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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/7968-8.txt b/7968-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a795fc9 --- /dev/null +++ b/7968-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12619 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lying Prophets, by Eden Phillpotts + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + +Title: Lying Prophets + +Author: Eden Phillpotts + +Posting Date: February 22, 2015 [EBook #7968] +Release Date: April, 2005 +First Posted: June 7, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYING PROPHETS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Eric +Casteleijn and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + + + +LYING PROPHETS + +_A NOVEL_ + +BY EDEN PHILLPOTTS + +_Author of "Down Dartmoor Way," "Some Everyday Folks" "The End of a +Life," etc._ + +_"'Tis like this: your man did take plain Nature for God, an' he did talk +fulishness 'bout finding Him in the scent o' flowers, the hum o' bees an' +sichlike. Mayhap Nature's a gude working God for a selfish man but she ed'n +wan for a maid, as you knaws by now. Then your faither--his God do sit +everlastingly alongside hell-mouth, an' do laugh an' girn to see all the +world a walkin' in, same as the beasts walked in the Ark. Theer's another +picksher of a God for 'e; but mark this, gal, they be lying prophets--lying +prophets both!"--Book II., Chapter XI._ + + + + + + +BOOK ONE + +_ART_ + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +NEWLYN + + +Away beyond the village stands a white cottage with the sea lapping at low +cliffs beneath it. Plum and apple orchards slope upward behind this +building, and already, upon the former trees, there trembles a snowy gauze +where blossom buds are breaking. Higher yet, dark plowed fields, with +hedges whereon grow straight elms, cover the undulations of a great hill +even to its windy crest, and below, at the water line, lies Newlyn--a +village of gray stone and blue, with slate roofs now shining silver-bright +under morning sunlight and easterly wind. Smoke softens every outline; +red-brick walls and tanned sails bring warmth and color through the blue +vapor of many chimneys; a sun-flash glitters at this point and that, +denoting here a conservatory, there a studio. Enter this hive and you shall +find a network of narrow stone streets; a flutter of flannel underwear, or +blue stockings, and tawny garments drying upon lines; little windows, some +with rows of oranges and ginger-beer bottles in them; little shops; little +doors, at which cluster little children and many cats, the latter mostly +tortoise-shell and white. Infants watch their elders playing marbles in the +roadway, and the cats stretch lazy bodies on the mats, made of old +fishing-net, which lie at every cottage door. Newlyn stands on slight +elevations above the sea level, and at one point the road bends downward, +breaks and fringes the tide, leading among broken iron, rusty anchors, and +dismantled fishing-boats, past an ancient buoy whose sides now serve the +purposes of advertisement and tell of prayer-meetings, cheap tea, and so +forth. Hard by, the mighty blocks of the old breakwater stand, their fabric +dating from the reign of James I., and taking the place of one still older. +But the old breakwater is no more than a rialto for ancient gossips now; +and far beyond it new piers stretch encircling arms of granite round a new +harbor, southward of which the lighthouse stands and winks his sleepless +golden eye from dusk to dawn. Within this harbor, when the fishing fleet is +at home, lie jungles of stout masts, row upon row, with here and there a +sail, carrying on the color of the plowed fields above the village, and +elsewhere, scraps of flaming bunting flashing like flowers in a reed bed. +Behind the masts, along the barbican, the cottages stand close and thick, +then clamber and straggle up the acclivities behind, decreasing in their +numbers as they ascend. Smoke trails inland on the wind--black as a thin +crepe veil, from the funnel of a coal "tramp" about to leave the harbor, +blue from the dry wood burning on a hundred cottage hearths. A smell of +fish--where great split pollocks hang drying in the sun--of tar and tan and +twine--where nets and cordage lie spread upon low walls and open +spaces--gives to Newlyn an odor all its own; but aloft, above the village +air, spring is dancing, sweet-scented, light-footed in the hedgerows, +through the woods and on the wild moors which stretch inland away. There +the gold of the gorse flames in many a sudden sheet and splash over the +wastes whereon last year's ling-bloom, all sere and gray, makes a +sad-colored world. But the season's change is coming fast. Celandines +twinkle everywhere, and primroses, more tardy and more coy, already open +wondering eyes. The sea lies smooth with a surface just wind-kissed and +strewed with a glory of sun-stars. Away to the east, at a point from which +brown hills, dotted with white dwellings, tend in long undulations to the +cliffs of the Lizard, under fair clouds all banked and sunny white against +the blue, rises St. Michael's Mount, with a man's little castle capping +Nature's gaunt escarpments and rugged walls. Between Marazion and Newlyn +stretches Mount's Bay; while a mile or two of flat sea-front, over which, +like a string of pearls, roll steam clouds, from a train, bring us to +Penzance. Then--noting centers of industry where freezing works rise and +smelting of ore occupies many men (for Newlyn labors at the two extremes of +fire and ice)--we are back in the fishing village again and upon the +winding road which leads therefrom, first to Penlee Point and the +blue-stone quarry, anon to the little hamlet of Mousehole beyond. + +Beside this road lay our white cottage, with the sunshine lighting up a +piece of new golden thatch let into the old gray, and the plum-trees behind +it bursting into new-born foam of flowers. Just outside it, above the low +cliff, stood two men looking down into the water, seen dark green below +through a tangle of brier and blackthorn and emerald foliage of budding +elder. The sea served base uses here, for the dust and dirt of many a +cottage was daily cast into the lap of the great scavenger who carried all +away. The low cliffs were indeed spattered with filth, and the coltsfoot, +already opening yellow blossoms below, found itself rudely saluted with +cinders and potato-peelings, fishes' entrails, and suchlike unlovely +matter. + +The men were watching a white fleet of bird boats paddling on the sea, +hurrying this way and that, struggling--with many a plunge and flutter and +plaintive cry--for the food a retreating tide was bearing from the shore. + +"'White spirits and gray,' I call them," said the younger of the two +spectators. "The gulls fascinate me always. They are beautiful to see and +hear and paint. Swimming there, and wheeling between the seas in rough +weather, or hanging almost motionless in midair with their heads turning +first this way, then that, and their breasts pressed against the +wind--why, they are perfect always, the little winged gods of the sea." + +"Gods kissing carrion," sneered the other. "Beautiful enough, no doubt, but +their music holds no charm for me. Nothing is quite beautiful which has for +its cause something ugly. Those echoing cries down there are the expression +of a greedy struggle, no more. I hate your Newlyn gulls. They are ruined, +like a thousand other wild things, by civilization. I see them scouring the +fields and hopping after the plowman like upland crows. A Cornish seabird +should fight its battle with the sea and find its home in the heart of the +dizzy cliffs, sharing them with the samphire. But your 'white spirits and +gray' behave like gutter-fed ducks." + +The first speaker laughed and both strolled upon their way. They were +artists, but while Edmund Murdoch dwelt at Newlyn and lived by his +profession, the older man, John Barron, was merely on