Let me have but her," he cried piteously.

"I do not want her wealth,--not I! Let me have but her, and that but for one year, one month, one day!--and all the rest--money, fame, talents, yea, my life itself, hers if it be needed--are at the service of Holy Church.

Ay, I shall glory in showing my devotion by some special sacrifice,--some desperate deed.

Prove me now, and see what there is I will not do!" And so Eustace was absolved; after which Campian added,-- "This is indeed well, my son: for there is a thing to be done now, but it may be at the risk of life." "Prove me!" cried Eustace, impatiently.
"Here is a letter which was brought me last night; no matter from whence; you can understand it better than I, and I longed to have shown it you, but that I feared my son had become--" "You feared wrongly, then, my dear Father Campian." So Campian translated to him the cipher of the letter.
"This to Evan Morgans, gentleman, at Mr.Leigh's house in Moorwinstow, Devonshire.

News may be had by one who will go to the shore of Clovelly, any evening after the 25th of November, at dead low tide, and there watch for a boat, rowed by one with a red beard, and a Portugal by his speech.