«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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THE LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
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