a visit to the place. +He had come down for change and with no particular intention to work. +Barron was wealthy and wasted rare talents. He did not paint much, and the +few who knew his pictures deplored the fact that no temporal inducement +called upon him to handle his brush oftener. A few excused him on the plea +of his health, which was at all times indifferent, but he never excused +himself. It needed something far from the beaten track to inspire him, and +inspiration was rare. But let a subject once grip him and the artist's life +centered and fastened upon it until his work was done. He sacrificed +everything at such a time; he slaved; labor was to him as a debauch to the +drunkard, and he wearied body and mind and counted his health nothing while +the frenzy held him. Then, his picture finished, at the cost of the man's +whole store of nervous energy and skill, he would probably paint no more +for many months. His subject was always some transcript from nature, +wrought out with almost brutal vigor and disregard of everything but truth. +His looks belied his work curiously. A small, slight man he was, with +sloping shoulders and the consumptive build. But the breadth of his head +above the ears showed brain, and his gray eyes spoke a strength of purpose +upon which a hard, finely-modeled mouth set the seal. Once he had painted +in the West Indies: a picture of two negresses bathing at Tobago. Behind +them hung low tangles of cactus, melo-cactus and white-blossomed orchid; +while on the tawny rocks glimmered snowy cotton splashed with a crimson +turban; but the marvel of the work lay in the figures and the refraction of +their brown limbs seen through crystal-clear water. The picture brought +reputation to a man who cared nothing for it; and Barron's "Bathing +Negresses" are only quoted here because they illustrate his method of work. +He had painted from the sea in a boat moored fore and aft; he had kept the +two women shivering and whining in the water for two hours at a time. They +could not indeed refuse the gold he offered for their services, but one +never lived to enjoy the money, for her prolonged ablutions in the cause of +art killed her a week after her work was done. + +John Barren was a lonely sybarite with a real love for Nature and +absolutely primitive instincts with regard to his fellow-creatures. The +Land's End had disappointed him; he had found Nature neither grand nor +terrific there, but sleepy and tame as a cat after a full meal. Nor did he +derive any pleasure from the society of his craft at Newlyn. He hated the +clatter of art jargon, he flouted all schools, and pointed out what nobody +doubts now: that the artists of the Cornish village in reality represented +nothing but a community of fellow-workers, all actuated indeed by love of +art, but each developing his own bent without thought for his neighbor's +theory. Barron indeed made some enemies before he had been in the place a +week, and the greater lights liked him none the better for vehemently +disclaiming the honor when they told him he was one of themselves. "The +shape of a brush does not make men paint alike," he said, "else we were all +equal and should only differ in color. Some of you can no more paint with a +square brush than you can with a knife. Some of you could not paint though +your palettes were set with Nature's own sunset colors. And others of you, +if you had a rabbit's scut at the end of a hop-pole and the gray mud from a +rain puddle, would produce work worth considering. You are a community of +painters--some clever, some hopeless--but you are not a school, and you may +thank God for it." + +John Barron was rough tonic, but the fearless little man generally found an +audience at the end of the day in this studio or that. The truth of much +that he said appealed to the lofty-minded and serious; his dry cynicism, +savage dislike of civilization, and frank affection for Nature, attracted +others. He hit hard, but he never resented rough knocks in return, and no +man had seen him out of temper with anything but mysticism and the art bred +therefrom. Upon the whole, however, his materialism annoyed more than his +wit amused. + +Upon the evening which followed his insult to the Newlyn gulls, Barron, +with Edmund Murdoch and some other men, was talking in the studio of one +Brady, known to fame as the "Wrecker," from his love for the artistic +representation of maritime disaster. Barron liked this man, for he was +outspoken and held vigorous views, but the two quarreled freely. + +"Fate was a fool when she chucked her presents into the lap of a lazy +beggar like you," said Brady, addressing the visitor. "And thrice a fool," +he added, "to assort her gifts so ill." + +"Fate is a knave, a mad thing playing at cat's cradle with the threads of +our wretched little lives," answered John Barron, "she is a coward--a +bully. She hits the hungry below the belt; she heaps gold into the lap of +the old man, but not till he has already dug his own grave to come at it; +she gives health to those who must needs waste all their splendid strength +on work; and wealth to worthless beings like myself who are always ailing +and who never spend a pound with wisdom. Make no dark cryptic mystery of +Fate when you paint her. She looks to me like a mischievous monkey poking +sticks into an ant-hill." + +"She's a woman," said Murdoch. + +"She's three," corrected Brady; "what can you expect from three women +rolled into one?" + +"Away with her! Waste no incense at her shrine. She'll cut the thread no +sooner because you turn your back on her. Fling overboard your +mythologies, dead and alive, and kneel to Nature. A budding spike of wild +hyacinth is worth all the gods put together. Go hand in hand with Nature, I +say. Ask nothing from her; walk humbly; be well content if she lets you but +turn the corner of one page none else have read. That's how I live. My life +is not a prayer exactly--" + +"I should say not," interrupted Brady. + +"But a hymn of praise--a purely impersonal existence, lived all alone, like +a man at a prison window. This carcass, with its shaky machinery and +defective breathing apparatus, is the prison. I look out of the window till +the walls crumble away--" + +"And then?" asked one Paul Tarrant, a painter who prided himself on being a +Christian as well. + +"Then, the spark which I call myself, goes back to Nature, as the cloud +gives the raindrop back to the sea from whence the sun drew it." + +"A lie, man!" answered the other hotly. + +"Perhaps. It matters nothing. God--if there be a God--will not blame me for +making a mistake. Meantime I live like the rook and the thrush. They never +pray, they praise, they sing 'grace before meat' and after it, as Nature +taught them." + +"A simple child of Nature--beautiful spectacle," said Brady. "But I'm sorry +all the same," he continued, "that you've found nothing in Cornwall to keep +you here and make you do some work. You talk an awful deal of rot, but we +want to see you paint. Isn't there anything or anybody worthy of you here?" + +"As a matter of face, I've found a girl," said Barron. + +There was a clamor of excitement at this news, above which Brady's bull +voice roared approval. + +"Proud girl, proud parents, proud Newlyn!" he bellowed. + +"The mood ripens too," continued Barren quietly. "'Sacrifice all the world +to mood' is my motto. So I shall stop and paint." + +A moment later derisive laughter greeted Barron's decision, for Murdoch, in +answer to a hail of questions, announced the subject of his friend's +inspiration. + +"We strolled round this morning and saw Joan Tregenza in an iron hoop with +a pail of water slung at either hand." + +"So your picture begins and ends where it is, Barron, my friend; in your +imagination. Did it strike you when you first saw that vision of loveliness +in dirty drab that she was hardly the girl to have gone unpainted till +now?" asked Brady. + +"The possibility of previous pictures is hardly likely to weigh with me. +Why, I would