaft, 
 more likely." 
 
 " Like enough ! like enough ! " replied the father, seriously ; " we 
 must sarch, boy, — come ! " And the kind-hearted miner rose at 
 once, and took his hat with the intention of proceeding at once to 
 search and drag every open shaft in the neighbourhood. But Josiah 
 thought they had better see Mr. Morley first, and inform him that 
 no tidings of his brother could be obtained at St. Just or the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 After a good supper, therefore, the two men started for Tol-pedn- 
 Pen^vith, where they arrived just as the two gentlemen were about 
 to retire for the night. 
 
 ]Mr. Morley was much concerned when he found that his brother 
 had not been seen or heard of at St. Just ; for he had fully made up 
 his mind that he would visit that place first in his search after the girl 
 he seemed so devotedly attached to ; and would naturally endeavour 
 to trace the fugitives, in their joui-ney from thence round the sea- 
 coast, to the solitary house in which Alrina said, in her letter, she 
 was then confined. 
 
 " I am inclined to think," said he, at length, after a little
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 129 
 
 consideration, " that Captain Trenow's conjecture may be true, and 
 that my brother has been treacherously entrapped by some lawless 
 band of ruffians, for the sake of gain. I scarcely believe he is 
 murdered, — Cornishmen, from what I have heard of them, are not 
 such cold-blooded villains as that, — and I am inclined to hope and 
 believe that he has not fallen into a shaft ; but wherever he is he 
 must be found." 
 
 " With the morning's dawn," said Lieut. Fowler, " vre must com- 
 mence the search all along the coast, from the Land's-End to Truro. 
 He was last seen at the latter place, you say ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. Morley ; " we traced him there, but could gain 
 no further intelligence of him." 
 
 " If Captain Trenow and Josiah can go with us," said the lieutenant, 
 " I think they will be of greater service than my own men ; for, in 
 the first place, I shouldn't like to take so many of us off duty, and, 
 in the next place, I think these two strong miners will be able to 
 assist us in exploring the shafts in our way, and may tend to prevent 
 any suspicion being attached to our search ; whereas, a party of my 
 men searching and exploring the coast, would attract suspicion at 
 once, and put the whole neighbourhood on their guard." 
 
 Captain Trenow and Josiah readily consented to accompany the 
 two gentlemen ; and, after a few hours' sleep, and a hearty breakfast, 
 they started on their expedition. 
 
 For two whole days they searched unceasingly, exploring every 
 shaft they came near, — the two miners having brought ropes, by 
 which one of them was frequently lowered down, to search for their 
 young friend in the bowels of the earth. Houses were entered and 
 searched thoroughly, and all manner of questions asked of the 
 inmates, very much to the astonishment and terror of some of them, 
 but all to no purpose. Yet on they went, searching still, and searching 
 everywhere. At length, towards the end of the third day, they arrived 
 at a solitary spot, which attracted the attention of Mr. Morley. It 
 was a house surrounded by high walls on every side. 
 
 " This," he exclaimed, " appears to answer the description given 
 in that letter, better than any place we have seen yet I Courage, 
 my comrades ! we have found the spot at last." 
 
 As they approached the outer door of the garden, they saw in a 
 ditch by the side of the wall, the carcase of a dead horse, on which 
 the crows were feeding so ravenously that they did not perceive the 
 intruders until they were almost close upon them, when they rose in 
 a cloud that almost darkened the sky, making a discordant noise, 
 and flapping the air with their wdngs, which was heard distinctly 
 until they settled down again in a neighbouring field to wait a 
 favourable opportunity to return again to the feast from which they 
 had been so suddenly dispersed.
 
 130 THE WIZAKD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 Here was the spot, then, wherein, if not Frederick Morlcy, they 
 felt pretty certain his loved Alrina was confined ; and it should go 
 hard, they said, if a clear discharge was not made of all prisoners 
 inside, whoever or whatever they might be. Lieut. Fowler and Mr. 
 Morley were armed with a brace of pistols each, while Capt. Trenow 
 and his son had only their stout cudgels to depend upon. 
 
 " Never mind," said Capt. TrenoAV ; "a stout cudgel and a strong 
 arm ha' beat a good many men afore now, and may again ; — I arn't 
 afeard ; art thee, 'Siah boy ? " 
 
 " No fie," said Josiah, flourishing his cudgel round his head, and 
 grinding his teeth with energetic determination ; '' I'll scat them all 
 abroad 'pon the planchen' ef I do come nigh them." And down 
 came the end of the cudgel on a log of wood near him, with such a 
 crash, that the crows were frightened once more, and rose like a 
 rushing mighty wind, and settled down again one field further off. 
 
 Whether it was the noise of the crows, or the sound of Josiah's 
 cudgel on the log of wood, or a sudden impulse of female curiosity 
 to see who the strangers were, the door was opened from the inside 
 just at that moment, and a female head peeped out, and as suddenly 
 Josiah sprang at the door, pushing it wide open, and asked as 
 deliberately as he could under the circiimstances, " ef the lady 
 wanted to buy a hoss ? " 
 
 " A hoss ! " said the woman, taken quite by surprise ; " no, — how 
 ded 'ee think so ? " 
 
 " Why, the crows are getten' fat upon the hoss you lost last week, 
 and so I thoft you'd be Avanten' another," replied Josiah, with the 
 greatest coolness. 
 
 " Oh ! that wasn't ours," said the woman, taken off her guard 
 by the coolness of Josiah, — " that belonged to a young gentleman 
 that " 
 
 " Hold your jaw and bar the door, and be d d to you ! " 
 
 exclaimed a man, coming out of the house in a rage. 
 
 " This looks suspicious and businesslike," said Lieut. Fowler, as 
 he rushed into the garden after Josiah, followed by their two com- 
 panions. The woman had disappeared at the first rush, but they 
 were met midway between the door of the house and the outer door 
 of the garden, by a rough, strong-built man, who seemed half sailor 
 and half miner by his dress. 
 
 "What the devU do you want here ? " said he, addressing Lieut. 
 
 Fowler, who was now the foremost of the party. " I'm d d if 
 
 I don't see light through you in about two twos." And he drew a 
 pistol from a side-pocket, and presented it at the lieutenant's breast. 
 
 " Two can play at that game," exclaimed Fowler, drawing a pistol 
 from his breast-pocket. 
 
 " And three ! " cried Mr. Morley, drawing his pistol also.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 131 
 
 " Now, I'll tell 'ee, soas," said Capt. Trenow, putting his cudgel 
 very coolly between the parties, and addressing the stranger on whom 
 they had intruded, — " 'tes like as this here, you knaw ; two to one 
 es brave odds, — the one might be killed — sure to be, I s'pose. Ef 
 you've got any more of your sort inside, comrade, bring them out 
 and then we'll fight fe-ar ; or, ef you haan't got no backers for to 
 fight, why lev es have a croom o' chat. Now, I've done, soas ; spaik 
 the next who will. As for fighten, I can stand a bra' tussle ; but as 
 for spaiken, I arn't wuth much." 
 
 No backers — as Capt. Trenow called them — came out ; and, as the 
 occupant of the house sew that he was left so sadly in the minority, 
 and felt, no doubt, that he had been the first aggressor, by presenting 
 his pistol at the breast of a king's ofiicer, as he knew Lieut. Fowler 
 to be by his dress, he began to make apologies as best he could, very 
 much to the amusement of Capt. Trenow, who really seemed to be 
 the coolest of the party, and, like a good and experienced general, 
 was equal to the occasion, and could by his coolness and shrewd 
 common sense, persuade where he could not command. And he 
 very soon led the way into the house, as if he had been the owner 
 of it, and was followed by all the party. 
 
 As resistance was quite out of the question, against four ai-med 
 men, and one of them a king's officer in authority, Capt. Cooper 
 made a virtue of necessity, and became very civil and obsequious. 
 
 What the object of this visit was he was puzzled to imagine. If it 
 was in search of contraband goods he was safe ; for they had all 
 been disposed of long ago. He was not left long in suspense, 
 however ; for Mr. Morley was too impatient to find his brother to 
 delay his enquiries, and he thought the bolder he did so, the better. 
 
 " We are in search of a gentleman," said he, " whom we have 
 traced almost to your door. If he is here you had better say so at 
 once, and produce him. If you decline, we shall proceed in our 
 search ; and if we find him, after a denial by you, the consequences 
 may be serious to you and your household. If, on the other hand, 
 you tell us honestly where he is, and jiroduce him, if in your power, 
 you have nothing to fear." 
 
 " If you will tell me the name of the gentleman," replied Cooper, 
 cautiously, " I will inform you if I have seen him or not. I am 
 accustomed to see gentlemen here on business often. But this much 
 I will tell you, that unfortunately at present the only inmates of my 
 house are myself and my wife ; otherwise, perhaps you would not 
 so easily have entered." 
 
 " l^he name of the gentleman we are in search of is Mr. Frederick 
 Morley," said the interrogator. " Have you seen him ? " 
 
 The mention of that name seemed to cause the smuggler to start 
 involuntarily ; but he soon recovered his fornaer coolness and said,
 
 132 THE wizAiin or wkst PENwrni. 
 
 " I have no sucli person licre ; but, to satisfy yourselves, you are at 
 full liberty to searcli my house ; I will get the keys." And he left 
 the room in searcli of his wife, who was not far o£E ; and as he left 
 the room, Josiah slid out after him imperceived, and saw him .crive 
 a key to his wife, instead of taking any from her, and whisper 
 something in her ear ; so he determined to watch below while the 
 others went upstairs. He had hid himself behind a door in a dark 
 passage, from whence he watched the momentary interview between 
 Captain Cooper and his wife, unperceived by them ; and when 
 Cooper returned to the party in the front room Josiah took off his 
 shoes and followed Mrs. Cooper stealthily doAvn some dark stone 
 steps. It was so dark that even she was obliged to grope her way 
 down. Once or twice she stopped and turned round and listened as 
 if she fancied she heard someone following her ; but Josiah was 
 accustomed to grope his way in the dark underground, and could, 
 therefore, perhaps, see better than she could under present circum- 
 stances ; so he continued to dodge her footsteps, until she arrived at 
 a small secret door in the wall on the right hand, which was so 
 artfully concealed that a stranger, even with a lamp in his hand, 
 would most likely pass it, believing it a part of the wall itself. Mrs. 
 Cooper had evidently found the door by counting the steps as she 
 descended, and she now groped about with her hand to find the key- 
 hole, which she was not long in doing, for she had evidently 
 performed the feat many times before. When she had opened the 
 door Josiah heard her go down some more steps, into what he thought 
 a dungeon or vault ; and he listened at the door, which she had left 
 ajar. When she was at the bottom of the steps, he heard her call 
 to someone in a low whisper, saying, " Sir ! sir ! where are you ? 
 follow me and I'll save you. Come quickly ! " 
 
 Josiah now determined at all risks to follow the woman, and see 
 the end of it and rescue the prisoner if possible ; for he now firmly 
 believed that his young master was incarcerated here, and that it 
 was to him the woman was calling, perhaps Avith the intention of 
 murdering him, or getting rid of him in some way; so he put on his 
 shoes again and approached the spot fi-om whence the woman's voice 
 proceeded. She evidently took him for some other person, and, 
 seizing him by the hand, she dragged him along after her through 
 the darkness, until they heard the sea dashing against the rocks, 
 when she said in a hurried and agitated manner, — 
 
 '* The smugglers are seeking your life ; — fly if you would be saved. 
 At the end of this passage you will find an outlet. Eun for your 
 life ! the smugglers are after you ! Fly ! fly ! " 
 
 The truth now flashed on the mind of Josiah, and he saw exactly 
 how matters stood. It was evident that someone, most probably his 
 young master, was confined in that dungeon, and, fearing detection,
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 133 
 
 she had been sent to convey the prisoner away, and, by frightening 
 him, and pointing out a way of escape, induce him to run into the 
 sea over the rocks, at the entrance to the cavern, which perhaps 
 communicated with this dungeon, or, it might be, to jump over a 
 precipice. 
 
 She had evidently mistaken Josiah, in the dark, for the prisoner, 
 and he was determined to turn the tables on her ; so, seizing her by 
 the wrist in his powerful grasp, he exclaimed, in a stentorian voice 
 which struck terror into the affrighted woman, and made her sink 
 on the groimd as if she had been struck by a thunderbolt, — 
 
 " You cold-blooded old hag ! tell me who you ha' got here locked 
 up in this gashly old place, or else I'll carr' you where you wanted 
 me to run, an' throw 'ee into the sea, and hold your head under 
 water till you're so dead as a herren'." 
 
 " Oh ! sir," said she, gasping and writhing with the pain that 
 Josiah's strong hand was inflicting ; " it wasn't my doing, — 'twas 
 that boy ; he put the gentleman here." 
 
 " Come, come," said Josiah ; " no nonsense ! Was it Mr. Frederick 
 Morley or who was it ? " 
 
 " Oh ! sir," screamed the woman, " I b'lieve that was his name." 
 
 " Then where es he gone to ?" said Josiah. 
 
 " Oh ! sir," cried the woman ; " I'm afraid he must be dead." 
 
 " Dead !" exclaimed Josiah; "ef so, I'll break every bone in your 
 body, and your husband's too, and burn the house over your heads. 
 We must have a light and sarch." So saying, he dragged the woman 
 back towards the steps which led up to the dark passage, while she 
 continued to scream from the pain she was suffering ; for he did not 
 relax his grasp in the least. 
 
 When they had emerged on the main stairs again, Josiah flung the 
 door wide open that there might be no difficulty in finding it again, 
 and called out lustily for a light. 
 
 The woman's screams and Josiah's vociferous calls for a liglit, 
 reached the ears of the searchers upstairs, and they all ran down in 
 great alarm to enquire what had caused such a terrible commotion. 
 
 " He is here!" exclaimed Josiah, when his friends appeared; — 
 " bring a light quickly." 
 
 Captain Trenow had seen a lantern in the kitchen as they passed, 
 and, being accustomed to emergencies in his daily occupation as a 
 miner, he went back, and, lighting the candle, appeared again with 
 the lantern in his hand, before the others had recovered from their 
 surprise. 
 
 Captain Cooper at first put a bold front on it, and denied all 
 knowledge of the young gentleman, until he saw the cellar door wide 
 open and knew there was now no escape. lie then maintained a sidlen 
 silence, and preceded the party down tlio narrow steps into the cellar.
 
 134 THE WIZAHD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 It was deemed advisable to send him in first, coupled with Captain 
 Trenow, fearing treachery. Josiah still kept his hold on the woman. 
 
 On they went in double file, slowly and cautiously, searching 
 every nook and comer, looking behind old casks, and turning up old 
 canvass bags that lay about in comers ; but no trace of their missing 
 friend could be found. 
 
 Capt. Cooper now began to hold up his head again. It had 
 evidently turned out better than he expected, and he called his wife 
 a doating old fool, to tell such lies and deceive the gentlemen in 
 that way. They had searched the whole of his house and premises, 
 — and what more would they have ? He might complain, but he 
 wouldn't, he said. They naturally felt alarmed about the young 
 gentleman, — who Avould not ? He had no hesitation in telling them 
 that Mr. Freeman and his daughter Alrina had lodged at his house 
 for a few weeks, for change of air for the young lady, who was 
 delicate ; but they had left, and, he believed, had gone back to 
 St. Just. 
 
 What could they do, therefore, under the circumstances, but thank 
 Capt. Cooper for allowing them to search for their friend, and to 
 bid him adieu ? Josiah, however, still held his opinion that his 
 young master had been confined in this dungeon, and had been got 
 rid of somehow. He was not at all satisfied. He must have been 
 starved to death there, he said, and the rats might have eaten him, 
 and he believed they had. This idea, however, was not entertained 
 by the others of the party, although they knew not what else to think. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE TWO SISTERS PIERCED THROUGH THE HEART. 
 
 Our story now takes us back to Pendrea-house, where we left several 
 of its inmates ill at ease both in body and mind. For, as some 
 mighty warrior, who has borne the burden and heat of the day on 
 the battle-field, and received bravely many a thrust from the point 
 of a lance without flinching, when he retires to his couch after his 
 fatigues, is worried and tormented almost beyond endiu-ance by the 
 bite of a small mosquito, — so were the inmates of Pendrea-house — 
 one and all — disturbed and thrown out of their natural course, by 
 the sharp-pointed arrows of a certain little mischievous creature, 
 who is generally represented as a little innocent-looking, chubby- 
 faced boy, with tiny wings and a laughing eye. He had shot many 
 an arrow at Miss Pendray before, which merely grazed the surface
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 135 
 
 of her smooth delicate skin, and the wounds disappeared almost as 
 quickly as they had been inflicted, leaving scarcely a trace behind. 
 But now his arrow had pierced deeper, and caused a wound which 
 disturbed the peace of mind of this haughty beauty. Mr. Morley 
 had paid her great attention during the short time he had been in 
 the neighbourhood, and had given unmistakeable proofs of his 
 admiration of her, and she had been fascinated by his handsome 
 person and agreeable manners and conversation, and had met him 
 more than halfway, and displayed without disguise the interest she 
 took in him and the pleasure she felt in his society. Yet he never 
 once spoke to her on the subject nearest her heart, and had left the 
 neighbourhood abruptly, without seeing her or bidding her farewell ; 
 and now he had returned with Lieut. Fowler, and left again without 
 seeking an interview with her, or even calling at Pendrea-house. 
 She felt that she had been deceived by his attentions, and that he 
 was perhaps after all only trifling with her. This her proud haughty 
 spirit would not brook, and she tried to drive his image from her 
 thoughts, but she could not succeed ; for the more she tried to pluck 
 out the little barbed arrow that had already pierced her heart so 
 surely and sharply, the deeper did it penetrate, and the wound was 
 now becoming almost unbearable. 
 
 She tried to soothe her troubled mind, by taking her accustomed 
 walks along the clifEs, and sitting in solitary meditation on the bold 
 headlands, and watching the waves as they came surging and dashing 
 against the rocks beneath her feet. His image haunted her still, and 
 made her very miserable. She might now have sympathized with 
 her poor sufEering sister ; for she well knew the cause of her illness, 
 although her mother and her attendants attributed it to a different 
 cause ; but her proud haughty spirit would not stoop to condole or 
 sympathize with one who had so boldly accused her of unseemly 
 behaviour — even although that one was her only, and till now her 
 darling, sister. So the poor little innocent Blanche continued to 
 suffer in secret, having no one to whom she could confide her sad 
 tale. There was one consolation, however, which she possessed 
 unknown to anyone in her father's house except her favourite maid, 
 who was, as she termed it, " keeping company " with one of Lieut. 
 Fowler's men ; — this was a letter which Lieut. Fowler had contrived 
 to send her through this medium ; wherein he explained to her the 
 circumstances of his dismissal from the house, and the cause, — 
 reiterating his protestations of unalterable attachment, and his 
 determination to possess the object of his fond affection at all risks 
 and against all oj)position, if Blanche was as true and devoted to 
 him as he believed her to be. 
 
 This letter distressed while it consoled her ; for she now felt 
 in its fullest force that it was owing to her own weakness and
 
 186 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 persuasion, tbat Lieut. Fowler had incurred her father's displeasure, 
 and she felt also that she ought to sacrifice everything to exonerate 
 her generous and fondly devoted lover from the disgraceful suspicion 
 attached by her father to his conduct. She believed that her sister, 
 who mheritcd all her father's pride and aristocratic notions, had set 
 him against Lieut. Fowler, by relating with considerable exaggeration 
 their apparently clandestine meetings, which seemed no doubt, as she 
 had represented them, very reprehensible, and suificiently culpable 
 to justify her father in acting as he had done. 
 
 Blanche, therefore, thovight that, if she could find an opportunity 
 of speaking to him alone, and explaining the nature of their meetings, 
 which were not clandestine, as her sister very well knew, — for she 
 generally knew when and where they met, and was frequently asked 
 to join them, — and if she could at the same time explain to her 
 father that it was by her own persuasion, and at her earnest request, 
 that Lieut. Fowler had refrained from naming his intentions to him 
 earlier, he might at least be induced to alter the harsh opinion he 
 had formed of his former friend. This she determined she would 
 do ; — she would take all the blame on herself, to exonerate him 
 who was all in all to her, and who would, but for her, have 
 boldly and honourably asked her father's consent to their happiness 
 long ago. 
 
 Squire Pendray was very fond of his children, especially of his 
 little pet, the gentle Blanche, — indeed, no one could help liking 
 her. She possessed the good-natured simplicity and kindness of her 
 mother, and was beloved by the poor as well as the rich ; and many 
 a little act of charity did this gentle, loving, girl do for the poor and 
 needy, whose cottages she often visited in the course of her rambles. 
 
 Maud was kind and charitable to the poor also, and distiibuted 
 her bounties as freely and largely as her sister, and perhaps more 
 BO ; but her gifts were given with haughty pride, and the recipients 
 were made to feel their dependent inferiorit)^, by the manner in 
 which they were bestowed. It was not so vri th Blanche ;- — she gave 
 as if she were receiving a favour instead of bestomng one. She 
 conversed with the poor recipients of her bount}^, and freely entered 
 into all their little troubles, and sympathized with them as if she 
 were one of themselves ; and yet they never presumed on her con- 
 descension, but looked upon her almost as a being from another 
 world, come down to minister to their wants ; and so her gifts were 
 doubly valuable, and she was almost worshipped in the parish. 
 
 The squire was a shrewd man of the world, and was proud in the 
 enjoyment of his w-ealth and position, and happy in the possession 
 of two such lovely daughters ; and it was with feelings of the deepest 
 regret, that he saw them both pining away under the influence of 
 some secret malady of which he knew not the cause. The best
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 137 
 
 medical advice that could be procured was called in, but to no 
 purpose, — the doctors could do them no good whatever. At last, 
 when all their efforts had failed, Mrs. Pendray said to her husband 
 one night, when they were sitting alone in the dining-room, taking 
 their solitary supper, — 
 
 " I tell you what it is, squire, — those two girls are ill-wished, as 
 sure as you are sitting in that chair." 
 
 "■ Ill-wished ! nonsense ! " replied the sqiiire ; " who can have ill- 
 wished them, I should like to know ? What harm have those two 
 innocent girls done to anyone, to cause them to be ill-wished. No, 
 no, I can't believe it." 
 
 " Weil, whether you believe it or not," returned his wife, " I do, — 
 in fact I'm sure of it. What has happened to one may happen to 
 another, any time. There was Farmer Pollard's daughter, two years 
 ago, — she pined away, just as Blanche is doing now, and nothing 
 seemed to do her good until her father appUed to the conjuror." 
 
 " Yes, I remember that case," said the squire ; " and the conjuror 
 discovered that she was ill-wished by another young woman, through 
 jealousy. But that can't be the case with either of our daughters." 
 
 " There are many ways of ill-wishing, and many causes and 
 reasons for doing so," replied Mrs. Pendray. " I was talking with 
 Mrs. Pollard about it only yesterday, and she says that it may be 
 that someone has a grudge against you ; and so they may have ill- 
 wished our dear children out of revenge, knowing how dear they 
 are to us." 
 
 " If I thought that," said the squire, rising passionately, and pacing 
 the room, " I would horsewhij) the fellow within an inch of his life, 
 whoever he is ; — he should have some cause for his ill-will, at 
 any rate." 
 
 " You forget, my dear," replied his wife, " that you do not know 
 who the party is ; and I only know of one way by which you can 
 find out your enemy." 
 
 " And that is by going to the conjuror, I suppose," said the squire, 
 in a sarcastic tone. " I don't dispute his skill, for I have seen proofs 
 of it among our neighbours ; but I don't like the fellow, — and I 
 believe there are many of the same opinion as myself respecting 
 him, but they are afraid of him, and dare not speak their minds ; for 
 he has great power, and manages to know what is going on around 
 him, and even what is said about him, in a most unaccountable 
 manner ; but I tell you I don't like the fellow, and I wouldn't go 
 near liim if all my family were dying." 
 
 " Oh ! don't say that," said Mrs. Pendray, putting her handkerchief 
 to her eyes to wipe away the tears which were trickling fast down 
 her cheeks ; " you would not see our poor children pine away, and 
 do nothing to avert the calamity, — I'm sure you would not. Nothing
 
 138 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 Beems to relieve them ; — the doctors have given them up ; and now, 
 alas ! we have but one sad prospect before us. After all the love 
 and care we have bestowed upon them from their infancy, and the 
 many happy years we have devoted to our darling children, and 
 the pleasant future we looked forward to, it is very hard thus to be 
 deprived of them, and to see their strength failing them, and the 
 hand of death stealing over them in their prime, when one word 
 from their father would restore them, — yes, one sentence spoken by 
 their father, would restore them to their former health, and relieve 
 their parents from present grief, and a future of un mingled misery 
 and woe." And — overcome by her feelings, and the sad thoughts 
 that arose in her mind at the melancholy picture she had drawn 
 — the poor old lady gave way to a burst of grief, which touched 
 the sterner heart of her proud husband, who averted his head and 
 brushed away a tear with his hand, as he continued to pace the 
 room in great agitation. 
 
 It may seem strange in these enlightened days, that persons in the 
 position of Mr. and Mrs. Pendray should believe for one moment, 
 that one person had the power to ill-wish another, or that it was 
 in the power of any man, however skilful in the occult sciences, 
 to counteract their evil imprecations. Yet such was the case. 
 Superstition was rife in those days, as we have said before, even 
 among the best educated ; and many a poor old woman had suffered 
 seriously, for exercising the power of witchcraft which she supposed 
 she possessed. 
 
 The district of the Land's-End was rather too remote for this crime 
 to be visited with severity by the authorities, and so the Land's- 
 End conjuror was left undisturbed, — indeed, he was too cautious, 
 generally, in his dealings with those who sought his aid, to give his 
 enemies any handle that they could take hold of against him. Like 
 the master of a puppet-show, he knew the mechanism of his figures, 
 and knew what strings to pull to make them work according to his 
 will ; — the only difference was, that he exercised his skill on the 
 minds of his figures instead of their limbs. 
 
 Squire Pendray was a man of good common sense, and a 
 magistrate, and yet he had not escaped the common feeling of 
 superstition which prevailed at that time — not only in Cornwall, 
 but in every other part of the kingdom. It was not, therefore, from 
 any want of confidence in the skUl of the conjuror, that he declined 
 asking him to exercise it, but simply because, as he said, " he didn't 
 Kke the fellow." Probably he would have been puzzled to have 
 given a reason for this strong dislike to a man he scarcely knew ; 
 for Mr, Freeman avoided coming in contact with the squire, as 
 much as he possibly could, and they had scarcely ever met. No 
 doubt the conjuror had his reasons for this. It would not have been
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 139 
 
 convenient for him at all times to have had the squire prying into 
 his little secret doings. 
 
 Mrs. Pendray had appealed to her husband's feelings, and revived 
 in his breast those chords of tender affection which she so well knew 
 he possessed, but which had, in a measure, Iain dormant since his 
 children had grown into womanhood, and were able to take care of 
 themselves. It seemed now, however, as if his daughters had returned 
 to their childhood again, and I'equired the tender care of their mother 
 as much as ever they did. 
 
 " It is very hard," said Mrs. Pendray, still sobbing, and speaking 
 more to herself than to her husband, " that, after all our care of the 
 dear girls for so many years, they should be allowed to die now, 
 because their father has some foohsli scruples about asking the 
 assistance of the only man that can relieve them from the speU that 
 has been cast around them." And the poor old lady's grief burst 
 forth afresh, while the squire continued to pace the room more 
 slowly and thoughtfully ; for conflicting passions agitated his mind, 
 and he was debating within himself between his hatred of the man 
 of science and his love for his children. At length parental affection 
 prevailed, and he determined to lay aside the hatred which he 
 somehow entertained towards the conjuror, and be a suppUcant at 
 his door the next morning, for his aid in relieving his daughters 
 from the spell by which he now felt convinced they were bound. 
 It was a severe struggle ; but he had made up his mind to go 
 through with it, and no obstacle would now prevent him from 
 carrying it out. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 OUT OF SCYLLA AND INTO CHARYBDIS. 
 
 We left our hero, Frederick Morley, fast asleep in the inner cellar 
 at Capt. Cooper's house. He slept soundly — for he was quite ex- 
 hausted — and dreamed of Alrina, whom he fancied he saw bending 
 over him, and watching him as he slept ; but it seemed as if he had 
 lost all power over himself, — he could not speak to her. At last she 
 glided gently away, and beckoned him to follow her, but he could 
 not move. He seemed spellbound ; and she faded away in the 
 darkness, leaving him to lament his fate on his cold, damp couch. 
 He continued to sleep on for some time, until he was roused by a 
 voice which seemed to come from the innermost recess of the 
 dungeon. He started up — for ho thought his hour was come — and 
 prepared himself to yield to the cold-blooded assassination Avhich
 
 140 THE WIZAKD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 he believed was now to put au end to his earthly career. He could 
 not defend himself, for he could not see from what point the blow 
 would come. It Avas, however, a gentle voice that called him, — a 
 ■\voman's voice, he thought ; he could not hear it distinctly, but still 
 it called to him in the distance. Could it be Alrina ? Had she, 
 whom he had followed so long, hoping to be her deliverer, come to 
 rescue him ? But how could she have discovered him, and how did 
 she get there ? He knew not what to think. He answered in the 
 same low tone, and approached the spot from whence the sound 
 appeared to come, and was taken by the hand by someone — not by 
 Alrina, however, but by his little attendant. Bill ! 
 
 "Hush !" said the boy; "follow me, and you will be saved, — 
 quick ! before we are discovered." 
 
 The boy still held him by the hand, and drew him on ; for the 
 place was still very dark. They entered a narrow passage, and the 
 boy dragged him on and on through the darkness. At last he heard 
 the sea, and saw a glimmer of light in the distance ; and presently 
 a gentle breeze, which was wafted towards him, convinced him that 
 they were approaching the outer world once more. They were now 
 in a large cavern, into which the sea flowed, and he saw a small boat 
 moored to a rock within the cavern. 
 
 The boy told him to jump into the boat; and in a moment, the 
 mooring was loosened, and the boy was by his side in the boat, which 
 he skilfully pushed out with one of the oars, and they very soon 
 rode on the open sea. The boy then gave Morley the other oar, and 
 they pulled out with aU their might ; for Morley felt that he was 
 being rescued from the jaws of death. 
 
 When they were fairly out on the broad ocean, the boy said, 
 " Now, sir, you take both the oars — you are stronger than I am — 
 and I'll steer." So they glided swiftly over the still blue water ; — for 
 Morley had practised the use of the oar, both at home and abroad ; 
 and the feeling that every stroke of his oar placed a greater distance 
 between him and the vile wretches who had evidently sought his 
 life, gave additional strength to his arm, and he struggled against 
 nature, and for a time forgot the weakness and exhaustion which 
 had overcome him in the cellar and caused him to fall asleep in the 
 midst of the danger that surrounded him. 
 
 The subterranean passage through which they had passed, had 
 been excavated many years before. There was a large natural 
 cavern running in for some distance under the cliffs from the sea, 
 in the entrance to which there was water enough to float a boat at 
 high-tide ; and beyond the flow of the tide were large rocks, which 
 prevented the water, except at very high tide, from encroaching on 
 the interior of the cavern. In this cavern the smugglers formerly 
 secreted their contraband goods : and many of them, being miners
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PEN WITH. 141 
 
 as well as smugglers, and being in the employ of a former owner of 
 the house long before Cooper occupied it, they, at his suggestion and 
 by his order — he being a great smuggler himself, and having made 
 a large fortune by the trade — excavated a communication between 
 that cavern and the cellar underneath his house, by which means 
 smuggled goods could be secreted easily and safely. Very few people 
 knew of this passage except the parties immediately concerned. The 
 boy, however, had been found useful on many occasions, in watching 
 the revenue officers, and putting them on a wrong tack, and, thus 
 knowing the secret passage, formed this plan for rescuing Morley 
 from almost certain death. 
 
 The night was calm and serene, and everything around them was 
 still. Several small vessels were lying in the little cove — some ready 
 to go to sea again with the next tide, having discharged their 
 cargoes, — and others just come in, waiting for the dawn of day to 
 begin their work of discharging their cargoes of coal and timber into 
 the merchants' yards ; and as the little boat glided by, the watch on 
 deck would sing out, " Boat ahoy I what ship ? " or, " Good night, 
 shipmates;" and then all was still again; for the appearance of a 
 small fisherman's boat going out at that hour of night did not arouse 
 the least suspicion, and on they went swiftly and steadily. 
 
 The moon was shedding her soft pale light all around ; and the 
 oars, as they were " feathered" by the skilful rower, cast showers of 
 silvery spray back into the water again at every stroke. Some of the 
 white granite cliffs shone brightly in the moonlight, as its rays fell 
 full upon them ; while others, hid in shadows, seemed like some huge 
 monsters, indistinct and terrible, towering above their lighter com- 
 panions until they appeared almost lost in darkness, and imagination 
 pictured them higher by many degrees than they really were. 
 
 On, on they went, bravely and swiftly ; for the fear of pursuit 
 impelled the rower to exert his strength to the utmost. But the 
 strength of man will not always obey his will, and ere long he fell 
 back in the boat exhausted and faint. He had but very recently, it 
 will be remembered, risen from a bed of sickness, and the exertion 
 and anxiety had been too much for him. His pluck had not deserted 
 him, but he had exerted his strength beyond its power. Nature at 
 last gave way, and he fell back insensible. His fall was sudden, and 
 he dropped both the oars into the water. The boy was too much 
 frightened to think of anything but his companion at the moment ; 
 so the oars drifted away, and the boat was left to the mercy of the 
 waves, while the boy did all he could to revive the prostrate man. 
 
 He had brought no provisions with him — not even a can of water ; 
 for he thought that a few hours' rowing would bring them to the 
 next cove, where they would land without suspicion, and procure 
 anything and everything they wanted. Poor boy ! he could do
 
 142 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 nothing but watch the invalid, and support his liead on one of the 
 thwarts of the boat, and this he did for a considerable time, — it 
 seemed to him an age. At last kind nature came to his rescue, and 
 the invalid opened his eyes to the boy's infinite relief, and in a short 
 time he had so far recovered as to be able to comprehend their 
 perilous situation. Fortunately it was a calm night, but there they 
 were helpless and exhausted, and drifting out to sea with no provision 
 on board. Morley gradually regained his former vigour of mind, if 
 not of body, but it was only to bewail their sad fate. 
 
 Out, out they went to sea, drifting further and further from the 
 land, ■with no power to control the course of their frail bark. At 
 length, as morning dawned, the current changed, and they were 
 drifted back again ; and here they exchanged the calm tranquillity 
 of their former position for the rough encounter between the two 
 channels — always turbulent and often dangerous, but in a httle boat 
 ■without oars to guide her course doubly so. The rudder was of very 
 little use in that turbulent sea. They saw the rocks with which 
 that part of the coast abounds, and dreaded lest an unfortunate roll 
 of the boat or an angry wave should drive it headlong upon one of 
 those rocks and dash her in pieces. Hour after hour passed away in 
 dreadful uncertainty. The turn of the tide again drifted them out to 
 sea in another direction. They heard the roar of the Wolf Kock, 
 and knew from that circumstance that they were drifting towards 
 the Scilly Islands. They now gave themselves up to despair ; for it 
 seemed almost next to impossible that they could pass this Wolf 
 Rock safely -without oars or any means of keeping the boat under 
 control. 
 
 Want of food for so many hours in his already -weak and exhausted 
 state, rendered Morley entirely helpless, and listless to all that might 
 happen to them. He lay down in the bottom of the boat without 
 the power to move or speak. The boy bore up as bravely as he 
 could, and tried to support his companion ; but he too gave way 
 after a time, and then they lay side by side in the bottom of the 
 boat, expecting every minute to feel a crash against the rock, and 
 then all would be over. 
 
