The remittances which De Vallance had received from his tenants, enabled him to purchase horses and other necessaries for himself and Jobson. Assuming the name of Herbert, he gave himself out to be a gentleman travelling with his servant on a tour of pleasure. They reached Pembroke in safety, but the pious intentions of Jobson were frustrated; he could neither pluck a tuft of grass from his master's grave, nor recover Fido to console Constantia. Dr. Lloyd had left the town, and no one knew where the remains of Eustace were deposited. The graves of his fellow-victims were pointed out by the attentive piety of the young maidens, who adorned them with garlands of flowers, which (according to the custom of the country) were renewed every Sabbath. On that day they duly knelt beside the spot, and with awful veneration kept alive their own attachment to the cause for which these officers suffered, by repeating the Lord's prayer. It was a matter of the deepest concern to Jobson that the grave of Eustace was not pointed out and adorned with similar honours. He began to conceive an implacable aversion to Dr. Lloyd for not having given him a public interment. "Is it not enough," said he to De Vallance, "to make poor Mr. Eustace walk? One of these gentlemen, to be sure, was a fine corny-faced cavalier, who paid for many a jug of Welsh ale that I drank to His Majesty's health, and the other was a stout desperate lieutenant, that would fight and swear with any body; but not one of them was half so handsome, sweet-speaking, well-born a gentleman as Mr. Eustace."