paint a drowned sailor if the subject attracted me, and that +though you have done it," answered the other, nodding toward a big canvas +in the corner, where Brady's picture for the year approached completion. + +"My dear chap, we all worship Joan--at a distance. She is not to be +painted. Tears and prayers are useless. She has a flinty father--a +fisherman, who looks upon painting as a snare of the devil and sees every +artist already wriggling on the trident in his mind's eye. Joan has also a +lover, who would rather behold her dead than on canvas." + +"In fact these Methodist folk take us to be what you really are," said +Brady bluntly. "Old Tregenza tars us every one with the same brush. We are +lost sinners all." + +"Well, why trouble him? A fisherman would have his business on the sea. +Candidly, I must paint her. The wish grows upon me." + +"Even money you don't get as much as a sketch," said Murdoch. + +"Have any of you tried approaching her directly, instead of her relations?" + +"She's as shy as a hawk, man." + +"That makes me the more hopeful. You fellows, with your Tam o' Shanters and +aggressive neckties and knickerbockers and calves, would frighten the +devil. I'm shy myself. If she's natural, then we shall possibly understand +each other." + +"I'll bet you ten to one in pounds you won't have your wish," said Brady. + +"No, shan't bet. You're all so certain. Probably I shall find myself beaten +like the rest of you. But it's worth trying. She's a pretty thing." + +"How will you paint her if you get the chance?" + +"Don't know yet. I should like to paint her in a wolf-skin with a thread of +wolf's teeth round her neck and a celt-headed spear in her hand." + +"Art will be a loser by the pending repulse," declared Brady. "And now, as +my whisky-bottle's empty and my lamp going out, you chaps can follow its +example whenever you please." + +So the men scattered into a starry night, and went, each his way, through +the streets of the sleeping village. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +IN A HALO OF GOLD + + +Edmund Murdoch's studio stood high on Newlyn hill, and Barron had taken +comfortable rooms in a little lodging-house close beside it. The men often +enjoyed breakfast in each other's company, but on the following morning, +when Murdoch strolled over to see his friend, he found that his rooms were +empty. + +Barron, in fact, was already nearly a mile from Newlyn, and, at the moment +when the younger artist sought him, he stood upon a footpath which ran +through plowed fields to the village of Paul. In the bottom of his mind ran +a current of thought occupied with the problem of Joan Tregenza, but, +superficially, he was concerned with the spring world in which he walked. +He stood where Nature, like Artemis, appeared as a mother of many breasts. +Brown and solemn in their undulations, they rose about and around him to +the sky-line, where the land cut sharply against a pale blue heaven from +which tinkled the music of larks. He watched a bird wind upward in a spiral +to its song throne; he noted the young wheat brushing the earth with a veil +of green; he dawdled where elms stood, their high tops thick with blossom; +and he delayed for full fifteen minutes to see the felling of one giant +tree. A wedge-shaped cut had been made upon the side where the great elm +was to fall, and, upon the other side, two men were sawing through the +trunk. There was no sound but the steady hiss of steel teeth gnawing inch +by inch to the wine-red heart of the tree. Sunshine glimmered on its leafy +crown, and as yet distant branch and bough knew nothing of the midgets and +Death below. + +Barron took pleasure in seeing the great god Change at work, but he mourned +in that a masterpiece, on which Nature had bestowed half a century and more +of love, must now vanish. + +"A pity," he said, while the executioners rested a few moments from their +labors, "a pity to cut down such a noble tree." + +One woodman laughed, and the other--an old rustic, brown and bent--made +answer: + +"I sez 'dang the tree!' Us doan't take no joy in thrawin' en, mister. I be +bedoled wi' pain, an' this 'ere sawin's just food for rheumatiz. My back's +that bad. But Squire must 'ave money, an' theer's five hundred pounds' +value o' ellum comin' down 'fore us done wi' it." + +The saw won its way; and between each spell of labor, the ancient man held +his back and grumbled. + +"Er's Billy Jago," confided the second laborer to Barron, when his +companion had turned aside to get some steel wedges and a sledge-hammer. +"Er's well-knawn in these paarts--a reg'lar cure. Er used tu work up Drift +wi' Mister Chirgwin." + +Billy added two wedges to those already hammered into the saw-cut, then, +with the sledge, he drove them home and finished his task. The sorrowful +strokes rang hollow and mournful over the land, sadder to Barron's ear than +fall of earth-clod on coffin-lid. And, upon the sound, a responsive shiver +and uneasy tremor ran through trunk and bough to topmost twig of the elm--a +sudden sense, as it seemed, of awful evil and ruin undreamed of, but now +imminent. Then the monster staggered and the midget struck his last blow +and removed himself and his rheumatism. Whereupon began that magnificent +descent. Slowly, with infinitely solemn sweep, the elm's vast height swung +away from its place, described a wide aerial arc, and so, with the jolting +crash and rattle of close thunder, roared headlong to the earth, casting up +a cloud of dust, plowing the grass with splintered limbs, then lying very +still. From glorious tree to battered log it sank. No man ever saw more +instant wreck and ruin fall lightning-like on a fair thing. The mass was +crushed flat and shapeless by its own vast weight, and the larger boughs, +which did not touch the earth, were snapped short off by the concussion of +their fall. + +Billy Jago held his back and whined while Barron spoke, as much to himself +as the woodman. + +"Dear God!" he said, "to think that this glory of the hedge-row--this +kingdom of song birds--should come to the making of pauper coffins and +lodging-house furniture!" + +"Squire must have money; an' folks must have coffins," said Billy. "You can +sleep your last sleep so sound in ellum as you can in oak, for that +matter." + +Feeling the truth of the assertion, Barron admitted it, then turned his +back on the fallen king and pursued his way with thoughts reverting to the +proposed picture. There was nothing to alarm Joan Tregenza about him; which +seemed well, as he meant to approach the girl herself at the first +opportunity, and not her parents. Barron did not carry "artist" stamped +upon him. He was plainly attired in a thick tweed suit and wore a cap of +the same material. The man appeared insignificantly small. He was +clean-shaved and looked younger than his five-and-thirty years seen a short +distance off, but older when you stood beside him. He strolled now onward +toward the sea, and his cheeks took some color from the fine air. He walked +with a stick and carried a pair of field-glasses in a case slung over his +shoulder. The field-glasses had become a habit with him, but he rarely used +them, for his small slate-colored eyes were keen. + +Once and again John Barron turned to look at St. Michael's Mount, seen afar +across the bay. The magic of morning made it beautiful and the great pile +towered grandly through a sunny haze. No detail disturbed the eye under +this effect of light, and the mount stood vast, dim, golden, magnified and +glorified into a fairy palace of romance built by immortal things in a +night. Seen thus, it even challenged the beholder's admiration, of which he +was at all times sparing. Until that hour, he had found nothing but +laughter for this same mount, likening the spectacle of it, with its castle +and cottages, now to a senile monarch with moth-eaten ermine about his toes +and a lop-sided crown on his head, now to a monstrous sea-snail creeping +shoreward. + +Barron, having walked down the hill to