 At last it came — a bump ! a crash ! The water seemed filling 
 their mouths and ears. They revived for a moment, and were fully 
 alive to their a^wful position. AU the actions of their past lives 
 rushed into their minds, and they seemed to Uve their lives over 
 again, in that short moment of time. 
 
 Alrina's form was vi^vidly present to Morley 's mind for an instant, 
 and then all was blank !
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 143 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 alrina's troubles are increased by an unexpected discovery. 
 
 Mr. Freeman had returned to St. Just with his daughter, but neither 
 of them had appeared much in public since. The servant, Alice 
 Ann, said that her young mistress was looking very whisht and 
 palched, and " The Maister" worn't like hisself at all. He was con- 
 tinually locked in his private room, and she had seen him through 
 the keyhole more than once, upon his knees before a great chest, 
 taking things out and putting things in. 
 
 " What sort of things be they, then?" Mrs. Trenow would ask ; for 
 to her, as her nearest neighbour and the mother of her sweetheart, 
 Alice Ann was most communicative. 
 
 " Why, powers of things," would be the reply ; " silks and satins, 
 all foreign like, and gold and silver I b'lieve — a purty passle." 
 
 Miss Freeman had not returned, so that there was no one to watch 
 Alrina's movements, and she might have gone out and stayed out 
 all day if she liked, but she did not care to move. She would sit 
 in her room all day long, and scarcely touch the little dainties with 
 which Alice Ann tried to tempt her; nor did she care to speak, 
 unless her faithful attendant broached the subject of all others which 
 she well knew occupied her young mistress's eveiy thought. Days and 
 weeks and months had passed away, and yet she had heard nothing 
 of Frederick. She had written him, but he had not replied to her 
 letters. Alice Ann tried to console her ; but what could she, a poor 
 ignorant country-girl, say by way of consolation to one possessing 
 the refined and sensitive feelings of Alrina. 
 
 It was hard to believe ; and yet, what could she think ? He had 
 deserted her ! Perhaps he had met with another more to his taste, 
 and more suited to him in position and fortune — one whose family 
 history could be clearly set forth, and over whose heads no dark 
 mystery hung. It was natural, she thought, that on reflection be 
 should shrink from uniting himself with one whose family were so 
 obscure and in many respects objectionable. 
 
 Many days (hd this poor girl sit brooding over her sad fate. Sho 
 would release hira frorn his engagement with her ; it was right, 
 she thought, considering all things, that she should do so, and she 
 determined in her mind she would do so, She would like to see him 
 once more, however, just to tell him this. When she had made up 
 her mind to this step, she felt more tranquil and resigned to her fate, 
 and she now began to walk out as usual, and wander over the rocks 
 — perhaps with the dim hope that she might one day fall in with 
 Frederick in the course of her rambles, as she had done before, when 
 she could tell him her determination. Poor girl ! she knew not her 
 own weakness ; for had he, whose imago she had so fondly cherished
 
 144 THE WIZAKD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 from her childhood, appeared before hor at tliat time, her fancied 
 courage would have forsaken her, and she would have taken him 
 back to her heart and forgiven him, even did she know beyond a 
 doubt that he had deserted her for another. 
 
 Alas ! she little knew how impossible it was for him to appear 
 before her then, as she secretly hoped and wished he would ; nor did 
 ehe know, poor girl, how near he had been to her when she was 
 under Cooper's roof. Conflicting thoughts occupied her mind for 
 several days. It was a hard struggle ; but she conquered her feeUngs, 
 and the trial did not appear to her so painful, now that she had 
 fully made up her mind that it was her duty to put an end to the 
 engagement on account of this dark mystery which hung over her 
 family history. She felt that in doing this she was acting honourably 
 towards him whom she could not help loving still with all the 
 ardour of a first love. This she thought she could bear better than 
 the behef that he had deserted her; — she could not bear that, nor 
 would she think so again. She felt that it was her own act now, as 
 she had made up her mind that it should be so — not out of any 
 angry feeling which she bore towards Frederick, but out of pure 
 love for him, and a reluctance to place him in a position which 
 might hereafter cause him pain, and, when the first ardour of love 
 was over, make him ashamed of his wife's relatives. 
 
 When she had fully made up her mind to this, she felt more at 
 ease, and would sit for hours on the rocks, in calm reflection on the 
 past, and hopeful meditation on the future. And thus she would 
 pass whole days without moving from the spot, watching the broad 
 clear sea, and the vessels passing and repassing, and the graceful 
 gambols of the sea-birds, as they flew from rock to rock, or took 
 their Ijight far out to sea — never heeding the meal-time hour, nor 
 seeming to want food or sustenance until her return, when her 
 faithful attendant Avould upbraid her for staying so long without 
 food, and force her to eat some little nice thing she had j^repared 
 during her young mistress's absence, with which to tempt her 
 appetite. 
 
 In the meantime, her father continued to be occupied in his 
 private room aU day long, looking over papers, and examining the 
 contents of that large chest. 
 
 One morning, Avhile he was so engaged, there came two tall men 
 to the outer gate of the little garden, Avho seemed impatient to enter ; 
 but not knowing the secret spring by which the gate was opened, they 
 shook the gate in their impatience, and called loudly to the inmates 
 (if there Avere any) to open and let them in. 
 
 Mr. Freeman's private room overlooked the little garden ; and on 
 going to the Avindow to ascertain the cause of all this noise, he 
 started back like a man shot, and trembled all over like an aspen
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 145 
 
 leaf. Alice Ann was surprised too when she recognized one of the 
 visitors, but hers was evidently a feeling of pleasure ; for there 
 stood her old lover Josiah, accompanied by a tall handsome gentle- 
 man, with remarkably white hair for a man of his age, as he did not 
 look above forty. 
 
 " Dash the old gate," said Josiah, shaking it to and fro ; " you're 
 buried up brave, I think." 
 
 '' Iss fie," replied Alice Ann, opening the gate ; " we do knaw who 
 to keep out and who to lev in." 
 
 " Where's ' The Maister' ?" asked Josiah, as they entered the little 
 garden. 
 
 " How shud I knaw?" returned the girl ; "in his skin, I s'pose." 
 " Is Mr. Freeman at home, my good girl ? " said Mr. Morley ; " for 
 I am very anxious to see him." 
 
 " He wor up in his room a bit a while ago, sar," replied Alice Ann, 
 dropping a curtsey to the gentleman, " for I heard a purty caparouse 
 up there." 
 
 " Tell'n that there's a gentleman do want to see un 'pon partic'lar 
 business," said Josiah, "an' be quick about et." 
 
 " Not sure nufE I shaan't," replied the girl. " Pie said he mustn't 
 be disturbed for nobody. Ef you'll stop till Miss Reeney do come 
 in, she'll go up, maybe, — / shaan't, there na." 
 
 The girl was not to be persuaded ; so Mr. Morley walked into the 
 common sitting-room, as he saw the door open, while Josiah followed 
 Alice Ann into the kitchen, to persuade her, perhaps, to go up to 
 her master ; or, probably as they hadn't met for some time, they 
 had little secrets to commimicate, into which we will not be so rude 
 as to pry, — indeed, these little secret meetings between lovers are 
 seldom interesting to lookers-on. 
 
 Josiah and Alice Ann would not have finished their tetc-a-tete for 
 some time longer, had not a thundering rap at the front door with 
 a large stick, roused them from their pleasant conversation. 
 
 " Dear lor' ! how my cap es foused, soas," said Alice Ann, as she 
 jumj)cd from her seat, and surveyed herself in a small looking-alass 
 which hung in the kitchen ; " whoever can be come now, I shud like 
 to knaw. Drat thom 1 " And away she went to answer the knock. 
 " I want to see the conjuror," said Squire Pendray, in his pompous 
 manner ; for he it was who had disturbed the two lovers so cruelly. 
 "The what, sar?" exclaimed Alice Ann, opening her eyes to 
 their fullest extent; for to call her master "the conjuror" was an 
 oifence for which she was sure the en(|uircr would suffer if her 
 master heard it, — and what couldn't he hear ? 
 
 The squire now became aware of his error ; for he asked in his 
 blandest tones if Mr. Freeman was at home. 
 
 " He wor home a bit o' while ago, sar," answered Alice Ann,
 
 146 THE WIZARD UF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 curtseying very low ; for she knew the squire was a very great man, 
 and a magistrate. 
 
 *' Tell him I wish to speak to him in a case of life and death," 
 Baid the squire. 
 
 "■ Iss sar," said the girl, curtseying again, lower than before, and 
 leading the way into the usual waiting-room, into which persons on 
 urgent business of this kind were generally shewn. 
 
 Mr. Morley had walked into the common sitting-room, almost 
 without being bidden ; for, although the little waiting-maid had 
 seemed so cool in the reception of her lover, she thought too much of 
 him at the time to pay much attention to the gentleman he brought 
 with him. She now Avent up and knocked at " The Maister's" door; 
 and receiving no answer she peeped in at the keyhole. There was 
 the great chest still open on the floor, but she could see nothing 
 of her master, nor hear him. She knocked again a little louder, — 
 still no answer. She then called to him ; but no notice was taken 
 of it, and she became alarmed. She tried the door, — it was locked. 
 She then Avent down to consult -with Josiah, who thought they had 
 better tell the two gentlemen ; so Alice Ann went into one room, 
 and Josiah into the other, to inform the respective occupants how 
 matters stood, — and then there was a general consultation as to what 
 Steps should be taken. Each gentleman was surprised to see the other 
 there ; but their thoughts were too much occupied in deliberating 
 what was to be done, to ask any questions. 
 
 It was the general opinion that Mr. Freeman had either died 
 suddenly from natural causes, or that he had committed suicide. 
 Mr. Morley thought they ought to break open the door ; but this 
 Alice Ann would not consent to at all. She knew her master's power, 
 and remembered the dreadful noises she had heard in that room, and 
 the scenes which she believed had been enacted there, from the 
 appearance of the poor victims when they came out. The squire 
 also had some kind of superstitious dread of interfering with the man 
 of science, who was so much feared in the neighbourhood ; and 
 Josiah, although so powerful in bodily strength, had a touch of this 
 same superstition too. At last it was determined to send someone 
 in search of Alrina, and to wait her return. 
 
 After some considerable time, which appeared longer than it really 
 was to those who were waiting, Alrina returned, and was greatly 
 surprised to find the house occupied by two strangers ; — Josiah she 
 had known long before. They were both much struck with her beauty 
 and quiet ladylike manner, and explained to her their position. They 
 had come to see Mr. Freeman on business, and it appeared he had 
 locked himself in his room, and could not be heard inside, nor would 
 he answer to the calls of the servant. Alrina was very much 
 alarmed ; but she said her father was very peculiar, and would
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 147 
 
 often refuse to answer when he did not wish to be disturbed. She 
 went up to the door herself, with the same result ; and, after 
 hesitating for some time, she at length consented that the door should 
 be forced. This was easily accomplished by Josiah with the aid of 
 the kitchen poker ; and the whole party entered the sacred room, 
 expecting to see some dreadful sight, — what, they could not imagine. 
 
 There stood the chest wide open, as the girl had seen it through 
 the keyhole ; but no one thought of looking into this, — their whole 
 thoughts were centred in the fate of the owner himself. They 
 searched everywhere, but no trace of him could be found. Alice 
 Ann suggested that he had probably gone up the chimney in a flash 
 of fire, and that he might be on the housetop at that very moment, 
 looking in upon them, or riding through the air on a broomstick. 
 " We've heard of such things, you knaw," said she. 
 
 They were roused from their speculations on the mysterious dis- 
 appeai'ance of " The Maister" by an exclamation from Mr. Morley, 
 who had been narrowly examining the room, and was now standing 
 transfixed before the large chest, which was open, and from which 
 some things had been taken out on the floor. • 
 
 " As I live," he exclaimed, " this is my chest ! How could this 
 have got here ? " 
 
 " That's the chest," replied Josiah, " that ' The Maister' found after 
 the wreck, and told us to bring up here, — for what, we cudn't tell." 
 
 " That chest contained money and papers of great value," said 
 Mr. Morley ; " it has boon overhauled evidently to some purpose, and 
 no doubt everything valuable is gone." 
 
 " Oh ! no, sir ! " cried Alrina, in a pitiable tone ; " don't accuse 
 my father of robbery, — he would never do that, I am quite sure," 
 
 "My dear young lady," said the squire; "your father shall not 
 be accused of anything that cannot be fully proved ; but I am bound 
 to say it, however painful it may be to you, that I have had my 
 suspicions for some time, and so have my brother magistrates. He 
 could not have lived without money, and the mystery is where he got 
 it from. Now, pray be calm, while Mr. Morley examines his chest." 
 
 "'Morley!'" cried Alrina; "did I hear you rightly, sir? did 
 you call that gentleman ' Morley ? '" 
 
 " My name is Morley," said that gentleman, taking her hand ; " I 
 am the brother of one whom I know you have been led to believe 
 will take you out of your present position, and raise you to his 
 station in life." 
 
 " No, sir," rejilied Alrina, indignantly, — " my family shall never 
 be a disgrace to anyone ; and, let me tell you, sir, that neither you 
 nor your brother shall ever be disgraced by me ! I will never be 
 the wife of a man who might afterwards despise me." 
 
 " That was nobly spoken," said tlie squire; "you're an honour to
 
 148 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 your sex. Gad ! I wish my daughters could speak like that, and 
 send the jackanapes aboiit their business that come swarming about 
 my house." 
 
 '' Dear lor' ! what a handsome coat," exclaimed Alice Ann, as she 
 saw Mr. INIorley take a richly embroidered coat from the chest. 
 
 " Yes," said he, holding up the coat and admiring it ; " that coat 
 cost me a great deal of money. I had it made to wear at a grand 
 fancy-dress ball in Calcutta ; and there are other parts of the dress 
 to match, somewhere. Oh ! here they are ; you have never seen 
 anything like that in England, squire, have you ? " 
 
 " Gad ! but I have, though," exclaimed the squire ; " if not that 
 same dress, there was one very like it worn by a stranger at our last 
 ball at Penzance. And now I begin to think, — why, it must have 
 been Freeman himself disguised. I never saw him very near that 
 I remember, for he always avoided me ; but it struck me at the time 
 that I had certainly seen that face somewhere before, but he looked 
 much younger than he can possibly be." 
 
 " Aw ! ' The Maister' esu't so old nor yet so ugly as he do make 
 out to be," said Josiah. 
 
 After searching still further, Mr. Morley found the bag in which 
 his money had been placed, but the money was all gone and the 
 papers also. 
 
 '' Now ! " exclaimed he, jumping up from the kneeling posture in 
 which he had been for the purpose of examining the contents of the 
 chest ; " here's proof enough. Now let us use all our exertions to 
 secure the man." And, leaving Alrina and Alice Ann to take care 
 of themselves, the two gentlemen left the house more quickly than 
 they had entered it, followed by Josiah. But the object of their 
 search had got the start of them by several hours ; for his fear so 
 overcame him at the sight of Mr. Morley entering his house — (why, 
 was best known to himself) — that he opened the room door at once, 
 and locked it behind him, putting the key into his pocket, and 
 escaped through the back door, and over the back garden wall, 
 while Alice Ann was opening the front garden gate to let Mr. Morley 
 and Josiah in. And, making his way as fast as he could to the cove, 
 he there got a boat wdiich took him out to Cooper's little cutter, 
 which was anchored a short distance out waiting for orders. It was 
 his intention to leave the country in this cutter, as soon as he had 
 arranged his affairs ; for he found things were going against him, 
 and that his power was failing fast ; but he did not intend to have 
 gone quite so soon. He had secreted a considerable sum in gold and 
 jewels round his person, inside his clothes, several days before, — 
 so that, in this respect, he was quite prepared for whatever might 
 happen at any time. 
 
 The three pvirsuers traced him to the seaside, and were just in
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 149 
 
 time to see the cutter which bore him away. But the little vessel 
 had gone too far for any attempt to be made to follow her, with the 
 least chance of success ; so they retraced their steps with dis- 
 appointed looks and feelings. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 ALRTNA VISITS A KIND FRIEND AND MAKES A PROPOSAL. 
 
 Alrina's cup of misery was now full to the brim. It had required 
 but one drop more to fill it, and here it was. Her lover had deserted 
 her — that was most certain ; but she had forgiven him, and made 
 up her mind that she would exonerate him from all his vows, — 
 indeed, she woiild insist on breaking oiF the engagement for ever, 
 on account of the dark mystery which hung over her family history. 
 
 But while the mystery was concealed, whatever it was, there was 
 still a hope that it might turn out in the end that there was no 
 mystery at all, and all might still be well. She secretly hoped this, 
 although, in her magnanimity, she considered it her duty to exonerate 
 her lover from all ties. But now the mystery was solved. It was 
 no longer dark and concealed, yielding a hope, however slight, that 
 it might have existed merely in her own imagination. It was no 
 longer dark or mysterious. Her father had robbed Mr. Morley (her 
 lover's brother) of a considerable sum of money, and had purloined 
 his valuable papers, and had moreover gone to a public ball at 
 Penzance, dressed in Mr. Morley's clothes. There was no getting 
 over this; — there was no mystery here. All this could be fully 
 proved, — and he had gone off, no one knew where. 
 
 Wliat was she to do ? She was left without a friend and penniless. 
 There was the house, it was true ; but she could not live there 
 without a penny to buy food. 
 
 Squire Pendray told the sad story when he returned home ; and 
 good Mrs. Pendray went herself to Mr. Freeman's, and begged Alrina 
 to go home with her, and live with them as one of her daughters. 
 This kind offer Alrina respectfully declined. Mrs. Pendray then 
 offered her a supply of money to purchase necessaries until her 
 father's return. 
 
 " My father will never return, madam," said she, with dignity ; 
 " he cannot. And, although I tliank you from my heart for your 
 kindness, I cannot accept charity, — no, madam, I must gain my own 
 liveHhood, as many a poor girl has done before." 
 
 So the good lady, having failed of success in her good intentions,
 
 150 THE VVIZAHI) OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 took an affectionate leave of the noble girl, begging her to reconsider 
 her determination, and to come to bcr still if she altered her mind. 
 " I shall watch over you, my dear," said the good lady at parting, 
 " and shall get information brought me of your progress. Good bye ! 
 And may the Almighty Giver of all good watch over and protect you." 
 
 This disinterested kindness was almost overpowering. It was as 
 much as Alrina could do to prevent herself from giving way to her 
 feelings. She had borne her lover's supposed desertion, and the 
 discovery of her father's disgrace without shedding a tear, or allowing 
 anyone to discover hoAV much she was affected by them. Now she 
 could bear up no longer. Mrs. Pendray's kind offer of protection and 
 charity made her feel the full force of her situation, and she returned 
 to her room, and, throwing herself on her bed, wept bitter tears of 
 distress, mingled with feelings of anger and wounded pride. She had 
 been deserted, disgraced, and humiliated. Long did she remain in that 
 state of desjDonding wretchedness. It was not in her nature to give 
 way to her feelings, and weep for every trifling thing that went 
 wrong ; she had been brought up in a sterner school. But when 
 she did give way, hers was not an ordinary fit of weeping and then 
 over; no, when she wept, it was a terrible outbreak of pent-up 
 feelings, like a large reservoir of water bursting its banks, and 
 carrying all before it. Nothing could stop it, until it had spent itself 
 out. And so it was now with Alrina; — she tossed and rolled on her 
 bed in her agony of mind, and wept until she became exhausted, and 
 then fell into a sound sleep, from which she awoke after some hours, 
 refreshed and renovated both in mind and body. She bathed her 
 eyes and face in cold water, and rearranged her hair, and sat in her 
 chair by the side of the dressing-table, calm and dignified, and began 
 to think of what she should do for the future. 
 
 The past was gone for her. She must leave the house at once, 
 and lock it up, after allowing Mr. Morley to take what remained of 
 his property. 
 
 She rang for Alice Ann, and told her her determination, and 
 offered her some money — all she had in the world — in payment of 
 her wages for the past few weeks. This the poor girl as indignantly 
 but respectfully refused, as Alrina herself had refused but a few 
 hours before the proposed kindness and protection of Mrs. Pendray. 
 
 " Why, she's maazed, I reckon," said Alice Ann, looking at her 
 young mistress as if she were some dangerous animal ; " do 'ee knaw 
 what you're tellen' of, do 'ee ? — you go out for to get your livin' — 
 no, no, — tarry here. Miss Eeeney, an' I'll tend 'ee the same as I do 
 now, an' nevar take a penny. An' as for meat, — * where there's a 
 will there's a way,' — we'll take in stitchen' an' sawen', I cud used 
 to do plain work, brave an' tidy ; an' you cud do the fine work. 
 We'll get along, nevar you fear."
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 151 
 
 " It is very kind of you, Alice Ann, to offer to help me to live," 
 replied Alrina ; " but it cannot be, — I shall not remain in this house 
 another night after what has happened, if I can possibly help it. I 
 shall go out now for a short time, and when I return we will arrange 
 for the future." So saying, she put on her bonnet and shawl, and 
 went down the road, leaving Alice Ann at a loss to conjectiu-e what 
 she meant to do, or where she could be going in such a hurry. 
 
 " She's gone to chat it over weth somebody, I s'pose," said the girl, 
 as she stood at the door and watched her young mistress walking 
 quietly down the road. 
 
 Alice Ann was right in a measure. Alrina was going to chat it 
 over with somebody, but not for the purpose of asking advice, nor by 
 way of idle gossip. She had fully determined in her own mind what 
 she would do ; and when she had fully made up her mind to a thing 
 it was not an easy matter to turn her from her purpose. 
 
 Mrs. Trenow's house was generally her favourite resort when she 
 wanted a quiet chat ; but, to Alice Ann's surprise, she passed that 
 house now, and went on into the heart of the village, and she soon 
 lost sight of her, and returned into the house to put things in order, 
 and prepare the tea against her young mistress returned. 
 
 Alrina stopped before the door of the " Commercial " Inn as if 
 doubtful what she should do. After a moment's hesitation, however, 
 she walked quietly in. Mrs. Brown had been working very briskly at 
 her needle, mending some old garment after a fashion ; for she was no 
 great hand at that sort of work, — knitting she could get on with 
 tolerably well, because it required very little skill, and was therefore 
 rather pleasant work. She was now sitting lookin^j; at her work Avith 
 an angry brow ; for, after all her trouble, she had put on the wrong 
 piece. She had sat for several hours, stitch, stitch, at that garment, 
 patching it up, as she thought, to look nearly as well as ever, and 
 now all her labour was lost, for the piece must come off again ; — it 
 wotdd never do as it was. 
 
 "Drat the old gown !" said she; "here have I be'n worken' my 
 fingers to the bone, an' puzzlin' my brain till I'm all mizzy mazey, 
 an' thinken' I had done a bra' job, — an' there it is." 
 
 " Send for the tailor, Peggy ! send for the tailor, to be sure," said 
 Mr. Brown from his place in the chimney-corner, from whence he 
 seldom stirred now ; for he had become feeble in body as well as in 
 mind, since the shock he had experienced by the terrible death of, 
 his favourite mare. Mrs. Brown was very kind to him and indulged 
 him as far as she could ; Ijut she could not help being irritated 
 sometimes by his silly remarks ; for he prematurely declined into 
 second childhood. 
 
 " Send for a fool ! and that's you, John Brown," replied his wife, 
 testily, as she turned the garment in different directions to see if she
 
 ir)2 THE WIZAIU) OF WKST PENWITH. 
 
 could make it do at all, without rijjping out the piece again ; — but 
 it was of no use, out it must come. 
 
 " If that lazy maid we've fiot here could stitch a bit tidy she wud 
 be some help," soliloquized the old lady ; " but she's no good but to 
 scrub the floors, and tend the pigs, — she caen't draw a pint of beer 
 fitty. And there's Grace Bastian, the only decent maid we had in 
 the parish for to do a bit of sewing-work, she must prink herself off 
 to Penzance too. I don't knaw what's come to the maidens, not I, 
 Miss Reeney ! how are 'ee my dear ? Come in an' sit down ; — 
 why, you're quite a stranger," continued the good landlady, as she 
 rose to place a chair for her visitor. 
 
 " Yes, I've been very much occupied since our return," replied 
 Alrina ; — "but what are you about, Mrs. Brown? — you seem to 
 have mended your dress with a piece of a different colour. Why, 
 here's a piece that would have matched it exactly, and, if stitched in 
 neatly, no one woidd find out that it had been mended." 
 
 " That's the very thing I'm thinken' about," said Mrs. Brown. 
 " Here have I be'n stitch, stitch, nearly all the day, putten' on that 
 piece, an' when I had finished it I found I had put on the wrong 
 one ; but I caen't stitch any more to-day, — my head is bad already." 
 
 "Let me see," said Alrina, taking the dress, and matching the 
 right piece on it ; — " there, Mrs. Brown, that would do nicely, would 
 it not ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear ; but the thing is to stitch it in." 
 
 "Lend me your scissors, and I will soon manage it," replied Alrina. 
 " There," continued she, as she ripped off the piece that it had taken 
 Mrs. Brown so long to put in ; " that's soon done. Now, lend me your 
 needle and thimble, — I'll put in the piece, while we gossip a little of 
 the latest news imported. Your thimble is too large ; — haven't you 
 a smaller one in the house ? " 
 
 " I believe our maid Polly have got one somewhere," said Mrs. 
 BroAvn ; " I'll sarch for it." 
 
 "Poll! PoU! Polly!" said Mr. Bro^vn, catching at the familiar 
 sound ; " come out in the stable, Polly, — the mare must want her 
 gi-uel by this time. Wo! ho! Jessie, my beauty — wo! ho! mare!" 
 
 " WiU you be quiet, John Brown ? " said his wife, as she came 
 downstairs with the thimble. 
 
 " Here, Miss Reeney, I s'pose this is too big for your little finger." 
 
 " Never mind, Mrs. Brown," said Alrina, who had by this time 
 pinned on the proper piece ; " I'll make this do." 
 
 The work now went on briskly — ]\Irs. Bro^vn knitting, and Alrina 
 stitching and gossipping between. While the work was going on, two 
 miners came in, and asked for a pint of beer. 
 
 " Let me draw it, Mrs. Brown," said Alrina, putting down her 
 work — ■" it will be a chan2;e of work too.''
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 153 
 
 " Well, you shall if you are fancical," replied Mrs. Brown, smiling. 
 " Take the brown jug, my dear — that's a pint exactly — and draw it 
 out of the end cask. Blow off the froth and fill up again, — our 
 customers don't like the jug half full of froth, I can assure you." 
 
 So Alrina drew the beer, and received the money, as if she had 
 been accustomed to it all her life, very much to the astonishment of 
 the two men, who seemed puzzled at being tended by Miss Reeney ; — 
 but they liked it very well, nevertheless, and ere long asked for 
 another pint, for the sake, no doubt, of receiving it from so fair a 
 cup-bearer. 
 
 The two men were in a little room leading out of the kitchen, so 
 that neither party could hear distinctly the conversation of the 
 others, — nor was there much said by either party, indeed, worth the 
 trouble of listening to. 
 
 When the men were gone, Mrs. Brown said, " Why, I shud think 
 you had been used to the bar all your life, to see how handy you 
 are ; and you've nearly finished the work that I wor all the day 
 about. Your husband will have a treasure, whoever he is." 
 
 " I shall never be married, Mrs. Brown," said Alrina, with a heavy 
 sigh. 
 
 " Iss, Iss, you'll be married fast enough, and I think I can tell his 
 name, though I'm no conjuror, asking your pardon." 
 
 " I have not seen the man yet that I would marry," returned 
 Alrina, with an effort. 
 
 " Oh! fie!" said Mrs. Brown; "you mustn't say so to me; I wasn't 
 born yesterday, an' I can see a bra' way, though tes busy all, i'll 
 allow." 
 
 " What I have told you is perfectly true," replied Alrina ; " and 
 so far from thinking of marrying, I am going to try to get my owu 
 living, — will you take me into your service?" 
 
 " My dear young lady," replied Mrs. Brown, taking off her spec- 
 tacles, and looking at Alrina steadily and seriously, " you mustn't 
 make game of your elders, nor look down with scorn upon those you 
 may consider inferior in station to yourself, — but that remains to be 
 proved. Take her (a boarding-school yoiuig lady) into my service ! 
 Did you hear that, John Brown ? " 
 
 John Brown did'nt hear that, or if he did he didn't understand it, 
 for ho made no reply. 
 
 " You seem as if you didn't understand me, Mrs. Brown," said 
 Alrina. 
 
 "No, sure, I don't understand your mcanin' at all," replied Mrs. 
 Brown. 
 
 Alrina then related the circumstances of the morning to Mrs. 
 Brown, whom she knew she could trust, and whose advice she knew 
 she could rely on, for she was a shrewd intelligent woman. When
 
 154 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 she had finished her tale, Mrs. Brown took her liand, and said, " You 
 must forgive me for my hasty speech just now. 'Tes an ugly business, 
 but you shall never want a house to shelter you, nor a bit of morsel 
 to eat while I have got it for you." 
 
 " You don't understand me now," said Alrina ; " 1 will never accept 
 charity, either in the shape of food, raiment, or shelter. What I ask 
 you to do is this, — to take me into your service, to help you, as I have 
 done this afternoon, for instance, I mil take the burden of the house 
 off your shoulders, and do the sewing, and attend to the bar. Poor 
 Mr. Brown is not able to do anything now, and indeed requires more 
 of your attention than you have time to give him, and I cannot but 
 remember that it was in consequence of some advice given him by 
 my father (for what reason I know not), that Mr. Brown lost his 
 mare, and became in consequence almost imbecile ; and it is my duty, 
 if possible, to repair the injury that has been done. I cannot return 
 the mare, nor give Mr. Brown renewed strength ; but I can help you, 
 and by that means you will have more time to devote to his little 
 comforts. I don't want money; — I merely want a home with a 
 respectable family, to whom I can render services sufficient to 
 remimerate them for their kindness, without having the feeling that 
 I am maintained merely out of charity. Now do you understand 
 what I mean?" 
 
 "I do," replied Mrs. Brown, "and it shall be as you wish, and I 
 shall always respect and honour you for the noble and independent 
 way in which you have acted." 
 
 This being settled, Alrina went back to her father's house, to 
 inform Alice Ann of what she had done ; and, having arranged with 
 Mrs. Brown that Alice Ann should sleep at her house also for a 
 night or two, she locked up the house where so many evil deeds 
 had been performed, and took up her residence at the "Commercial" 
 Inn, as barmaid and general superintendent of the stitchery of the 
 household. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 CAPTAIN CODRLANd's RETURN AND HIS WIFe's ANXIETY. 
 
 The man of cunning had proved himself more than a match for his 
 pursuers. He had got the start of them, and was now out of their 
 reach. So the squire and Mr. Morley, accompanied by Josiah, 
 prepared to retrace their steps, angry and crestfallen at having been 
 thus outwitted. They walked on in silence until, on rounding a 
 rock, they met Lieutenant Fowler and one of his men, who were 
 evidently out on duty. Fowler seemed quite taken by surprise, and
 
 THE WIZAUD 01' WEST PENWITH. 155 
 
 scarcely knew what to do ; but he instinctively touched his cap to 
 the squire, and, shaking Morley by the hand, was about to pass on. 
 The squire, however, was too much engrossed with the matter in hand 
 to remember his late treatment of the lievitenant, or the cause of it, 
 and Morley was ignorant of the whole matter. So they both greeted 
 Fowler heartily, and told him the whole affair, and pointed out the 
 vessel which was bearing away their crafty deceiver. Fowler put 
 his glass to his eye, and scanned the horizon after having looked 
 attentively at the vessel. 
 
 " She'll be back again" said he, "before long; there's a storm 
 rising." 
 
 "No! no!" replied the squire ; "that fellow will not retvirn to 
 this coast again if he can by any possibility keep away ; they'll 
 probably reach the Scilly Islands before the storm comes on," 
 
 " We shall see," said the lieutenant ; " my men shall keep a good 
 watch, however, all night. Good day gentlemen." And he touched 
 his cap again, and was moving off. 
 
 "Where are you going in such a hurry, my dear fellow?" said 
 Morley, " I haven't seen you for an age. Come ! I'm going up to your 
 station to have a serious chat with you." 
 
 " Go on, then; I shall be home soon; but 1 must go round to see 
 what the other men are about, whom I sent, some time ago, to watch 
 a suspicious looking craft, round the next headland. Go up to my 
 cabin, there's a good fellow ; for I want to have a serious chat with 
 you too." So saying, he walked on, having seen that the squire had 
 got on his stilts again after the first impulse had subsided ; for he had 
 walked on without taking any further notice of Fowler. 
 
 Mr. Morley, true to his appointment, declined the squire's pressing 
 invitation to dine with him at Pendrea-hovise, and proceeded towards 
 Tol-pedn-Penwith station, where he had not been very long before 
 his friend returned. After dinner, Fowler confided to him his 
 secret, and the manner in which he had been treated by the squire. 
 Morley at first treated it as a joke, saying, " Faint heart never won 
 fair lady;" but on reflection he thought there must be some mistake, 
 and that a mutual explanation would set all things right, which he 
 undertook to perform. But lie was so anxious about his brother that 
 lie could not settle his mind to anything until he had found him or 
 ascertained his fate. lie had evidently been at Cooper's house, — that 
 was pretty certiiin, from what the old woman had said, — and it was 
 also certain that he was not there now, for they had searched every- 
 where, nor was he at the Land's-End, nor St. Just; nor had any 
 trace of him been seen in that neighbourhood by anyone, and the 
 boy had not been seen either, for some time. Mr. Morley's only 
 conjecture now was, that he had jjvobably escaped from Cooper's 
 cellar, and had returned to Ashley Hall, thuiking that, as Josiah had
 
 156 THE WIZAUl) OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 seen Miss Freeman there, Alrina might be there also, concealed 
 somewhere ; and he no doubt thouo-ht tliat he would there also have 
 the advice and assistance of his brother and Josiah whom he had left 
 there; for Mr. Morley knew that neither of his letters had reached 
 him, because he found them both lying at the Penzance post-office. 
 He therefore determined at once to return to Ashley Hall. The more 
 he thought of it, the more was he confirmed in this belief, and he 
 also felt certain, that, having escaped through the underground 
 cellar, and no trace of him having been discovered in the neighbour- 
 hood, his brother had, to avoid pursuit and suspicion, gone on board 
 some vessel, bound to Bristol, and proceeded thither by water. 
 
 Mr. Morley wished to see Miss Pendray once more before he left ; 
 but his sense of duty prevailed over love, and he determined to start 
 at once, that very night, and to leave nothing untried until he 
 foimd his brother — dead or alive. He would have gone to Pendrea- 
 house, just to see her for a moment, and take leave of her, but he 
 was afraid to trust himself. She would have kept him on and on, 
 he feared, until the chance of finding his brother might be gone. He 
 knew her powers of fascination, and he would not trust himself to 
 them. He would come back to love and pleasure with greater 
 satisfaction after he had performed his duty. 
 
 He took the faithful Josiah with him; and so hasty was their 
 departure, that poor Josiah had not time to return to St. Just, to 
 take leave of Alice Ann, and so they did not know of the change 
 that had taken place in .the abode of the mistress and maid. 
 
