ou will but tell the truth. We are all Englishmen, and
men of Devon, as you seem to be by your speech; and this ship is ours;
and the pope himself sha'n't touch you."

"Devon?" she said doubtingly; "Devon! Whence, then?"

"Bideford men. This is Mr. Will Cary, to Clovelly. If you are a Devon
woman, you've heard tell of the Carys, to be sure."

The woman made a rush forward, and threw her fettered arms round Will's
neck,--

"Oh, Mr. Cary, my dear life! Mr. Cary! and so you be! Oh, dear soul
alive! but you're burnt so brown, and I be 'most blind with misery. Oh,
who ever sent you here, my dear Mr. Will, then, to save a poor wretch
from the pit?"

"Who on earth are you?"

"Lucy Passmore, the white witch to Welcombe. Don't you mind Lucy
Passmore, as charmed your warts for you when you was a boy?"

"Lucy Passmore!" almost shrieked all three friends. "She that went off
with--"

"Yes! she that sold her own soul, and persuaded that dear saint to
sell hers; she that did the devil's work, and has taken the devil's
wages;--after this fashion!" and she held up her scarred wrists wildly.

"Where is Dona de--Rose Salterne?" shouted Will and Jack.

"Where is my brother Frank?" shouted Amyas.

"Dead, dead, dead!"

"I knew it," said Amyas, sitting down again calmly.

"How did she die?"

"The Inquisition--he!" pointing to the monk. "Ask him--he betrayed her
to her death. And ask him!" pointing to the bishop; "he sat by her and
saw her die."

"Woman, you rave!" said the bishop, getting up with a terrified air, and
moving as far as possible from Amyas.

"How did my brother die, Lucy?" asked Amyas, still calmly.

"Who be you, sir?"

A gleam of hope flashed across Amyas--she had not answered his question.

"I am Amyas Leigh of Burrough. Do you know aught of my brother Frank,
who was lost at La Guayra?"

"Mr. Amyas! Heaven forgive me that I did not know the bigness of you.
Your brother, sir, died like a gentleman as he was."

"But how?" gasped Amyas.

"Burned with her, sir!"

"Is this true, sir?" said Amyas, turning to the bishop, with a very
quiet voice.

"I, sir?" stammered he, in panting haste. "I had nothing to do--I was
compelled in my office of bishop to be an unwilling spectator--the
secular arm, sir; I could not interfere with that--any more than I can
with the Holy Office. I do not belong to it--ask that gentleman--sir!
Saints and angels, sir! what are you going to do?" shrieked he, as Amyas
laid a hea