Mouse-hole, breasted slowly the +steep acclivity which leads therefrom toward the west. Presently he turned, +where a plateau of grass sloped above the cliffs into a little theater of +banks ablaze with gorse. And here his thoughts and the image they were +concerned with perished before reality. Framed in a halo of golden furze, +her hands making a little penthouse above her brow, and in her blue eyes +the mingled hue of sea and sky, stood a girl looking out at the horizon. +The bud of a wondrous fair woman she was, and Barron saw her slim yet +vigorous figure accentuated under its drab-brown draperies by a kindly +breeze. He noted the sweet, childish freshness of her face, her plump arms +filling the sleeves of rusty black, and her feet in shoes too big for them. +Her hair was hidden under a linen sun-bonnet, but one lock had escaped, and +he noted that it was the color of wheat ripe for the reaping. He regretted +it had not been darker, but observed that it chimed well enough with the +flaming flowers behind it. And then he frankly praised Nature in his heart +for sending her servant such a splendid harmony in gold and brown. There +stood his picture in front of him. He gazed a brief second only, and then +his quick mind worked to find what human interest had brought Joan Tregenza +to this place and turned her eyes to the sea. It might be that herein +existed the possibility of the introduction he desired. He felt that +victory probably depended on the events of the next two or three minutes. +He owed a supreme effort of skill and tact to Fate, which had thus +befriended him, and he rose to the occasion. + +The girl looked up as he came suddenly upon her, but his eyes were already +away and fixed upon the horizon before she turned. Observing that he was +not regarding her, she put up her hands again and continued to scan the +remote sea-line where a thin trail of dark smoke told of a steamer, itself +apparently invisible. Barron took his glasses from their case, and seeing +that the girl made no movement of departure, acted deliberately, and +presently began to watch a fleet of brown sails and black hulls putting +forth from the little harbor below. Then, without looking at her or taking +his eyes from the glasses, he spoke. + +"Would you kindly tell me what those small vessels are below there just +setting out to sea?" he asked. + +The girl started, looked round, and, realizing that he had addressed her, +made answer: + +"They'm Mouzle [Footnote: _Mouzle_--Mousehole.] luggers, sir." + +"Luggers, are they? Thank you. And where are they sailing to? Do you know?" + +"Away down-long, south'ard o' the Scillies mostly, arter mackerl. Theer's a +power o' mackerl bein' catched just now--thousands an' thousands--but some +o' they booats be laskin'--that's just fishin' off shore." + +"Ah, a busy time for the fishermen." + +"Iss, 'tis." + +"Thank you. Good-morning." + +"Good-marnin', sir." + +He started as though to continue his walk along the cliffs beyond the +plateau and the gorse; then he stopped suddenly, actuated, as it seemed, by +a chance thought, and turned back to the girl. She was looking out to sea +again. + +"By the way," he said, unconcernedly, and with no suggestion that anything +in particular was responsible for his politeness. "I see you are on the +lookout there for something. You may have my glass a moment, if you like, +before I go on. They bring the ships very close." + +The girl flushed with shy pleasure and seemed a little uncertain what to +answer. Barron, meanwhile, showed no trace of a smile, but looked bored if +anything, and, with a serious face, handed her the glass, then walked a +little way off. He was grave and courteous, but made no attempt at +friendship. He had noticed when Joan smiled that her teeth were fine, and +that her full face, though sweet enough, was a shade too plump. + +"Thank 'e kindly, sir," she said, taking the glass. "You see theer's a gert +ship passin' down Channel, an'--an' my Joe's aboard 'er, an' they'm bound +for furrin' paarts, an' I promised as I'd come to this here horny-winky +[Footnote: _Horny-winky_--Lonely. Fit place for horny-winks.] plaace to get +a last sight o' the vessel if I could." He made no answer, and, after a +pause, she spoke again. + +"I caan't see naught, but that's my fault, p'raps, not bein' used to sich +things." + +"Let me try and find the ship," he said, taking the glass, which he had put +out of focus purposely. Then, while scanning the horizon where he had noted +the smoke-trail, he spoke, his head turned from her. + +"Who's Joe, if I may ask? Your brother, I daresay?" + +"No, sir; Joe'm my sweetheart." + +"There's a big three-masted ship being taken down the Channel by a small +steamer." + +"Ah! then I reckon that's the 'Anna,' 'cause Joe said 'twas tolerable +certain they'd be in tow of a tug." + +"You can see the smoke on the edge of the sea. Look below it." + +He handed the glasses to her again and heard a little laugh of delight +break from her lips. The surprise of the suddenly-magnified spectacle, +visible only as a shadow to the naked eye, brought laughter; and Barron, +now that the girl's attention was occupied, had leisure to look at her. She +was more than a pretty cottage maid, and possessed some distinction and +charm. There was a delicacy about her too--a sweet turn of lip, a purity of +skin, a set of limb--which gave the lie to her rough speech. She was all +Saxon to look at, with nothing of the Celt about her excepting her name and +the old Cornish words upon her lips. Those he rejoiced in, for they showed +that she still remained a free thing, primitive, innocent of School Boards, +or like frost-biting influences. + +Barron took mental notes. Joan Tregenza was a careless young woman, it +seemed. Her dress had a button or two missing in front, and a safety-pin +had taken their place. Her drab skirt was frayed a little and patched in +one corner with a square of another material. But the colors were well +enough, from the artist's point of view. He noted also that the girl's +stockings were darned and badly needed further attention, for above her +right shoe-heel a white scrap of Joan was visible. Her hands were a little +large, but well shaped; her pose was free and fine, though the +field-glasses spoiled the picture and the sun-bonnet hid the contour of her +head. + +"So you walked out from Mouzle to see the last of Joe's ship?" he asked, +quite seriously and with no light note in his voice. + +"From Newlyn. I ed'n a Mouzle maid," she answered. + +"Is the 'Anna' coming home again soon?" + +"No, sir. Her's bound for the Gulf of Californy, round t'other side the +world, Joe sez. He reckons to be back agin' come winter." + +"That's a long time." + +"Iss, 'tis." + +But there was no sentiment about the answer. Joan gazed without a shadow of +emotion at the vanishing ship, and alluded to the duration of her +sweetheart's absence in a voice that never trembled. Then she gave the +glass back to Barron with many thanks, and evidently wanted to be gone, but +stopped awkwardly, not quite knowing how to depart. + +Meanwhile, showing no further cognizance of her, Barron took the glasses +himself and looked at the distant ship. + +"A splendid vessel," he said. "I expect you have a picture of her, haven't +you?" + +"No," she answered, "but I've got a lil ship Joe cut out o' wood an' +painted butivul. Awnly that's another vessel what Joe sailed in afore." + +"I'll tell you what I'll do," he said, "because you were good enough to +explain all about the fishing-boats. I'll make a tiny picture of the 'Anna' +and paint it and give it to you." + +But the girl took fright instantly. + +"You'm a artist, then?" she said, with alarm in her face and voice. + +He shook his head. + +"No, no. Do I look like an artist? I'm only a stranger down here for a day +or two. I paint things sometimes for my own amusement, that's all." + +"Pickshers?" + +"They are not worth calling pictures. Just scraps of the sea and trees and +cliffs and sky, to while away the time and remind