 So sure did Mr. Morley feel, now, that Frederick had returned to 
 Ashley Hall by water, that he did not make any inquiry on the 
 road, but rode night and day, hiring fresh horses at every stage, 
 until they reached the hall. Why he was so confident of finding 
 his brother there he could scarcely tell ; but as that was the only 
 hope he seemed to have, and the only probable place to which he 
 thought he could have gone, he seized it as the "forlorn hope," as it 
 were, and brooded on it, so that it became fixed in his mind, and he 
 would not allow any other thought to supersede it. How great was 
 his disappointment, then, Avhen he arrived at the hall, to find that his 
 brother had not been seen there, nor had anything been heard of or 
 from him, since he left it some weeks before. It Avas like a death 
 stroke. He could scarcely believe it. He could not bring his mind 
 back to the thought that his brother was lost. He searched every- 
 where. Mrs. Courland and Julia were alarmed also when they heard 
 how matters stood, and even the poor dumb girl was alarmed and 
 agitated ; for she saw there was something amiss, but she didn't 
 know what it was, and no one had the time or the inclination to tell 
 her ; so she wandered about the house, unheeded. 
 
 Captain Courland had returned, and had now given up the sea,
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 157 
 
 having realized a handsome fortune, and looked forward to spending 
 the remainder of his life in peace and happiness, with his beautiful 
 wife, and her niece, Julia Morley, whom they had adopted as their 
 own, and whom they were both very fond of. The first day of his 
 arrival was a very happy one to him. He revelled in the society of 
 his mfe and niece, and nothing occurred to mar his happiness. 
 Flora was kept out of the way in Mrs. Courland's private apartments, 
 where she had first been introduced to the house. These rooms had 
 been fitted up expressly for her. Here she had every amusement 
 she could enjoy, and she liked being here alone, and would frequently 
 spend whole days there, and in the little garden adjoining, planting, 
 and watching, atid cultivating the flowers, of which, as we have said 
 before, she was passionately fond. A slight hint fi-om Mrs. Courland 
 that there was company in the house, was quite enough to keep her 
 in her apartments the whole day ; for she did not like mixing with 
 strangers. She always seemed to have a dread, lest she should meet 
 with someone she had seen before, and who she feared would take 
 her away and beat her. 
 
 Mrs. Courland knew Avhom she meant, but to the others this was 
 a mystery. Mrs. Courland still dreaded the introduction of this 
 poor girl to her husband, although she knew his kind heart would 
 compassionate a poor helpless creature thrown upon her charity, as 
 she had represented it, as much as the other members of the family 
 had done. But she did not feel the same repugnance at deceiving 
 them, as she did at deceiving her husband. She had already deceived 
 him by keeping this secret from him. And now, by the introduction 
 of this poor girl into his house, the secret might be disclosed at some 
 unlucky moment. She at first decided on introducing her at once 
 on his return, and telling him the story she had framed ; but her 
 courage failed her, and she thought she would put it ofl: until his 
 return from London, where he was going the day after his arrival, 
 to arrange his business with the principal shareholders of his ship. 
 He was detained there some days, and had not returned when Mr. 
 Morley and Josiah arrived, although he was hourly expected. All was 
 confusion throughout the house at the intelligence brought by Mr. 
 Morley, that his brother Frederick could nowhere be found. He 
 was a general favourite there, and all the household turned out 
 for this hopeless search, leaving poor Flora a wanderer through the 
 house. 
 
 While the search was going on, Captain Courland returned from 
 London, and, finding none of the servants in their accustomed places, 
 he walked into the breakfast-room, whore he saw a yoimg lady 
 standing at the window, with her back towards him as ho entered, 
 looking intently into the garden below. At first he thought it was 
 his niece JiUia, and he asked hor what had occurred in the house to
 
 158 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 make sucli a scai'city of servants, ami where her aunt was; liut, to 
 his great surprise, she took no notice of him, — so he went up close to 
 her and tapped her on the shoulder, when she turned suddenly round, 
 and gave a peculiar, disagreeable scream, and ran out of the room. 
 He thought tliis very exti-aordinary. lie could not imagine who the 
 young lady could be, Avho seemed so much at home in his house, 
 and who treated him with such rude contempt. He sought his wife 
 for an explanation. On his mentioning the circumstance to her, 
 she seemed taken quite by surprise, and hesitated, and looked con- 
 fused while she told him her tale. He thought it very strange that 
 she had not mentioned this circumstance to him in any of her letters, 
 and he asked her rather harshly why she had not mentioned it when 
 he was home for a day and a night, on his first arrival from sea. He 
 spoke more haishly to her than he had ever done before, perhaps 
 without intending to do so; but the consciousness that she had done 
 wrong, and the fear lest her secret should yet be discovered by him, 
 overcame her, so that, instead of explaining the reason, which she 
 might easily have done, she burst into tears, which pained him, and 
 made him think there was something more in this affair than he had 
 yet heard ; but, in the goodness of his heart and his devoted affection 
 and love for his wife, he never suspected for a moment that she had 
 done any wrong, or was concealing anything from him of a serious 
 nature; while she, poor, timid, guilty creature, read his thoughts by 
 her own, and fancied that her husband was looking into her heart, 
 and reading there her guilty secret. 
 
 Had she possessed the moral courage to tell the truth in the 
 beginning, when they were first manied, all would have been well. 
 But she had retained the secret in her own breast so long, and 
 thereby deceived her husband, that the telling of it now would 
 be like the confession of a twofold guilt. And if she had not the 
 courage to tell her secret, when it was but a little secret after all, how 
 could she tell it now, when years of deception had been added to it. 
 And so, by this little accidental discovery of nothing, as it were, her 
 courage deserted her, and the resolution she had formed of explaining 
 the way in which the poor dumb girl became an adopted inmate of 
 his house, was told in a way to create susj^icion rather than allay it. 
 
 As his wife had adopted this poor creature. Captain Courland 
 tacitly consented; for, although he felt that there was something that 
 he could not understand in the matter, he had the heart of a true 
 British sailor, and would not -willingly wound the feelings of a 
 woman if he could avoid it, especially in such a trifle as this; and 
 more especially as the offender, if such she could be deemed, was 
 his beautiful wife, to whom he was attached with the most ardent and 
 devoted affection. After a time he became (^uite attached to the poor 
 dumb girl : she amused him, and he would spend hours in her
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 159 
 
 private room, while she taught him to talk with his fingers ; and she 
 was interested in her task, and would langh such a hearty, ringing 
 laugh when he made a mistake, that the jovial captain would throw 
 himself back in his chair, and laugh, too, till his sides shook ; — and 
 then he could burst out with a nautical phrase in her society with 
 impunity, which, when he attempted unwittingly in the presence of 
 his wife or niece, caused a gentle reprimand, and he was obliged to 
 " knock under," as he expressed it. 
 
 Mr. Morley and the captain were old friends. They had met often 
 in India ; and no one was more concerned than Captain Courland at 
 the loss of Mr. Morley 's brother. Many days were spent in scouring 
 the country in endeavouring to find some trace of him, but, alas ! 
 without effect. Nor could they gain any intelligence of the strange 
 woman whom Josiah had seen, at a distance, and who, he verily 
 believed, was Miss Freeman. 
 
 All their efforts having proved fruitless, Mr. Morley determined 
 to retrace his steps back to Cornwall once more ; and Captain 
 Courland, feeling a deep interest in the discovery of his friend's 
 brother, proposed to his wife that they should accompany their 
 friend there, and help him in the search. This was the very thing 
 Mrs. Courland wished — to get away from the hall and its now 
 unpleasant associations, and, above all, to leave the object of her fear 
 and guilt behind her. She believed that Flora would be quite happy 
 in the undisturbed possession of her favourite rooms, and she could 
 depend on her being taken care of by the servants, for they all liked 
 and pitied her. This would be a great relief to her mind ; and then 
 she coiild give to her husband her undivided attention, without the 
 constant dread of discovery. But when the time of departure 
 arrived, to her great surprise and annoyance, Captain Courland made 
 arrangements for taking Flora in the travelling carriage with them, 
 and was quite angry at his wife's even hinting that Flora would be 
 far happier at the hall. The captain had become so attached to her, 
 that she seemed necessary now to his amusement and occupation. 
 So she accompanied them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE DESPERATE PLUNGE. 
 
 Alrina had been at Mrs. Brown's several days, and was beginning to 
 like her employment, and to make herself very useful in the house, 
 when one evening, a strange-looking man came rushing in, and asked 
 for a glass of brandy, which he drank off in a hurried manner, and 
 then said he had seen a ghost. He had such an odd look, and seemed
 
 IGO THE WIZARD OF WEST rENWITII. 
 
 to speak in such an incoherent manner, that both Mrs. Brown and 
 Alrina thought he wastleraiigcd ; but, kuowingthc Ruspicious trcacliery 
 of persons in that state, thoy feared to let him see their timidity, lest 
 he might do them some injury. So Mrs. Brown pretended to believe 
 in his statement, and questioned him as to what the ghost was like, and 
 where he had seen it. The man was well known to Mrs. Brown, as 
 a poor half-witted creature, who wandered about in a kind of 
 melancholy state, but perfectly harmless ; and the neighbours were 
 kind to " Alazed Dick," as he was called, and gave him meat, and 
 occasionally Mrs. Brown's customers would give him a glass of beer, 
 at the " Commercial," for the sake of having a little amusement ; 
 for " Mazed Dick " could perform various little feats of dexterity, 
 such as standing on his head, climbing a greasy pole, or dancing in 
 a grotesque manner, or allowing a whole pint of beer to be j^oxired 
 down his throat, as through a funnel, without closing his mouth. 
 But Mrs. Bro'WTi had never seen him so excited before as he seemed 
 to be now, nor had he ever asked for brandy before ; and after he 
 had drank it, she wished she had not given it to him. Without 
 answering Sirs. Brown's questions, he continued to talk in the same 
 incoherent way, sometimes laughing by way of interlude, and 
 sometimes screaming as if he suddenly saw some terrifying object 
 before him. It was no use to ask him any more questions, so they 
 let him go on in his own way, — 
 
 "Down 'tween the rocks, Mrs. Brown, ma'm, a g'eat big. ship 
 (ha*! ha! ha!), bottom up, Mrs. BrowTi, ma'm, bottom up, ma'm 
 (ha ! ha ! ha !), kegs of brandy, Mrs. Brown, ma'm, kegs of brandy 
 (ha ! ha ! ha !). Little Dick creepy crawly, creepy crawly, up the 
 top of the bottom (oh ! lor' !), — slip down agen, — see a g'eat hole, 
 Mrs. Brown, ma'm. Dick put in his hand to take out a keg of brandy 
 (oh ! lor' ! oh ! lor' !), catch Dick's hand (oh ! lor' ! oh ! lor' !) Dick 
 run away, — a ghost ! — a ghost ! " 
 
 From this story they gathered that a ship had been wrecked, and 
 thrown ashore with its bottom up. Some men who had seen " Mazed 
 Dick " running towards the public house, followed him, thinking he 
 was in a good mood for one of his performances ; but on hearing that 
 there was a wreck on the coast, they started at once for the spot, 
 taking Dick with them as a guide, who continued to repeat the same 
 jargon until they arrived at the cove, where they saw a small vessel, 
 as " Mazed Dick " had described it, jammed between two rocks, with 
 her bottom up. To climb up the side of the vessel as she lay thus, 
 bottom up, was a difficult task ; for the sides were slippery. No one 
 but little Dick could do it ; so he, to show his dexterity, climbed up 
 at once like a cat, a7"id put his hand into the hole, which they could 
 see as they stood on the rock. He had no sooner done so, however, 
 than he began to scream and kick about his legs in a vain effort to
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 161 
 
 get clear and slide down again ; but no, — there he was held, as it 
 seemed, by some invisible power inside. What could it be ? What- 
 ever it was, however, it had not the power of holding its victim ia 
 that position long ; for poor Dick was soon released, and came sliding 
 down again among his comjoanions, exclaiming, " A ghost ! a ghost ! oh ! 
 lor' ! oh ! lor' ! " — and this was all they could get out of him. He could 
 give no account of what he had seen or felt. So it was determined 
 to send for a ladder and examine this mysterious afEair thoroughly. 
 
 The ladder was soon procured, and with it a host of wreckers, both 
 men and women, although it was now getting dusk, and they would 
 not be able to see what was inside when they got to the hole ; so 
 lanterns were procured, and there was a parley as to who should go 
 up. All had been eager to reach the spot, and would have braved 
 any visible danger either by sea or land ; but there was a mystery 
 about this which their superstitious fears deterred them from 
 attempting readily. In the midst of their hesitation, Captain Trenow 
 came down to see what it was all about, and he volunteered at once 
 to climb the ladder, and examine the interior of the vessel ; for he 
 believed it was nothing but " Mazed Dick's " timidity that made him 
 scream, or perhaps one of his mad tricks. So up went the brave 
 old man, carrying a lantern in his hand ; and, after looking in at the 
 hole for a few minutes, holding the lantern now on one side and now 
 on the other, to enable him to see every part of the interior, as far 
 as the size of the hole would admit, he came down again, and said 
 very deliberately, — , 
 
 " 'Tes a whished sight, soas ! " 
 
 *' Why, what ded 'ee see, cap'n ? " cried a dozen voices. 
 
 *' Why, I seed two men and a boy, so well as 1 cud make out," 
 replied Captain Trenow. 
 
 " Dear lor' ! " exclaimed the women ; " the crew starved to death, 
 poor souls ! That's whisht, sure nuff." 
 
 " 'Tes whishter to be standen' here like a passle of fools," said 
 Captain Trenow ; " they mayn't be all dead, an' I don't think they 
 are. Lev the women run up to church -town for some blankets and 
 sails an' things, and some brandy, an' some of the men go down to 
 bill for some ropes an' ])lanks, an' a hatchet or two, and a saw ; for 
 the hole esn't big enough to hale a man through." 
 
 Here was the master mind ecjual to any emergency; and, so 
 accustomed is the bul captain to be obeyed by the miners under him 
 at the bul, that Captain Trenow's commands Avere ol)eycd to the 
 letter, such discipline being as necessary in mining operations, where 
 there is so much risk and danger, as in a military army on the field 
 of battle. In an incredibly short time, the men returned with ropes, 
 and planks, and more ladders, accompanied by some of the mine- 
 carpenters, who had not left work ia consequence of a breakage at 
 the mine.
 
 162 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 " Go wp" said Captain Trenow to the carpenters, ** and enlarge 
 tliat hole three or four feet each way." And up they went at once 
 and commenced their work without asking a question ; and very 
 soon an opening was made large enough to bring up any thing that 
 might be below. 
 
 By this time the women had arrived also, with plenty of blankets 
 and old sails, and brandy, accompanied by many more people from the 
 village. Captain Trenow, with three or four of the strongest men 
 of the party, now went up the ladders which were placed against the 
 side of the vessel, taking shorter ladders with them, Avhich they let 
 down through the opening that the carpenters had made, taking 
 ropes and blankets and sails with them. On descending into the vessel 
 they found two men and a boy — the two men lying at the bottom, 
 apparently dead, or in the last gasp, while the boy was lying on a cask 
 near the hole. He was alive, and still retained the use of his limbs ; 
 and it must have been he who had seized poor Dick in that mysterious 
 manner. They were soon got out of their perilous situation ; and 
 that infallible remedy — brandy — having been applied to their lips, 
 it was ascertained that they were all alive. The boy revived con- 
 siderably, but the tw^o men, with all the remedies Captain Trenow's 
 experience applied, only revived sufficiently to exhibit signs of 
 life. 
 
 They were speedily conveyed to the " Commercial " Inn, and Mrs. 
 Brown and her fair assistant prepared comfortable beds for them, 
 while Captain Trenow and one or two strong, trusty men remained 
 to watch them during the night. A little food was given them 
 frequently; for Captain Trenow saw that they were suffering 
 principally from exhaustion and Avant of food. 
 
 The boy did not require much attention ; and, after a moderate 
 allowance of food, he fell fast asleep. Mrs. Brown's household also 
 went to bed, at Captain Trenow's earnest request, while he and one 
 of the miners remained in attendance on the invalids all night. The 
 boy slept soundly till morning, when he awoke refreshed, but hungry ; 
 BO he went do^wnstairs in search of something to eat. Mr. Brown 
 was the only one stirring, and he was in the back kitchen giving a 
 finishing polish to his shoes. 
 
 " What ! Billy, boy ! " said he, as the boy entered : " come, 'tes 
 time to look to the mare. Come, boy ! come ! " And he led the 
 way into the stables, as he used to do, and the boy followed him ; 
 for he knew that was the only way to get anything to eat. " Mare 
 first and breakfast afterwards," was always IMr. Brown's motto. 
 
 The sad reality very soon exhibited itself to poor Mr. Brown's 
 shattered brain ; and he sat down on the pail Avhich was standing 
 useless against the wall with its bottom up, and bewailed his loss. 
 
 " Iss, boy," said the poor man ; "I seed them both go over clifE, —
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 163 
 
 and that poor young gentleman to be killed too. 'Twas whist, Billy» 
 boy. Scmmen to me I can see them now turablcn' over. I've seed 
 his ghost since, boy, I have." 
 
 When Mr. Brown had exhausted himself with his monotonous 
 lamentation, on the loss of the mare and the young gentleman, the 
 boy went up close to him, and whispered something in his ear which 
 made him start ; and, jumping iip, he proceeded into the house 
 at once, exclaiming, "Peggy ! Peg! Peg! Peggy! my dear, — here's 
 that gentleman ; get breakfast quickly. What ! Miss Reeney down- 
 stairs already ! Good morning, ma'am. Come to see " The Maister," I 
 s'pose. Get breakfixst quickly, Peggy ! Ods my life ! how hungered 
 they'll be ! Out exercising the mare, es he ? That's brave. Get 
 the corn ready and a clean wisp o' straw to give her the first rub 
 weth. Ods my life ! how glad I am." 
 
 "Hoity ! toity ! what's all the fuss?" exclaimed Mrs. Brown, as 
 she came slowly downstairs ; " one wud think that the French were 
 landed." 
 
 "And so they are, I b'lieve, o' my conscience," said Mr. Brown. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, John Brown ! " said his wife, angrily, as she 
 proceeded to get the breakfast. She had not seen Alrina or the boy ; 
 for the latter made a signal to Alrina to follow him out into the little 
 garden at the back of the house, while Mr. Brown was giving his 
 silly and futile orders about the mare, which his wife was now too 
 much accustomed to, to notice. 
 
 Imagine Airina's astonishment, when she heard fi'om the boy, that 
 her father and lover were both in that house. What should she do ? — 
 That was the first queston she asked herself ; and it was as quickly 
 answered in her own mind. She miist do her duty ; and her first 
 duty was to attend to her father, however disgraceful his conduct 
 might have been. And, under the circumstance ', it was her duty 
 also to avoid meeting her lover, both for her own p iace of mind and 
 for his; — for she had fully determined that nothuig should induce 
 her to continue an engagement, which must bring disgrace on him 
 and misery to her ; — she could never endure to marry a man whose 
 family would despise her. She learnt the whole history of his escape 
 from the boy, and she shuddered when he told her of the dreadful 
 moment, when tlic boat bumped against the rock, as they thought, 
 but which in reality was a vessel they could not sec, as they lay in 
 the bottom of the boat, faint and exhausted. They were picked up 
 and taken on board, but his master was so exhausted that he waa 
 unconscious all the time. The boy soon discovered, ho said, that the 
 principal person on board was no other than his old master, Mr. 
 Freeman, who treated them both very kindly ; but a storm arose that 
 niglit, and drove the little vessel back again towards the Jjand's-End. 
 He and Mr. Freeman were below, he said, attending to the invalid,
 
 161 THE WIZAIU) OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 when the vessel struck on a rock, and her mast was blown over eome- 
 how, and they felt the vessel turn on her beam ends. The hatches hud 
 been closed down over them when they went below, for the sea was 
 washing over the deck. The two sailors must have been washed 
 overboard. How long they were in that a\vfiil state, beating a])Out, 
 the boy did not know; it seemed an age. He was the strongest of the 
 party, he said ; and, when he found that the vessel was at last 
 stationary, he got on a cask to be as near the hole which the rocks 
 had made in her as possible, and it was in this position that he caught 
 the man's hand ; but he was too much exhausted to speak. 
 
 Alrina consulted her good friend, Mrs. Brown, as to what she 
 should do with her father ; and it was ultimately decided that he had 
 better be removed at once to his own house. 
 
 Who the other invalid was, Alrina did not say. Mr. Freeman 
 seemed in a very precarious state ; and if he was to be removed at 
 all. Captain Trenow thought it should be done at once. It was early, 
 and few people were stirring as yet in the village ; and so the poor 
 unconscious man was removed gently and quietly to that house which 
 he had left but a short time before, knowing and feeling that his 
 return to that place must end in puljlic disgrace and punishment. 
 Plis faithful daughter, as in duty bound, made everything as com- 
 fortable about him as she could, and her attendant, Alice Ann, came 
 back at once to her yoiuig mistress's assistance. 
 
 In undressing him to put him into bed. Captain Trenow discovered 
 a belt round his waist, which, on being opened, was found to contain 
 a considerable sum of money, principally in gold, and a quantity of 
 diamonds and other jewels apparently of great value. The money 
 Captain Trenow persuaded Alrina to take into her possession, and to 
 vise as much as Avas necessary for the maintenance of the house and 
 for comforts for the invahd, while the jewels he placed in a drawer 
 in Mr. Freeman's private room, under lock and key. It was evident 
 that he had been preparing for flight for some time, and had secured 
 enough of " the needful " to enable him to live comfortably in some 
 distant country. Of his daughter's comfort he cared nothing ; for 
 he did not leave a single shilling behind for her, and yet she forgave 
 him all, and came back again to the house she thought she had 
 quitted for ever, to be his guardian and ministering angel. 
 
 A surgeon was sent for from Penzance, who said it was doubtful 
 whether his patient would recover. By care, and attention, and 
 good nursing, he might rally. 
 
 Frederick Morley — for he was Captain Trenow's other patient — 
 was recovering slowly, when he learned that Mr. Freeman had been 
 taken home, and that his daughter was there also. He immediately 
 got up, weak as he was, and walked tow'ards Mr. Freeman's house, 
 determined to see Alrina, whose image had been ever present to his
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 165 
 
 mind, night and day, and from whom he was now fully determined 
 no power on earth should separate him. When he arrived at the house 
 lie was told that Alrina was in attendance on her father, who was 
 not able to leave his bed. 
 
 He waited some time in the little parlour before the object of his 
 adoration made her appearance, as she was obliged to school herself 
 into the projoer state of mind in which she wished to appear, before 
 she met him to whom she must now say farewell for ever. 
 
 She had been expecting this visit, and had been preparing herself 
 for the meeting, and thoixght, poor girl, that she could be firm ; — 
 but now, when the time was actually come, she found that it was 
 more than she could go through. She came at last, pale and trembling, 
 but firm. And when Frederick rushed towards her with the 
 impetuosity of a warm-hearted lover, from whom his darling had 
 been separated so long, she recoiled calmly and coldly from his 
 embrace, and requested him, in a dignified manner, to be seated. 
 
 "Aliina!" exclaimed he, in surprise; "what is the meaning of 
 this coolness ? After so long an absence, I expected to have been 
 received by you in a very different manner. What have I done to 
 deserve this? Or has some vile calumniator been poisoning your 
 mind against me ? Tell me, dearest ! " And he attempted to approach 
 her again, his eyes beaming with the fondest love and devotion. 
 
 " Mr. Morley ! " said Alrina, restraining her feelings with a strong 
 effort ; " circumstances have changed since we last met ; and I am 
 compelled, more for your sake than mine, to tell you that all further 
 intercourse must cease between us." 
 
 "Alrina ! " exclaimed he, passionately ; " what can you mean ? — 
 Can I believe my ears, — that she, whom I so fondly and devotedly 
 love, can coldly and deliberately tell me that our intercourse must 
 cease, without assigning any reason. Tell me at least this. What 
 cause have I given you for treating me thus?" 
 
 " None ! " said she ; " none ! you have been to me more than I 
 deserve. It is not that, oh ! no 1 " 
 
 " You have seen another whom you love better," said he. " Tell 
 me, — only tell me, and relieve my racking brain, — anything is better 
 than this suspense. I will never give you up, — I swear I will not ! 
 The villain who has supplanted me shall die ! " And he paced the 
 room in mental agony, while poor Alrina scarcely knew what to do. 
 She had made up her mind to do her duty ; and she was determined, 
 for his sake more than her own, to go through with it. lie must not 
 think he had a rival ; it would endanger some innocent person, 
 perhaj)S ; nor could she make up her mind to tell him of her father's 
 disgrace. He would hear it, of course, — he must know it ; but it 
 should not come from her. What should she do ? 
 
 There was only one aiteroiitivc that seemed open to her. She
 
 1G6 Tllli WIZARD OF WEST PENWITU. 
 
 must take all the bhinio on herself, and bear all his wrath, or scorn, 
 or hate, or whatever it might be, on her own shoulders. However 
 painful, it miist be done. And, rising with as much coolness as she 
 could command at that awful crisis, she said, in a trembling voice, — 
 
 " Mr. Morlcy, we must part now and for ever ; for 1 feel I cannot 
 love you as I ought." 
 
 " Oh ! Alrina ! " he exclaimed, taking her hand, which she could 
 not prevent ; " do not say so ! oh ! do not say so, — you cannot 
 mean it, — say you do not mean that. Not love me ! Oh ! Alrina ! 
 after all " 
 
 " I cannot stay longer," said she, hastily withdrawing her hand ; 
 " I can only repeat that I cannot love you." And, in an agony of 
 mind, "which it would be impossible to describe, she rushed to her 
 own room, and, locking the door, threw herself on the bed, and wept 
 bitter tears of agony imspeakable. 
 
 Mori ey remained motionlessfor some minutes, as one thunderstruck. 
 It seemed as if he had received his death blow. To be treated thus 
 coldly by one who, but a short time before, had expressed the warmest 
 aflEectiou for him, was inexplicable. He could not understand it. 
 There was only one solution that presented itself to his disordered 
 mind. She loved another ! And that thought rendered him des- 
 perate, — it maddened him. 
 
 Revenge was his first thought. But how, and on whom ? He 
 staggered out of the house like a drunken man, and directed his steps 
 unconsciously towards the sea. Life had become a burden to him 
 within the last short hour. He had nothing now to live for. He 
 looked down into the deep blue sea, as he stood on the rock. All his 
 former hope of life and happiness had faded away like a shadow. 
 He could have lived on with the hope that she might one day be his, 
 knowing that she loved him still. But, now, she had told him that 
 she could not love him, and had bade him farewell for ever ! He 
 could not endure the thought. Her coldness and the apparent cause 
 thrilled through his fi-ame. This feeling of jealousy maddened him ; 
 his brain reeled. One plunge into that deep blue water, and all his 
 mental sufferings would be ended. The waters would open to receive 
 him ; and when they closed over him again, all the cares and troubles 
 of this life would be over, and she would be free from the dread of 
 his presence, if indeed she feared it. 
 
 His brain was on fire ; he was mad ; a temporary insanity had 
 seized him ; and he thought only of escaping from present troubles. 
 One short plunge, and all would be over. Alas ! he thought not of 
 the future. What mortal, when in that state of frenzied madness, 
 does think of that ? 
 
 For if, he did, — if, in the act of making his quietus by self des- 
 struction, one sane thought remained, — " that dread of something
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 167 
 
 after death — the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller 
 returns — would puzzle the will ; and make him rather bear the ills he 
 has, than fly to others that he knows not of." Man's life is not in 
 his own hands. He who gave it, and He alone, has the right to take it 
 when it shall please Him so to do. Morley thought not of the future, 
 but only how to escape from " the pangs of despised love," which 
 now oppressed him. And the more he thought of this, the more did 
 his brain seethe and boil, till he could bear it no longer ; and, taking 
 a desperate leap from the high rock on which he stood, he plunged 
 into the deep blue water that lay so tranquil at his feet. 
 
 A splash was heard as the waters opened to receive their prey ; 
 and then they closed around and over him, and down he went, — 
 down ! down ! — five fathoms deep, or more, for the water here was 
 deep enough to swim a three-decked ship with all her thousand men 
 on board, and guns and ammunition. 'Twas an awful plunge, not 
 like the plunge of the agile swimmer, who jumps from off a rock and 
 dives until he touches the bottom, only to rebou.nd and then come up 
 again some few yards ahead, and strike out boldly with head erect, 
 braving the restless sea, and riding over each wave buoyant and 
 graceful as a sea-bird, whose element it is. The plunge of the victim 
 of self destruction has a sadder and more decided sound. Down he 
 goes to the bottom, a dead weight, with all his sins upon his head ; 
 for in that short space of time, all the actions of his past life crowd 
 on his mind, and he lives his life over again, as it were, in a single 
 moment. 
 
 And so went down the body of Frederick Morley to the bottom. 
 But as his body touched it, vip it came again buoyant in that unruffled 
 sea. Ere it rose to the siu-face of the water, another splash was 
 heard, and a stout strong swimmer came breasting the waves, ready 
 to catch the rash young man as soon as he appeared ; and, seizing hhn 
 in one of his strong arms, he swam with him to the shore and landed 
 him in safety. 
 
 Frederick had not been imder water long enough to receive any 
 serious injury, although the salt water in his mouth and eyes and 
 ears, made him feel very uncomfortable. And this might have a very 
 serious effect, after his late sufferings and confinement ; for he had 
 risen from his bed to go to Alrina, on learning that she was at home, 
 when he ought to have remained quiet for a little longer, in order 
 to be fully equal to the double shock he had sustained. Perhaps had 
 he been in robust health, he would not have taken this rash step ; 
 but his nerves were weak. The plunge into the water, however, had 
 tended to cool his fevered brain ; and, when he turned to thank liia 
 deliverer, after he had recovered a little, wliat was his surprise to (hid 
 that he was indcl>tod again for his life to that iiol)le feliovv, Josiah 
 Trenow, who had thus saved him a second time from the jaws of death,
 
 168 THE WIZAUD OF WEST PENVVITII. 
 
 CHAPTER XXKTL. 
 
 THE BROKEN REED. 
 
 Mr. Morley and Josiah had left Aslilcy Hall before the family could 
 get ready for the journey, and had travelled with speed and arrived 
 at Lieutenant Fowler's station on the morning of Frederick Morley's 
 visit to Alrina ; and as Josiah had been hurried aAvay without seeing 
 Alice Ann, he was anxious to know what had T)ccome of her ; so, under 
 pretence of going to see his mother, he hastened to St. Just at once, 
 and made dii-ect for Mr. Freeman's house, little thinking of the changes 
 that had taken place there during his short absence. He learned from 
 Alice Ann all that she knew of the history of the past few weeks, and 
 she ended by telling him that Mr. Frederick ]\Iorley had been there 
 that morning, and that something had happened between him and 
 Miss Keeney, for that she was locked in her room sobbing and crying 
 her eyes out a'most, and Mr. Frederick was gone do^vn towards the 
 sea, raving like a mad bull, 
 
 Josiah thought there must be something very much amiss, but 
 what it was he could not imagine. However he deemed it prudent 
 to f oUow his yoimg master ; and it was lucky he did so, for he reached 
 the spot barely in time to see him throw himself from the rock into 
 the sea. Josiah was an expert swimmer so he did not hesitate a 
 moment, but throwing off his coat and hat, he plunged in after the 
 demented youth, and saved him, as we have seen. Now that he was 
 cool and collected once more, Morley seemed quite ashamed of the 
 act he had attempted, and shuddered at what might have been his 
 fate, had he not been thus fortunately rescued ; nor would he satisfy 
 his faithful folloAver as to whether it was accident or not. After sitting 
 in the sun to dry themselves a little, they walked back to the inn, 
 where they found Lieutenant Fowler and Mr. Morley waiting their 
 return. Fowler had not heard, luitil the night before, of Frederick's 
 miraculous escajje from his imprisonment at Cooper's, and his pre- 
 servation in the vessel which had borne away Mr. Freeman from the 
 hands of justice; — and they came on to see Frederick, whom they 
 expected to lind in bed, and to learn the truth about the return of 
 Mr. Freeman ; for Fowler had heard only a rumour of that as yet, — 
 the gossips being still afraid to speak out openly about him, lest evil 
 should come upon them. 
 
 Josiah had heard every particular from Alice Ann; and Mr. Morley, 
 being determined that he should not elude them this time, desired 
 Josiah to watch the house lest any one should escape, while he and 
 Fowler proceeded to Pendrea, for the assistance of the squire, w^hose 
 warrant as a magistrate would be necessary for the apprehension of 
 the guilty party. Josiah recommended Frederick to go to bed at once, 
 for he feared serious consequences would result from his remaining
 
 TEE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 169 
 
 in his wet clothes any longer, and he told the other gentlemen that 
 their friend had slipped off a rock into the water. They sat by his 
 bedside for a little time after he was in bed, and heard his adventures, 
 and then proceeded on their more important business. They refrained 
 from telling Frederick, however, the name of the party they were in 
 search of, fearing the consequences, in his present weak state, and 
 knowing the pain it Avould cause him, to find that it was Alrina's 
 father whom they accused. 
 
 Fowler forgot his own wrongs in his anxiety to serve his friend ; 
 and it was not until they were within a short distance of Pendx'ea- 
 house, that he remembered his position with regard to the squire and 
 his household, and he scrupled to go on. 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear fellow," said Mr. Morley ; " you are going on 
 a very different errand now. That was pleasure, this is business ; 
 besides, we don't know what it may lead to." 
 
 Thus persuaded, but certainly not against his inclination. Fowler 
 went on without again alluding to the subject, well knowing the old 
 adage that " faint heart never won fair lady." 
 
 The squire was at home, and received his two visitors with politeness 
 if not with cordiality ; for his wife had got a crotchet into her head 
 about JNIr. Morley and her eldest daughter, which had been told her 
 by one of the servants, and she had told it to the squire ; and, putting 
 this against that, as he expressed it, he thought he saw clearly that 
 Mr, Morley had been trifling with his eldest daughter's affections, as 
 Fowler had been doingwith her sister; and so he came to the coulusion, 
 without the aid of the conjuror, that the conduct of these two men 
 had caused the sudden and alarming change which they had observed 
 in the health and spirits of their two daughters, and which had baffled 
 the skill of all the doctors. Had IMr. Morley and Lieutenant Fowler, 
 therefore, called in the ordinary way, and claimed his friendship, they 
 would not probably have been admitted ; but they now came on 
 business in which the squire was himself much interested ; so he filled 
 up a warrant and agreed to accompany them to see the end of it. 
 They could take a constable from the village, as they passed, he said. 
 
 The old sqiiire did not forget his hospitality, in his pique at the 
 treatment he believed his daughters had received at the hands of these 
 two gentlemen. They were both gentlemanly men, and they were 
 now engaged in one common cause with himself, the punishment 
 of a man whom the squire had suspected and watched for some time, 
 and who, they now discovered, was a villain of the deepest dye. 
 Mr. Morley had suspicions even beyond what, at present, he thought 
 it prudent to communicate to the other two gentlemen. The squire 
 unbent and came down from his stilts, before they had conversed 
 five minutes, and ordered lunch, which he might in those days have 
 termed dinner; after which the three gentlemen started on their
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 170 
 
 expedition. And so eager and anxious were they in concocting their 
 plans for the ca]iture of the man who had so cunningly eluded them 
 before, that, if the ladies were not forgotten by some of the party, they 
 were certainly not alluded to. Perhaps this was avoided from policy 
 by the two visitors; — the stilts might have been had recourse to again, 
 if that subject had been revived just then in the mind of the crusty 
 old squire. 
 
