Craftall was reassured by these words, albeit, judging of Bernard by himself, he had no notion that they sprang from any sentiment of compassion, but supposed that, though it did not appear on the instant, Bernard was making him an overture, under which he sought to advance some interest of his own. At another time he would gladly have associated with Bernard, while it should serve his purpose, on terms so favourable; but his object now was, at any hazard, to get him out of the way, and so have the stage clear for his departure. There was only one way, he thought, in which such an object could be accomplished; and that was, by betraying his ghostly friend, the priest. He would have shrunk from this alternative, indeed, under ordinary circumstances--not from any feeling of honour, but, what weighed more with him, from the scruples of superstition; but his dread of ulterior retribution, if it occurred to him at all, now sank under his apprehension of present detection. “I thank thee, good Master Gray,” he said. “’Tis what I looked for at thy hands; for a certain friend of mine, one Master Pry, hath commended thee to me in this wise very oft. Truly, I have repented me of the evil, and will sin no more. I see thou doubtest me! But”---- “Peace! peace!” cried Bernard. “I sought thee on another matter, concerning the affairs of thy sometime partner.” “Anon; we will discourse of them anon,” replied Craftall. “Now, to give thee assurance of my amendment, let me tell thee where, to my knowledge, a seminary-priest is in hiding.” “Let him be!” returned Bernard. “He hath a licence, no doubt; and even if he have not, ’twould be a hard matter, I dare affirm, to seize him in the discharge of his functions.” “I tell thee, he hath no licence,” said Craftall, impatiently--for he expected to be visited by the sailors every moment. “Moreover, an’ thou wilt be guided by me, thou shalt seize him in the exercise of his office. To-morrow morning, he marries a cavalier of Spain, one Felix di Corva, to Mistress Evaline de Neville.” Bernard started. “Art advised of this?” he cried. “An’ it be not true, denounce me!” exclaimed Craftall, solemnly. “I must to horse straight, then!” said Bernard. “Here is some devilry at work!” He turned away with these words, and, without further speech, made for the door, and darted into the street. “Ha! ha!” cried Craftall. “’Tis a good deed! ’Tis well done!” That night he sailed for America. CHAPTER XI. It was the eighth hour of the morning before Bernard arrived at Lantwell. Though his horse was jaded, he did not draw up before his own house, but proceeded, at a pretty brisk canter, to the upper end of the village. There, a short distance from the church, he came to a small cottage, similar to his own, before which he reined up, and alighted. “So ho, there!” he cried, knocking at the door. “Gaffer Peters! So ho!” “Anon! anon!” cried a voice within.