me of beautiful things +after I have left them." + +"You ban't a artist ezacally, then?" + +"Certainly not. Don't you like artists?" + +"Faither don't. He'm a fisherman an' caan't abear many things as happens in +the world. An' not artists. Genlemen have arsked him to let 'em take my +picksher, 'cause they've painted a good few maidens to Newlyn; an' some of +'em wanted to paint faither as well; but he up an' sez 'No!' short. +Paintin's vanity 'cordin' to faither, same as they flags an' cannels an' +moosic to Newlyn church is vanity. Most purty things is vanity, faither +reckons." + +"I'm sure he's a wise man. And I think he's right, especially about the +candles and flags in church. And now I must go on my walk. Let me see, +shall I bring you the little picture of Joe's ship here? I often walk out +this way." + +He assumed she would take the picture, and now she feared to object. +Moreover, such a sketch would be precious in her eyes. + +"Maybe 'tis troublin' of 'e, sir?" + +"I've promised you. I always keep my word. I shall be here to-morrow about +mid-afternoon, because it is lonely and quiet and beautiful. I'm going to +try and paint the gorse, all blazing so brightly against the sky." + +"Them prickly fuzz-bushes?" + +"Yes; because they are very beautiful." + +"But they'm everywheres. You might so well paint the bannel [Footnote: +_Bannel_--Broom.] or the yether on the moors, mightn't 'e?" + +"They are beautiful, too. Remember, I shall have Joe's ship for you +to-morrow." + +He nodded without smiling, and turned away until a point of the gorse had +hidden her from sight. Then he sat down, loaded his pipe, and reflected. + +"'Joe's ship,'" he said to himself, "a happy title enough." + +And meantime the girl had looked after him with wonder and some amusement +in her eyes, had rubbed her chin reflectively--a habit caught from her +father--and had then scampered off smiling to herself. + +"What a funny gent," she thought, "never laughs nor nothin'. An' I judged +he was a artist! But wonnerful kind, an' wonnerful queer, wi' it, sure +'nough." + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +THE TREGENZAS + + +Joan Tregenza lived in a white cottage already mentioned: that standing +just beyond Newlyn upon a road above the sea. The cot was larger than it +appeared from the road and extended backward into an orchard of plum and +apple-trees. The kitchen which opened into this garden was stone-paved, +cool, comfortable, sweet at all times with the scent of wood smoke, and +frequently not innocent of varied fishy odors. But Newlyn folk suck in a +smell of fish with their mothers' milk. 'Tis part of the atmosphere of +home. + +When Joan returned from her visit to Gorse Point, she found a hard-faced +woman, thin of figure, with untidy hair, wrinkled brow and sharp features, +engaged about a pile of washing in the garden at the kitchen-door. Mrs. +Tregenza heard the girl arrive, and spoke without lifting her little gray +eyes from the clothes. Her voice was hard and high and discontented, like +that of one who has long bawled into a deaf man's ear and is weary of it. + +"Drabbit you! Wheer you bin? Allus trapsing out when you'm wanted; allus +caddlin' round doin' nothin' when you ban't. I s'pose you think breakfus' +can be kep' on the table till dinner, washing-day or no?" + +"I don't want no breakfus', then. I tuke some bread an' drippin' long with +me. Wheer's Tom to?" + +"Gone to schule this half-hour. 'Tis nine o'clock an' past. Wheer you bin, +I sez? 'Tain't much in your way to rise afore me of a marnin'." + +"Out through Mouzle to Gorse P'int to see Joe's ship pass by; an' I seen en +butivul." + +"Thank the Lard he's gone. Now, I s'pose, theer'll be a bit peace in the +house, an' you'll bide home an' work. My fingers is to the bone day an' +night." + +"He'll be gone a year purty nigh." + +"Well, the harder you works, the quicker the time'll pass by. Theer's +nuthin' to grizzle at. Sea-farin' fellers must be away most times. But he'm +a good, straight man, an' you'm tokened to en, an' that's enough. Bide +cheerful an' get the water for washin'. If they things of faither's bant +dry come to-morrer, he'll knaw the reason why." + +Joan accepted Mrs. Tregenza's comfort philosophically, though her +sweetheart's departure had not really caused her any emotion. She visited +the larder, drank a cup of milk, and then, fetching an iron hoop and +buckets, went to a sunken barrel outside the cottage door, into which, from +a pipe through the road-bank, tumbled a silver thread of spring water. + +Of the Tregenza household a word must needs be spoken. Joan's own mother +had died twelve years ago, and the anxious-natured woman who took her place +proved herself a good step-parent enough. Despite a disposition prone to +worry and to dwell upon the small tribulations of life, Thomasin Tregenza +was not unhappy, for her husband enjoyed prosperity and a reputation for +godliness unequaled in Newlyn. A great, weather-worn, gray, hairy man was +he, with a big head and a furrowed cliff of a forehead that looked as +though it had been carved by its Creator from Cornish granite. Tregenza +indeed might have stood for a typical Cornish fisher--or a Breton. Like +enough, indeed, he had old Armorican blood in his veins, for many hundreds +of Britons betook themselves to ancient Brittany when the Saxon invasion +swept the West, and many afterward returned, with foreign wives, to the +homes of their fathers. Michael Tregenza had found religion, of a sort +fiery and unlovely enough, but his convictions were definite, with +iron-hard limitations, and he looked coldly and without pity on a damned +world, himself saved. Gray Michael had no sympathy with sin and less with +sinners. He found the devil in most unexpected quarters and was always +dragging him out of surprising hiding-places and exhibiting him +triumphantly, as a boy might show a bird's egg or butterfly. His devil +dwelt at penny readings, at fairs and festivals, in the brushes of the +artists, in a walk on a Sunday afternoon undertaken without a definite +object, sometimes in a primrose given by a boy to a girl. Of all these +bitter, self-righteous, censorious little sects which raise each its own +ladder to the Throne of Grace at Newlyn, the Luke Gospelers was the most +bitter, most self-righteous, most censorious. And of all those burning +lights which reflected the primitive savagery of the Pentateuch from that +fold, Gray Michael's beacon flamed the fiercest and most bloody red. There +was not a Gospeler, including the pastor of the flock, but feared the +austere fisherman while admiring him. + +Concerning his creed, at the risk of wearying you, it must be permitted to +speak here; for only by grasping its leading features and its vast +unlikeness to the parent tree can a just estimate of Michael Tregenza be +arrived at. Luke Gospeldom had mighty little to do with the Gospel of Luke. +The sect numbered one hundred and thirty-four just persons, at war with +principalities and powers. They were saturated with the spirit of Israel in +the Wilderness, of Esau, when every man's hand was against him. At their +chapel one heard much of Jehovah, the jealous God, of the burning lakes and +the damnation reserved for mankind, as a whole. Every Luke Gospeler was a +Jehovah in his own right. They walked hand in hand with God; they realized +the dismay and indignation Newlyn must occasion in His breast; they +sympathized heartily with the Everlasting and would have called down fire +from Heaven themselves if they could. Many openly wondered that He delayed +so long, for, from a Luke Gospeler's point of view, the place with its +dozen other chapels--each held in error by the rest, and all at deadly war +among themselves--its most vile ritualistic church of St. Peter, its +public-houses, scandals, and strifes, was riper for destruction than Sodom. +However, the hundred and thirty-four served to stave off celestial +brimstone, as it seemed. + +It is pitiable, in the face of the majestic work of John