 The ladies knew that the two gentlemen were in the house, and 
 expected to be summoned into the drawing-room, but they were 
 disappointed. The three gentlemen lunched alone, and then started 
 on their expedition. An experienced constable was procured at the 
 next village, and on they went, a formidable party, determined not 
 to be outwitted again by that cunning man. They found the trusty 
 Josiah watching closely when they arrived near the house ; no one 
 had gone in or come out, he said, since he had been there. He had 
 not even seen Alice Ann come out, and he would not venture too 
 near the house for fear of causing suspicion. They knew the depth 
 and cunning of the man so well, that it was neccessary to use every 
 precaution. He might feign extreme illness in order to put them off 
 their guard, and might again escape. So it was arranged that 
 Lieutenant Fowler and Josiah should watch the outside of the house, 
 while the other two went in, accompanied by the constable, who was 
 well up to his work, having been sent down from a larger place some 
 years ago, and recommended to the office by a gentleman high in 
 authority. 
 
 *" The Maister' es very bad in bed, sar," said Alice Ann, making 
 a low curtsey to the squire, as she opened the door ; " Miss Reeney 
 es up in liar room, very bad too, for what I can tell ; for I haan't 
 seed har for a bra' bit. I'll call har down, sar. Step inside, ef you 
 plaise." And she ushered them into the best parlour. 
 
 As the house was well watched and guarded, the squire and Mr. 
 Morley thought it would be but courteous to see the daughter, and 
 smooth it over to her as well as they could. Justice must have its 
 course, but it would have been cruel to have distressed the poor 
 innocent girl more than was absolutely necessary. They intended 
 to try to get her away somewhere first, and then she would not feel 
 the disgrace so much. The constable, however, was for executing 
 his warrant at once without showing favour or afEection to anyone, 
 man, woman, or child ; and if the magistrate had not been there in 
 person to check him, he would have made short work of it ; for he 
 was a rough, determined character, and had been in office long enough 
 to be hardened in the stern duties he was sometimes obliged to 
 perform. He bad suffered for showing too much lenity to persons 
 in his early career and he was determined that shouldn't happen again. 
 
 After a short time, Alrina made her appearance, pale and wretched,
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITIL 171 
 
 with swollen eyes, and a fevered brow, wbicli her visitors, who knew 
 not the real cansc, attribnted to her grief and anxiety for her father. 
 The sqnire told her as gently as he could, that they had an 
 vmpleasant duty to perform, which must be done; and he advised 
 her to leave the house, and seek the protection of some friend. 
 
 ** Alas ! " she replied ; " what frifend have I to fly to ? I have no 
 one in the world but my father and my aunt, to look to for protection. 
 My father lies upstairs on a bed of sickness, and he has no one but 
 myself to nurse him; and where my aunt is I know not. Oh ! 
 gentlemen, have pity on me, if not on my father; — he is my father, 
 whatever evil he may have done. Spare him for my sake ! Consider, 
 squire Pendray, you have daughters of your own, — consider their 
 feelings if placed in my situation. My poor father to be taken from 
 a bed of sickness, where I have endeavoured to do all in my power 
 to relieve his sufPerings, and to ease his pain, — to be taken out by 
 the rough hands of the executors of the law, and cast into a cold 
 damp prison ! Oh ! gentlemen, on my knees I beg you to allow him 
 to remain here with me. It may not be long." And, falling on her 
 knees, she clasped the squire by the hand, and burst into a flood of 
 tears. 
 
 It was an affecting sight. The squire remembered his own 
 daughters, and their fond affection for their father, and would have 
 relented ; and Mr. Morley, although he was the one most aggrieved, 
 turned away from the sad scene. It was heartrending to see one so 
 young and lovely on her bended knees, praying for her father's relief 
 from present punishment. 
 
 It was but a slight request after all. 
 
 " Why not let the constable remain here?" said Mr. Morley at 
 last. " Two if you like." 
 
 " Yes ! two ! " exclaimed Alrina, rising suddenly, and approaching 
 Mr. Morley ; " only allow my father to remain here under my care 
 and nursing, until he is able to be removed (if it must be so), and I 
 will ask no more. Oh ! sc|uirc Pendray ! — Oh ! Mr. Morley ! con- 
 tinued she> appealing to each of them by turns; think what it is to 
 have a father taken from you, and in this way I Let him remain 
 here, — oh I pray, let him remain." 
 
 The constable was made of sterner stuff. lie had been constable 
 many years, and knew his diity when he had a warrant placed in 
 his hands; and, seeing that Mr. Morley had given way already, and 
 that the squire would soon follow his example, ho thought it was 
 time to speak, 
 
 " I tell 'ec what ct os, scjuirc," said he ; "you have put a warrant 
 in my hands agcn John Freeman, the Land's-End conjuror, and 
 what not, and Mr. Morlcy's oath es gone forth agcn him ; and ef you 
 wink at et now, and the man shud escape, what do you think will
 
 172 TIFE AVIZAHP OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 be tho upshot of ct? Why, avc phall haA^o to take tho conjuror's place 
 for com prom isin,£T a felony, — tliat's about the timo o' day, gentlemen. 
 I've suffered before for tender-heartedness, and I don't mean to do et 
 agen ; so ef miss will show me the room I'll follow her, or else I'll 
 find et out by myself." 
 
 Alrina now turned to the constable and besought him to pity her, 
 and, if it must be so, to remain there, and she would make him as 
 comfortable as possible. 
 
 "Oh! sir!" she said, "if you have a daughter, think of her 
 feelings, should her father be taken from her, as you would take 
 away mine, — oh ! in pity think of that sir ! " 
 
 " That's the very thing I'm thinking about, miss," replied the 
 constable ; " and I'm thinking that my daughter wud have to go 
 through the same trial as you are going through now, ef I wor to 
 lev the conjuror go. No ! no ! miss, rather he than me, axing your 
 pardon. Why lor' bless you, miss, tesn't much when you're used to 
 et. We'll take care of the old gentleman, as much as ef he had be'n 
 the old gentleman hisself. I've got a tidy little covered cart outside, 
 and we'll clap 'n in, and ti'avel to Penzance to-night, and to- morrow 
 mornin' he'll be broft before the magistrates and committed, ef he's 
 guilty, — and he's sure to be, I s'pose, — and then on to Bodmin. 
 Why, 'twill be a nice little ride for 'n miss." 
 
 " Oh ! don't, please don't, paint such a terrible picture as that," 
 said Alrina, looking up at the inexorable constable, with the tears 
 glistening in her eyes. 
 
 " Come," said he, "I'm not going to be made chicken-hearted. 
 Show me the way to his room, — we're wasting time." And he led the 
 way out of the room, followed by the others. 
 
 Alrina, now, seeing that tears and entreaties would not avail, 
 preceded the party upstairs ; but when she arrived at her father's 
 bedroom-door, she stopped and begged the constable to allow her to 
 go in first, to break the nature of their business to him, and prepare 
 him for their approach. 
 
 " No ! " said the constable, sharply, placing his hand on the handle 
 of the door ; " that dodge won't do, my pretty lady. A cunning 
 man and a shrewd woman are a match for the devil, when they get 
 tosxether." So, seeing she had no alternative but to open the door 
 and admit them, Alrina, with a trembling hand, lifted the latch, 
 and, preceding the others, hastily gained the side of the bed, and, 
 kneeling down, begged her father not to be frightened, for he would 
 be treated kindly. She said this without looking on his face ; for 
 she knew she could say nothing to comfort him, and she did not like 
 to witness the shock which this untimely intrusion must occasion, 
 and so she pressed her face on the bed, as she knelt, and said these 
 few introductory words, and waited to hear what he would say to
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 173 
 
 his unwelcome visitors. No one spoke for a few minutes. A death- 
 like silence prevailed throughout the room. At last the constable 
 broke the spell by saying, — 
 
 " Escaped again, by George ! " 
 
 " Escaped ! " cried Airina, jumping up from her kneeling posture ; 
 " thank God for that. But how escaped ? how could he ? " 
 
 She did not finish her sentence ; for, looking down where she had 
 dreaded to look before, the awful truth was but too evident. There 
 was no mistaking it. There lay the earthly remains of her poor 
 deluded father, it was true, but the spirit had indeed escaped, and 
 fled to regions unknoAvn ! 
 
 The shock was too great for her. She had suffered the severest 
 mental agony that day tliat it was possible for mortal to bear. She 
 had borne up bravely while there appeared a chance of saving her 
 father from disgrace ; but now she broke down altogether, and fell 
 on the floor insensible. Alice Ann had followed the intruders into 
 the room ; and, as all her efforts to rouse her young mistress were 
 in vain, she asked the gentlemen to assist in carrying her into her 
 own room. 
 
 Fowler and Josiah were called in, and a consultation was held as 
 to where Airina should be placed for the present. She could not 
 remain there, under the circumstances, — that was very clear. 
 Several plans were proposed and discussed, but nothing could be 
 decided on for her. She might object to them all when she 
 recovered her senses. At last Squire Pendray proposed that she 
 should be conveyed to his house, where he was sure she would be 
 taken care of ; and he felt, moreover, although he did not express 
 it, that the companionship of such a noble strong-minded girl might 
 lead to the recovery of his own daughter. This was thought an 
 excellent plan, and everyone declared that the squire was most kind 
 and considerate. But then came another difficulty. She woidd not 
 accept his offer now, he feared, any more than she would the offer 
 that was made her by his wife, before. And in this he thought she 
 acted foolishly, — more foolislily than he sliould have iniagincd from 
 the good sense she had displayed in other res])ects. 
 
 Under these circumstances, he thought, they must get her to 
 Pendrea-house by stratagem, and, when there, he felt sure she would 
 like it too well to rim away, arid he was sure his family woidd 
 approve of the plan, and would make her as comfortable as possible. 
 So it was arranged thjit she should be taken carefully, in her present 
 unconscious state, and placed gently in tiie covered cart, well 
 wrapped up, and that Alice Ann should go also to take care of her, 
 on the road. This plan Alice Ann thought capital. So the poor 
 imconscious girl was carried out gently by Josiah in his great strong 
 arms, and placed comfortably in the covered cart, with Alice Ann
 
 174 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 by her side, and Josiah Avaa left in charge of the house and the dead 
 body of its late owner. 
 
 Mr. Morley said he must go and see his brother again ; for he feared 
 that the sufferings and privations he had lately undergone, had 
 seriously impaired his health and undermined his constitution. So 
 he went on to "The Commercial" inn, while the squire and Lieut. 
 Fowler proceeded towards their respective homes ; and as their road 
 lay the same way for some distance, they walked together. Fowler 
 made himself so agreeable to the old gentleman during their walk 
 that he was sorry to part with him when their roads turned in 
 different directions. He did not ask him, however, to continue his 
 companion all the way to Pendrea-house ; but during his solitary 
 walk after they had parted, he began to think that such an agreeable 
 fellow could never really be the villain he supposed him to be -with 
 regard to his conduct towards his daughter. His opinion of him was 
 softened a good deal ; and if a satisfactory explanation of liis conduct 
 could have been given just then, and a proposal made in a straight- 
 forward honourable way, the old gentleman would, no doubt, have 
 consented, rather than leave his daughter pine away thus, — the caiiso 
 of which he now devined so truly. But the explanation did not 
 come, nor was the proposal made ; so the old squire walked home 
 alone to prepare his family for the reception of their visitor, who 
 was being brought slowly round by the broad road, while he and 
 Fowler had taken a short cut across the common. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 josiah's lonely midxight watch IX THE conjuror's house. 
 
 Mr. MoBLEY found his brother still in bed ; not because he Avas too 
 ill to get up — for the walk and the cold bath had done him good — 
 but for the simple reason that he had no clothes to put on. Those 
 he wore in the morning were too wet, and he had not yet received 
 a fresh supply from the " First and Last " inn, at Sennen, where he 
 had left his things when he started so suddenly on his journey some 
 weeks before. So Mr. Morley sat by his bedside, and got him to 
 relate his adventures, which he did very faithfully, until he came to 
 the adventure of that morning ; and then Mr. Morley sa-\v there was 
 a reluctance to tell all. But he was determined to know everything, 
 and he pressed his brother to confide in him ; and, after some little 
 hesitation, he told all, except his attempt at self-destruction. He 
 didn't tell that ; but he dwelt long on the conduct of Alrina, and 
 asked his brother if he could give him any clue to the discovery of 
 Alrina's motive for treating him so coldly and cruelly.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 175 
 
 " Yes," replied his brother ; " I think I can fjithom it ; and 
 although I think Miss Freeman is a noble girl, yet I think, when I 
 have related to you my adventures of the last few weeks, you will 
 think that she is right, and that you have luckily escaped being mixed 
 up in a most unpleasant af£air, that must have embittered your whole 
 life, had not that noble girl been more prudent than yourself." 
 
 It will be remembered that Frederick knew nothing of his 
 brother's search at Mr. Freeman's house, when he found his chest 
 there, and the money gone, — nor did he know of the second attempt, 
 that morning, to secure the man of cunning, nor of his death, — nor, 
 indeed, had he heard of his brother's success in entering the deserted 
 house near Bristol ; — so that Mr. Morley had a long and interesting 
 tale to relate. 
 
 Frederick was very much excited several times during the recital, 
 and seemed to drink in every word, as it were, especially when his 
 brother arrived at the latter part of his recital, wherein Alrina pleaded 
 so piteously for a delay of her father's punishment. 
 
 A long silence ensued when the tale was ended. At last Mr. 
 Morley said, — 
 
 " Now, do you see Miss Freeman's motive for her treatment of you 
 this morning ? " 
 
 " Noble girl ! " exclaimed Frederick ; " I see it all, she knew her 
 father's guilt, and did violence to her feelings to save me from being 
 involved in the sad afEair. But after all, I cannot understand why 
 she should say she couldn't love me ; — why not have told me all, 
 and have left it to me to act according to the dictates of my own 
 feelings ? " 
 
 " She knew you better than you knew yourself," rephed his 
 brother ; " and I repeat that she acted nobly, and yovi ought to con- 
 sider yourself lucky, that you have escaped a life of misery ; for, 
 however deeply you may love this girl now, in the warmth of a first 
 and youthful love, you would find that your ardour would cool 
 considerably, when you saw the world looking coldly on yovir wife, 
 and avoiding her society, as the child of a felon, and worse, perhaps, 
 however good and lovely she may be in herself. No ! no ! take my 
 word for it, my dear brother, you will thank her for the course she 
 has pursued, when you have calmly reflected on it." 
 
 "Never!" said Frederick, passionately; "instead of weakening 
 my love for her, this noble conduct of hers, has endeared her to 
 me a hundred-fold. What care I for the sneers of the world, if I 
 have Alrina's love ? I will go to her at once, and have a full 
 exi)lanation ; and if, as you think, she declined my love for the sake 
 of preventing my being subjected to the sneers and scorns of the 
 world, I will compel her to marry me." 
 
 " Stay," said Mr. Morley ; " you must first ascertain that my
 
 176 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 conjecturo is the right one ; but I wouldn't advise you to see her 
 yourself. Let me see her for you." 
 
 " No," said his brother ; " I will sec her myself." And as his 
 clothes had arrived by this time, he dressed and accompanied his 
 brother back to Tol-pedn-Penwith, where Lieutenant Fowler had no 
 difficulty in accommodating them both, although his house was so 
 small. He ordered an extra hammock to be slung up in the largest 
 of the sleeping apartments, where the two brothers slept soundly 
 till a late hour the next morning, as they were both very tired. 
 
 Josiah, in the meantune, kept watch and guard over " the 
 Maister's" house and its contents. It was pleasant enough while tlie 
 daylight lasted ; but Avhen night came on, and darkness covered the 
 face of the earth, Josiah thought it was very whisht to be there in 
 that house all alone. So he went down to his father's, and had a 
 good supper, and something to drink. This made him feel very 
 comfortable, and he wished them all good-uight, took a lantern with 
 him, and went back again to his solitary watch. 
 
 Josiah was a courageoiis man at all times Avhen there was any real 
 danger to be feared, and a strong man, as everybody knew. The 
 man must be more than mortal who could make Josiah afraid, but 
 he had a strong superstitious f eehng in his composition ; and who 
 had not in those days ? — and if there was an excuse for the feeling at 
 all, it certainly might be excused in such a case as this. Here 
 was the man who had been the dread of the neighbourhood, and 
 who was believed to have dealings with the Evil One, lying dead in 
 that lonely house, Avhere so many evil deeds had been done, some of 
 which had been discovered mthin the last few days. That he was 
 a man to be feared and dreaded no one doubted ; but whether he 
 really had the power which many gave him credit for, remained to 
 be proved yet. Josiah thought that perhaps it would be his fate to 
 prove this; and it cannot be denied that he felt rather uncomfortable, 
 when he found himself seated in the kitchen of that house, not only 
 ■without the pleasant society of Alice Ann, but, as he well knew, 
 without having any human habitation within some distance of him. 
 
 His mother had kindly given him a flask of brandy, that he might 
 indulge in the prevailing amusement at that period, of " keeping his 
 spirits up, by pouring spirits down ; " and so he sat down in the chair 
 usually occupied by Alice Ann, having first placed a glass and some 
 water on the table, and began to reflect on the vicissitudes of human 
 life in general, and of his life in particular ; and then he began to 
 speculate on. the prospects of happiness which seemed to loom in the 
 future, when he should have led Alice Ann to the altar, and settled 
 down as a married man. These thoughts were ail very pleasant, and 
 so Avas the brandy-and-Avater. The candle Avas burning brightly 
 and so Avas the fire, and ho thought he Avas " getten on brave."
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 177 
 
 He had got nearly to the bottom of the second glass of brandy- 
 ,and-water, and was beginnmg to feel quite comfortable and happy. 
 He only wanted one thing to add to his perfect happiness he thought, 
 and tluit was the pleasure of AKce Ann's society. It was drawing 
 towards midnight, and he was feeling drowsy, so he dropped ofE into 
 a sound sleej) as he sat in his chair, and dreamed of her he last 
 thought of before he fell asleep. He fancied he heard her upstairs, 
 brushing out the rooms, and knocking the furniture about, as servants 
 frequently do, merely to show that they are doing something. She 
 was making a tremendous noise certainly, he thought, and he called 
 to her, in his sleep, not to make so much noise, to disturb " The 
 Maister." But the noise continued, nevertheless ; and when he 
 awoke he found the candle burnt down in the socket, and the fire 
 nearly gone out; so he replenished the fire first, and then looked 
 about for another candle, but before he could find one, he heard, as 
 he thought, a strange noise in " The Maister's " room. What could 
 it be ? No one could have got into the house ; he had locked the 
 doors, — he was sure of that, but still there was a noise — that was 
 evident ; and someone was walking up and down the room upstairs. 
 What could it be ? 
 
 The candle, which had been flickering in the socket, and wavering 
 between life and death, as it were, for some seconds, now went out 
 entirely, and left Josiah in perfect darkness. He searched in vain 
 for another candle, — he couldn't find one anywhere ; and then he 
 tried to find the door of the kitchen, but he could not find it. He 
 went round and round the room, as he thought, but no door could 
 he find ; so at length he came back to his chair again, which he 
 found by the aid of the glimmer of light from the fire which he had 
 nearly extinguished in his haste to replenish it, when he saw the 
 candle flickering away. 
 
 He now fully made up his mind that he was spellbound, and that 
 " The Maister's " spirit was walking through the house ; but as tho 
 noise had ceased he became a little more reconciled, and hel2:)ed 
 himself to some more brandy, after which he fell fast asleep again, 
 and Avhen he awoke it was broad daylight. 
 
 He rubbed his eyes and looked about the room, forgetting for a 
 moment where lie was ; and then he began to think of his absurd 
 fancies about being s[)ollbound and " piskey-led," and such nonsense; 
 and he laughed aloud and went out into the fresh morning air. The 
 doors were barred and all secure, as he had left tliem when he came in 
 the night before. But still he heard those strange noises hi his ears, 
 and ho could not get rid of the feeling that the " The Maister's " 
 spirit was walking in his room last night. He locked the door behind 
 him, and went down the road towards his father's house to breakfast. 
 
 " Why, 'Siah, boy," said Captain Trenow, laughing, as his son
 
 178 THE WIZAKD OF WEST PENWITU. 
 
 approiiched, " you're looking so wliisht as e£ you'd seed a ghost. 
 " The Maistcr" dedn't trouble 'ee iu the night, ded aw?" 
 
 " I caen't tell," replied Josiah, " what et wor, but I heerd a bra' 
 noise in the night." 
 
 "Why, what are 'ee tellen?" exclaimed Mrs. Trenow, coming to the 
 door; '' I always theft lies sperit wud walk, e£ anybody's ever ded." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Captain Trenow ; " you're two patticks, both 
 of 'ee." 
 
 Josiah would not be persuaded out of the belief, however, that 
 " The Maister's " spirit was walking in his room last night. 
 
 " I'm no coward, fe-a-thar, and that you do kuaw," said he ; "but 
 I arn't fitty for to stop up there another night by myself, nor I 
 wean't nether to plaise nobody, — there, na." 
 
 His father turned the whole tale into ridicule, and laughed at the 
 idea of noises being heard in " The Maister's" chamber, when there 
 was no one in the house but Josiah. 
 
 " I'll tell 'ee, my son," said the old man, at length, with a wicked 
 twinkle in his eye; "the brandy was too strong, I reckon. Ha! 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 Josiah was about to reply indignantly to this insinuation, when 
 they were disturbed by a knock at the door. 
 
 " Dear lor' ! " said Mrs. Trenow, rising to open the door ; " why, 
 who can be come so early, I wondar ? " 
 
 She soon returned, saying that the undertakers wanted to go in 
 to do their work. 
 
 " Aw ! iss, sure," said Josiah ; " the door es locked, sure nuff." 
 
 " Come," said Captain TrenoAv ; " we may as well go down too, 
 and make sure that no more noises shall be heard. I shudu't like 
 for 'ee to be frightened worse than you are, boy." 
 
 So they went down together ; and, as Josiah unlocked the door, 
 his father said in a sarcastic tone, — " Now, don't you be frightened, 
 my son." 
 
 Josiah did not answer, but led the way upstairs to " The Maister's" 
 bedroom, which adjoined the mysterious room, so often referred to in 
 this history ; and having unlocked the door, he led the way into the 
 room where only a few hours before that affecting scene had been 
 witnessed, which we have before recorded. 
 
 The awful escape from the hands of justice of one who seemed 
 deserving of a severe punishment, and the consequent shock to the 
 nervous system of a lovely and noble-minded girl, avIio would have 
 braved everything to save her father from ignominy and suffering, — 
 this scene was no novelty to the undertaker's inermidons. They 
 were accustomed to view dead bodies continually, in their calling. 
 They had been working all night, in order to be in time, and they 
 had brought the fruits of their labour with them, and proceeded,
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 179 
 
 without ceremony, towards the bed, when they started back in 
 amazement ! for, — the bed was empty ! 
 
 "The Maister"was gone! — fled! But where? — that was the 
 question. They searched the room, but found nothing. There was a 
 communication, however, between the bedroom and "The Maister's" 
 private room which no one remembered ever having seen before ; — ■ 
 it must have been concealed by some paintings hung against the 
 wall. It was open now — wide open. They went through, into the 
 mysterious room, and there they found that the drawers had been 
 opened and ransacked, and all the valuables taken away. The belt 
 containing the diamonds and jewel's, which had been put into one of 
 the drawers in that room, was gone. Captain Trenow was the first 
 to discover this ; for he had found it in undressing " The Maister," 
 and he it was who had suggested to Alrina the propriety of locking 
 it up in one of those drawers. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE SEARCH. 
 
 The news soon spread that the conjuror — body and soul — had 
 vanislied from the room in which he was supposed to have died ; and 
 various were the reports that got into circulation. Some said they 
 didn't believe he had been there at all ; others thought he wasn't 
 dead when the squire and party left him ; while others again believed 
 that he was really dead, but that, by some supernatural agency, ho 
 had been resuscitated and taken away tln-ough the keyhole, or up 
 the chimney, and that probably he was then wandering about 
 invisible. And those who held this belief were pitiable objects; for 
 they feared to speak a word against " The Maister," lest he should 
 instantly appear in his bodily Ibrni, and annihilate them as they 
 stood. The dread of " The Maister " and his evil eye was bad 
 enough when he was alive and in the ilesh, but now it was ten times 
 worse. Little knots of gossips might be seen here and there, holding 
 private conversations in wiiispers; — but that was all nonsense, the 
 believers in the suj)ernatural would say. If " The Maister " waa 
 walking about invisible he could come close enough to hear them, 
 whisper so low as they would. 
 
 Josiah was rather glad than otherwise that things had turned out 
 as they had ; for his fatiier didn't laugh at him now for fancying ho 
 heard noises in the night. Captain Trenow thought it was Josiah's 
 duty to go and inform the gentlemen at Tol-pedn-Penwith what had 
 happened, and Josiali waa of the same opinion, but ho said he 
 wouldn't go unless his father went with him.
 
 180 THE WIZAHI) OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 " What ! afeard to go up there in the day-time now, art aw ? " 
 said his father ; " why, we shall be forced for to have a little maid 
 for to lead thee about soon." 
 
 " No, no," said Josiah, smiling ; " I am't afeard. Tesn't that 
 altogether, but you knaw what 'twas this mornin' when I told the 
 story, and it may be the same up there, — sure to be, I s'pose, weth 
 them youngsters, that don't believe in no such thing as ghosts. No, 
 no, I arn't going for to be made a maagum of, don't you think et." 
 
 "' Well, e£ that's the case," said his father, " why, I'll go too." 
 
 So away the two men started at a brisk pace ; and it was well they 
 both went, for the gentlemen could scarcely believe the tale, although 
 it was confirmed in a most solemn manner by the old man, who did 
 not look or speak as if he was trying to deceive them. 
 
 As the squire had taken an active interest in the affair, it was 
 thought ad\'isable to consult him before they took any steps to follow 
 the fugitive, for although they did not believe that there Avas anything 
 supernatural connected with it, they were at a loss to conjecture 
 what it was, or how such a strange affair could have happened. 
 
 They appeared a formidable party as they emerged from the 
 lieutenant's cabin, each man stooping to avoid knocking his head 
 against the upper part of the low doorway as he came out. They 
 were all tall and strong-built, — indeed you would not meet with five 
 such fine-looking men again in a good distance. They were embarked 
 in one common cause ; so they kept together, and approached 
 i*endrea-house, a strong body. 
 
 Alrina, after a good night's rest, seemed more cheerful, and was 
 pleased at the little attentions shewn her by Mrs. Pendray and her 
 daughters. Blanche was most attentive to her; — she would not leave 
 her for a single moment, and seemed to be continually thinking what 
 she could do more than she had done to make their guest comfortable. 
 Maud received her kindly and paid her great attention, but it seemed 
 constrained ; she appeared to look upon her as an inferior, almost an 
 infected, being, from her imfortuuate connection Avith that man, whom 
 everyone now spoke of Avith disgust and abhorrence ; for all his evil 
 doings that had yet been discovered were now pretty generally 
 known and perhaps exaggerated. 
 
 In the course of the morning, as Alrina regained her wonted 
 composure, her situation became more apparent and galling. She 
 could not but appreciate the kindness of the family, and especially 
 the dehcate attention of the gentle Blanche, for whom Alrina 
 conceived an almost intuitive love, as for a dear sister ; and therefore, 
 for the present, she thought she must accept their kindness, and when 
 all was done that was necessary for the interment of the remains of 
 her poor erring father, she would seek some employment by which 
 she might maintain herself without bemg a burden on others.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 181 
 
 The money and jewels which Captain Trenow had found on her 
 father's person, she determined she would not touch ; for doubtless 
 they had belonged to others and had been unlawfully obtained. Poor 
 girl ! notwithstanding all that the ladies at Pendrea were doing for 
 her, and the kind attention they bestowed on her, she was ill-at-ease. 
 She had many heavy thoughts and afflictions weighing her down, 
 which her kind friends knew not of Her father's death was not the 
 greatest. Alas ! she had, in her loftiness of soul, discarded the only 
 being in the world who could have relieved her present sufferings 
 and made everything smooth and bearable for her at this terrible 
 juncture. She had decided on her course, however, in that respect ; 
 and the deep love she felt for him made her now more than ever 
 determined not to bring disgrace upon him. After the treatment 
 he had received at her hands, however, she did not believe he would 
 ever come near her again, or think of her but with disdain ; — indeed 
 she did not deserve that he should, — she had taken her course, and 
 she felt that she did not deserve his love or pity any more. This 
 thought racked her brain, and rendered her silent and reserved. Her 
 kind friends imputed it to her grief for her father's death, and the 
 circumstances under which it had taken place. They knew now the 
 strange story of the body having disappeared ; but the squire thought 
 it best not to let Alrina know this until they had ascertained more 
 fully concerning it, and for this purpose he cheerfully received the 
 formidable party that now sought his aid and co-operation. 
 
 They sat long in consultation, — one suggesting one plan, and one 
 another. Frederick Morley, however, did not feel capable of joining 
 in their deliberations. He walked to the window, and looked out 
 on the dreary scene which bounded that wing of the house ; but 
 nothing that he could see without seemed so dreary, at that moment, 
 as that which he felt within. He didn't care for the old conjuror, 
 he said to himself, he might go to the devil if he would, — perhaps 
 he was gone there. He wanted to see Alrina, and he knew that she 
 was in that house, but how could he get an interview with her 
 without betraying their secret ? 
 
 He excused himself to the squire, and went out into the garden. 
 Here he met one of the female servants, whom he had seen before 
 in his former visits to the house with Lieutenant Fowler. He entered 
 into conversation with her, and asked her in what he thought a 
 disinterested off-hand manner, about Miss Alrina Freeman. But 
 the shrewd girl saw at once how matters stood, and she pitied them 
 both. He tore a leaf from his pocket-])ook, and wrote a few hurried 
 lines in pencil, and- asked her to convey them to Miss Freeman, 
 which the girl undertook to do as soon as the way was clear. 
 Cunning girl ! she knew at once, almost by instinct, that there was 
 something between those two, which they did not wish the world to
 
 182 THE WIZAKD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 know fit present. Even tlio prospect of liaving these few lines 
 conveyed to Alrina was some relief to Frederick and ho returned 
 to his friends, who were still deep in consultation, but no plan had 
 as yet been decided on. At length Captain Trenow, who had listened 
 to all their plans Avithout giving an opinion, said, — 
 
 " I'll tell 'ee, gentlemen, — ' The Maister ' dedn't walk off by 
 hisself , that's a sure thing. Now, who helped 'n ? — that's the point. 
 Who are his friends ? Tell me that, and we may guess, purty nigh, 
 where he's likely to be carr'd to. 
 
 " Why I'll tell 'ee, fe-a-thar," said Josiah ; " I b'lieve the friends 
 he ha' got are them that slocked away Maister Frederick Morley 
 here, and pocked 'n down in the cellar." 
 
 " Zackly like that," replied his father, looking at the gentlemen in 
 a knowing way ; ' Birds of a feather do flock together.'" 
 
 " A good thought ! " exclaimed Mr. Morley, rising. " Don't let us 
 lose any time, but proceed at once." 
 
 Horses were procured from the neighbouring farmers — for there 
 were no gigs or dog-carts in those days at the Land's-End — and they 
 started on their expedition ; but lest so formidable a party should 
 alarm the neighbourhood, they agreed to go by different routes and 
 to meet at Portagnes, and to go in a body to Cooper's house ; for 
 that the body of the conjuror was taken there no one seemed to 
 doubt ; — it was the only place they could think of at all likely. 
 For, although one of the party strongly behoved that the noises he 
 heard, and the removal of the body, were caused by supernatural 
 agency, he did not express his thoiights on that point, but followed 
 the others, fully persuaded that they would find their labour in vain. 
 
 Frederick Morley lingered behind his party a little, and under 
 pretence of having left something behind at Pendrea, he returned 
 there, proirdsing to overtake his brother and the squire shortly. 
 Fowler had gone another way, accompanied by Captain Trenow and 
 Josiah. 
 
 Frederick had indeed left something behind at Pendrea, and, 
 knowing that Alrina was there, he determined not to leave that place 
 without having an interview with her, and hearing from her own 
 lips an explanation of her condiict ; and if it was from any feeling 
 of delicacy, or as he deemed it foolish fear, that by uniting herself 
 with him she would be bringing disgrace upon him and his family, 
 he would insist on her recalling her vow, if she had made one ; and 
 if she still loved him as he beheved she did, nothing on earth should 
 prevent him from making her his own, and claiming it as his right 
 to cherish and protect her against all the world. " 
 
 This feeling had become a thousand times stronger than ever now, 
 since he knew that she so much wanted protection. It strengthened 
 his love, if possible, and made him more determined than ever not
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 183 
 
 to leave that place without seeing her, and compelling her to give up 
 her foolish scruples, and become his wife without delay ; and the 
 more he thought of her present destitute position, the more did he 
 blame himself for ever having left her. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the squire and Mr. Morley pressed on their 
 horses towards Portagnes, thinking that Frederick would overtake 
 them ; but as he did not, they supposed he had taken the other route, 
 and had joined Lieutenant Fowler's party. They met according to 
 appointment ; but Frederick was not there. No one had seen him 
 since he left them to search for what he said he had left behind at 
 Pendrea-house. However, every moment was of consequence now, 
 and they determined on proceeding at once to Cooper's house, where 
 they beheved they should find the fugitive. No one except Josiah 
 doubted this for a moment ; so it was determined that the outside of 
 the house should be closely watched, by two of the party, while the 
 others effected an entrance, by force if necessary. The constable, 
 with his warrant, had accompanied Fowler and his party ; and the 
 lieutenant had left orders for two of his men to go round by water 
 to the entrance of the cavern, and keep a look-out there, — so that 
 escape was now impossible. 
 
 Lieutenant Fowler and Josiah watched outside, while the other 
 three, accompanied by the constable, proceeded to effect an entrance 
 into the house. They found the outer door of the garden unlocked, 
 and they thought they should gain an easy entrance; for the fugitives 
 had evidently either not returned there or were confident of their 
 security. These thoughts passed through the mind of each as they 
 passed from the outer door, through the garden, to the door of the 
 bouse. Here, however, they foimd an obstacle, for the door was 
 bolted. They knocked several times, and, no answer being returned, 
 they held a consultation as to the best way to break open the door, 
 when a head protruded from one of the upper windows, and they 
 were asked, rather sharply, what they wanted. 
 
 " Come down, you old hag, and open the door, or we'll break it 
 open," said Mr, Morley, in an angry tone, giving the door several 
 knocks at the same time with his walking-stick. 
 
 " Don't be so hasty, gentlemen," said the woman ; " I was fool 
 enough to let you in last time, but you shan't come over mc so easy 
 again, I can tell 'ee. You should oft to bo ashamed of yourselves, — 
 iss you ded — for to come here with your staves and clubs to frighten 
 a poor lone woman like mc." 
 
 " Come down, you miserable specimen of humanity," said the 
 squire, " and oj)en the door, or it shall be broken open, and your 
 house ransacked from top to bottom, and you will not be let oil; so 
 easily this time, I can tell you."
 
 184 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 " What did you please to want gentleman, when you do get in ? " 
 asked the woman, in what the squire thought a very impertinent 
 tone. And he was about to reply, in a manner which would have 
 given the woman an opportunity of keeping up the conversation, and 
 thereby keeping them out of the house for a considerable time 
 longer, when the constable thought it was time for him to begin ; 
 for he was a shrewd man in his way, and saw the woman's object. 
 He believed she was keeping them in conversation outside, in order 
 to give the other inmates time to get away or to conceal themselves 
 in the house somewhere ; so he said in as commanding a tone as he 
 could, — 
 
 " You know me, good woman, don't you ? " 
 
 " No, I don't," she replied, " and, what's more, I don't want to." 
 
 " I'm the head constable of the district I am," said he ; " and I 
 claim entrance, in the King's name, under a bench warrant." 
 
 " I don't care if you're the tail constable ; you shan't come in 
 here," replied the woman, shutting do'wn the "window. 
 
