d not kill my wife has made the world new."

"And you did not commit suicide, then?" I said, in an unmeaning, foolish
sort of way.

"No. Coward that I was, I ran away, and for years, years--nearly twenty
now--I have been followed by--but never mind, it is gone--all gone. Only
let us go! You love my child, Jasper Pennington. Come, let us find her."

"Yes, yes," I replied; "but why did you follow me here?"

"Why? In my madness I felt sure that you had the secret of my life's
joy, and because my life has been such that I could not bear you to
obtain that which is the price of lost souls. I--I have been--where I
have heard the history of that thing which lies under water. It is not a
treasure, Jasper Pennington, it is damnation. Perhaps I will tell you
more some day, but not now. Let us leave the island."

"But it is not safe to leave it by night."

"Yes; I know the way. I have been here many times--I mean among the
islands, I will take you to the sailing-boat which brought me to St.
Agnes. Come, I will tell you all that needs telling as we go back."

"But Cap'n Jack's gang?"

"Their boat is at St. Mary's."

"How do you know?"

"Enough that I have found out their plans."

After this Eli and I followed him to a little cove where a boat rocked,
and ere long we were landed at St. Agnes. Here we found a good-sized
sailing-boat, and here, too, I dried my clothes in a fisherman's
cottage, wondering all the while at the strange things which had
befallen me.

As soon as morning came we started for St. Ives, for thither Naomi's
father determined to go, for Naomi's father I believed him to be.

He said that we should thus escape Cap'n Jack's gang, and be almost as
near Mullion as if we landed at Penzance. We did not, however, land at
St. Ives. The men who owned the boat consented to take us on to Hayle,
which was five miles nearer Mullion than St. Ives.

During our sail across I reproached myself greatly for placing Naomi in
the care of Tamsin Truscott, for I believed that she had been led to be
unfaithful, and had told Israel Barnicoat of her whereabouts. I talked
much with Mr. Penryn about these things, over whom a very great change
had come. He was no longer violent in language or in deed, rather he
seemed subdued and very thoughtful. He spoke very calmly and
thoughtfully, and suggested many things which would never have occurred
to me. Such was the power of what I had told him that all his fears
seemed to have go