Wesley in +Cornwall, to see the shattered ruins of it which remain. When the Wesleys +achieved their notable revival and swept off the dust of a dead Anglicanism +which covered religious Cornwall like a pall in the days of the Georges, +the old Celtic spirit, though these heroes found it hard enough to +rekindle, burst from its banked-up furnaces at last and blazed abroad once +more. That spirit had been bred by the saint bishops of Brito-Celtic days, +and Wesley's ultimate success was a grand repetition of history, as extant +records of the ancient use of the Church in Cornwall prove. Its principle +was that he who filled a bishop's office should, before all things, conduct +and develop missionary enterprise; and the moral and physical courage of +the Brito-Celtic bishops, having long slumbered, awoke again in John +Wesley. He built on the old foundations, he gave to the laymen a power at +that time blindly denied them by the Church--the power which Irish and +Welsh and Breton missionary saints of old had vested in them. +Wesley--himself a giant--made wise use of the strong where he found them, +and if a man--tinker or tinner, fisher or jowster--could preach and grip an +audience, that man might do so. Thus had the founders of the new creed +developed it; thus does the Church to-day; but when John Wesley filled his +empty belly with blackberries at St. Hilary, in 1743; when he thundered +what he deemed eternal truth through Cornwall, year after year for half a +century; when he faced a thousand perils by sea and land and spent his +arduous days "in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fasting often, +in cold and nakedness"; when, in fine, this stupendous man achieved the +foundations of Methodism, the harvest was overripe, at any rate, in +Cornwall. No Nonconformist was he, though few enough of his followers +to-day remember that, if they ever knew it. He worked for his church; he +was a link between it and his party; his last prayer was for church and +king--a fact which might have greatly shocked the Luke Gospelers had such +come to their ears. For John Wesley was their only saint, and they honestly +believed that they alone of all Methodist communities were following in his +footsteps. Poor souls! they lived as far from what Wesley taught as it is +easily possible to conceive. As for Gray Michael, he was under the +impression that he and his sect worthily held aloft the true light which +Wesley brought in person to Newlyn, and he talked with authority upon the +subject of his master and his master's doings. But he knew little about the +founder of Methodism in reality, and still less about the history of the +Methodist movement. Had he learned that John Wesley himself was once +accused of Popish practices; had he known that not until some years after +the great preacher's death did his party, in conference assembled, separate +itself from the Church of England, he had doubtless been much amazed. +Though saturated with religious feeling, the man was wholly ignorant of +religious history in so far as it affected his own country. To him all +saints not mentioned in Scripture were an abomination and invention of +Rome. Had he been informed that the venerable missionary saints of his +mother land were in no case Romish, another vast surprise must have awaited +him. + +Let it not for an instant be supposed that the Luke Gospelers represented +right Methodism. But they fairly exemplified a sorry side of it; those +little offshoots of which dozens have separated from the parent tree; and +they exhibited most abundantly in themselves that canker-worm of Pharisaism +which gnaws at the root of all Nonconformity. This offense, combined with +such intolerance and profound ignorance as was to be found amid the Luke +Gospelers, produced a community merely sad or comic to consider according +to the point of view. + +An instance of Michael Tregenza's attitude to the Church will illustrate +better than analysis the lines of thought on which he served his Creator. + +Once, when she was thirteen, Joan had gone to an evening service at St. +Peter's, because a friend had dared her to do so. Her father was at sea and +she believed the delinquency could by no possibility reach his ears. But a +Luke Gospeler heard the dread tidings and Michael Tregenza was quickly +informed of his daughter's lapse. He accused Joan quietly enough, and she +confessed. + +"Then you'm a damned maiden," he said, "'cause you sinned open-eyed." + +He thought the matter over for a week, and finally an idea occurred to him. + +"'Tis wi'in the power o' God to reach even you back," he declared to Joan, +"an' He's put in my mind that chastenin' might do it. A sore body's saved +many sowls 'fore now." + +Whereupon he took his daughter into the little parlor, shut the door, and +then flogged her as he would have flogged a boy--only using his hard hand +instead of a stick. "Get thee behind her, Satan! Get thee behind her, +Satan! Get thee behind her, Satan!" he groaned with every blow, while Joan +grit her teeth and bore it as long as she could, then screamed and fainted. +That was how the truth about heaven and hell came to her. She had never +felt physical pain before, and eternal torment was merely an idea. From +that day, however, she was frightened and listened to her father gladly and +wept tears of thankfulness when, a month after her flogging, he explained +that he had wrestled with the Lord for her soul and how it had been borne +in upon him that she was saved alive. She had reached the age of seventeen +now, and felt quite confident upon the subject of eternity as became a +right Luke Gospeler. Unlike other women of the sect, however, and despite +extreme ignorance on all subjects, the girl had a seed of humor in her +nature only waiting circumstances to ripen. She felt pity, too, for the +great damned world, and though religion turned life sad-colored, her own +simple, healthy, animal nature and high spirits brought ample share of +sunshine and delight. She was, in fact, her mother's child rather than her +father's. His ancestors before him had fought the devil and lived honest +lives under a cloud of fear; Michael's own brother had gone religious mad, +when still a young man, and died in a lunatic asylum; indeed the awful +difficulty of saving his soul had been in the blood of every true Tregenza +for generations. But Joan's mother came of different stock. The Chirgwins +were upland people. They dwelt at Drift and elsewhere, went to the nearest +church, held simple views, and were content with orthodox religion. Mr. +Tregenza said of them that they always wanted and expected God to do more +than His share. But he married Joan Chirgwin, nevertheless; and now he saw +her again, fair, trustful, light-hearted, in his daughter. The girl indeed +had more of her mother in her than Gray Michael liked. She was +superstitious, not after the manner of the Tregenzas, but in a direction +that must have brought her father's loudest thunders upon her head if the +matter had come to his ears. She loved the old stories of the saints and +spirits, she gloried secretly in the splendid wealth of folklore and +tradition her mother's people and those like them possessed at command. Her +dead parent had whispered and sung these matters into Joan's baby ears +until her father stopped it. She remembered how black he looked when she +lisped about the piskeys; and though to-day she half believed in demon and +fairy, goblin and giant, and quite believed in the saints and their +miracles, she kept this side of her intelligence close locked when at home, +and only nodded very gravely when her father roared against the blighting +credulity of men's minds and the follies for which fishers and miners, and +indeed the bulk of the human family in Cornwall, must some day burn. + +People outside the fold said that the Luke Gospelers killed Tregenza's +first wife. She, of course, accepted her husband's convictions, but it had +never been in her tender heart to catch the true Luke