 " Thank you for nothing," said the constable; for at this moment 
 the door was opened from the inside by Captain Trenow, who had 
 gone round the house to reconnoitre, while the others were still 
 trying to persuade the old woman to let them in ; and, finding a 
 window open at the back of the house, he entered that way, and now 
 admitted the whole party. The old Avoman protested there was no 
 one in the house but herself, and so it turned out; for they searched 
 everywhere — upstairs and down — in the cellars and even out to the 
 extremity of the cavern. There Avas no one there ; so they beat a 
 retreat and went back to the house they had before met at, hoping 
 that by this time Frederick had arrived ; but in this they were also 
 disappointed. He was not there, nor had he been seen by anyone ; 
 so, after partaking of a hasty refreshment, they turned their horses' 
 heads once more in the direction of the Land's-End, crestfallen and 
 disappointed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE UNEXPECTED MEETING AND JIYSTERIOUS COMMUNICATION. 
 
 Wliile the gentlemen were holding their consulation at Pendrea- 
 house, the ladies of the establishment were variously occupied. Mrs. 
 Pendrea was superintending the cooking of some nice little sweet 
 dish for a poor sick child in the neighbourhood, and the two young 
 ladies were seemingly playing at hide-and-seek with one another, 
 and wandering from room to room, in hopes of hearing something,
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 185 
 
 or of catching a sight of their lovers ; while Alrina was left alone 
 to meditate on her sad fate. 
 
 She had not been alone long, however, before the door was opened 
 cautiously, and a servant entered, and closing the door after her in a 
 very mysterious way, and, approaching the couch on which Alrina 
 was resting, she put her finger on her lips, as mu.ch as to say, " Be 
 silent," and gave Alrina a slip of paper on which Avas written, or 
 rather scrawled, hastily in pencil — 
 
 " Dearest Alrina. — I am loretched, — miserable ! Grant me 
 an interview for a few minutes. I have something of the greatest 
 i?nportance to communicate. I will he in the garden at the 
 back of the house as soon as the other gentlemen are gone. I 
 shall go out with them, to prevent s^isjncion, and return on some 
 pretence. The faithful bearer of this ivill assist you and let 
 you know when. 
 
 " Adieu — my dearest love, 
 " Frederick." 
 
 When her attendant saw the agitation into which the young lady- 
 was thrown, on the perusal of this scrap of paper, her former con- 
 jectures were confirmed, and she determined to do her best to assist 
 the two lovers. She had a sympathetic feeling, and she retired to 
 the window under pretence of putting the blind straight, while Alrina 
 j^erused, and reperused, these few pencilled lines, so dear to her. She 
 thought but a few hours ago that she had overcome every feeling 
 but that of duty and honor, and that she could look upon him whom 
 she so dearly loved, as a a brother. It was for his good that she had 
 decided on this course ; and she believed that she should have firmness 
 and courage to carry it out to the end ; and but a short time ago 
 she felt so strong in her mind and will, that she wished to see 
 him once more to tell him so again. But she then feared that no 
 opportunity would ever ofi^er, and that she should never see him again 
 to explain to him fully the state of her mind, and her real motives 
 of action ; for she felt that she had wronged him in what she had 
 said, and wounded his feelings when she told him she could not love 
 him. She knew she ought not to have said that; but what else 
 could she say ? Her father was afive then, and might recover ; she 
 could not tell her lover of her father's faults and crimes ; and what 
 was slio to do ? Now, tliat he was dead, all was known, and Frederick 
 believed, she must now know all too, and she could now tell him why 
 she could not marry him ; and she wished and longed to sec him 
 once more — only once more — and now the opportunity had come ; 
 it might never come again. But lier heart failed her ; she could not 
 sec him and tell him u;ilinly that they must part for over, and explain
 
 186 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 her reasons fully, so as to make him understand clearly what she 
 meant. No, she could not do this ; and yet she felt that she must 
 see him once more. So she decided on obeying the promptings of 
 her heart ; and calling the maid to her, she said she wished to be 
 informed when the gentlemen left, and then she would walk in the 
 back garden a little. It was not at all necessary to explain anything 
 further to that shrewd girl, for she immediately saw how things 
 stood, and managed accordingly. 
 
 The Pendrea ladies were summoned to the drawing-room, almost 
 immediately after the departure of the gentlemen, to entertain 
 Captain and Mrs. Courland and their niece, who had come to return 
 the call the squire and his lady had made on them a few days before 
 at Penzance, Avhere they had taken lodgings. Nothing could be better 
 for the interview between the lovers. 
 
 Grace, the go-between, as she styled herself, was delighted. She 
 immediately went to Alrina's room, and informed her that all was 
 ready, and that the coast was clear ; which information rather 
 flstonished the young lady, — for she could not conceive how Grace 
 should know that she wanted the coast clear ; unless Frederick had 
 told her more than she thought was prudent. However, she had made 
 up her mind to go through with it; and, having put on her bonnet 
 and shawl, which the prudent Grace had brought with her, followed 
 her conductress into the garden, when Grace shewed her prudence 
 again by withdrawing and leaving the two lovers to themselves. 
 
 Alrina trembled at the thought of the terrible trial she was about 
 to go through, and her heart throbbed at every step as she walked 
 down the narrow pathway of the little garden, which was at the very 
 back of the house, secluded from view and sheltered by high walls, 
 with no window to overlook it, although, when you were inside, 
 every part of it was exposed enough, for the trees were very few and 
 stunted. 
 
 Frederick had not arrived, evidently, unless he was concealed in 
 the little arbour at the bottom of the garden. Alrina walked down 
 to it and looked in. No, he was not there, — something had detained 
 him, no doubt. She waited, and waited, and walked up and down ; 
 still he did not come. She was getting cold. She climbed up so as 
 to look over the wall, but could see nothing of him ; and now she 
 began to think he had deceived her. He had taken this course to be 
 revenged for the insult she had offered him, when she told him — he 
 to whom she had so often before avowed the fondest love — that she 
 could not love him. Yes; he had indeed been revenged, and she felt 
 that she deserved it all. 
 
 But hark I she hears a footstep approaching towards the garden- 
 door. Her ears are quick ; they have been listening intensely for 
 some time. Yes ! it must be. She rushes towards the door, and is 
 caught in the arms of two lovely girls.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 187 
 
 " Alrina, you naughty girl," exclaimed Blanch, " how could you 
 be so imprudent as to come out in this cold wind ? 
 
 " Alrina ! " exclaimed the young lady ; " can it be possible ? you, 
 here ! — and have I found you at last, my darling schoolfellow ! " 
 And the two girls, in their gushing love, embraced most lovingly and 
 affectionately; and then there were explanations to be given and re- 
 received, and Blanche led the way into Alrina's room, where Julia 
 informed Blanche how they had been at school together, and how her 
 brother Frederick had fallen in love with Alrina, when she was out 
 walking, and how she had carried letters and messages between them, 
 and how her brother had searched for Alrina everywhere, when he 
 returned from abroad, and had written her to search everywhere for 
 his lost lady-love too ; and kissing Alrina, in her girlish way, she 
 said, " Oh ! how glad Frederick will be to find you here." 
 
 Alrina could do nothing but kiss her friend, in return for all her 
 kind expressions and caresses. What could she say? She felt glad- 
 very glad — to see her old schoolfellow; but, under the circumstances, 
 it was mixed up with too much pain and sorrow to give her any 
 permanent pleasure. 
 
 Very soon Julia was summoned to attend her uncle and aunt on 
 their return to Penzance. They had taken a very substantial lunch 
 while the three girls had been having their tete-a-tete. 
 
 Captain Courland and his party had travelled by easy stages, for 
 they had come all the way iu their own carriage with post-horses. 
 It was one of those old lumbering carriages intended to hold six 
 inside — a regular family coach. 
 
 " Well, ladies," said the Captain, as he seated himself; " I wish 
 you would take pattern by Mrs. Pendray ; she had no hoops, nor 
 farthingales on, — a plain homely woman. No nonsense, — everything 
 above board. " 
 
 " Yes, my dear," replied Mrs. Courland ; "'a very pleasant, agreeable, 
 little woman, as 1 have met with for a long time ; but in the country 
 they arc not always dressed for receiving visitors." 
 
 " And didn't you like Blanche, aunt ?" asked Julia ; " she is such 
 a dear girl." 
 
 " A nice little girl enough, I dare say," said the captain, answering 
 the question for his wife; " l:)Ut her elder sister seemed to snub her, 
 I thought. ' Shiver my mizen,' thinks I, I'd haul down your top- 
 gallant sails, miss, if I were your father." 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Courland, " I wish you would try to forget 
 your sea terms when you are in the society of ladies. I observed 
 Miss Pendray looking at you with astonishment several times, when 
 you were giving out some of your elegant expressions." 
 
 "I wish the squire had been home," replied her husband, without 
 noticing the remarks of his wife ; for he was acciistomcd to these
 
 188 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 rebukes, — not that she said them or meant them ill-naturedly, but 
 she inherited her mother's aristocratic notions, and could not endure 
 anything approaching to vulgarity or coarseness. She had not had 
 very much of her husband's society in former years, for he was only 
 at home for a few months at a time, and then his time was very 
 much occupied, being the principal owner of the ship he commanded. 
 But, now he had nothing to do, and was at home constantly, so that 
 his elegant and accomplished wife had more frequent opportunities 
 of experiencing his rough sailor-like manner; not that he was at all 
 a coarse-minded man, — it was only his manner, which he had 
 naturally imbibed from the persons he was obliged to come into such 
 close contact with on board ship. He was naturally kind-hearted in 
 the extreme, and would do any good that lay in his power for a 
 fellow creature in distress ; but he couldn't overcome his habit of 
 using nautical expressions, nor indeed did he try to now. He did 
 try at first, years ago, to speak a little more " dandified," as he called 
 it, to please his beautiful -wife ; but he found it too hard to accomplish, 
 and so he gave up trying, and contented himself with listening to 
 her lectures, good-humouredly, which he said came in at one ear 
 and went out at the other : and so he had listened patiently now to 
 her remarks, and then continued the conversation as if nothing had 
 been said on the " vexed" subject by his sensitive wife. 
 
 " I wish the squire had been home," said he ; " he's a jolly fellow. 
 I hate to be stuck up with a parcel of palavering women, and be 
 obliged to sit bolt upright in my chair and take out every word and 
 look at it before I speak, or else be hauled over the coals for it." 
 
 " I'm sure you behaved very well to day, uncle," said Julia ; " I 
 saw Miss Pendray looking at you several times, as if she admired 
 your blunt, straightforward manners." 
 
 " Did you? " replied the captain, looking rather pleased; "I looked 
 at her too when she got round to the starboard-tack. Brace my 
 rigging, says I to myself; but you're as tight and well built a frigate 
 from stem to stern as ever I clap'd my two eyes upon, save one." 
 
 " It was well you put in that saving claiise, uncle," said Julia, 
 laughing; " or you would have made Aunt Courland jealous." 
 
 " No, no," said the captain, taking his wife's hand affectionately, 
 " I'm a rough knot; but if she never makes me jealous, I shall never 
 make her so. Everything is upright and downright and aboveboard 
 with me. No secrets from my wife, no, no ; and I don't think she 
 has any secrets or mysteries from me, although we do have a breeze 
 now and then about the lingo." 
 
 " Talking of mysteries," said Julia, turning to her aunt ; " who do 
 you think I met at^Pendrea ? You'll never guess, so I may as well tell 
 you. Why, no other than my old friend and schoolfellow, Alrina." 
 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed Mrs. Courland ; " you quite surprise me, 
 where did she come from ? — how did slie get there ? "
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENVVITH. 189 
 
 " I don't know," replied Julia ; " for just as I was about to enquire 
 all the particulars, I was summoned to attend you." 
 
 " Has Frederick seen her, or does he know she is there," asked 
 Mrs. Courland, with more than her usual energy. 
 
 " I know no more than I have told you," replied Julia ; " I only 
 met her a short time before we left ; for Blanche and 1 had been 
 wandering over the curious old house, and we were just going to 
 have a peep at what they call their garden, when Alrina came rushing 
 out to meet us. I was struck with her peculiar beauty at once, for 
 I did'nt at first know her until Blanche mentioned her name. She 
 was but a girl when I knew her at school ; she has now grown a 
 beautiful woman, — oh ! so beautiful, Aunt, and so fair, with that 
 auburn hair which you admire so much. I have seen someone very 
 like her, but I can't remember who it is. The expression of her 
 countenance when she met us, was so like an expression I have seen 
 in some one before ; but who it is I cannot remember, — it was so 
 strange." 
 
 " We must ask the family to visit us at Penzance, my dear, and 
 bring this wonderful stranger with them," said Mrs. Courland, 
 thoughtfully ; " I should like to know sometliing more about her, and 
 where she has been hiding so long, that no trace of her could be found." 
 
 " Oh ! yes. Aunt," said Julia ;" for the sake of Frederick, I'm glad 
 she is found again ; he was so passionately devoted to her." 
 
 *' For his sake, perhaps, it would have been better if she had never 
 crossed our paths again," replied Mrs. Courland, talking to herself 
 rather than to her companions; but the destiny of all must be fulfilled. 
 There is some mystery about this girl, — I am convinced there is." 
 
 '* So am I," replied Julia ;" and I shall not rest till I have found 
 it out." 
 
 " Mystery !" exclaimed Captain Courland, in a voice which startled 
 the two ladies; " I hate mysteries. Everything open and abovoboard, 
 Bay I,-there's no occasion for mystery. I'd throw the lubber overboard, 
 and let him sink into Davy Jones's locker, if he didn't out with it at 
 once, whatever it was. ' Speak the truth and shame the devil,' — that's 
 my motto. I'll have no mysteries hid from me — no matter who it 
 is — overboard he'll go — damn me ! " 
 
 This outbreak was so sudden and so unexpected, that it made tlie 
 two ladies feel very uncomfortable, especially the elder lady, whose 
 conscience smote lier, and made her feel that, some day, the secret 
 she was keeping so rigidly from her husband might be revealed to 
 him, and then all her ha])piness would be gone. For she now saw, 
 from this sudden outburst of feeling, how angry he could bo, and to 
 what lengths he could carry his vengeance, if he ever found out that 
 terrible secret, and discovered how long he had been deceived. It 
 was a dreadful thought and slie shuddered at it, and lay trembling 
 in the corner of the carriage, while Julia, having no such pricks of
 
 190 THE WIZAKD OF WEST TEXWITH. 
 
 conscience, and being, on the whole, more amused than otherwise at 
 the Captain's burst of passion, apparently without a cause, answered 
 him in his own language as far as she could ; for she believed that it 
 was only a reminiscence of something that might have happened on 
 board ship, that had so roused him ; and turning to him, Avith a 
 laughing eye, she said, — 
 
 " There's rough weather where you're saiHng, Captain, I believe." 
 
 " Rough ! " said he : " yes : — but rough or smooth, I'll have the 
 whole of the crew overhauled from the first mate down to the lop- 
 lolly-boy ; I'll make a clean sweep. Mysteries, indeed, on board my 
 ship ! " 
 
 '"Why, whatever do you mean. Uncle?" said Julia, now getting 
 alarmed in right earnest. 
 
 " Why ! this is what I mean," replied he searching his pockets ; 
 " I'd forgotten all about it, till you began to talk about mysteries and 
 such nonsense. When I went out to have a look about the place there, 
 after lunch, a queer- looking ' son of a gun ' came and gave me this 
 letter, and cut off again as if the devil was at his heels. Now, you 
 just read that, and see if I haven't enough to make me look out for 
 squalls ! what the devil is the meaning of it ? I don't know ! " 
 
 Julia took the letter from her uncle, and read the contents — first 
 to herself and then aloud : — 
 
 ^^ Nolle Captain. — A secret jnystery, which now hangs over 
 you and yours, is about to be revealed ; but fear nothing ; be 
 firm, and bear it as a brave sailor ought to do, and it will add 
 to your happiness : — but should you be led away by passion, or 
 iveakness, and receive it otherwise, misery and icoe ivill be the 
 portion Of you and yours for ever. Bide your time — you ivill 
 have further notice. 
 
 " A Friend, — ivho ivas formerly an Enemy. ^^ 
 
 Julia read this strange epistle through two or three times, and so 
 intent was she in endeavouring to discover what it could mean, and 
 who the -writer could be, that she did not notice the agitation of Mrs. 
 Courland, and the anguish of mind she was suffering as she lay half 
 concealed in the corner of the carriage ; and the captain was too 
 much engrossed with his own irritating thoughts to pay any attention 
 to anyone else. So the poor lady was not disturbed by anything but 
 her own thoughts until they arrived at their lodgings, Avhen she 
 rushed upstairs and gave vent to her feelings, harrowing up the most 
 dreadful consequences from this revelation, which she had no doubt 
 was that of her o-mi secret. But, when she became more calm, and 
 began to reflect a little, she saw how absurd it was of her to anticipate 
 evil so readily. She had forgotten, in her haste, that she was now 
 man}', many miles away from anyone who could possibly know her
 
 THE WIZABD OF ^^TST PENWITH. 191 
 
 secret, and, as she became calm again, she thought how very foolish 
 she had been, — but so it is — an evil conscience will start at a shadow. 
 When the mind is constantly brooding over one subject, and that, 
 the consciousness of a crime committed, the guilty perpetrator of 
 the deed fears to look an upright, honest man in the face ; for he 
 has the feeling that his breast is transparently open to his gaze if he 
 only gives him the opportunity to look in : and so he slinks away, 
 fearing that, in an unguarded moment, the transparency may be 
 penetrated. Just so did Mrs. Courland feel when she heard her 
 husband sj)eak in those terrible and decided tones of his horror of 
 secrets and mysteries, well knowing that she was keeping one from 
 him in her o^vn bosom which she ought to have told him long ago. 
 And then that letter ! Could it be that her secret was atK5ut to be 
 revealed ? She would have given worlds to know : it would be a 
 rehef to know even the worst ; — the suspense was dreadful. 
 
 Every moment, during the latter part of their drive home, she 
 expected her husband would say that he knew all, and denotmce 
 her as a fathless deceitful wife. She had consented to come into 
 Cornwall, thinking that she would be here removed from any chance 
 of a discovery, but she foimd, to her sorrow, that her guilt followed 
 her even here — at least, so she believed in her weak and self-accusing 
 mind. 
 
 CHAPTEE XL. 
 
 MISS PEXDEAY's SDfGULAB ACCIDENT. 
 
 Alrina thought her cup of misery had been full long ago ; but 
 here was another drop added to it. She was now fully convinced 
 that Frederick had taien her at her word and given her up, and, to 
 be revenged of her treatment of him, had induced her to come out 
 into the garden, merely to shew her that he could be as indifferent 
 to her feelings as she had been to his ; and now Blanche knew her 
 secret love, and would of course tell it to all the iamxly ; and Juiia 
 would return, no doubt, and endeavour to renew their former 
 friendship until she discovered who she was, and what her miserable 
 father had been, and then she would spurn her. 
 
 Blanche returned to her after the visitors had departed, and began 
 the usual good-htun cured badinage which passes between young 
 ladies when a secret love is discovered ; she spoke in a playful 
 manner at first : for she did not know how serious it was, and she 
 intended, if Alrina had placed confidence in her, and told her, as a 
 friend, of her secret love, to have imparted to Alrina, in return, her
 
 192 THE WIZAUD or WEST PENWITH. 
 
 own sorrows ; ami she Avas surprised and grieved to find that, 
 although she could see clearly there was something very much amiss 
 which preyed on Alrina's mind, yet her friend did not seem to have 
 sufficient confidence in her to tell her what it was; so, to gain Alrina's 
 confidence, in some degree, she told her own secret first. It took a 
 long time in the telling, although there was not really much to tell; 
 but it was the theme on which she had been dwelling for weeks, and 
 Aveeks, and as it was uppermost in her own thoughts, she fancied it 
 must be interesting in its minutest details to everyone else. She 
 had never spoken of it before to a single human being, and now that 
 she had commenced, and found, as she thought, a willing and 
 attentive listener, she dwelt on every trifling incident 
 
 Alrina's thoughts were otherwise engaged, but she sympathised 
 with the gentle confiding creature who was poiiring her thoughts and 
 feelings into her ear, and, when she had told her tale, Alrina said: — 
 
 " My dearest Blanche, there is some misunderstanding in all this — 
 someone has poisoned your father's mind : let some mutual friend 
 but come between and explain, and all will be well. But my love, 
 alas ! is past all healing ! It cannot be ! it cannot be ! " and she 
 burst into a flood of tears, which Blanche tried in vain to assuage. 
 
 Early in the evening, Squire Pendray returned, bringing Mr. 
 Morley with him, for the latter believed that his brother had 
 remained behind at Pendi-ea-house for some private reason of his 
 own, instead of following them to Portagnes ; and, moreover, Mr. 
 Morley was very anxious to see Miss Pendray once more, after 
 having been absent from her so long. He had not, it is true, 
 pointedly asked her the question, but he had seen sufficient of her 
 to believe that his attentions were appreciated by her, and that he 
 had a fair chance of being accepted, should he ventiu^e on that 
 important step : and this step would have been taken long ago, but 
 for his anxiety to secure the vile wretches who had so stained the 
 character of his father, and brought him to an untimely end. He 
 had spoken to the squire on the subject, during their ride home, and 
 although he Avas rather inclined to get on his stilts again at first, 
 believing that Mr. Morley had been trifling with his daughter's 
 feelings, yet, when all was explained, he promised that if Mr. Morley 
 and his daughter could make matters up, as he termed it, he would 
 not object. And, Avhile the squire went to acquaint his wife Avith 
 the result of the day's search, Mr. Morley Avent in search of the fair 
 creature Avhose charms had so entirely enthralled him : and so sure 
 did he feel that his brother Frederick had returned to Pendrea, and 
 was there comfortably ensconced, that he did not CA'en enquire for 
 him when he returned. Oh ! Cupid ! Cupid ! thou little perverter 
 of men's thoughts and tormentor of Avomen's minds ! 
 
 Alrina had scarcely recovered herself AA'hen Mrs. Pendray entered
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 193 
 
 the room and told the two young girls the whole story of the mysterious 
 disappearance of Alrina's father, and the fruitless search which had 
 been made for him by the gentlemen that day : the squire thought it 
 best that Alrina should be told the whole now, as there seemed no 
 chance of their being able to discover the body, or the parties who 
 were concerned in taking it away. This news came upon her so 
 suddenly, that she could scarcely realize it. That her father possessed 
 more shrewdness and knowledge than most other people she fully 
 believed ; but she did not believe in his being possessed of any 
 supernatiu'al power, as many in the neighbourhood did ; and she 
 therefore thought that the body had been removed by some of his 
 wicked assistants, to gratify some private end of their own. Instead 
 of giving way to tears again, she merely asked the favor of being left 
 alone for the remainder of the night, that she might think on what 
 course would be best for her to pursue under the circumstances ; and, 
 so earnestly did she urge this, that her friends were prevailed on to 
 yield to her wishes, and she was left to her own meditations. The 
 gentle Blanche was very loth to leave her thus, after the mutual 
 understanding that had so lately sprung up between them ; but, as 
 Alrina assured her that she required repose and meditation after the 
 excitement she had undergone, and that she should be better in the 
 morning, her kind friends retired, begging her at the same time, to 
 summon the domestics if she found she required anything more before 
 they retired for the night. 
 
 Mr. Morley sought Miss Pendray every where, in doors and out, 
 but she was no where to be found. One of the servants had seen 
 her go out soon after Captain Courland and his party left ; but no 
 one had seen her since. — She had not returned. 
 
 This, however, was not at all unusual ; she often wandered out 
 alone, and stayed away for hours. No one took much notice of her 
 eccentricities. 
 
 Mr. Morley enquired where she was likely to have gone. No one 
 could tell : she might be gone to the Logan-Rock ; or she might be, 
 even then, sitting on one of the lofty rocks above Lamorna Cove, 
 where she sometimes sat for hoiirs watching the waves ; or she might 
 even be gone on so far as Tol-pedn-Penwith. — It was very uncertain 
 which route she might have taken. One thing, however, the house- 
 hold were pretty certain about, — she was on the high cliffs somewhere, 
 for she seldom went underneath. 
 
 Mr. Morley was determined to find her, and bring his suit to an 
 issue at once ; and he thought that, if he could have the good 
 fortune to meet her alone on one of those distant headlands, he 
 would have ample time to say all he had to say during the walk 
 back ; so he started in pursuit. 
 
 Miss Pendray's proud spirit could not brook the repeated slights
 
 194 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 to which she had been subjected by Mr. Morley, as she thought, 
 and the indifference with which he had treated her : he had been at 
 Pendrea-house again, and had not thought proper to see her or even 
 to inquire for her. So, as soon as Captain Courland and his party 
 were gone, she went out in no very amiable mood, and walked along 
 the edge of the highest cliffs at a brisk pace ; and so absorbed was 
 she in thought, that she did not seem to notice the wild scenery, 
 which generally had such attractions for her, nor did she think of 
 the distance she was walking, until she found herself standing on 
 one of the highest and most dangerous of the headlands to be found on 
 that part of the coast, many miles from Pendrea-house, and no gi'eat 
 distance from Tol-pedn-Penwith. She had, by this time, worked 
 herself up to such a pitch of anger and disappointment, that she 
 did not see her dangerous position. As she thought of the treatment 
 she had received, she stamped her foot indignantly, and, in doing so, 
 the crumbling rock on which she was standing gave way, and, with 
 a shriek, she fell with it ; but, fortunately, there happened to be a 
 ledge of rocks a few yards down, standing out from the cHffs, Avhich 
 broke her fall and saved her from being engulphed in a watery 
 grave, if she was not dashed in pieces by the fall from that great 
 height. She was stunned by the shock, and lay insensible for some 
 minutes on the narrow slip of rock which had so far saved her life. 
 When she recovered her senses again she was afraid to move, lest this 
 rock should give way too ; and she shuddered as she looked down 
 on the foaming water, which dashed against the rocks some hundred 
 feet beneath her. And there she lay, in unspeakable terror, fearing 
 that the nest moment she might be precipitated into the abyss below. 
 Dreadful suspense I she had scarcely ever known what fear was 
 until now. The shades of evening were fast gathering round her, 
 and the fear of having to remain all night on that dread spot roused 
 her, and something of her wonted courage returned. Looking al:)0ut, 
 she saw that the ledge of rock on which she was lying appeared to 
 be the entrance into a cavern ; but how large it w^as, or whether it 
 was merely a chasm in the rock extending down to the sea, she did 
 not know. She crept cautiously in, feeling her way, as she Avent. 
 For several feet she found the rocks hard and firm ; here she could 
 rest securely. She sat and looked out on the broad ocean before 
 her ; and the more she reflected on her awful situation, the more 
 disheartened did she feel. She saw nothing before her but a 
 lingering death. No boat could approach the rocks underneath ; 
 indeed she could not be seen, unless she ventured out on that narrow 
 ledge of rock again. When she had rested herself a little, she 
 explored a little further, creeping cautiously along in the dark 
 cavern. At last she thought she saw a light. She stopped, and 
 looked around. The cavern was dark, except just at the entrance ;
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 195 
 
 but these lights seemed to be coming from the further end. She 
 crept on a little further, and was at last convinced that this light 
 came from some opening in the interior ; but whether it came from 
 above or below she could not tell ; — perhaps it came from below. 
 There was probably, she thought, a deep chasm running down to the 
 sea from the interior of the cavern, and if she ventured too near she 
 might be in danger of falling through. She crept a little nearer, 
 and then sat on a rock to meditate on her position, keeping her eyes 
 steadily fixed on this faint stream of light at the extremity. She 
 was now begining to feel cold and uncomfortable ; her delicate hands 
 and arms were lacerated by the rocks, and her fingers were sore from 
 holding on to them so firmly : in her fear and anxiety for her 
 safety, she did not feel these injuries before, but now her scratches 
 and bruises were beginning to make themselves felt, and there she 
 sat in the greatest agony, both of body and mind. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 MYSTERIOUS SOUNDS ARE HEARD ISSUING OUT OF THE EARTH AT 
 MIDNIGHT. THE CURIOUS COTTAGE ON THE HEATH. 
 
 The party who had gone in search of the body of Mr. Freeman and 
 his guilty associates separated as they approached their respective 
 homes : Captain Trenow and Josiah went to St. Just, Squire Pendray 
 and Mr. Morley went to Pendrea-house as we have seen, and 
 Lieutenant Fowler proceeded on his solitary journey towards his own 
 cabin at Tol-pedn-Penwith signal-station. On turning a sharp 
 corner in the road, he met one of his men, who had been ordered 
 out on night-duty, and who ought to have been watching the coast 
 instead of travelling along on the public road. 
 
 The man touched his cap to his commanding officer, who spoke 
 rather sharply to him as he returned the salute. 
 
 " What brings you here, Braceley ? " said he, " when your orders 
 were to keep close to the clifEs to-night ; — for there's mischief 
 afloat, and we want the coast well watched." 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied the man; "I have obeyed orders, and have 
 heard something that I thought best to report at once, and I came 
 this road, thinking to fall in with your honor." 
 
 " Well ! what is it?" said Fowler ; " bear a hand, and out with it ; 
 for it's cold standing here in the wind."
 
 196 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 " By the powers ! sir," said Braceley, looking very solemn, " I 
 believe ' The Maister ' isn't far off, for I've heard queer sounds." 
 
 " Sounds," said Fowler; "nonsense, man, what do you mean? — 
 This is one of your confounded Irish superstitions." 
 
 " No, sir ! by the Holy St. Patrick, 'tis no superstition, nor 
 anything of the kind," replied Braceley, coming nearer to the officer : 
 " I was coming along over the cliffs, sir, and I heard voices in the 
 air over my head, — and I spoke to them, and they answered again. 
 Spirits, I'm sure they were, your honor ! ' The Maister ' is here, 
 says I, — and I tould him to be aisy Avhile I called the praist." 
 
 It was a queer story ; but as nothing was too strange or improbable 
 to believe, in connection vdth " The Maister," after what had happened 
 within the last few days. Fowler determined he would go and see 
 what it was himself ; so he accompanied the man in silence, until 
 they arrived at the spot where Braceley said he had heard those 
 extraordinary sounds. It was now getting dark, and the place was 
 very lonely ; not at all the place that a nervous man would like to 
 be in at night, if he heard anything that he could by any means 
 imagine was caused by supernatural agency. Fowler had none of 
 that superstitious feeling in his composition which was so prevelant 
 everywhere at that period, and he laughed at his comjianion, who 
 possessed a good deal of it, and told him that what he fancied he 
 had heard was entirely in his own imagination. The man could not 
 be persuaded, however, and they listened for minutes, but heard 
 nothing, and Fowler said, in a jeering , tone, "'The Maister's' 
 ghost, no doubt, Braceley ! you shall have a guard of nanny-goats 
 when you turn out on night-duty again." 
 
 He had scarcely finished his sentence, before they heard the most 
 piercing sounds rending the air all round them. Fowler was 
 startled ; the sounds came upon them so suddenly : he listened, 
 but could not make out where they came from ; sometimes they 
 appeared above their heads, and then again beneath their feet : he 
 did not believe in the supernatural, but he really didn't know what 
 else to impute it to. His companion, however, had no doubt 
 whatever but that it was " The Maister's " spirit hovering about, 
 seeking rest. Neither of them spoke, but they walked on towards 
 the edge of the cliff, and, on approaching a deep hole or opening in 
 the rock, about fifty yards from the extreme edge of the cliff. Fowler 
 was convinced that the sounds were coming up from underneath. 
 This opening was partially concealed by the overhanging rocks, and 
 might be passed unobserved by a casual visitor. He however kncAv the 
 place well, for he had once, on his first coming to Tol-pedn-Penwith, 
 made a good seizure of kegs in the cavern beneath. When they 
 arrived at this place, be called down lustily and asked who was there, 
 although he could scarcely believe that it could be any human being.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENVVITH. 197 
 
 He was soon convinced, however, and astonished beyond measure, 
 at hearing a well-known voice calling up to him in tones of the 
 bitterest anguish : — 
 
 " Oh ! good sir, whoever you are, assist me out of this dreadful 
 place; I fell from the precipice several hours ago, and crept in here. 
 I am wounded, and bitterly cold. Oh ! good Christian, make haste." 
 
 " Don't distress yourself any more," replied Fowler ; " you shall 
 be extricated at once ; I know the cavern. I am Fowler of the signal- 
 station : I will be down to protect you in a few minutes " 
 
 In her distress and fear. Miss Pendray had evidently not recognised 
 his voice so easily as he had recognised hers. He desired Braceley 
 to proceed at once to the station, and get ropes and lights, and all 
 the assistance he could. Braceley had a blue-light in his pouch, 
 which Fowler lit, and fired a pistol, which he knew would bring any 
 of his men who were within hail to the spot at once. He then 
 descended cautiously, by the aid of the light, to reassure the 
 unfortunate lady, and to convince her that relief was at hand. It 
 was a perilous adventure ; but Fowler had been down before ; and 
 so he knew that the opening did not descend perpendicularly. He 
 had first to slide down over a smootli rock, almost perpendicular, for 
 several yards, and then to jump on a flat rock, and then slide on 
 again, and so on alternately ; but in the descent the greatest caution 
 was necessary, lest, in jumping on one of the narrow flat rocks, he 
 should shp and be carried by the impetus headlong down to the 
 bottom. 
 
 Miss Pendray was still sitting on the rock, afraid to move, when 
 Fowler jumped down at her side, carrying the light in his hand. 
 She could scarcely express her joy and gratification. She clasped 
 his arm tightly with both her hands and seemed afraid to let go her 
 hold. She forgot all her former animosity, and thought only of her 
 present perilous position and his ability and willingness to save her. 
 
 Braceley soon returned with ropes and lights and more assistance, 
 and they were not long in getting Miss Pendray up from her perilous 
 position. She was most grateful for the attention and almost 
 miraculous assistance of Lieutenant Fowler. She was not so 
 much bruised but that she was able to walk, although her limbs 
 were sore, and her arms and hands were lacerated fearfully. 
 Fowler accompanied her as far as the door of Pendrea-house, 
 where he was about to take his leave, but she would not suffer 
 it : she almost compelled him to come in ; for she felt that, after 
 all he had done for her that night, it was incumbent on her to 
 dispel some of the clouds which had for some time hung over his 
 happiness, and which she could not but feel she had been the means 
 of gathering around him and her gentle sister, and which this
 
 198 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 evening's adventure had determined her to make amends for, by- 
 explaining to her father the true state of the case ; for she well knew 
 that she had exaggerated, to use a mild expression, when she told him 
 of the clandestine meetings of her sister and the lieutenant. Anger 
 and wounded pride had led her to commit this treacherous and 
 ungenerous act, towards her younger sister, whom she ought rather 
 to have advised and reproved in private if she had seen anything 
 wrong in her behaviour. This act had been repented of often by 
 Miss Pendray, but her proud spirit would not bend to acknowledge 
 her fault : now she was determined on acknowledging the part she 
 had played, and, if she could not be happy herself in the possession 
 of the love of the only man who had ever really gained her affections, 
 she would at least have the satisfaction of knowing she had made 
 two others happy, by candidly confessing her own dissimulation. 
 
