"Even the old priest was hustled away, still vomiting excommunications and threats. The chapel was dismantled, and the master of Penrhyn so heavily fined, that one by one his broad lands melted away, and were lost by his attachment to the Catholic faith." "And Lucy?" asked Isabel; "your tale is worth nothing without her." "Oh, Lucy was our saviour. She married the young heir of Penrhyn, inherited the estates of Coetmore, and they passed to us." "And the old priest--what was Father Guy's fate, Enrico? Do you know?" "Indeed, yes. His was a curious one. The country I speak of is now a populous neighbourhood. A large watering place has sprung up there, and the white houses and terraces of Llandudno replace the fishermen's huts of St Tudno's time; but few who go there now either know of or care for the curious deeds of the past. "The `Wyvern,' the cutter which had brought the Irish Catholics from the Isle of Man, still lay in the bay under the shelter of the little Orme. "It is a curious spot, Isabel, and has a beautiful pebbly beach; the water is deep, and the Orme falls in one sheer sweep into the sea there, so that when the wind is from the north and east, the waves strike its base, and the foam flies scores of yards up its sides. A mass of rock has tumbled down, and lies in picturesque confusion in the centre of the bay. There are strange caves and holes in the rocks, and when the cutter sailed all supposed the priest had gone too. "Days passed, and quiet crept again over the grand old land of Creuddyn." "You speak as if you like the country, Enrico?" "And so I do," replied Hughes, warmly. "I was born among its fine old mountains, and I love its old-fashioned, brave, honest-hearted race; but to continue. Days had passed when some fishermen at sea noticed a spiral wreath of smoke issuing from the face of the lesser Orme. "They talked of this over the fire at night. Some laughed at the tale, but others of the older men remembered to have heard of a cave in the flanks of the mountain, long the abode of the foxes. "They searched, and found a narrow, dangerous path, which yet exists. The Gloddaeth keepers know it, and know too where to track Reynard when their game disappears. The priest was found half starved, and fast asleep there. "The news spread, the fanatic population was soon roused. The country people flocked from far and near. "`Let the idolater see his chapel,' they roared, as the emaciated, careworn man was dragged into the centre of the green field, stretching before the house of Penrhyn to the sea. The aged priest was weak with hunger, and worn with suffering. Before him seethed a rude mob of infuriated peasants, and death was certain. This moved him not, but the chapel, despoiled, ruined, and half burned, caused the tears to roll down his thin cheeks. "`Ha!' shouted a thick-set peasant, `ye doomed us all to death, let us see how ye meet your own;' and he hurled a sharp stone at the feeble old man.