Gospel spirit. She +was too full of the milk of human kindness, too prone to forgive and +forget, too tolerant and ready to see good in all men. The fiery sustenance +of the new tenets withered her away like a scorched flower, and she died +five years after her child was born. For a space of two years the widower +remained one; then he married again, being at that time a hale man of +forty, the owner of his own fishing-boat, and at once the strongest +personality and handsomest person in Newlyn. Thomasin Strick, his second +wife, was already a Luke Gospeler and needed no conversion. People laughed +in secret at their wooing, and likened it to the rubbing of granite rocks +or a miner's pick striking fire from tin ore. A boy presently came to them; +and now he was ten and his mother forty. She passed rightly for a careful, +money-loving soul, and a good wife, with the wit to be also a good Luke +Gospeler. But her tongue was harder than her heart. Father and mother alike +thought the wide world of their boy, though the child was brought up under +an iron rod. Joan, too, loved her half-brother, Tom, very dearly, and took +a pride only second to her stepmother's in the lad's progress and +achievements. More than once, though only Joan and he knew it, she had +saved his skin from punishment, and she worshiped him with a frank +admiration which was bound to win Mrs. Tregenza's regard. Joan quite +understood the careful and troubled matron, never attached undue importance +to her sharp words, and was usually at her elbow with an ear for all +grievances and even a sympathetic word if the same seemed called for. Mrs. +Tregenza had to grumble to live, and Joan was the safety-valve, for when +her husband came off the sea he would have none of it. + +Life moved uniformly for these people, being varied only by the seasons of +the year and the different harvests from the sea which each brought with +it. Pollock, mackerel, pilchards, herrings--all had their appointed time, +and the years rolled on, marked by events connected with the secular +business of life on one hand and that greater matter of eternity upon the +other. Thus mighty catches of fish held the memory with mighty catches of +men. One year the take of mackerel had been beyond all previous +recollection; on another occasion three entire families had joined the Luke +Gospelers, and so promised to increase the scanty numbers of the chosen. +There were black memories, too, and black years, casting gloomy shadows. +Widows and orphans knew what it was to watch for brown sails that came into +the harbor's sheltering arms no more; and spiritual death had overtaken +more than one Luke Gospeler. Such turned their backs upon the light and +exchanged Truth for the benighted parody of religion displayed by Bible +Christians, by Plymouth Brethren or by the Church of England. + +Six months before the day on which she saw his ship through Barron's +glasses, Joan had been formally affianced to Joe Noy, with her father's +permission and approval. The circumstances of the event demand a word, for +Joe had already been engaged once before: to Mary Chirgwin, a young woman +who was first cousin to Joan and a good deal older. She was an orphan and +dwelt at Drift with Thomas Chirgwin, her uncle. The sailor had thereby +brightened an unutterably lonely life and brought earthly joy to one who +had never known it. Then Gray Michael got hold of the lad, who was +naturally of a solid and religious temperament, and up to that time of the +order of the Rechabites. As a result, Joe Noy joined the Luke Gospelers and +called upon his sweetheart to do likewise. But she recollected her aunt, +Joan's mother, and being made of stern stuff, stuck to the Church of +England as she knew it, counting salvation a greater thing than even a home +of her own. The struggle was sharp between them; neither would give way; +their engagement was therefore broken, and the girl's solitary golden +glimpse of happiness in this world shattered. She found it hard to forgive +the Tregenzas, and when, six months afterward, the sleepy farm life at +Drift was startled by news of Joan's love affair, Mary, in the first flush +of her reawakened agony, spoke bitterly enough; and even that most +mild-mannered of men, her uncle, said that Michael Tregenza had done an +ugly act. + +But the fisherman was at no time concerned with Mary or with Joan. The +opportunity to get a soul into the fold had offered and been accepted. Any +matter of earthly love-making counted little beside this. When Joe broke +with Mary, his mentor declared the action inevitable, as the girl would not +alter her opinions, and when, presently, young Noy fell in love with Joan, +her father saw no objection, for the sailor was honest, already a stanch +Luke Gospeler and a clean liver. + +Perhaps at that moment there was hardly another eligible youth in Newlyn +from Tregenza's point of view. He held Joan a girl to be put under stern +marital rule as soon as possible, and Joe promised to make a godly husband +with a strong will, while his convictions and view of life were altogether +satisfactory, being modeled on Michael's own. The arrangement suited Joan. +She believed she loved Joe very dearly, and she looked forward with +satisfaction to marrying him in about a year's time, when he should have +won a ship-master's certificate. But she viewed his departure without +suffering and would not have willingly foregone her remaining year of +freedom. She respected Joe very much and knew he would make a good partner +and give her a position above the everyday wives of Newlyn; moreover, he +was a fine figure of a man. But he lacked mental breadth, and that fact +sometimes tickled her dormant sense of humor. He copied her father so +exactly, and she, who lived with the real thunder, never could show +sufficient gravity or conviction in the presence of the youthful and +narrow-minded Noy's second-hand echoes. Mary Chirgwin was naturally a +thousand times more religious-minded than Joan, and sometimes Joe wished +the sober mind of his first love could be transported to the beautiful body +of his second; but he kept this notion to himself, studied to please his +future father-in-law, which he succeeded in doing handsomely, and contented +himself, in so far as his lady was concerned, by reflecting that the +necessary control over her somewhat light mind would be his in due season. + +To return from this tedious but necessary glimpse at the position and +belief of these people to Joan and the washing, it is to be noted that she +quickly made up for lost time, and, without further mentioning the +incidents of her morning's excursion, began to work. She pulled up her +sleeves, dragged her dress about her waist, then started to cleanse the +thick flannels her father wore at sea, his long-tailed shirts and woolen +stockings. The Tregenzas were well-to-do folk, and did not need to use the +open spaces of the village for drying of clothes. Joan presently set up a +line among the plum-trees, and dawdled over the hanging out of wet +garments, for it was now noon, sunny, mild, and fresh, with a cool salt +breeze off the sea. The winter repose of the bee-butts had been broken at +last, and the insects were busy with the plum-blossom and among the little +green flowerets on the gooseberry bushes. Beyond, sun-streaked and bright, +extended apple-trees with whitewashed stems and a twinkle of crimson on +their boughs, where buds grew ripe for the blowing. + +Joan yawned and blinked up at the sun to see if it was dinner time. Then +she watched a kitten hunting the bees in the gooseberry bushes. Presently +the little creature knocked one to the ground and began to pat it and +pounce upon it. Then the bee, using Nature's weapon to preserve precious +life, stung the kitten; and the kitten hopped into the air much amazed. It +shook its paw, licked it, shook it again. Joan laughed, and two pigs at the +bottom of the garden heard her and grunted and squealed as they thrust +expectant noses through the palings