 Mr. Morley, in the meantime, had gone on in search of her ; but, 
 as she had considerably the start of him, he did not overtake her. 
 He walked over the cliffs for some distance, until he felt convinced 
 that she could not be gone in that direction ; for he did not believe 
 that any lady would walk even so far as he had gone, on those high 
 cliffs alone at that hour ; so he struck into a path which seemed to 
 lead towards the high road, thinking that would be the safer way 
 for him to return, as he was not familiar with the coast. He walked 
 on for some distance, until he came to a spot Avhere several paths 
 met, and here he was puzzled ; however, he took the one which 
 seemed the most probable, although he had by this time almost 
 entirely lost his bearings, for he was now on low ground, and could 
 not see the cliffs or the sea. He walked on briskly for a considerable 
 time, when he halted again, for he felt convinced he had missed his 
 way. There was no house or human habitation to be seen, nor 
 could he see anyone of whom he might enquire ; so he walked on 
 again. The twilight was now getting more decided in its character, 
 and the shadows of night were closing in, and he began to fear 
 that he might be kept wandering over that dreary heath all 
 night; for he frequently came upon some other path branching off 
 from the one he was pursuing, and he would sometimes be tempted 
 to try a fresh one. At length he thought he perceived smoke rising 
 at some little distance, and he made sure now that he should meet 
 Avith some one to direct him ; for it e'V'idently arose from a cottage 
 at no great distance. He thought of his father's adventures in that 
 lonely cottage, on that dreadful night, and he braced up his nerves 
 and walked manfully forward ; when, on turning into a narrow lane 
 which seemed to lead to the cottage, a man ran against him, and 
 nearly knocked him off his legs. Mr. Morley was a tall, powerful 
 man, and was armed with a stout stick which he instantly raised 
 above his head, ready to strike if he found that foul play was intended.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 199 
 
 The uplifted hand descended, but not to strike ; for Mr. Morley, to 
 his great surprise recognized in the ferocious and excited individual 
 before him, his brother Frederick. 
 
 " Where on earth did you spring from ? " he exclaimed ; " I 
 thought you were at this moment comfortably closeted with that 
 unhappy girl you seemed so infatuated with." 
 
 " I left you with the intention of seeing her and having a mutual 
 explanation," replied Frederick, " and she, no doubt, now feels that 
 I have deserted her." 
 
 " No ! no ! she can't think that," said Mr. Morley ; " but better 
 she should, perhaps, than that you should unite yourself to the 
 daughter of this man." 
 
 " But suppose she is not his daughter ? " replied Frederick, looking 
 earnestly at his brother, and speaking hurriedly and anxiously. 
 
 " That is a ridiculous speculation," said Mr. Morley, " after what 
 we have heard and know. Of course she is his daughter ; there can 
 be no doubt about that : she has been known as such, at any rate, in 
 this neighbourhood ; and even the association with such a wretch 
 must carry contamination with it. Give her up Frederick ! let me 
 entreat you to give her up ! " 
 
 Frederick did not reply ; but, taking his brother's arm, he led him 
 back to the cottage which he seemed to have just quitted. 
 
 It was a lone cottage, and, but for the smoke which Mr. Morley 
 saw issuing from the chimney, might have escaped his notice in the 
 dim twilight : it consisted of several rooms, covering a considerable 
 space, but they were all on the ground-floor. The house was 
 commonly built, the rooms entering one into the other, without 
 having any passages between them. There were several doors in 
 the walls, by which a person could enter or escape, if necessary, and 
 puzzle his pursuers. On entering the outer room, by the principal 
 entrance-door, Mr. Morley perceived an old woman sitting at a table, 
 on which -were the remains of a substantial meal, and a good supply 
 of liquor in a small wooden barrel or keg. The woman had just 
 filled a jug from the barrel, and seemed about to carry it to some 
 other part of the house ; but on the entrance of the gentlemen she 
 placed it on the tal>le. She was a tall large-boned woman, with a 
 commanding appearance, and looked as if she was accustomed to be 
 obeyed ; and yet there was an expression of low cunning in her 
 countenance which was not at all pleasant, and which made 
 strangers feel uncomfortable and suspicious. She was believed in the 
 neighbourhood to be a witch, and people went to her to have their 
 fortunes told, and she very often told them true, for she had her 
 secret spies about as well as " The Maister " ; but, from want o£ 
 education, her prophecies were seldom so startling or so well or 
 plausibly expressed as his were. It was generally believed that they
 
 200 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 "were connected in business, and that they played into each otlier's 
 hands, although no one had ever seen them together. 
 
 Sitting by the fire, on a low stool, was a grotesque looking being, 
 somewhat between a man and a monkey ; not that he was particularly 
 ill-formed, but the expression of his countenance as he intently 
 watched the woman's movements, had something ludicrous in it, 
 and but for the wild stare Avhich occasionally lit up his coimtenance, 
 he might be an idiot or an imbecile. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " cried he, jumping up and skipping about in a ludicrous 
 manner, as the two gentlemen entered ; " ' Maazed Dick ' es the boy ! 
 ' Maazed Dick ' es the boy ! Letter to the young maister ; — get 
 him down here ! get him down here ! Letter to the cap'n ; 
 frightened out of his vnts ! frightened out of his vdts ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 " Richard ! " said the old woman, in her most commanding tone ; 
 " hold your tongue and sit down." 
 
 This seemed to have the same effect on " Maazed Dick " as the 
 sharp command of a sportsman has on a well-trained spaniel dog ; — 
 he ceased his antics and retained his seat by the fire, keeping his 
 eyes fixed on her of whom he seemed to stand so much in fear. 
 
 The old woman then, turning to the two gentlemen, said, " What's 
 your will, gentlemen ? and what do you want here at this hour of 
 the night ? " 
 
 " This is my brother," said Frederick, "and I want him to hear 
 from your lips what I have heard to-night : it may tend to 
 con^dnce him that he has formed a hasty opinion and that all may 
 yet be well." 
 
 " Frederick Morley," she said, rising and extending her hand in 
 a commanding attitude, " you have heard all you will hear from 
 me ; do my bidding and you may know more : if you neglect it, or 
 tell what you have heard to any human being, except the one named 
 to you, it were better you had never been born." Saying which, 
 she took up the jug again which she had placed on the table, and, 
 waving her hand towards the door at which the two gentlemen had 
 entered, disappeared into an inner room, bolting the door after her; 
 and, almost at the same moment, "Maazed Dick" took up the keg 
 of brandy from the table and disappeared also, somewhere in the 
 wall, but where, the visitors could not tell ; he could not have gone 
 through the wall, that was very certain : there was evidently a secret 
 cupboard somewhere in the wall ; but, if so, it was very ingeniously 
 concealed. 
 
 As there seemed no chance of learning any more, Frederick led 
 the way out of the house and walked on at a rapid rate, followed 
 by his brother, until they arrived at the end o£ the lane leading to 
 the cottage. He seemed so excited that Mr. Morley became alarmed, 
 and insisted on knowing what strange infatuation had seized him.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 201 
 
 " You heard what that woman said," replied Frederick ; " I feel 
 that all my future happiness depends on my obeying her instructions, 
 and I must do so." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said his brother : " it is perfectly ridiculous to 
 suppose that the old hag we have just seen can know anything or do 
 anything that can possibly influence your happiness in any way." 
 
 " She has not told me much, it is true," replied Frederick; " but 
 she has told me enough to convince me that she knows more ; but, 
 however little I have heard, I am bound not to tell it even to you." 
 
 " Come ! this is going a little too far ! " said Mr. Morley, in a 
 serious tone; "we are engaged in a common cause, and circumstances 
 have prevented our pursuing our object together for several weeks: 
 we must not separate again until these dark deeds are brought to 
 light." 
 
 " I am convinced," replied Frederick, " that something will come 
 out of my adventure this afternoon, which will throw a light on the 
 whole. I wish, from my heart, I was at liberty to tell you ; but it 
 cannot be. I must work alone for a short time longer, — it may be 
 a very short time. You are, I presume, going on to Fowler's 
 station : — if so, we must separate, for my way lies in another 
 direction." 
 
 " No," replied he, " I was going to Pendrea-house. I went out in 
 search of Miss Pendray, and I believe I missed my way somewhere ; 
 I don't exactly know where I am." 
 
 " Fortunately, then," said Frederick, " you have been walking in 
 the right direction, although not in the most frequented road : if you 
 take the next tiu-ning on the right you will soon be at the end of your 
 journey." 
 
 " But you will surely come with me," said Mr. Morley, taking 
 his brother by the arm. 
 
 " My dear brother," said Frederick, looking earnestly at Mr. 
 Morley ; " it grieves me to be obliged to refuse to accompany you 
 to Pendrea-house to-night, for many reasons ; for I have another 
 duty to perform which I feel convinced is of vital importance 
 to more than one, but the nature of which, as I said before, I 
 cannot now explain to you. Believe me, as soon as I have 
 accomplished the task I have solemnly promised to perform, you 
 shall know all." 
 
 As Mr. Morley saw that his brother was in earnest, and seemed 
 determined to have his own way, he did not press him further, but 
 bade him God-speed, and returned to Pendrea-house, which he 
 reached soon after the arrival of Miss Pendray and Lieutenant 
 Fowler.
 
 202 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 CIIAI^TER XLII. 
 
 THE POOR DUMB GIKl's SUDDEN RESOLVE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 Mrs. Courland remained in her room, for a considerable time after 
 tlicir return from Pendrea-house, reflecting on the events of the day, 
 and especially on the unaccountable and unusual conduct of her 
 husband. What could be the meaning of that letter ? — Who could 
 have written it? While these distracting thought were racking 
 her brain, Flora, her poor dumb protege, entered softly, unperceived 
 by her protrectress, and, leaning over the couch in which Mrs. 
 Courland Avas reclining absorbed in thought, touched her cheek 
 with her lips, and looked at her with a tender sympathizing ex- 
 pression, as if she knew that her protectress was unhappy, and was 
 conscious that it was not in her power to comfort her, although she 
 longed to be able to do so ; but the events of the day, and the 
 thoughts that had since passed through the mind of Mrs. Courland, 
 had made the sight of this poor girl hateful to her. She had wished, 
 in her heart, within the last hour, that this source and evidence of 
 her deception could be blotted out from the face of the earth. She 
 ■wished, in her agony, that she could be in any way got rid of and 
 her existence drowned in oblivion ; for, even here, in this remote 
 place, she seemed to be followed by her dread enemies, and she 
 believed that her secret was about to be discovered ; the thoughts 
 of those who have committed an evil deed, of however trivial a 
 nature, being always suspicious and uneasy. 
 
 Mrs. Courland seemed suddenly to have changed her nature : from 
 a gentle, beautiful woman, the sight of her she now so much dreaded 
 seemed to have turned her mto a demon in human form. She rose 
 from her reclining position, and, seizing the poor dumb girl by the 
 hair, dragged her down on the couch. What she meant to do, in 
 her frenzy, it is difficult to say ; for the action and look of the lady, 
 together vnth the pain she inflicted on the poor girl, and the terror 
 she felt, brought back the remembrance of former days, and all her 
 old ferocity and strength returned ; and, seizing Mrs. Courland by 
 the wrists, she made her let go her hold, and pressed her back on 
 the couch with all her might, until she screamed for help, and the 
 servants ran in and extricated her from her perilous position. 
 
 It was more from the fear of what might happen than from what 
 had already occurred, that Mrs. Courland gave the alarm ; for she 
 felt that she was as nothing in the hands of her protege, when she 
 chose to put forth her strength and her passions were roused. She 
 had conquered again ; and again did she seem to regret the part 
 she had taken, when she saw that poor delicate lady powerless in her 
 grasp. She released her hold at once, and the servants, having seen 
 no violence used, believed that their mistress had been seized with 
 giddiness, as she had told them she had, and that Flora, in attempting
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 203 
 
 to support her, had, from over anxiety j^ressed her arms more tightly 
 than she intended. 
 
 Flora, however, felt that Mrs. Courland had, without any apparent 
 cause, treated her as her former associates had done : she saw and 
 understood the look of determined hate and fury which was depicted 
 in her countenance when she rose so suddenly from her couch and 
 seized her by the hair. That look haunted her; she could not bear to 
 think of it. She could not tell her thoughts to anyone, and she deter- 
 mined, in her own mind, that the lady, who had been so kind to her, 
 should not have cause to look on her with hatred and scorn again. 
 She would go away; she would die, — perhaps drown herself; she did 
 not care what death it was ; there was nothing worth living for now. 
 All the world seemed to be possessed of the same evil passions, she 
 thought, — they only wanted to be brought out. She put on an old 
 bonnet and a shawl and went out : the coast was clear, for all the 
 household were in attendance on Mrs. Courland. She walked 
 through the town, and beyond it, — far out into the country. 
 
 It was getting late, and yet she walked on, not knowing where 
 and without having any fixed purpose. On, on, she walked, some- 
 times on the broad road and sometimes through bye-lanes, she did 
 not care where : her only object was to get away as far as she could, 
 and to avoid being overtaken. At last she felt weary and sick at 
 heart, and now she wished to meet with some house where she could 
 rest herself a little ; but there was no house to be seen anywhere : 
 she had passed several at the commencement of her journey, but she 
 did not feel so weary then, and had walked on. It was no use 
 stopping in the lonely road, so on she walked again till her feet were 
 sore ; for she had come out in her thinnest indoor shoes. At length, 
 when nearly exhausted, she saw a man coming towards her. She 
 was frightened, and tried to hide herself behind a low hedge, but the 
 man perceived her dress fluttering in the breeze, and he approached 
 and spoke to her. She did not answer him but made signs to him, 
 which he iinderstood, for he had seen her before. It was Frederick 
 Morley whom she had thus opportunely mot. He had seen her before 
 at his aunt's house, and he wondered to see her out alone at that 
 hour, and in such a place, and made signs to go back ; but she 
 stamped the ground, and signified her intention of going on further 
 away from her former protectress. Frederick saw that something 
 had happened, but what it was he did not know, nor could she make 
 him understand ; she must be protected, however, for the night, 
 until Captain Courland's family could be communicated with. He 
 had just parted from his brother, and he at first thought of calling 
 after him, and asking him to take her with him to IV'ndrea-house ; 
 but, on reflection, he thought this was a liberty that neitlusr of them 
 ought to take, as they were both comparative strangers to the Pendray
 
 204 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 family. lie thought of the cottage he had just left, and that, perhaps, 
 the old woman would not object to give the poor dumb girl shelter 
 for the night ; so he took her there, and the old woman received her 
 •with more warmth than Frederick expected, or than was at all 
 necessary, he thought, under the circumstances. 
 
 Although Flora was very tired and hungry, and was glad to rest 
 herself after her long walk, yet she did not appear at all comfortable. 
 She seemed to look at the woman with dread and suspicion, but she 
 was too tired to walk any further, so, after she had partaken of some 
 refreshment, she followed the woman into an inner roona, where there 
 was a bed prepared for her. The old woman then gave Frederick 
 some further instructions and enjoined haste and secrecy, and he 
 again commenced his journey on the mysterious errand which had 
 so puzzled his brother. 
 
 While her protege was wandering through the lanes alone and 
 trying to get further and further away, and seeking some obscure 
 place where she should hide herself for ever, Mrs. Courland was 
 receiving the attentions of the whole household. Her kind husband 
 was much grieved to find his beautiful wife in this excited, and yet 
 apparently helpless, state. She seemed to be suffering great pain 
 too, but she kept the cause of it from them as much as she could, 
 and covered her arms and "wi'ists that they might not see the full 
 extent of the bruises which the strong hands of Flora had made on 
 her soft delicate flesh. The kind attention of her husband reassured 
 her of his continued love and esteem, and she began to think that 
 the mysterious letter might have been a mere hoax after all, and 
 that she had nothing to fear : and as these thoughts occujjied her 
 mind in rapid succession, she began to feel more tranquil, until at 
 last she came to the conclusion, that, even if her secret was dis- 
 covered her husband would forgive her ; and then she began to feel 
 ashamed of her conduct towards the poor innocent cause of all this, 
 and she sent her maid in search of Flora that she might atone for 
 the part she had taken as the first aggressor, and make her protege 
 understand that she was forgiven also for the pain she had inflicted 
 on her protectress. 
 
 The servants searched everywhere throughout the house, but 
 Flora could nowhere be found. Her bonnet and shawl were gone, 
 and so they supposed she had taken a stroll through the town, alone, 
 as she was very fond of doing, and would return when her curiosity 
 was satisfied. 
 
 Several hours passed by, but Flora did not make her appearance, 
 and the household became alarmed ; they fancied a thousand things. 
 She might have missed her way and gone too near the sea, and have 
 fallen in ; or she might have been entrapped by some lawless gang
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 205 
 
 of sailors and taken to one of their haunts. Captain Courland and 
 the man-servant searched the town all over ; they were out nearly 
 all night, and, as soon as it was light in the morning he and the 
 man started for St. Michael's Mount, in the vain hope that they 
 might find her there, for she had often expressed a wish to see the 
 interior of the ancient castle which appeared to her to be built almost 
 in the clouds. She had the most romantic fancies sometimes, and 
 amused her friends very much by the manner in which she expressed 
 her feelings by signs and pantomimic dumb- shew. 
 
 All who knew her, loved and pitied the poor dumb girl, and they 
 all joined in the search right heartily. Julia begged to be allowed 
 to accompany her uncle; and the women-servants, and even the 
 landlady herself, went out into the town and explored every part 
 they could think of, leaving Mrs. Courland in the house alone. She 
 could not rest, so she got up very early ; but she was not equal to 
 the task of joining in the search. She was sitting alone in the 
 drawing-room, when she heard a hasty step coming up the stairs. 
 Her first thought was, that Flora was found, and that some one had 
 been sent to inform her of the fact. Without further reflection, she 
 rushed towards the door in the greatest excitement, exclaiming — " Is 
 she found ? Is she found ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear aunt," cried Frederick Morley, catching Mrs. 
 Courland in his arms as he hastily entered the room, — " the lost is 
 found ; " and, leading her to a seat, he explained to her that her 
 daughter was found and was now with kind friends, and that all wa3 
 about to be divulged ; for the parties who possessed the secret, having 
 already prepared Captain Courland for it, he said, had determined to 
 publish everything : but they did not wish to do it to the injury of 
 Mrs. Courland, and were willing to give her the opportunity of 
 informing her husband herself if she preferred doing so. The parties 
 had other secrets to communicate also of the greatest importance, 
 and they wished Mrs. Courland to meet them at a certain house in 
 the neighbourhood immediately. Frederick knew the house, he said, 
 and had been commissioned to bring his aunt there without delay, as 
 it was of the greatest importance. She hesitated at first, but, knowing 
 what those people were, she thought, on reflection, that it would be 
 wise for her to meet them and hear what they had to communicate, 
 provided Frederick would go with her, and protect and assist and 
 counsel her, which he promised he would do. He had engaged a 
 conveyance ; so, dressing herself in the commonest things she had, 
 she accompanied her nephew to the outskirts of the town where tho 
 carriage was waiting, to avoid suspicion. 
 
 When they arrived within about a quarter of a mile of the cottage, 
 they got out and walked the remainder of tlie distance, leaving tlic 
 carriage in the road. Frederick could tell Mrs. Courland little more
 
 206 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 than be had already told her ; and she was impatient to reach the 
 place of meeting that she might know what those -wicked people 
 really intended to do, and what other secrets they had to communicate; 
 for she felt that this suspense and uncertainty were worse than the 
 reality, whatever that might be. 
 
 They foimd the old w^oman in the outer room of the cottage, 
 anxiously expecting their arrival. She received Mrs. Courland with 
 a curtsey, saying, — 
 
 " It is well, madam ; you have been prompt in attending to my 
 request. Had you delayed your coming but a few hours, you would 
 have been too late." 
 
 " Too late I " said Mrs. Courland ; " what do you mean ? Has the 
 poor afflicted girl met with an accident, or what has happened to 
 her?" 
 
 Instead of replying, the old woman led the way into the interior 
 of the house and beckoned her two visitors to follow her. They 
 passed through two or three rooms, some furnished as sitting-rooms 
 and some as sleeping-apartments ; at last they came to an empty, 
 unfurnished room, where the old woman desired them to Avait while 
 she prepared the invalid for their reception. In a few minutes she 
 opened the door, and asked them to walk in. 
 
 CHAPTER XLHI. 
 
 THE CONFESSION. 
 
 It was a comfortable and well-furnished bedroom ; but instead of 
 finding Flora there, as Mrs. Courland expected, the bed was 
 occupied by an elderly woman, who appeared very ill, and was 
 Bitting up in the bed supported by pillows. She motioned her visitors 
 to be seated, and then said in a feeble voice, — 
 
 " You do not recognise me, Mrs. Courland : illness makes great 
 changes in the human frame. The name you first knew me by was 
 Fisher ; I then changed it more than once, for reasons you shall 
 know presently." 
 
 " I remember you, now, " said Mrs. Courland involuntarily, 
 shrinking further from the bed, as if still afraid of the poor helpless 
 creature before her. 
 
 "I am not long for this world," said the invalid; "and before I 
 die I wish to make some amends for the misdeeds I have done during 
 my life, and they have been many. I have requested Mr. Frederick 
 Morley to attend with you, for a part of the revelations I am about 
 to make concerns him also."
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 207 
 
 " Do you knoAV anything," exclaimed Frederick, " of the wretches 
 who ? " 
 
 " Don't interrupt me, if you can possibly help it," she said ; " for 
 I feel my strength failing me, and I don't know if I shall Be spared 
 even long enough to finish my recital. My father was not a poor 
 fisherman, as you supposed when you and your mother came to 
 lodge Avith us. He was pursuing a lawless employment, — sometimes 
 bringing in great earnings, and sometimes nothing. He had seen 
 better days. In his youth he was captain of a large trading vessel, 
 and my brother and myself received a good education. My father 
 amassed considerable property, — more than he could possibly have 
 done by legitimate trachng ; and he was suspected, and watched, 
 and found out. He had turned his vessel into a smuggler, and, 
 under cover of fair trading, clandestinely carried on a lucrative 
 trade in all sorts of contraband goods. He was convicted, and fined 
 heavily, and, in fact, ruined. 
 
 " We then retired to the small fishing-cove where your mother 
 found us. My brother had gone to France to reside some time 
 before, and acted as my father's agent there. He was very shrewd 
 and intelligent, but a determined character, and one who would 
 never forget nor forgive an injury. He was naturally cunning and 
 crafty ; and his smuggling pursuits tended to sharpen his natural 
 gifts in this respect 
 
 " Our fortune was at a low ebb when we first became acquainted 
 with you ; and we were glad of the assistance of an aristocratic 
 lodger. I saw your mother's weak points, and your love of gaiety 
 and admiration ; and I thought that, by residing with you in the 
 confidential capacity of lady's-maid, I could benefit myself in many 
 ways. Your clandestine marriage, and the birth of you.r daughter, 
 which I persuaded you to keep secret from your parents, gave me a 
 double hold upon you. 
 
 " After the death of your husband, and while you were with us 
 on a visit to recruit your health, my brother returned. He fell 
 desperately in love with you ; — you refused to receive his addresses, 
 and spurned him from you with scorn. He was desperate. He 
 begged me to intercede for him, which I promised to do, but did not; 
 for your marriage with my brother Avould not have suited my 
 purpose at all. I knew yoiir parents wished you to marry some rich 
 man, and, as I was now the keeper of your secret, I knew that if 
 you married according to your parents' wishes, I could make my 
 own terms with yoii. You were summoned home, and eventually 
 married according to their wishes and mine. 
 
 " My mother died. Your little daughter was left in my care, 
 and I was well paid. I sent her to school, but I watched her most 
 carefully; — I could not afford to lose her, for she was my nest-
 
 208 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 egg ; nnd slio grew a lovely girl, just like you when you were 
 her age." 
 
 " IIow is it possible that she can ever have been even good- 
 lookiug?" exclaimed Mrs, Courland ; — "but that dreadful spoiler 
 of the human face — the small-pox — has done its work : it was that, 
 no doubt, that altered her so much." 
 
 " She was a lovely girl," continued the invalid, without noticing 
 Mrs. Courland's inten-uption. " My brother would gaze on her 
 countenance for hours without speaking, and then he would leave 
 the room in a rage. He hated the name of Morley, because it was 
 under that name that he first knew you, and was spurned by you. 
 He seldom took much notice of the child, except to gaze on her 
 until he had worked his mind up to a state of maddening jealousy. 
 
 " We never lost sight of you. Wherever you moved, we followed, 
 and lived near you under feigned names, in order to worry you by 
 continually draining your purse, and threatening to expose your 
 duplicity and deceit to your husband by producing the child and 
 telling him all, of which we had ample proof, and have still. My 
 brother would not see you himself, — he could not bear it, he said. 
 I was always your tormentor ; and when I brought the dumb girl 
 to you, I thought the sight of her hideous features, and her infirmity, 
 would have so disgusted you, that you would have given us what we 
 asked, rather than haA'^e her left on your hands as your acknowledged 
 daughter. We were mistaken. You kept her, believing her to be 
 your child ; and you thought that, by doing this, and denying me 
 an interview, you would be free from further worry, and there could 
 be no danger of the girl telling anything of her former life or 
 associates ; and if we tried to expose you to your husband, he would 
 not believe us. 
 
 " Since that girl has been with you, we have had other things to 
 think of ; and our anxiety for my brother's safety prevented our 
 taking the steps we intended with regard to your secret. That 'poor 
 dvriib girl is not your daughter, Mrs. Courland." 
 
 " Oh ! thank God for that ! " exclaimed Mrs. Courland, rising in 
 the greatest excitement. " I hope you are not deceiving me again. 
 If you can produce her, and I can be satisfied that she really is my 
 daughter, I vail acknowledge her in the face of all the world, and 
 tell my husband all, and throw myself on his mercy. I have 
 sufEered years of torture, from having followed your advice in the 
 beginning. Oh ! had I but acted a straightforward part, and kept 
 no secret from my husband, my life Would have been much happier. 
 I see my error now, and am determined to keep the secret no longer. 
 Where is she ? let me see her at once ; don't keep me in suspense." 
 
 The invalid had exhausted her strength in the recital of her tale, 
 and this outburst of Mrs. Courland's quite upset her. She could
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 209 
 
 not speak again for several minutes, until Frederick Motley handed 
 her the glass which she seemed to wish for, and which was standing 
 on the table more than half full of brandy. This, which she drank 
 off at once, seemed to give her new life and energy. Then, turning 
 to Frederick, she said, in a gayer tone than before, — 
 
 " You will be glad to hear, Frederick Morley, that the lovely girl 
 to whom you are so devotedly attached, is not the daughter of John 
 Freeman, the Land's-End conjuror, but the daughter of your aunt — 
 Mrs. Courland." 
 
 " Alrina, of whom I have heard so much, my daughter!" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Courland ; " impossible I" 
 
 " Oh ! this is indeed too good to be true !" cried Frederick ; " I 
 cannot beheve it. What proof is there of this ? " 
 
 " Proof in abundance," replied the invalid ; " I am ready to make 
 an oath of the fact before a magistrate ; and my brother " 
 
 " Your brother ! " said Frederick ; " where is he ? is he still 
 alive?" 
 
 " I was about to say that my brother could have confirmed my 
 statement. Captain Cooper and his wife can also bear witness to 
 the fact ; but, even if there were no other evidence, the likeness 
 would be sufficient to a person who knew Mrs. Courland as Miss 
 Morley." 
 
 "Let me see her!" said Mrs. Courland; "where is she? It is 
 very strange that I have never seen her, although I have heard so 
 much about her. Why did you never let me see her ? " 
 
 " That would not have suited our purpose," replied the invaUd ; 
 " yovi would have braved all risk of your husband's displeasiure, and 
 taken her home long before, if you had seen her. I think you would 
 have seen the likeness yourself. No, no, my brother's revenge was 
 not complete. I led you, from the first, to beheve that she was dis- 
 figured by the small-pox, and rendered very ugly and forbidding ; 
 but I never said she was duml), — indeed, it was not our intention to 
 have left the other girl with you entirely ; it was only to frighten 
 you into granting us the money that wc required, that the poor girl 
 was taken into your house. My l)rother knew that he must be found 
 out, ere long, and he wanted all the money he could get to carry 
 with him ; for he had made all his preparations for leaving this 
 country, and his associates and accomplices wanted their share of the 
 hush-money also. It was the last we sliouid get from you, and so 
 we demanded a large sum." 
 
 "But my daugliter!" said Mrs. Courland — "if in reality she ia 
 Buch — pray let me see her. Where is she?" 
 
 " Your daughter, madam, is now at Pendrea-house, as Frederick 
 Morley knows. Let him go tliere and fetch her, while you remain 
 here ; for I have something more to tell you in connection with tliis
 
 210 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 affair, whioh will convince you I am not deceiving yon now. Tell 
 Alrina," continued she, turning to Frederick, " that her aunt, Miss 
 Freeman, is on her death-bed, and she must come at once." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 MRS. BROWN ENJOYS ANOTHER CROOM CHAT WITH MRS, TRENOW, 
 AND RECEIVES AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 
 
 While the other gossips were going from house to house, collecting 
 and retailing the neAvs respecting the mysterious disappearance of 
 " The Maister," Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Trenow were having a serious 
 chat over their " drop of comfort," according to custom. 
 
 *' So, you don't think he's carr'd away by the pixies, then,"- said 
 Mrs. Trenow. 
 
 " No, I don't," replied Mrs. Brown ? " 'tes some of his hocus pocus 
 work, you may depend. I'm glad the old cap'n es gone weth Siah 
 to see the gentlemen. They'll find ' The Maister' somewhere, I'll be 
 boimd, afore come back." 
 
 " No, no more than you will, cheeld vean," said Mrs. Trenow. 
 " The Pixies have got 'n, or something wuss, so sure as my name es 
 Mally Trenow. They'll be home soon, I shudn't wonder, and then 
 w^e shall knaw. They've be'n gone evar since the mornin', an' now 
 'tes come brave an' late. Aw ! here they are, sure nuff, — ' spaik o' 
 the Devil and his horns will appear.' Well, where's ' The Maister,' 
 soas," continued she, addressing her husband and son as they entered. 
 
 " We do no more knaw than you do, old woman," replied her 
 husband ; " we've sarched everywhere we cud think upon, and now 
 we've returned, like a bad penny. Two glasses o' brandy toddy, 
 Mrs. BrowTi, ef you plaise, for we've had a bra' ti-amp." 
 
 " Iss sure," said the landlady, proceeding to execute the order ; 
 *' you must want somethin' to drink after your hard day's work ; but 
 you haven't be'n to the right place, I reckon." 
 
 " No fie, we ha'n't be'n to the right place, sure nuff," said Josiah. 
 
 " You shud oft to ha' kept a sharper look-out, Siah," said Mrs. 
 Brown, taking a side glance at Josiah, as if she meant something 
 more than she said. 
 
 " Zackly like that," said he, looking very serious, as he sipped his 
 brandy and water; "Needs must when the devil drives" es an old 
 sapn' and a very true one ; and I tell 'ee, Mrs. Brown, you may 
 laugh so much as you %vill, and squinny up your eyes till they're so 
 small as the button-holes of my jacket ; but 'tes my belief that the 
 Devil es at the bottom of et all. He put me to sleep, and fastened
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 211 
 
 the door, bo that I cudn't get out ; and he took away * The Maister' 
 to have his desarts, — that's my beUef, down sous ; and now you've 
 got it all." 
 
 Mrs. Trenow looked very serious at her son's earnestness ; for she 
 herself held the same opinions, although she didn't express them ; — 
 but Mrs. Brown continued to look at Josiah in her sarcastic way, 
 without uttering a word. 
 
 " Where's Alice Ann, mother ? " asked Josiah, at length breaking 
 the silence. 
 
 " She's gone up to her aunt's again for a bit," repUed Mrs, Trenow; 
 " the ladies wanted her to stop over to Pcndrca-house too, I b'lieve; 
 but she thoft tliat one stranger wor enough for them to take in ; and 
 they wor very kind to take in the one that wanted it most. Poor 
 IVIiss Reeney ! she's worth her weight in gold. Talk about Cornish 
 diamonds, soas ! wliy, she's a Cornish diamond, every inch of her, 
 and a bright one too. But where ded 'ee lev the young gentleman, 
 'Siah, boy?" 
 
 " Aw ! he's right enough, I reckon," replied Josiah ; " I thoft how 
 'twould be. When we went to sarch for ' The Maister,' he Avent to 
 sarch for somebody else, I reckon ; and I s'pose he found her, for 
 we nevar seed he no more for the day." 
 
 " That's very well ! " chimed in poor Mr. Brown, from his seat in 
 the chimney-corner. " We sarched for the boy everywhere ; but 
 the mare came home safe. Wo ! ho ! my beauty ; she shall bo rubbed 
 down, she shall ! The boy came back at last, frail, zackly to the 
 time, — dedn't aw, Peggy, my dear ? " 
 
 " John Brown ! " cried his wife ; " hould your tongue ! " — which 
 had the desired effect of stopping that unruly member, and bringing 
 John Brown back to the contemplation of the fire on the hearth — ■ 
 and nothing more. 
 
 Early the next morning — very early indeed — almost before the 
 sun had taken down his shutters, Mrs. Brown was awoke from a 
 sound sleep by someone, as she thought, knocking gently at the front 
 door. She listened, and heard the same sound again, rather louder 
 than before. At first.she thought it might be some sailor or fisherman 
 who had been out fishing all night, and wanted his morning's dram to 
 warm him. 
 
 " You must wait, whoever you are," said she to herself, as sho 
 turned round to have a second nap. Still the knocking continued at 
 intervals, and prevented her from indulging in her morning's nap. 
 "Whoever can it be ? " said slie, as she sat up in the bed and listened ; 
 " I don't think it can be any of the sailors ; for they'd h;ive rapp'd 
 the door down by this time, or else have gone away. Til see wlio it 
 es, at any rate." So sho went to the window, and, drawing b;ick the 
 blind a little, saw a figure standing under the window which very
 
 212 TIIK WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 much astonished her. It was not a sailor, certainly. She put on 
 some of her clothes, and went down as quietly as she could, and 
 opened the door to Alrina ! 
 
 " Why, Avherever ded you come from ? " exclaimed Mrs. Brown ; 
 " why, you're mazed, to be sure. Come in, do, and sit down, while 
 I do light the fire and fit a cup o' tea for 'ee. Dear lor' ! wonders will 
 nevar cease. Miss Eeeney here this time in the mornin'!" 
 
 It was indeed Alrina, exliausted and hungry. She had walked all 
 the way from Pendrea-house to St. Just through the night. Her 
 father's death she had borne bravely, after the first shock, and she 
 intended to have remained at Pendrea-house until after the funeral, 
 and then to have gone into some respectable sersace to gain her oaati 
 livelihood, as companion to some invalid lady, or nursery governess. 
 She was very grateful to her kind friends, but she could not impose 
 on their good nature. Then came that cruel treatment which she 
 supposed Frederick had planned, in order to be revenged for the 
 coolness she had shown towards him. She deserved it, — she knew 
 she deserved it ; but it was hard to bear. Then came Blanche's 
 discovery of her secret love, and, to crown all, the news of the 
 mysterious disappearance of her father's body. Her friends would 
 still be kind to her — she knew that — and would pity her, and 
 alleviate her painful position as much as lay in their power. Of 
 this she was quite sure ; but this was repugnant to her feelings ; — 
 she would rather die, than live to be pitied, — she could not bear to 
 think of it. She requested to be left alone for the night, as she was 
 tired and wanted rest. 
 
 What should she do ? If she remained there till the morning, and 
 named her intention of leaving, the family would not hear of it ; 
 they would compel her to remain, and would probably watch her, in 
 their kindness. After thinking over her position for some time, she 
 made up her mind that she would leave at once, or at least as soon 
 as the house was quiet. She would find her way to the road as well 
 as she could ; and then she Avould go direct to St. Just, where she 
 would be able to learn the full particulars of this mysterious affair. 
 
