Madge Figgy's old husband, who was home alone when the stranger arrived, was very nearly scared to death. Firstly because the sight of a stranger always frightened any of that wicked crew, and secondly because of the man's signs and curious gesticulations. Old Figgy thought that he was a madman, sure enough.
After some time, though, and a good many signs and misunderstandings, the old man gathered that the stranger wished to see the graves of the poor souls who went down in the wreck of the Portuguese Indiaman. Old Figgy put on his cap readily enough to show him the way, only too thankful to get him out of the house; but as soon as ever they had started on the right road, the stranger did not need any further guidance, he walked on by himself straight to the hollow, and making his way direct to the grave of the Portuguese lady he threw himself on it passionately, and broke into the most violent outburst of grief imaginable.
For some time old Figgy stood watching him in astonishment, until the foreigner, looking up, caught sight of him, and signed to him to go away; then returning to the grave, again, he threw himself on it once more and stayed there weeping and moaning until nightfall.
When darkness crept on up rose the little blue flame from the grave as before, but, instead of going to Madge Figgy's chair it made its way to the cottage, and gliding on to the chest, gleamed there with twice its usual brilliancy.
The foreigner, who had followed the flame closely, went, without let or hindrance from the old witch or anyone, straight to the chest, and clearing away with one sweep all the rubbish and lumber which were piled on it, opened it as if he had known it all his life, picked out everything in it that had belonged to the lady, then, without touching anything else that the chest contained, closed it again, and, after giving liberal gifts to every wrecker in the place, departed as mysteriously as he had come.
Anything of his history, or whence he came, was never discovered, but from the moment he left Madge Figgy's cottage neither he nor the little blue flame was ever seen again by any of them.
HOW MADGE FIGGY GOT HER PIG.
Madge Figgy, as you already know, spent most of her life in injuring someone. After she had left her cottage by the sea, where she spent so much of her time in robbing the dead, she went to live in St. Buryan, and there she spent her time in robbing the living, and doing any other mischief that came into her head to do.
One of her victims here was her near neighbour, Tom Trenoweth, a hard-working, struggling man who spent all his days trying to make both ends meet, and mostly failing, poor fellow. Now Tom had a sow, a fine great creature, on which he set great store, for when she was fattened up enough he meant to take her to Penzance Market, where he hoped to sell her for at least twenty shillings, for she was worth that and more of any man's money.