I had fully intended to be up betimes on the morning following my arrival at Summercourt, and although I gave the landlord of the inn no instructions to call me, I had no doubt but that I should wake early. So tired was I, however, and so much had my rest been broken, that it was past midday before I was aroused from the deep sleep into which I had fallen. Consequently it was well on in the afternoon before I started for St. Mawgan. I knew that the parish was largely under Catholic influence. The Arundel family owned a house there, but I had no idea as to the whereabouts of the chapel. This could only be discovered by searching, and, impatient with myself for losing so much time, I rode rapidly past St. Columb, and reached St. Mawgan just as the shades of evening were descending. I should, doubtless, have accomplished the journey more quickly if I had not missed my way and wandered several miles out of my course. Arrived at the parish church, however, I found that my difficulties had only just begun. I was afraid to make too many inquiries concerning this chapel, for fear the Killigrews might hear of my questionings, for, although I had seen no traces of them, I felt sure they were following Mistress Nancy Molesworth. I found, moreover, that the few people in the parish were anything but intelligent, and could give no information of value. At length, after much searching and many roundabout inquiries, I heard of a haunted dell about a mile and a half from St. Mawgan, where the devil was said to reside. An old farm labourer gave me the information, and with much earnestness besought me to keep away from it. "The devil 'ave allays come there, sur," remarked the old man. "Tes a very low place. Tes a 'olla (hollow) between two 'oods. The papist priests ded kip un off while they was 'lowed to live there, but since the new religion tho'ull Sir Nick have jist done wot 'ee's a mind to." "How did the papist priest keep him off?" I asked. "Well, sur, they ded build a chapel here, and they ded turn the well ov water, where the devil made hell broth, into good clain watter. 'Twas a 'oly well when they wos there, sur, so I've been tould. But law, sence the priests be gone he've gone there to live again, and I've 'eerd as how ee've bin zid in the chapel." "Have you seen him?" "I wudden, sur, for worlds; but, Jimmy Jory zid un, sur." "And what did he look like?" "Jist like a wrinkled-up ould man, sur." "And which is the way to this chapel?" "'Tis down there, sur," replied the old man, pointing southward; "but doan't 'ee go nist the plaace, sur, doan't 'ee. 'Tis gittin' dark, an 'ee'l zoon be out now."