 The house was not quiet until late. Miss Pendray's adventure 
 caused great commotion, and kept the servants up late ; but the 
 interest they took in their young mistress's adventure, and their 
 concern for her, and joy at her narrow escape, drove all thoughts of 
 their visitor out of their heads, and she was left quite undisturbed. 
 She wrote a letter to Mrs. Pendray, thanking her for all her kindness, 
 and saying that circumstances compelled her to leave ; and when the 
 house was perfectly quiet, she put on some of the warmest clothing 
 she had -with her, and went out into the cold night. She missed her 
 way several times, but at length got into the broad road, which she 
 knew pretty well, and arrived at Mrs. Brown's house, where she knew
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 218 
 
 she would meet with a hearty welcome, before any of the inhabitants 
 of St. Just were astir. 
 
 It was early, too, when Frederick Morley arrived at Pendrea- 
 house that morning in search of Ahiua. In his haste and excitement 
 to communicate the delightful intelligence he had just learned to the 
 one nearest and dearest to his heart, he quite forgot the carriage 
 which was waiting in the lane, so that he was some time in reaching 
 the house ; and when he arrived at the door, he was exhausted and 
 out of breath, and totally unfit for the duty which he had come there 
 to perform. So he thought his best plan would be to have a private 
 interview Avith his brother, and ask him to be the bearer of the 
 message to Alrina from her supposed aunt. 
 
 Mr. Morley was very much surprised at the tale his brother told 
 him. He could hardly believe it could be true ; but as Frederick 
 said that Mrs. Courland seemed satisfied that Alrina was her daughter, 
 and was at that moment receiving more proofs of it, he felt bound 
 to adopt the belief too, and promised to see Alrina at once, and 
 induce her to go to the cottage to see her aunt, 
 
 Frederick thought that, after what had occurred, it would be 
 better for his brother to see Alrina alone ; for, although he had 
 started with the full determination of seeing her himself, and bringing 
 her with him to the cottage to hear the welcome and delightful news, 
 yet, when he considered the manner in which she had treated him in 
 their former interviews, and remembered also that he had solicited 
 an interview with her the day before, and had not kept his appoint- 
 ment, his heart failed him, and he proposed that his brother should 
 see her alone, and he would wait his return. 
 
 After some little time, Mr. Morley returned, saying that he had 
 sought an interview with Alrina through her friend Blanche, who 
 immediately went to her room, and found no one there. On the 
 table she found a letter, expressing her deep gratitude to Mrs. Pendray 
 and all the family for the great kindness they had shewn her in her 
 distress, but stating, at the same time, she could not, after all that 
 had occurred in connection with her and her's, trespass on their 
 kindness any longer. She knew that their goodness and kind 
 hospitality would not permit her to leave them, she went on to say, 
 if she remained to take leave of them ; and, therefore, to avoid pain 
 to all parties, she had taken this step, which she felt seemed like in- 
 gratitude, — but it was not so. From her heart she thanked them 
 all ; and should she succeed in getting into some situation, whereby 
 she could gain her own livehhood honourably, they should hear from 
 her. If not, — God only knew what might become of her. 
 
 Mr. Morley read this much from the letter which he held in his 
 hand, and then handed it to his brother. 
 
 " Gone ! " cried Frederick, at length ; " gone ! just as tlie dark
 
 214 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 
 
 cioud was being lifted, which had obscured her so long ! Can it be 
 possible ? Gone ! But where can she have gone to ? She had no 
 friends — she has often told me this — no friends but her father and 
 aunt." 
 
 She is most probably gone to her father's house, to enquire for 
 herself into this mysterious affair," said Mr. Morley. 
 
 " Yes," exclaimed Frederick ; " she is gone back to the old house, 
 no doubt. I will go there immediately, and seek her." 
 
 " Stay," replied his brother ; " let us first consider what is best to 
 be done. I think I had better go to St. Just in search of Alrina, 
 while you return to the cottage to inform our aiiut of her sudden 
 disappearance." 
 
 '' That, perhaps, will be the best arrangement," said Frederick ; 
 " I will be guided by you, for I know not what to do or say, — I am 
 quite beside myself. My brain seems bemldered ; I cannot think 
 steadily on any subject. Let us go at once ; I shall not rest tUl she 
 is found. She is, perhaps, even now, out on the cold bleak common. 
 The whole country shall be roused to search for her. Oh ! why did 
 I permit myself to be led away by that wretched scarecrow; — but 
 he said she was there, — yes, he told me Alrina was at that cottage 
 awaiting my arrival, and the letter he brought confirmed his 
 statement. Oh ! cruel, cruel fate ! " 
 
 " It will doubtless turn out all for the best," said Mr. Morley. 
 " Had you neglected the message of that unfortimate woman, she 
 might have died, and then her secret would never have been told, 
 and Alrina would have lived on, believing herself still the daughter 
 of that guilty Avretch." 
 
 " True," replied his brother ; " I -will believe in the Avisdom of 
 Divine Providence. We see His hand in all things. I will trust, 
 and all things may yet be well." 
 
 The brothers did not think it advisable to tell Squire Pendray's 
 family anything respecting their aimt in connection with Alrina; — 
 they merely expressed their great concern at her abrupt departure. 
 
 Mr. Morley had not an opportunity the night before of seeing Miss 
 Pendray alone, — indeed, she was too much excited and overcome by 
 her late adventure, to receive his addresses with composure, and he 
 w^as too much rejoiced at her safety, and anxious that she should 
 seek repose after the terrible shock she had undergone, to think of 
 himself. She saw how anxious and concerned he was, and she was 
 pleased at it. Her oljject Avas gained ; for she saw that he was feeling 
 more than he could express on her account. 
 
 Lieut. Fowler was prevailed upon to stay and partake of their 
 evening's meal ; for, although the squire had not forgotten his former 
 opinion of the lieutenant, Avhich he in a measure still entertained, 
 yet he had been the means of preserving the life of his favourite
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 215 
 
 daughter; andingratitude was not one of the squire's failings. Fowler 
 would not, however, intrude on the squire's hospitality longer than 
 politeness compelled him, but took his leave of them as soon as he 
 possibly could after supper. 
 
 Mr. Morley had arrived some time before ; and nothing was talked 
 of but Miss Pendray's accident. Almost immediately after Fowler left, 
 Miss Pendray rose from the table also, and, pleading fatigue, retired 
 for the night, leaving the others to entertain their visitor. Soon 
 after she left the room, a message was brought, that the squire was 
 wanted on business. 
 
 " Dear me," said he, " who can want me at this time of night : it 
 can't be to tell me that the conjuror is found, I suppose." 
 
 It was no stranger that wanted him. Miss Pendray had sent for 
 him to explain and atone for the injury she had done her sister and 
 Lieut. Fowler by her mischievous tale-bearing: she felt that she 
 could not rest until she had made that atonement which was due to 
 them both. 
 
 The squire was astonished to hear the confession of the proud and 
 haughty Maud, and, had it been at any other time, he would have 
 been very angry; bu.t the recollection of her late sufferings and 
 miraculous escape, and the preservation of her life by Lieut. Fowler, 
 subdued him, and he promised to forget and forgive, provided 
 he found that all was straight and above board. But he was 
 determined that he would not be the first to invite him back to 
 his house ; for he still believed that Maud had exaggerated a little 
 in her estimation of Fowler's conduct, out of gratitude for her own 
 preservation. However he returned to the supjier-table a happier 
 man then he had been for many a day, and paid more than usual 
 attention to Blanche, who could not understand the change. 
 
 Mr Morley determined that he would not leave that house again 
 without knowing his fate ; and, when breakfast was over, he told 
 Frederick that he had something of imjiortance to settle there before 
 he could leave, but that if he would go back to the cottage, and 
 relieve their aunt's anxiety and send her back to Penzance in the 
 carriage, he woiild meet him at the cottage as soon as he had finished 
 his business, and they would then go on to St. Just together. 
 
 This pleased Frederick very much, for ho wished to go with his 
 brother, but did not press it before, as Mr. Morley seemed to think 
 he had better go alone : Frederick, therefore, returned at once to the 
 cottage, where he found his aunt and Miss Freeman anxiously 
 waiting his arrival with Alrina, and they were very much distressed 
 when they heard that she had left Pendrea-house unknown to the 
 family. Mrs. Courland had received sufficient proofs to satisfy her, 
 she sfud, that Alrina was her daughter, and she was most anxious to 
 see her, that ahe might have the further test of the likeness. As
 
 216 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 that was impossible, at present, Frederick persuaded her to return 
 to Penzance at once, fearing Captain Courland might return before 
 her and might be angry at lier alDsence, which she could not at 
 present explain to him. 
 
 Mr. Morley did not keep his brother waiting very long, for his 
 business was soon over. Miss Pendray knew quite well what he 
 wanted, when he requested an intei-view with her ; for she saw by 
 his manner the night before, and from the tender concern he 
 appeared to take in her miraculous escape, and the expression of his 
 line handsome countenance when he looked at her, that he felt a 
 deeper interest in her than she had before supposed from his seeming- 
 indifference to her during the past feAV months. Perhaps she mea- 
 sured his feelings by her own, and when they met, each being 
 anxious for the other's love, and well-knowing their o-wn feelings, 
 and each being ready and willing to meet the other more than half- 
 way, the betrothal was soon settled, and Mr. Morley left the house a 
 happy man. 
 
 Horses were procured, and the two brothers were not long in 
 reaching St. Just. They put their horses in Mr. Brown's stable, and 
 went in to consult Mrs. Brown. She had heard Alrina's account of 
 her having left Pendrea-house without taking leave of the family, 
 and her reasons for doing so, and she also knew her determination 
 as to the future, and her wish to avoid being seen by any of her 
 former acquaintances at present. Mrs. Brown listened attentively 
 to the tale the two gentlemen told : — that Miss Freeman, Alrina's 
 supposed aunt, was lying at a cottage near Pendrea-house on her 
 death-bed, and wished to see her niece before she died. 
 
 This was very "whisht" Mrs. Brown thought, and Alrina ought 
 to go and see her aunt ; for, however wicked " The Maister " had 
 been, she never heard that Miss Freeman had been concerned in his 
 wicked doings, so she determined that she would persuade Alrina to 
 go. After thinking therefore for some minutes she said, — " I was 
 tould not to let anybody knaw where Miss Reeney es, but in a caase 
 like this, when a relation es upon her death-bed, I think she oft 
 to go. — Stay here, gentlemen, for a few minutes, and I'll go and 
 fetch her." 
 
 " I think we had better accompany you," said Mr. Morley, " for 
 I fear she -will take alarm and be off again." 
 
 " As you^plaise, gentlemen," she replied, " you may go by your- 
 selves if you like ; she es now in the ould house trying to find out 
 the mystery : you are gentlemen and men of understanding, and 
 your judgment, perhaps, es better than mine." 
 
 So they went to the old house, where so many scenes of different 
 kinds had been enacted within the last few months. Here they found 
 Alrina, wandering through the rooms alone. She was perfectly calm,
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 217 
 
 and talked to them both iu a quiet and dignified manner. She looked 
 pale and care-worn, and bowed down with grief and suffering. The 
 beautiful roseate hue which formerly gave such a charm to her 
 delicate complexion was gone, and her bright laughing eye was now 
 cold and stern. Frederick could scarcely trust himself to speak, — 
 the change which had come over Alrina within the last few days 
 quite shocked him. Mr. Morley took her hand gently and led her 
 to a seat, while he told her of the illness of her whom she had been 
 taught to call aunt : he then imparted to her the tale he had heard 
 his brother relate. She seemed like one in a dream w^hile he went 
 on unfolding the dark cloud, and displaying, by degrees, the silver 
 lining ; and when he had finished his tale, she looked from one to 
 the other of the visitors, without uttering a word ; she seemed to be 
 trying to realize it all. At last she burst into tears, exclaiming, — 
 " Oh, Mr. Morley, can this be true ? — Can it be really true ?" — and, 
 giving way again to a burst of hysterical tears, which she seemed 
 to have no power to control, she rose and hurried out of the room. 
 
 The brothers heard her go upstairs ; and there they sat in silence : 
 neither of them spoke for several minutes ; at length Mr. Morley 
 said, — " Poor girl ! how sensitive she is ! — the jirospect of a happy 
 future has affected her more than the misfortunes to which she had 
 almost become reconciled before. I hope it will not have any serious 
 effect on her : but what can we do ? " 
 
 " I'll go for Mrs. Brown," said Frederick, whose feelings were 
 ready to burst forth also ; and, had he not thus escaped into the open 
 air, he felt that he should have been unmanned, and have made a 
 fool of himself before his sterner brother. 
 
 Mrs. Brown readily accompanied Frederick, and by the time they 
 arrived at the deserted house he had recovered something of his 
 former spirits. Mr. Morley told Mrs. Brown that Alrina was over- 
 come at hearing the news they had communicated, and had gone 
 upstairs in hysterics. They did not tell her the extent of the news, 
 so she naturally concluded it was hearing of the serious illness of 
 her aitnt that had so affected her. 
 
 Mrs. Brown went upstairs, and remained there so long with her 
 charge, that the gentlemen began to think it was a more serious 
 matter than it really was : at length tliey came down together. 
 Alrina was still very pale, and her eyes wei-e swollen with weejung ; 
 but she was tranquil and more composed, — almost cheerful. She 
 was leaning for support on Mrs. Brown, who looked on her sweet 
 face and smoothed it with her hand caressingly, as ladies will some- 
 times smooth and caress a favourite lap-dog, playing with it as it 
 were, and fondling it, while she expressed her love by kissing the 
 smooth white forehead. It was a touching scene, — that kind, good, 
 old woman leading in her whom she loved and rcsjiected so much,
 
 218 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 and caressing her as if she were a little child, while she looked up 
 so lovingly in return, thanking by that look her kind friend who had 
 been to her a second mother, and feeling that to express her gratitude 
 in any other way woiild be more than she could do. 
 
 Mr. Morley, at that moment, thought he had never seen so lovely 
 a creature before ; and Frederick, — we will not tell his thoughts, — 
 Ave cannot. 
 
 Alrina had told her kind friend all, and now Mrs. Brown wished 
 to hear it all over again from Mr. Morley, who told his tale once 
 more ; and, with Frederick's assistance, a httle more was added 
 which he had not before remembered. 
 
 Alrina had not yet begun to realize her position : — her thoughts 
 seemed to be wandering ; her brain was bewildered, and she knew 
 not what to say ; her future had seemed before obscured by a dark 
 cloud, — she could see nothing but gloom before her; now the cloud 
 seemed brighter, but it was not quite dispelled. She had met with 
 so many disappointments in her short life, that she feared there 
 might be a greater one than she had hitherto felt still in store for 
 her. What, if this tale should turn out to be a fabrication of her 
 aunt's, — and after she had buoyed herself up with the hope of future 
 happiness, it should be discovered that she was not Mrs. Courland's 
 daughter after all ? This overthrow of all her hopes, after having 
 tasted of their pleasures, would be worse than remaining as she was. 
 All these thoughts, and a thousand others, passed through her mind 
 in rapid succession as she sat listening to the tale for the second time, 
 and hearing questions asked by Mrs. Brown which the two young 
 men could not answer; for Frederick knew nothing more than what 
 he had heard Miss Freeman relate to his aunt : he had seen no proof ; 
 all he could say was, that his aunt seemed perfectly satisfied when 
 he returned to take her to the carriage, and was most anxious to see 
 Alrina, that she might judge of the likeness, as far as a person can 
 judge of her own likeness. 
 
 Mrs. Brown thought that, at all events, it was Alrina's duty to go 
 and see her aunt at once : but she could not go alone, nor could she 
 go with the gentlemen without some female companion. I\Irs. Brown 
 could not leave her husband so long, nor the business ; she siiggested, 
 therefore, that Alice Ann should be sought, — she was in the 
 neighbourhood she knew. *' Josiah will find her," said she, " if one 
 of the gentlemen will run down to Captain Trenow's house and ask 
 him. 
 
 Frederick volunteered to go; for although he was happy at having 
 Alrina to gaze upon, yet he was not comfortable, nor was she, 
 evidently ; for neither knew how the other felt. They had both 
 done violence to their feelings, — the one intentionally, the other 
 unwittingly, and a mutual explanation was necessary before they
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PKNWITH. 219 
 
 could be certain how they now stood towards each other. Frederick 
 could scarcely bring himself to believe that Alrina really meant that 
 she had ceased to love him; — he could not think that, after what 
 had passed between them. But she had told him so, and was he 
 not bound to believe her ? If so, — if that was really true, he must 
 try and win her love back again. He could not give her up, — he 
 would not. These were his reflections as he hastened on his errand. 
 
 Josiah was gone to Tol-pedn-Penwith signal-station, Mrs. Trenow 
 said, in search of his young master. He must have gone the other 
 road, and so he had missed him. 
 
 Frederick told Mrs. Trenow his errand, saying that Miss Alrina 
 had come back to see the old house once more, and she wanted 
 Alice Ann. 
 
 " I'll run up for her myself, sar," said she, " tesn't very far. I'll 
 just clap up my 'tother cap fust. Where shall I tell her she'll find 
 her missus ? " 
 
 "I think you had better tell her to come to Mrs. Brown's," 
 replied Frederick. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 AN AWFUL CATASTROPHE. 
 
 Mrs. Trenow was not long in executing her errantl, and Alice Ann 
 was quite delighted at the thoughts of being once more in attendance 
 on Alrina. 
 
 There were no conveyances to be had, so that the gentlemen were 
 puzzled how they should convey Alrina and her attendant across the 
 countiy to the place of rendezvous. Alrina had already walked 
 from thence to St. Just, that morning, or rather in the course of the 
 night; so that, although the distance was not more than six or seven 
 miles, her walking back there again was quite out of the question. 
 It was decided that Frederick should ride straight to Penzance, as 
 fast as he could, to inform his aunt that Alrina had been found, and 
 to send a carriage for her if his aunt wished it ; and Alice Ann 
 proposed that Alrina should ride on the other horse to the cottage, 
 while Mr. Morley and herself walked by her side. As no better plan 
 could be thought of, Alice Ann's suggestion was adopted, and the 
 party set out at a slow pace, which gave them time for reflection .and 
 conversation on the road. Alice Ann could tell them many a legend 
 connected with the different places they passed, and especially about 
 Chapel Carn-Brea, where many a terrible deed had been done, she 
 said, in times past, and where ghosts might be seen walking now, if
 
 220 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 anyone had tlie courage to go tlicre at the midnight hour. " That 
 boy, Bill could tell a sight of stories about this and that," said she, 
 " I b'lieve he and * The Maister ' ha' be'n there brave an' often 
 together." 
 
 " I wonder what has become of that boy ? " said Alrina, joinmg 
 for the first time in the conversation, " I am sure he knows a great 
 deal about many things that are mysteries to other people." 
 
 " He do so," replied Alice Ann, " he wor the cutest chap for his 
 size that evar I seed ; and as for tongue, why, he would turn 'ee 
 inside out in a minute, ef you dedn't keep yoiir eyes abroad. What's 
 become of he I caen't tell ; but I can give a purty near guess, and so 
 can Mrs. Trenow too, so she do say." 
 
 "Who was this boy?" asked Mr. Morley, "where did he come 
 from?" 
 
 " I can no more tell than you can, sar," replied Alice Ann, " he 
 wor found one night when he wor a cheeld, outside the workhouse 
 door, an' wor broft up by the parish, so I've heard ; for teS a bra' 
 many years ago, — frail he's so small." 
 
 " Do you think he knew anything of my fa , of Mr. Freeman's 
 
 mysterious doings?" asked Alrina, who seemed now to take more 
 interest in the conversation than she had done during the first part 
 of the journey. 
 
 " Do I think ? " replied Alice Ann, " I do knaw that he ded." 
 'Siah have seed that boy up to Chapel Carn-Brea in the middle of 
 the night, when he ha' ben coming home from Bal, and 'The Maister' 
 havn't ben very far off, an' he whistling like a black-bird, that time 
 o' night. I tell 'ee Miss Reeney, that boy Bill wor no good. What's 
 become of the boy ? says you. — "What's become of ' The Maister ? ' 
 says I. Find the one, and you'll find the t'other ; that's my b'lief." 
 
 Thus they wiled away the time during the journey, until they 
 arrived at the brow of the hill which overlooked the cottage to which 
 they were directing their steps. Mr. Morley had turned round when 
 they arrived on this eminence in the morning, to view the surround- 
 ing neighbourhood, and to mark the spot, that he might be able to 
 find it again easily, for it was situated in rather a secluded valley, 
 the approach to which was by a narrow path branching off from the 
 main road. Everything looked serene and calm then, and, but for 
 a thin jet of smoke rising from one of the chimneys and curling up 
 against the clear blue sky, the cottage and its locality would have 
 passed unobserved by a casual traveller ; for it stood very low, as 
 we have said before, all the rooms being built on the ground-floor : 
 the walls were rudely built of clay — earth and straw wetted and 
 well mixed together, — called in Cornwall, " Cob ; " the roof was 
 thatched with straw ; and the partitions, inside, were made of thick 
 wood, collected, from time to time, from the wrecks of vessels, with
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PEN WITH. 221 
 
 which that part of the coast of Cornwall abounds in the winter 
 season. 
 
 As the party halted now on the top of this eminence, to enable 
 Mr. Morley to reconnoitre and take his bearings, to guide him in the 
 selection of the right path leading directly to the cottage, he saw, 
 instead of a thin curl of smoke, such as he had seen in the morning, 
 a large volume of black smoke rising from the spot, almost darkening 
 the sky ; and, at short intervals, a long tongue of fire would rise into 
 the air above the smoke, and disappear again, as a darker and more 
 dense volume of smoke issued forth. 
 
 •* The cottage is on fire ! " exclaimed Mr. Morley. *' Follow me, as 
 well as you can ; take the second turning to your right : " and away 
 he ran, leaving the two females to take care of themselves and the 
 horse, and to find their way to the cottage as well as they could. 
 
 When Mr. Morley arrived at the spot, an awful sight presented 
 itself to his view. The cottage was in flames, which the straw roof and 
 wooden partitions were feeding most bountifully ; and, as they con- 
 sumed the dry conbustible on which they were feeding so greedily, 
 their long tongues would issue, in fantastic spurts, from the doors and 
 windows on the leeward side of the building. It was a fearful sight ; a 
 good number of men and women were already there, attracted by 
 the smoke, which could now be seen far and wide. Josiah had been 
 there some little time : he had received intelligence of the fire, as he 
 was returning from the signal-station, and he hastened down to the 
 spot at once, having sent a messenger on to Lieiit. Fowler with all 
 speed. Josiah, and the few persons who were there when he arrived, 
 did all they could in carrying buckets of water from a well at a 
 short distance ofi: ; but their efforts seemed at first to be increasing 
 the fire rather than abating it. They continued however to pour 
 water into the rooms on one side of the building which seemed the 
 most likely to be inhabited, and, by opening the doors and windows 
 on the other side, they, in a measure, diverted the fire to that side ; 
 but whether they were doing right or wrong they could not tell ; 
 they could only conjecture on which side the inmates, if any, were 
 located. 
 
 Lieut. Fowler and his men, folloAvcd by a number of people from 
 the surrounding neighbourhood, had just arrived, and the lieutenant 
 was in the act of marshalling his men, when Mr. Morley rushed down 
 among them, in the greatest excitement, asking all sorts of questions, 
 as to how the fire had originated, and if there were buckets enough, 
 and if the inmates had been got out ; but instead of replying, Fowler 
 took him by the arm, saying. " Take half a dozen men to the well, 
 Morley, with buckets and ropes, and keep thorn there. Let them 
 fill the l)uckets as fast as they can, and I will organize a double row 
 of men and women from thence to the cottage to pass the full buckets
 
 222 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 up and the empty ones down; and my men and Josiah will then pour 
 the water where it will be most available for extinguishing the 
 flames." And to Squire Pcndray, who also arrived about the same 
 time, he allotted the task of keeping the double row of men and 
 women steady at their work. 
 
 The commanding voice of the officer, and the example of his men, 
 accustomed to obey, very soon restored order, where there was 
 nothing but confusion before ; and, by his judicious management, 
 and the courage and bravery of his men, assisted by the strong arm 
 of Josiah, the flames were soon got under sufficiently to enable some 
 of them to enter the house. Fowler set a guard outside each door 
 to prevent the mob from entering, and then, taking Mr. Morley and 
 the squire with him, they entered the house followed by Josiah, and 
 opened some of the inner-doors to let out the smoke, when something 
 flitted by them and rushed into the interior of the house ; but 
 whether it was a man or a woman they could not make out. 
 Josiah however, seemed to know what it was, for he followed 
 immediately in full chase, leaving the others behind, who thought 
 their most prudent plan was to emerge into the air to refresh them- 
 selves, and be prepared for anything that might turn up ; for, in a 
 very short time, the smoke would have evaporated sufficiently to 
 enable them to go through the house with ease and impixnity. 
 Josiah did not return ; so after a few minutes, the three gentlemen 
 entered the house again. The entrance-rooms were not very much 
 damaged ; but as they proceeded, the ravages of the fire were fearful. 
 The straw roof was entirely destroyed, from one end to the other. 
 They passed into one room, if a room it could be called now, where 
 the fire seemed to have raged in its greatest fury, and, looking into 
 what was once another room, divided from the place where they 
 stood by a thick wooden partition, they beheld a sight which made 
 them shudder. The door, which was not so thick as the partition, was 
 burnt to ashes, and a portion of the thick partition was also burnt : 
 it was evident that the interior of the room had been partially 
 preserved by the water which Josiah and the first comers had thrown 
 in when they first arrived ; but it had been the scene of a great 
 conflagration, and the smoke had hardly cleared away yet : the walls 
 were blackened, and the ornaments and pictures which himg against 
 them had dropped off with the heat. It had evidently been a well- 
 furnished room, the remains of which were still to be seen. The 
 bed was reduced to ashes, and it seemed as if the flames from the 
 bed had communicated to some inflammable substance in the room, 
 and thence to the straw roof which was not protected or covered on 
 the inside, and was at no great distance above the head of the bed. But 
 their attention was not long confined to the destruction of the bed 
 and the other furniture of the room ; for a more awful spectacle
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 223 
 
 presented itself to their view. On the floor, in a corner of the room, 
 lay two females, the elder one having her hand entwined in the 
 long hair of the younger, who grasped the elder woman's arms 
 in a strong determined grip. That it had been a death-struggle 
 there could be no doubt ; but how they got there, or what the 
 struggle was about, neither of the three gentlemen could divine. 
 But there they lay, behind the door, dead ! — They had been 
 suffocated, no doubt by the smoke : their clothes were burnt and 
 their flesh had been scarred by the fire. 
 
 The younger of the two, seemed well dressed, as far as they 
 could judge by the little that was left of it, and she must have been 
 a well-formed comely figure, iu the hey-day of youth : the elder was 
 an emaciated figure, evidently the occupant of the bed which had 
 once stood in the middle of the room. It was a dreadful sight, and 
 the three gentlemen left the room in search of information as to 
 their identity, when they met Josiah, holding a boy by the arm. Mr. 
 Morley pointed to the room from which they had just retreated, and 
 looked enquiringly at Josiah. " Iss, sure I've seed them I " said he," 
 and 'tes a whisht sight, sure 'nuff ; but there's a whisheder sight for 
 'ee to see yet. This way ef you plaise, gen'lemen : " and he led the 
 way, still holding the boy by the arm, till they came to a room at 
 the other end of the house, which seemed to have suffered more 
 from the tire then any they had yet seen ; for this end had been 
 neglected ^by them all, supposing that nothing of any consequence 
 would be found there. 
 
 This part seemed more securely built, and to have been better 
 furnished than any of the other rooms. The partitions were of thicker 
 wood, and the doors and windows were better finished with bolts and 
 locks : the door had not been burnt through, as the other doors and 
 partitions had been. Josiah said he had burst open the door from 
 the outside, and it now stood wide open. On the floor lay the body 
 of a man, whose lower extremities were literally burnt to a cinder ; 
 but his features, although blackened by the action of the fire, were 
 still discernible. One look was enough ! The whole party hurried 
 from the scene with horror depicted in their countenances, and it 
 was not imtil they got out into the open air, that either of them 
 could find words to express their horror and dismay at what they 
 had just witnessed. 
 
 Josiah still held the boy by the arm, wdio seemed very much 
 distressed. Outside the door they encountered Alrina and Alice Ann, 
 who were most anxious to hear all particulars. 
 
 " You shall know all, after we have made the necessary enquiries," 
 said Lieut. Fowler. 
 
 At this moment a carriage drove up to the scene, and the post-boy 
 handed a letter to Mr. Morley : it was from his aunt, begging him
 
 224 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 to bring Alrina to Penzanco at once ; he therefore told tho squire 
 and Lieut. Fowler that he was obliged to go to Penzance, but would 
 be back again immediately ; so the squire requested all the others 
 of the party to go on to Pendrea-house and wait until Mr. Morley's 
 return; for he said they must need some refreshment after the 
 fatigues of the morning. Josiah took charge of the boy ; for they 
 all believed he could enlighten them on all that had happened. Alice 
 Ann accompanied her mistress and Mr. Morley in the carriage to 
 Penzance. 
 
 CHAPTER XL VI. 
 
 THE DREADED INTERVIEW. 
 
 Her busband had not returned when Mrs. Courland reached their 
 lodgings after her early journey to that ill-fated cottage. 
 
 This was fortunate, in many respects : it gave her a little time to 
 reflect on the events of the morning, and to prepare herself for the 
 ordeal she had yet to go through. Had Captain Courland returned 
 before her, she must have accounted, in some way, for her absence, 
 and that might have led to a prematiu-e confession, which she thought 
 had better not be made until she had seen Alrina, and been fully 
 convinced that the likeness could not be mistaken. She had received 
 quite sufficient proof from Miss Freeman of the identity of the child, 
 and she had, moreover, received from her a' sealed packet, which she 
 said would reveal all more clearly, and other mysteries besides ; but 
 she made her promise, most solemnly, that the packet should not be 
 opened until after her death, which she knew could not be far distant, 
 she said. 
 
 "While Mrs. Courland was deliberating on these important matters, 
 her nephew, Frederick Morley entered the room in great haste, telHng 
 her that he had found Alrina, and that she was gone on with his 
 brother to see Miss Freeman, and he was to send a carriage for her 
 if his aunt Avished it. 
 
 " That is my first wish, at present," replied Mrs. Courland ; " I 
 must see Alrina before I confess my life of deception to my husband. 
 Oh, how can I teU him that I have been keeping this secret from him 
 and deceiving him for so many years ! How could I have deceived 
 him, who has been so kind and good to me ! It was his goodness 
 that made me keep it from him : I didn't like to wound his feelings : 
 he will never forgive me — he cannot ! Oh, Frederick, how can I 
 look into his honest face, and confess my guilty secret ! " and
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 225 
 
 burying her face in the soft cushions of the couch on which she had 
 been reclining, she burst into tears. 
 
 "My dear aunt," said Morley, "you are wrong to meet trouble 
 half-way : my uncle's goodness of heart will forgive all ; and, when 
 he sees Alrina, he will take her to his heart as if she had been his 
 own child : — I know he will ! " 
 
 " No ! " replied Mrs. Courland " — you don't know him : he has the 
 most utter abhorrence of deception — he hates secrets and mysteries: 
 he expressed his opinion, in the severest manner, on this subject, 
 only a few days ago. Oh, I cannot — I cannot go through with it ! 
 Should he even, in kindness, forgive the deception, he would look 
 upon me with scorn and suspicion during the remainder of my life : 
 oh, that would be terrible ! — I could not bear it ! — I could not live 
 in such a state ! — I should be wretched and miserable ! " 
 
 " But consider, aunt," urged Frederick, " if you believe Alrina to 
 be really your daughter, what injustice you will be doing her by 
 withholding this confession. — What is to become of her? Would 
 you send your daughter out into the world a houseless wanderer ? 
 Think of this, my dear aunt ; oh, let me beg of you to think of this 
 poor girl ! Will you spurn her from your door, after permitting her 
 to know what has been told her to day ? — It would be cruel — most 
 cruel 1 Uncle Courland must know it then ; although Alrina would 
 rather die than tell it herself; this I am sure of; but others would 
 not be so scrupulous. Consider, aunt, — consider, before you send 
 your daughter out unprotected into the wide world ; those she once 
 looked to for protection are gone, — scattered abroad on the face of 
 the earth. Consider, Aunt Courland, her position and yours." 
 
 Frederick spoke with energy and warmth ; for, in pleading the 
 cause of Alrina, he was pleading his own cause too. 
 
 For some minutes after he had finished Mrs. Courland remained 
 with her face buried in the cushions ; at length she rose and wiped 
 her eyes, which bore evidence of the tears she had shed, and the hard 
 struggle that had been going on for [the last few minutes in her 
 breast, to subdue her haughty, proud, spirit to the task of making 
 this humble confession of guilt, which she now felt she must and 
 would make, whatever the consequences might be. Frederick 
 had touched a tender chord in the mother's breast, and, rising 
 with calm dignity, she approached the table and wrote a brief note, 
 which she desired Frederick to send to his brother at once, with a 
 carriage to bring him and Alrina to the hotel to wait the result of 
 her dread interview with her husband : but whatever that result 
 miglit be, she said her daughter should be cared for as her daughter. 
 
 Frederick lost no time in despatching the carriage, and waited 
 impatiently its return to the hotel, where Alrina would remain until 
 after Mrs. Courland's interview with her husband, the result of which
 
 226 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 Frederick still seriously feared and doubted. For although he could 
 scarcely believe that the captain would refuse to take in this poor 
 wanderer as one of his household, yet he knew his temper was 
 sometimes hasty and impetuous, and he might say things in the first 
 burst of passion, which he might be sorry for after, but which would 
 decide his aunt in her course ; for she posessed the haughty pride of 
 her aristocratic ancestors, and would never bend to ask, as a favour, 
 that which, in a hasty moment, might be denied, — even though the 
 denial were made madly, in the heat of passion. Frederick, therefore, 
 although he had urged the confession, and painted its reception by 
 his uncle in as mild colours as he could, still dreaded the meeting of 
 two such spirits, for such a purpose. But it must be done : and he 
 thought " If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were 
 done quickly." 
 
 Captain Coiu'land returned soon after Frederick left, disappointed 
 and out of spirits : they had not succeeded in discovering the slighest 
 ti-ace of the fugitive. 
 
 Julia was not satisfied with the search that had been made the 
 night before, and she was gone to some houses a little way out of the 
 toAVTi, which she knew Flora was fond of visiting sometimes ; so the 
 captain returned alone. He observed that his wife's spirits were 
 unusually depressed. She had been weeping, evidently ; but he 
 imputed it to her anxiety for their poor afflicted protege. She was 
 sitting on the couch, resting her arm on a table, and supporting her 
 throbbing brow with her hand. 
 
 Her husband seated himself by her side, and, taking her other 
 hand in his, affectionately, tried to comfort her by saying that he 
 had no doubt Flora had wandered out into the country and missed 
 her way, and, from her infirmity, she could not, perhaps, make any- 
 one understand who she was nor where she came fi-om. " So cheer 
 up my dear," said he, " all wiU turn up well in the end, no doubt." 
 
 " My dear husband," said she, withdrawing her hand, " I am not 
 worthy that you should treat me so kindly : I have a dreadful secret 
 to unfold to you, which I feel I have kept from you too long," 
 
 " A secret ! " exclaimed her husband, rising hastily, " I tell you I 
 don't like secrets : everything right and straight and above-board — 
 that's my plan ! I don't want to hear any secrets ! Who says that 
 my Avife has been keeping a secret from me ? I don't believe a word 
 of it ! Who says it, I should like to know ? I'll have him strung 
 up to the yard-arm ! " 
 
 He seemed in such agitation, as he hurriedly paced the room, that 
 his poor wife trembled for the result. She saw that a crisis was 
 close at hand, and probably her happiness was gone for ever ; but 
 she had made up her mind to tell her secret, and she was determined 
 to go through with it, let the consequences be what they would. So
 
 TIIK WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 227 
 
 she asked her husband, in as calm a tone as she could command, to 
 sit and listen for a few minutes to what she had to say, and then she 
 should throw herself on his mercy, and would submit to any punish- 
 ment he might think she deserved ; but she begged him to hear her 
 tale to the end l^efore he judged her. 
 
