"I am but a wanderer, father," I said, "and my mind hath been torn by many doubts. I have been troubled, too, about one who is very dear to me, who is of the Catholic faith, and who, I am told, found her way to a convent or a religious home, to find rest and peace. I know not where she is, and whether she has found the peace that she hoped for. I have heard that it was in this neighbourhood that she sought to find what she desired." "Is she young or old, young man?" said the priest, looking keenly at me. "She is young," I replied, "scarcely twenty, I should think." "And her name?" "Her name is Naomi Penryn," I replied; "she once lived at Trevose, close by the great headland." I thought he gave a start, and he seemed to measure me, as though he thought of trying whether he or I was the stronger man. "Alas!" he said, presently, "she is dead." "Dead!" I repeated, and my heart became cold. "Yes. She came here some time ago. She was very pale and fragile when she came. She was in sore distress, too. But she received the consolation of the Church, and died in the faith." At this all my strength seemed to ebb away from me, and my hands became nerveless. "How long is it since she died?" I asked. "About three weeks ago," he replied. "And where was she buried?" "I would show you her grave," he replied, "but the house is not mine. I grieve to see your sorrow, but there is consolation, young man. Trouble for our young sister no longer, for she is with the blessed. I am sorry I cannot offer you food and shelter; but it is only four miles to St. Columb, and you will find accommodation there." "But surely there is an inn here?" I suggested. "Yes; but it is not a place you would care to stay at, and you will fare far better at St. Columb. Good-night." Then he left me, and I went away toward the kiddleywink like one dazed. I made no pretence of eating the supper which had been prepared, neither did I speak to Eli, who looked at me pityingly; and I saw that tears dropped from his strange-looking, cross eyes, and rolled down his ugly, misshapen face. All hope had now gone from me; I felt I had no desire to win back my own, or even to live. My life had more and more become bound up in that of Naomi Penryn, until now, when I could no longer comfort myself with the hope that she lived, nothing was of value to me. "Eli," I said, presently, "you had better go to bed. You will need all your strength." "Why, Maaster Jasper?" "Because to-morrow I shall go with you back to St. Eve." "And what then, Maaster Jasper?" "I do not know," I said; "it does not matter what becomes of me now." "And why, Maaster Jasper? Poor little Eli do love 'ee, love 'ee deearly." "But my love is dead," I answered; and then I told him what the priest had told me. His cross eyes shone brightly, and his mouth began to move just as I had seen his mother's move many times.