at are weary are admitted here for rest and guidance and help,"
he replied, "and some have passed from here to some religious home. This
is by the kindness of the owner of this house. But why do you ask? Are
you a Catholic? Are you, amid so much heresy, a member of the true
fold?"

At this time I wished that I had prepared for a meeting with a priest,
so that I might have been in a better position to have fulfilled my
desires. I wished, too, that, instead of being slow to think, I had been
clever to make plans, and quick to act upon them. Still, I determined to
do the best I could.

"I am but a wanderer, father," I said, "and my mind hath been torn by
many doubts. I have been troubled, too, about one who is very dear to
me, who is of the Catholic faith, and who, I am told, found her way to a
convent or a religious home, to find rest and peace. I know not where
she is, and whether she has found the peace that she hoped for. I have
heard that it was in this neighbourhood that she sought to find what she
desired."

"Is she young or old, young man?" said the priest, looking keenly at me.

"She is young," I replied, "scarcely twenty, I should think."

"And her name?"

"Her name is Naomi Penryn," I replied; "she once lived at Trevose,
close by the great headland."

I thought he gave a start, and he seemed to measure me, as though he
thought of trying whether he or I was the stronger man.

"Alas!" he said, presently, "she is dead."

"Dead!" I repeated, and my heart became cold.

"Yes. She came here some time ago. She was very pale and fragile when
she came. She was in sore distress, too. But she received the
consolation of the Church, and died in the faith."

At this all my strength seemed to ebb away from me, and my hands became
nerveless.

"How long is it since she died?" I asked.

"About three weeks ago," he replied.

"And where was she buried?"

"I would show you her grave," he replied, "but the house is not mine. I
grieve to see your sorrow, but there is consolation, young man. Trouble
for our young sister no longer, for she is with the blessed. I am sorry
I cannot offer you food and shelter; but it is only four miles to St.
Columb, and you will find accommodation there."

"But surely there is an inn here?" I suggested.

"Yes; but it is not a place you would care to stay at, and you will fare
far better at St. Columb. Good-night."

Then he left me, and I went away toward the kiddleywink like one daz