 This serious appeal took the captain quite by surprise. He didn't 
 know what to do or say, so he took a chair, and prepared for the 
 worst. 
 
 With averted eyes, his guilty, trembling wife commenced her tale 
 and told all : her former marriage, the birth of her daughter, and 
 the concealment of the child by Miss Fisher : her treachery and 
 heartless importunities for money, and threats : and, above all, her 
 own weakness and guilt in keeping the secret from her good, kind 
 husband. 
 
 When she had finished, she leaned her head on her hands, and 
 burst into a torrent of tears. She had been keeping her feelings 
 under control during the recital, that she might not interrupt the 
 narrative which she had to relate. She could not restrain them any 
 longer ; and now she expected a terrible outburst of passion from 
 her husband. The crisis was at hand. She waited the awful doom 
 which she felt she deserved ; but it did not come. She dared not 
 look at her husband. 
 
 He had sat perfectly still and silent all the time she had been 
 speaking, and after she had finished he was silent still. At length 
 he rose, and approaching the couch seated himself by the side of his 
 poor weeping, trembling wife ; and, taking her hand as he had done 
 before, he said, — " I knew my darling wife had no secrets that her 
 husband was not cognizant of." 
 
 "No secrets !"' she exclaimed, looking up in astonishment, — "I 
 have been confessing the knowledge of a secret that I have been 
 keeping from you for years and years, to my sorrow and shame ! " 
 
 " I heard what you have l)een telling me," replied her husl)and, 
 " but you have told me nothing that I didn't know before. Why I 
 have known all that for years." 
 
 " You have known it ! " exclaimed Mrs. Courland, in amazement, 
 " How is it possible ! Who can have told you ! " 
 
 " Well, now 'tis my turn to spin a yarn, as we sailors say," replied 
 the captain. " Your first husband's name was Marshall. He had a 
 brother in the Indian army. After your poor husband was killed, 
 his l>rother came to England. He had been informed of the secret 
 marriage ; and he had been enjoined by his brother, in his last 
 letter, after he received the wound of which he died, that when ho 
 came to England, he would see his wife, and do all ho could for her. 
 He came to England in my ship, and he saw you." 
 
 " He did," replied Mrs. Courland. — '* It was soon after the birth
 
 228 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 of my little girl. He came to Fisher's cottage. Miss Fisher told 
 him a plausible tale, saying his brother wished that the marriage 
 should never be known until he came home to claim me as his wife. 
 As the marriage had been kept secret so long, it was thought best to 
 keep it so entirely. I was sent for to come home to my father's 
 house, where I found you waiting my arrival. You paid the most 
 devoted attention to me. — You wei'e rich. — My parents and all my 
 friends urged it, and we were married. I was persuaded by Miss 
 Fisher not to tell my secret, and so it was kept ; and it has been a 
 burden on my mind from that time to this," 
 
 " My beautiful wife," said the captain, kissing her afEectionately, 
 " Marshall returned with me to India, after our marriage, and he told 
 me the secret, so that you see I have known it almost as long as you 
 have known it yourself ; but I never mentioned it, fearing to distress 
 you, well-knowing that you had been imposed upon by a designing 
 avaricious woman." 
 
 " Mv good, kind indulgent husband!" exclaimed his Avife, caressing 
 the bluif old sailor, as if he had been a little spoiled child. 
 
 " And now that we have had all these explanations," said the 
 captain, " and might be happy with our daughter, she is lost ! " 
 
 " She is found ! " exclaimed Mrs. Courland : " our nephews have 
 foimd her, and by this time she is in Penzance ; we will send for 
 them." . 
 
 A servant was despatched to the hotel, which was very near, and 
 in a few minutes, Mr. Morley appeared with a beautiul girl leaning 
 on his arm. 
 
 Both the captain and Mrs. Courland were struck with her extreme 
 beauty, and the captain at once exclaimed, — " Isabella Morley the 
 second, by all that's beautiful ! " 
 
 " No, sir ! " replied Mr. Morley, — " not Isabella Morley, but 
 Alrina Marshall ! " 
 
 " My long lost child ! " exclaimed Mrs. Courland, rushing towards 
 Alrina, and embracing her tenderly, " I see the likeness myself ! " 
 
 "Good heavens I" cried the captain, "is this our daughter? 
 Then what has become of the other ? " 
 
 " What other ? " exclaimed Mr. Morley and Mrs. Courland in a 
 breath. 
 
 " Why, the poor girl we have been in search of all night," replied 
 the captain : " I concluded she was the lost child ! " 
 
 " Alas ! " said Mr. Morley, — " she is indeed lost ! " And he briefly 
 related the dreadful catastrophe which he had witnessed so recently, 
 which threw a gloom over the whole party. They soon recovered 
 their spirits, however, and, leaving the newly-formt^d faixdly group 
 to enjoy their imexpected liappiness in quietude, Mr. Morley accom- 
 panied by Frederick, who had remained at the hotel wliile his brother
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 229 
 
 took Alrina to her newly found parents, hastened, as fast as possible, 
 back to Pendrea-house, to assist in unravelling the mysteries con- 
 nected with that ill-fated cottage and its unfortunate inmates. 
 
 CHAPTER XL VII. 
 
 MTSTERIES EXPLAINED. 
 
 JosiAH did not let go his hold of the boy until they were safely seated 
 in a room at Pedrea-house. And, even then, he would not let him 
 go until the door was bolted, and he had seen that all the windows 
 were fastened, and had even looked up the chimney. 
 
 " He ha' ben in queer places in his time I reckon," said he, " and 
 seed a bra' many things : he ha' gov'd us the slip oftener then he will 
 again." 
 
 Eefreshments were ordered in and done justice to by all ; and, 
 when Mr. Morley and his brother arrived, the squire requested all 
 the party to attend him in his library or Justice-room, as the 
 domestics persisted in calling it. 
 
 Josiah still kept the boy in custody, and when all were assembled, 
 Squire Pendray said, addressing the boy, — " It appears that you can 
 enlighten us on all we want to know respecting the inmates of this 
 house, and we wish you to relate all particulars respecting them. You 
 can gain nothing, now, by keeping anything back ; but may benefit 
 yourself a good deal by confessing everything, and informing us who 
 were there, and how they got there, and the origin of the fire, if you 
 know. Fear nothing : I tell you, in the presence of these gentlemen, 
 that you shall not suffer, in any way, for what you may reveal to 
 us. If you do not tell us the truth, and we think you are concealing 
 anything that you ought to reveal, you must suffer the consequences." 
 
 The boy looked from one to the other, and seemed to hesitate for 
 several minutes before he spoke. His eyes were directed more than 
 once towards the door, as if he expected to see someone enter to relieve 
 him of his perplexity; no one came, however, and he seemed to feel 
 that he was standing alone in the world. His old friends (if friends 
 they were) could help him no longer, and his shrcAvdness told him ho 
 had better make a virtue of necessity ; so after a short pause, as if 
 collecting his scattered thoughts, he began his confession. Ho had 
 been too much mixed up with the conjuror to have imbibed very 
 much of the Cornish dialect, although he sometimes used it. Thus 
 he began in very intelligible English, — " ' The Maister ' saved my 
 life, gentlemen, by his knowledge in medicine, and I was grateful 
 for it. He took a liking to me, and I helped him in his business : call
 
 230 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 it what you will, — conjuring if you like. I never grew after he took 
 me into his service at eight years old : perhaps I don't look more than 
 that now, hut I am eight-and- twenty. I was useful to 'The Maister' 
 on account of my size : I could worm out a little secret by hiding in 
 odd corners, and I never forgot what I heard ; I liked the post, and 
 gloried in seeing the astonishment of some of the people to whom 
 * The ]\Iaister ' told some secrets he had heard through me, which 
 they thought no one else knew but themselves. Our adventures were 
 varied and frequent; the last was an awful one, when we came on shore 
 under St. Just in a vessel bottom uppermost. 'The Maister' persuaded 
 me, Avhen I went to see him at his house afterwards, that he had been 
 the means of saving my life again, in return for which he wanted 
 my services. He expected the officers of justice. He was not so ill as 
 he pretended ; but it would not have been safe for him to be taken 
 away by his friends then, nor to be supposed to have escaped in the 
 ordinary way ; he would have been traced at once. I had the means 
 of getting into his room at anytime from the back premises, through 
 a passage that no one knew but ourselves. He had some drug by 
 him which would cause the party taking it to appear dead for a short 
 time. I was in the room when the constable and some of you gentlemen 
 were below entreating Miss Reeney to take you up into his room. 
 We heard you coming : I gave the mixture to the ' The Maister/ 
 and crept under the bed, and when you entered you pronounced him 
 dead, and left almost immediately. Another mixture, which he had 
 previously prepared, and which I had ready to give him, restored 
 him at once ; and that night, with the assistance of our friends, 
 whose names I need not now mention, Avhom I had communicated 
 with by means of the poor fellow commonly called ' Mazed Dick,' 
 whose swiftness of foot is well known, we got ' The Maister ' away, 
 and the report that he had been taken away by the spirits favoured 
 us. We brought him to the cottage that was burned do^vn to day, 
 where we knew Miss Freeman had been for some weeks confined 
 through illness, brought on by exposure to the cold ; she fell and 
 fractured a limb, in walking from Penzance to Lieut. Fowler's 
 station, where she was going on some errand in connexion with that 
 dumb girl — what it was I don't know. She slipped her foot and fell 
 and broke her leg, and there she lay, on the cold ground, all night, 
 until she was discovered by ' Mazed Dick ' in one of his rambles, and 
 was taken to his brother's cottage. I could not desert my master ; 
 I believed in his power, and do still. He was recovering fast : he 
 could get up and walk about his room, and intended being off in a 
 few days; I was to have gone with him. This morning, to my 
 surprise, I saw the dumb girl come out of a room at the further end 
 of the house ; the mistress of the house, and her son, ' ilazed Dick,' 
 were gone away, and the outer door was locked: I w'atched her,
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PEKWITH. 231 
 
 but was not seen by her. She peeped into several rooms, and tried 
 the door of the one in which ' The Maister ' was; but that was always 
 kept locked and bolted on the inside. She then went on to the room 
 in which Miss Freeman lay in bed. She seemed to know her at once ; 
 for she darted into the room, and drew something from her bosom ; 
 it seemed like an ear-ring, as well as I could see it ; and she 
 pointed and made signs, which Miss Freeman seemed to understand, 
 and which seemed to irritate her very much. Miss Freeman had a 
 lighted candle, on a small table, by her bedside, for the purpose of 
 reading some papers. The room was very dark, although it was 
 early in the morning, but the windows were small, and half-hid by 
 the thatch of the roof, which hung down over them. She tried to 
 snatch at what the girl held in her hand ; and, in doing so, she 
 overturned the candle on the bed, when a bottle of something inflam- 
 mable fell with it, and the bed in an instant, was in a blaze. She seized 
 the girl by her hair, and dragged her on to the bed, when they both 
 caught fire, and the poor girl seized the woman by the arms to make 
 her let go her hair, and so she pulled her out of bed, and they both 
 fell together on the floor, a mass of flames. I could not assist them, 
 so I ran out through a side-door which I knew how to open, in order 
 to call assistance, when I met Josiah, and he sent me on to Lieut. 
 Fowler, but I believe Josiah didn't know who I was, he seemed so 
 frightened at what I told him. When I met him again, it was at the 
 door of 'The Maister's' room. He had followed me when I ran 
 through on my return from Lieut. Fowler's. The door was locked 
 and bolted on the inside. I told Josiah whose room it was, and he 
 forced the door open ; for the wood in which the bolts were fixed 
 was still burning, and easily gave way : the fire had reached this 
 room and blazed in all its fury ; and I suppose, from the burning of 
 the roof and the wood all round, the bolts of the door soon became 
 too hot for ' The Maister ' to touch them, and so he was burnt to 
 death. That is my tale, gentlemen, and all I have spoken is the 
 truth." 
 
 So saying, the boy or man which ever he might be called, placed his 
 hands before his eyes and awaited the result of his communication : 
 whether the thought of the awful death of " The Maister," whom he 
 seemed to have looked up to with fear and gratitude, drew a tear 
 from his eyes or not, was not known. His tale was believed ; and, 
 after a consultation among the gentlemen present, it was agreed that 
 something should be done for the poor fellow, on his promising to 
 lead a new life and give up all evil practices in future. This he 
 very readily and sincerely promised, — and the party separated for 
 the present, as Mr. Morley said ho must return to Penzance to see 
 his uncle and aunt previous to his commencing, in company with his 
 
 X
 
 232 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 brother, the search after the wretches at whose hands his poor father 
 liad sirffiered such grievous wrong, and which had been retarded by 
 tlio occurrence of recent events. Now they would have nothing to 
 retard their search, he said, — and he would not rest until he had 
 found them and brought them to justice or confession. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 A BRILLIANT CORNISH DIAIIOND DISCOVERED AND PLACED IN A 
 GOLDEN CASKET. 
 
 Julia was very glad, when she returned, to find her old schoolfellow 
 Alrina with her uncle and aunt ; and astonished beyond measure, 
 when she learned that she was also her cousin. The story, altogether, 
 was so romantic, she said, that it reminded her of something she had 
 read a long time ago in one of the old Eomances at Ashley Hall ; 
 and she was so interested in it, that, when her aunt had finished her 
 recital, she begged her to repeat it over again ; but this she was 
 prevented from doing, even had she intended it, by the arrival of 
 Mr. Morley and Frederick. 
 
 Julia had not seen much of her brothers lately ; she received 
 them, therefore, with warmth, especially Frederick, whom, being 
 nearer her own age, and better kno^vn to her fi'om their having been 
 thrown together in their childhood, she loved with the tenderest 
 affection. She saw that the meeting between him and Alrina was 
 not what it ought to have been, — nor did the coolness wear off : so 
 she took Alrina out of the room, on some pretence, and asked her 
 the reason ; for she knew that two fonder hearts never pledged their 
 troth to one another than those two. Alrina hesitated, at fu-st, and 
 seemed at a loss what answer to give, until Julia reminded her that 
 they were now not only old friends and schoolfellows, but were near 
 relatives, and, unless there was some secret that could not be revealed, 
 she should feel very grieved if her newly-found cousin could not place 
 sufficient confidence in her as a friend, to tell her what had caused 
 the coolness between two, who, but a short time ago, seemed so 
 devoted to each other. " If Frederick has said or done anything to 
 annoy or displease you," she said, " I am sure it was unintentional 
 on his part ; and, if you will tell me, in confidence, I will do my 
 best to set all things right." 
 
 Still Alrina hesitated, and Julia began to suspect that the coolness 
 she had observed was caused by something more serious than she had 
 at first imagined ; but, whatever it was, she thought it had better be
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 233 
 
 explained, and, as Alrina did not seem inclined to speak, she went on 
 with her persuasive arguments. " Consider, Alrina dear, what years 
 of pain and mental suffering my poor aunt endured on account of 
 her reticence. Had she revealed her secret in the beginning, she 
 would have been much happier, and your life would not have been 
 subject to so many changes and vicissitudes as you have experienced. 
 If your secret is not one that you cannot reveal, pray unburden your 
 mind to me, as your near relative and dearest friend." 
 
 Thus importuned, Alrina felt that she could not any longer refuse 
 her confidence to her friend, and, putting her arm round Julia's 
 waist, she led her into her own little room, which had already been 
 prepared for her, and there she told her all, as they sat folding one 
 another in a fond sisterly embrace. 
 
 " You noble girl ! " exclaimed Julia, when her cousin had finished 
 the recital of her troubles, and had told with what bitter pain and 
 anguish she had done violence to her feelings, by telling Frederick 
 that she could not love him, in order to save him and his family from 
 marrying one whose father's evil deeds must throw disgrace and 
 shame upon all connected with him. 
 
 " I would rather have died than brought this disgrace on Frederick 
 and his family," cried Alrina ; " and, having thus discarded him who 
 is dearer to me than my life, hoAv can I think that he will ever look 
 upon me again in any other fight than as a fickle wayward girl : he 
 can have no further confidence in me ; — indeed, I will not ask it; I do 
 not deserve his love or confidence after my cruel treatment of him." 
 
 "We shall see," — replied Julia, smihng and kissing her fiiend 
 fondly, — " We shall see, my sweet cousin." 
 
 While the two cousins were having their confidential chat, Captain 
 and Mrs. Courland and their two nephews were talking over the 
 events of the ^^ast few days, and Mr. Morley related to his uncle and 
 aunt the boy's confession. 
 
 " Before you leave us to prosecute the search you are so anxious 
 about," said Mrs. Courland, addressing the two young men, "I should 
 like to open the packet entrusted to me by Miss Freeman (or Miss 
 Fisher as I always called her) : she is dead noAV, poor woman ; so 
 that my promise is at an end." 
 
 " Yes ! " said the the captain, " let it l)e opened, noAV, — we wont 
 keep any more secrets or mysteries here." 
 
 The packet was therefore produced and opened. It contained a 
 long manuscript, written in a neat hand, ancl was headed, — 
 
 " The Confession of Maria Fisher, alias Freeman " : — 
 and Mr. Morley, being requested to read it, read as follows : — 
 
 " I, Maria Fisher, alias Freeman, being on my death-bed, make 
 this confession as the only atonement and reparation I can make for
 
 234 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 the evil deeds I have done during my life : I have injured almost 
 beyond reparation, the whole of the Morley family. 
 
 '• First Isabella Morley was the victim of my avarice. I kept her 
 little daughter, to serve my own ends, and palmed ofE the poor dumb 
 girl (of whom more anon) on her as her child. Alrina, whom I called 
 my niece, is Isabella Morley's daughter. Proofs sufficient can be 
 found. — The Coopers know all : and my sinful brother knows all. — 
 Sift it out. That poor dumb girl was found by Cooper, washed on 
 shore from a wreck : he picked her up and carried her to his house. 
 She had a peculiar pair of ear-rings in her ears, very handsome and 
 costly : I have one in my possession now — the other I have missed. 
 Her linen was marked ' Fowler.'' We have since learned that 
 Lieut. Fowler's brother and his little daughter were wrecked on 
 this coast on their voyage from India. He was drowned ; the child 
 was saved. The Coopers know more ; — my brother knows all. This 
 child's infirmity was useftd to us : she was kept at the Coopers'. 
 Sift this out to the bottom too : here is the clue : " — 
 
 " Oh, miserable woman ! " exclaimed Mrs. Courland, — " what a 
 life of sin and wickedness she must have led ! " 
 
 " Yes ! " replied Mr. Morley, — " but that is not all : let me go on. 
 The remainder of the manuscript is not quite so legible : it seems to 
 have been written under the influence of stimulants : it is blotted, 
 and some words are erased Avith the pen and written over again : 
 I will read it as well as I can, but you must give me time." And, 
 having smoothed out the manuscript, and turned his chair, so as to 
 let the light fall full on the paper, he resumed his task. There were 
 many stoppages in the course of the reading, and many exclamations 
 of surprise and horror, which we A\'ill not notice here, but let the 
 confession go on smoothly, to avoid confusion and tediousness. 
 
 " If the first part of my confession has startled the reader (whoever 
 he may be) " it went on, "let him close the MS. — What has been 
 told, is as nothing to what remains. How to approach this part of 
 my confession I know not. Brandy will assist me. Brandy ! Brandy ! 
 That "will drown my better thoughts, and bring me back to that 
 dread night, and help me to tell my tale as fearlessly and heartlessly 
 as the deed was committed. 
 
 "Now I can go on again. Mrs. Courland, the once beautiful 
 Isabella Morley, had returned to Ashley Hall. My brother and 
 myself followed, and took a lone cottage near the sea-coast. — Our 
 father lived with us. He was a rover, though an old man ; unsteady 
 and intemperate in his habits : he was useful to the smugglers, and 
 they paid him well for his assistance. My brother took a higher 
 walk in the smuggling line. He got connected with some of the 
 Cornish smugglers, — Cooper among the rest ; and they bought a
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 235 
 
 little vessel of which Cooper was the captain ; and my brother, living 
 at a distance, and being connected with merchants, sold the goods. 
 One night ! I shall never forget that night ! — a gentleman was 
 driven to seek shelter in our cottage from the snow : he had missed 
 his way. — My father and brother were both out. My father's bed- 
 room on the ground-floor, was vacant : I did not expect him home 
 that night, so I put the gentleman there to sleep. — To sleep ! Yes! — 
 It might indeed have been a long sleep ! 
 
 " My brother returned. I told him Mr. Morley had entrusted me 
 with his name ; — he had money, too, he told me, — a large sura. My 
 brother hated the name of Morley : he had been spurned by a 
 Morley : — his love had been rejected with scorn : — he was a man of 
 strong passions. The brother of her whom he now hated as much 
 as he had loved before, — the man who had introduced the rich 
 captain to Isabella, and so overturned his hopes of marriage with the 
 lovely creature he had so passionately loved, was in his power. 
 Revenge seized hold of him. He called for brandy : he drank deeply, 
 and raved like a madman ; then he became more calm. He took 
 Mr. Morley's stick and examined it : it was a curious stick. I left 
 him still drinking, and retired to my bedroom. 
 
 " I knew not the extent of that night's work until the morning ; 
 when, oh, horror ! — my brother had murdered our father instead of 
 
 ■ ! What was to be done ? My brother's ready wit hit on a 
 
 plan. The intended victim was gone ; perhaps to inform the 
 authorities. He had worn away the murdered man's hat. His hat 
 with his name in it, was left: it was with his stick the murder had 
 been committed : he was accused and committed. My brother found 
 the bag of money ; we fled into Cornwall, changed ovir names to 
 Freeman, and took up our abode at St. Just : that money enabled 
 us to live comfortably. My brother was clever, and earned money 
 in other ways easily. My confession is finished. My conscience is 
 satisfied. The minds of the Morleys are reheved. When this is 
 read I shall be no more, and my brother and the Coopers will be out 
 of your reach. Search, — sift as you will, you can know no more! — 
 We have outwitted you I — Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 The latter part of the manuscript was blotted and stained, as if 
 brandy had been spilt over it, and tlie writing was almost illegible, 
 indicating the unsteadiness of the hand that wrote it. 
 
 When Mr. Morley had finished he threw the MS. on the table 
 and exclaimed, — " I had my suspicions of that fellow from the first. 
 Our minds are now set at rest, and we can publish this document to 
 satisfy the public of the perfect innocence of our father, and the 
 double guilt of those wicked, lawless jiooplc."
 
 236 THE WIZAUD 01" WEST PENVVITH. 
 
 " I think," said Captain Courland, " that it is sufficient that you 
 are sjitistied, yourselves, and that the guilty parties have confessed: — 
 the public have forgotten all the circumstances long ago, and the 
 stu-ring it up again, now, can answer no good end." 
 
 *' Perhaps you are right sir," replied Mr. Morley, " the guilty 
 "wretches have had their reward in this life !" 
 
 " What a shocking death it must have been," said Mrs. Courland, 
 with a shudder : " torture and pain the most acute and agonizing. 
 How rarely the guilty escape punishment, even in this life." 
 
 " I should like oiir good friends, the squire and Fowler, to hear 
 this confession," said Frederick, " for they knew the story of the 
 murder, and all the circumstances connected with it, and felt, I am 
 quite sure, a deep interest in our search after the guilty parties." 
 
 " Of course," said the captain ; — " they ought to be informed at 
 once ; and I have been thinking of inviting them all here. What do 
 you think of it, my dear ?" he continued, addressing his wife. "We 
 cannot have so large a party to dinner at our lodgings, of course ; 
 but there is no reason why we shouldn't ask them all to dine with 
 us at the hotel." 
 
 " I should like it above all things," replied Mrs. Courland, " and, 
 if Frederick will undertake to deliver the invitations, I will write 
 them at once, and invite the whole party for tomorrow. The ladies 
 must come also, or I shall have nothing to do with the party." 
 
 " The ladies, by all means," said the captain, as his wife opened 
 her writing-desk. 
 
 " I really think I must petition for Josiah to be invited, to be 
 entertained by Alice Ann," said Mr. Morley, smiling. 
 
 " Of course," said the captain, in high glee ; " and that poor boy 
 mustn't be left out. Shiver my topsails ! — young sirs — we'll have a 
 jovial party ! I'll go down to the hotel myself in the morning and 
 superintend the selection of the Avine : we'll have the very best the 
 landlord has in his cellar, — and plenty of it too. — The squire is a 
 two-bottle man — I'll take my Solomon Davey to that ! " 
 
 While Mrs. Courland was writing the notes, Mr. Morley took up 
 the MS. again, and, on turning over another sheet, he exclaimed, — 
 " here's something more ! " 
 
 All ears were instantly attentive, and he read on : — 
 
 " I, Maria Fisher, alias Freeman, as an atonement, in some degree, 
 for my sinful condrict towards her, give and bequeath to Alrina 
 Marshall, formerly known as Alrina Freeman, the daughter of Mrs. 
 Courland of Ashley Hall, all my Avorldly goods and moneys now in 
 my possession or in the possession of my brother, John Fisher, alias 
 Freeman, belonging to me, and all property of any kind which I 
 may possess at my death ; and I hope I shall be pardoned for my 
 sins."
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH, 237 
 
 This document was written in a legible hand, as if after due 
 deliberation, and properly signed and executed. It, however, gave 
 very little pleasure to the parties concerned, except that it shewed a 
 shadow of proper feeling on the part of Miss Freeman to make 
 amends for past misconduct. 
 
 The notes were at length written, and Frederick was despatched 
 with them. The captain thought they might have been sent by a 
 servant, but Frederick would not hear of it. He wished to be the 
 bearer of the welcome news to Fowler, he said, with whom he should 
 remain for the niglit, as he had had riding and excitement enough 
 that day already. 
 
 When Alrina and Julia returned to the drawing-room after their 
 tete-a-tete, Frederick was gone : it was evident, therefore, Alrina 
 thought, that he didn't care for her now : she had offended him 
 beyond forgiveness, and he had given her up ; she felt that she 
 deserved it, and that feeling made her more wretched than ever ; 
 she had treated him shamefully, and had, she thought, wounded his 
 feelings unnecessarily. Had he treated her cruelly, she could, and 
 would, have forgiven him ; but she could not seek him out, and 
 ask him to forgive her. No, she could not do that — besides, he 
 seemed to avoid her. What could she do ? She must endeavour to 
 bear it. She slept very little that night; — her thoughts were too 
 much occujjied. The pleasure and hapj^iness she felt at the course 
 events had taken in her worldly career, were quite absorbed and 
 overbalanced by the painful reflections she experienced with regard 
 to the hidden secrets of her heart. In the midst of all the newly 
 acquired pleasures of birth and fortune, and a happy home, her 
 heart was crushed and sad. 
 
 Mrs. Courland could not make it out. She thought her daughter 
 would have been to her a delightful companion, and she had looked 
 forward to years of happiness ; but she found Alrina silent and 
 reserved. She asked Julia if she knew the cause, and she told her 
 aunt all. They both honoured and respected Alrina for her noble 
 conduct : — they both knew, very well, that it only recpiired a kind 
 friend to explain to Frederick the state of affairs, and all Avoidd be 
 well. 
 
 Mrs. Courland took the first opportunity of telling her husband 
 how nobly their daughter had acted (for she kept nothing from him 
 now), at Avhich the old gentleman expressed the highest gratincation. 
 " We have found a treasure, my dear ; " said he, "many have searched 
 among the Cornish mines, and spent their aJl in the search, without 
 finding such a precious jewel as we have discovered here : — wc will 
 preserve her as the most valued diamond that ever was discovered in 
 Cornwall."
 
 238 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITII. 
 
 " Don't be so absurd," replied Mrs. Courland, smiling, "I'm really 
 afraid our long-lost child will be spoiled i£ she remains with us." 
 
 The captain's dinner-party -was a right jolly one : and, soon after 
 the desert was set on the table, and the servants had withdrawn, he 
 said, — " I am not in the habit of throwing a wet blanket over any 
 company, especially when I have in'vited the party to my own table ; 
 but I am sure you will all like to hear what these wretches say for 
 themselves ; so, before we begin to enjoy ourselves, I wall ask Morley 
 to read the confession which was placed in Mrs. Courland's hands a 
 few days ago." 
 
 Mr. Morley, accordingly, read Miss Freeman's confession, at which 
 all the party were horror-struck, although several of them had heard 
 it before. 
 
 Lieut. Fowler was perfectly astounded to learn that the dumb girl 
 was his niece, and was grieved at her sad end. 
 
 " Now," cried the captain, when Mr. Morley had finished, and all 
 had made their remarks on the sad fate of the inmates of the cottage, 
 *' splinter my topmast ! but we'll have no more of this ! pass the 
 bottle, squire, and we'll drink to the health of my newly-found 
 daughter ; — she's a noble girl ! we haA'e found her among the Cornish 
 mines, and so we'll christen her TIlb Cornish Diamondl — ha! ha! ha! 
 and the old gentleman leaned back in his chair and laughed right 
 merrily. It was one of his old, hearty laughs, such as he used to 
 indulge in when he was in Flora's room, and thought no one heard 
 him; — a sort of exhilii-ating laugh, which no one could help joining 
 in, without great difficulty : and all, except two of the party, did 
 join in it, — even the glasses on the sideboard echoed their sympathy. 
 There were only two who did not join in the laugh, and they were 
 Alrina and Mrs. Courland. The former felt that it tended to make 
 her more conspicuous than she washed just at this time, and she 
 blushed up to the very roots of her hair, as Ave haA^e seen her blush 
 before; A\'hile the latter Avas shocked at the vulgarity (as she deemed 
 it) of her husband, and dreaded lest he should expose his free and 
 easy manner still further to the Pendray ladies ; so, in order to 
 check it, as she thought, she said, with quiet dignity, when the 
 merriment had a little subsided, " My dear, you really must remember 
 that you are not on board ship. — What Avill the ladies think ? " 
 
 "I tell you what it is, Mrs. Courland ; " he replied, in perfect 
 good humour, "you've had it your OAvn way a long time, and have 
 put a stopper on my lingo often enough ; I mean to steer the ship my 
 own way for once, and to-morrow you shall take the helm again if 
 you like. So, drink my toast, ladies and gentlemen : — ' The Cornish 
 Diamond ! ' and a brighter one was never discovered in the best of 
 our mines. No heeltaps, mind ! Fill AA^hat you like ; but drink what 
 you fill ! — that's my rule."
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 239 
 
 Many other toasts were drank, and everyone except the party 
 most concerned and one other, spent a right merry evening. These 
 two melancholy ones were Alrina Marshall and Frederick Morley. 
 
 Julia saw how unhappy they were, and, in the course of the 
 evening, she took Frederick aside, and told him (in confidence) the 
 state of Alrina's mind, and explained to him her reasons for saying 
 that she could not love him. He fully believed it, he said ; for there 
 was nothing too noble and disinterested to believe of Alrina ; and 
 he only wanted an opportunity to throw himself at her feet, and beg 
 her to recall the rash declaration she had made. 
 
 " Come with me, then," said Julia ; and she conducted him into a 
 small room, in which Alrina was sitting waiting for her cousin, who 
 had excused herself for a moment, having this object in view ; and 
 the mischievous creature, having brought the two glumpy ones 
 together, as she called them, left them to fight it out in their own 
 way. There Avas no fighting, however ; for, when they appeared 
 again, they were the merriest of the party. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 THE WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 The next morning gossip was rife in Penzance : nothing was talked 
 of but the captain's dinner-party, and the circumstances connected 
 with it. 
 
 Three pairs of lovers walked out from the hotel in different direc- 
 tions, while Julia took a quiet walk with her uncle and aunt, who 
 pretended to pity her, because she was not so fortunate as the other 
 three young ladies of the jiarty. They little knew what was going 
 on behind the scenes ; for, if the truth must be told, Julia had 
 received a letter, that very morning, from the most devoted love-sick 
 swain that ever wrote sonnets to the moon, or vowed eternal constancy 
 to the most lovely of her sex. So Julia was perfectly haj)j)y, 
 whatever her good uncle and aunt might think. 
 
 It was very hard, Captain Courland said, to be obliged to give up 
 his daughter again, as soon as he had found her, but Frederick was 
 a good fellow, and he should have her ; and to enable him to procure
 
 2-iO THE WIZAKD OF WEST PENWITH. 
 
 a suitable casket to keep the precious diamond in, the captain gave 
 him a handsome sum as a wedding present. 
 
 Maud was so happy in the consciousness of having gained the 
 affections of the only man she had ever known who possessed a 
 congenial spirit mth her own, that she used all her persuasion with 
 her father, in favour of Lieut. Fowler's hopes with regard to her 
 sister. The squire was taken by surprise he said : to lose one 
 daughter was bad enough, but to lose both at the same time, was 
 more than he could consent to. However, he promised to talk it 
 over with the captain over a bottle of wine after dinner : and, 
 either the wine had a peculiarly persuasive flavour, or the captain 
 was more than usually eloquent ; for the consent was given the next 
 day, and it was agreed that the three weddings should take place at 
 Penzance ou the same day; as soon as the necessary preliminary 
 preparations could be made. 
 
 Josiah and Alice Ann had not been idle. Perhaps love-making is 
 infectious ; if so, they caught the infection from their betters ; for 
 Josiah popped the question, and was accepted, about the same time 
 that their master and mistress (Mr. Frederick and Miss Alrina) were 
 making up their little imaginary differences at the hotel. 
 
 While the ladies w^ere making their preparations for their wed- 
 dings, the gentlemen, finding time hang heavily on their hands, 
 proposed going to the conjuror's house, at St. Just, and having a 
 regular overhaul, as Lieut. Fowler expressed it. 
 
 Alrina's consent was asked, and gi-anted, as a matter of course ; 
 for what had she to do with the conjuror's house now ? So they 
 went, and in their search, they found money and jewels of great 
 value ; for, in his haste to get away, the conjuror had not taken 
 verj'- much with him; — the belt was gone, and this had, no doubt, 
 been refilled. There was no one to claim the property, nor to hinder 
 them in their search, so they made a minute investigation ; and that 
 nothing might escape them, where they supposed or imagined there 
 was a secret drawer, they did not hesitate to break the piece of 
 furniture in which they suspected it into a thousand pieces. There 
 could be no doubt, now, as to the disposition and ownership of the 
 property. The conjuror's nearest relative and representative was his 
 sister, and she had disposed of all her property to Alrina. But 
 Alrina, fortunately didn't want it now ; so, after consulting her good 
 friends on the matter, it was decided that Squire Pendray should lay 
 out a portion of it for the benefit of the boy Bill, and Mazed Dick 
 and his mother, according to his judgment ; and that the remainder 
 should be given to the poor and for charitable purposes 
 
 There was nothing wanting that money could procure to render 
 the wedding everything that could be desired by the most fastidious 
 of gossips.
 
 THE WIZARD OF WEST PENWITH. 241 
 
 Mr. Morley and Frederick presented Josiah and his wife with a 
 handsome sum of money on their marriage, which took place soon 
 after their own, to enable them to purchase a farm, to which the 
 happy couple retired after their wedding. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Brown continued to keep the " Commercial " hotel 
 for several years, and were visited, frequently, by Mr. Morley and 
 his brother and their wives. But, of all her friends and customers, 
 Mrs. Brown often declared that she never loved anyone half so much 
 as she loved Miss Reeney, who was worthy, she said, of the name 
 Mrs. Trenow had given her, — " The Cornish Diamond ! " 
 
 PRINTED BY W. CORNISH, THE LIBRARY, PENZANCE.
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Santa Barbara 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
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