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.

"`I condemned ye not, children of darkness,' said the priest, wiping
away the blood from his eyes, and raising his tall, fine figure to its
utmost height, his grey hair streaming on the wind. `I would have saved
ye from the evil one, whose prey ye are. Ye cannot harm me,' and a
smile of withering scorn settled down upon his lips.

"From the skirts of the crowd to its centre, the whole became one
seething, boiling mass. Knives gleamed in the sunshine. One moment
Father Guy stood there, firm and erect, a smile of quiet scorn on his
lips, and the fresh, breeze from the sea playing through his scanty grey
hair and over his shaven crown; the next his body was whirling above
men's heads, it was pulled to and fro, torn here and there, until at
length it was rived, piecemeal, by the infuriated crowd, and the Roman
Catholic faith died out with the House of Penrhyn in Creuddyn."

The tale was told, the speaker ceased, and for a moment all was silence,
for the story had been a melancholy one.

The sharp angry bark of a dog was heard, then a step crushing the gravel
as some one advanced.

"The postman, Isabel," exclaimed Hughes, springing to his feet with
renewed energy; "now for news!"

But there was only a paper and one letter, and both bore the Calcutta
postmark.

"I know not a soul in the Presidency," said Hughes, as he turned the
letter, which was a very bulky one, listlessly in his hand. "I dare say
it will keep."

"Well, if you find it so fatiguing to read your own letters,