of their sty. They connected the laugh +with their dinner, but Joan's thoughts were all upon her own. + +A few minutes later Thomasin Tregenza called her, and, as they sat down, +Tom arrived from school. He was a brown-faced, dark-eyed, black-haired +youngster, good-looking enough, but not at that moment. + +"Aw! Jimmery! fightin' agin," said his mother, viewing two swollen lips, a +bulged ear, and an eye half closed. + +"I've downed Matthew Bent, Joan! Ten fair rounds, then he gived up." + +"Fight, fight, fight--'tis all you think of," said his parent, while Joan +poured congratulations on the conqueror. + +"'Tweer bound to come arter the football, when he played foul, an' I tawld +en so. Now, we'm friends." + +"Be he bruised same as you?" + +"A sight worse; he's a braave picksher, I tell 'e! I doubt he won't come to +schule this arternoon. That'll shaw. I be gwaine, if I got to crawl theer." + +"An' him a year older than what you be!" said Joan. + +"Iss, Mat's 'leben year old. I'll have some vinegar an' brown paper to this +here eye, mother." + +"Ait your mayte, ait your mayte fust," she answered. "Plague 'pon your +fightin'!" + +"But that Bent bwoy's bin at en for months; an' a year older too," said +Joan. + +"Iss, the bwoy's got no more'n what 'e desarved. For that matter, they +Bents be all puffed up, though they'm so poor as rats, an' wi'out 'nough +religion to save the sawl of a new-born babe 'mongst the lot of 'em." + +Tom, with his mouth full of fish and potato pie, told the story of his +victory, and the women made a big, hearty meal and listened. + +"He cockled up to me, an' us beginned fightin' right away, an' in the third +round I scat en on the mouth an' knocked wan 'is teeth out. An' in the +fifth round he dropped me a whister-cuff 'pon the eye as made me blink +proper." + +"Us doan't want to knaw no more 'bout it," declared his mother after dinner +was over. "You've laced en an' that's enough. You knaw what faither'll say. +You did ought to fight no battle but the Lard's. Now clap this here over +your eye for a bit, then be off with 'e." + +Tom marched away to school earlier than usual that afternoon, while the +women went to the door and watched him trudge off, both mightily proud of +his performance and his battered brown face. + +"He be a reg'lar lil apty-cock, [Footnote: _Apty-cock_--Brave, plucky +youngster.] sure 'nough!" said Joan. + +Mrs. Tregenza answered with a nod and looked along the road after her son. +There was a softer expression in her eyes as she watched him. Besides, she +had eaten well and was comfortable. Now she picked her teeth with a pin, +and snuffed the sea air, and gave a passing neighbor "good-afternoon" with +greater warmth of manner than usual. Presently her mood changed; she +noisily rated herself and her stepdaughter for standing idling; then both +went back to their work. + + + + CHAPTER FOUR + +BARRON BEGINS TO LEARN THE GORSE + + +Between four and five o'clock in the morning of the following day the +master of the white cottage came home. His wife expected him and was +getting breakfast when Michael tramped in--a very tall, square-built man, +clad to the eye in tanned oilskin overalls, sou'wester, and jackboots. The +fisherman returned to his family in high good temper; for the sea had +yielded silvery thousands to his drift-nets, and the catch had already been +sold in the harbor for a handsome figure. The brown sails of Tregenza's +lugger flapped in the bay among a crowd of others, and every man was in a +hurry to be off again at the earliest opportunity. Already the first boats +home were putting to sea once more, making a wide tack across the mouth of +the bay until nearly abreast of St. Michael's Mount, then tearing away like +race horses with foam flying as they sailed before the eastern wind for the +Scilly Islands and the mackerel. + +Michael kissed his wife and Joan also, as she came to the kitchen +sleepy-eyed in the soft light to welcome him. Then, while Mrs. Tregenza was +busied with breakfast and the girl cleaned some fish, he went to his own +small room off the kitchen and changed his clothes--all silvery, +scale-spotted and blood-smeared--for the clean garments which were spread +and waiting. First the man indulged in luxuries. He poured out a large tub +of fresh water and washed himself; he even cleaned his nails and +teeth--hyberbolic refinements that made the baser sort laugh at him behind +his back. + +At the meal which followed his toilet Tregenza talked to his wife and +daughter upon various subjects. He spoke slowly and from the lungs with the +deep echoing voice of one used to vocal exercise in the open air. + +"I seed the 'Anna' yesterday, Joan," he said, "a proud ship, full-rigged +wi' butivul lines. Her passed wi'in three mile of us or less off the +islands." + +Joan did not hint at her visit to Gorse Point of the previous day, but her +stepmother mentioned it, and her father felt called upon to reprimand his +daughter, though not very seriously. + +"'Twas a empty, vain thing to do," he said. + +"I promised Joe, faither." + +"Why, then you was right to go, though a fulish thing to promise en. +Wheer's Tom to?" + +Tom came down a minute later. The swelling of his lips was lessened, but +his ear had not returned to a normal size and his eye was black. + +"Fighting again?" Michael began, looking up from his saucer and fixing his +eyes on his son. + +"Please, faither, I--" + +"Doan't say naught. You'm so fond of it that I judges you'd best begin +fightin' the battle o' life right on end. 'Tain't no use keepin' you to +schule no more. 'Tis time you comed aboard." + +Tom crowed with satisfaction, and Mrs. Tregenza sighed and stopped eating. +This event had been hanging over her head for many a long day now; but she +had put the thing away, and secretly hoped that after all Tregenza would +change his mind and apprentice the boy to a shore trade. However, Tom had +made his choice, and his father meant him to abide by it. No other life +appealed to the boy; heredity marked him for the sea, and he longed for the +hard business to begin. + +"I'll larn you something besides fisticuffs, my beauty. 'Tis all +well-a-fine, this batterin' an' bruisin', but it awnly breeds the savage in +'e, same as raw meat do in a dog. No more fightin' 'cept wi' dirty weather +an' high seas an' contrary winds, an' the world, the flaish an' the devil. +I went to sea as a lugger-bwoy when I was eight year old, an' ain't bin off +the water more'n a month to wance ever since. This day two week you come +along wi' me. That'll give mother full time to see 'bout your kit." + +Joan wept, Thomasin Tregenza whined, and Tom danced a break-down and rolled +away to see some fisher-boy friends in the harbor before school began. Then +Michael, calling his daughter to him, walked with her among his plum-trees, +talked of God with some quotations, and looked at his pigs. Presently he +busied himself and made ready for sea in a little outhouse where paint and +ship's chandlery were stored; and finally, the hour then being half past +seven, he returned to his labors. Joan walked with him to the harbor and +listened while he talked of the goodness of God to the Luke Gospelers at +sea; how the mackerel had been delivered to them in thousands, and how the +Bible Christians and Primitive Methodists had fared by no means so happily. +The tide was high, and Gray Michael's skiff waited for him at the pierhead +beside the lighthouse. He soon climbed down into it, and the little boat, +rowed by two strong pairs of hands, danced away to the fleet. Already the +luggers were stretching off in a long line across the bay; and among them +appeared a number of visitors: Lowestoft yawls come down to the West after +the early mackerel. They were big, stout vessels, and many had steam-power +aboard. Joan watched her father's lugger start and saw it overhaul not a +few smaller ships before she turned from the busy harbor homeward. That +morning she designed to work with a will, for the afternoon was to be spent +on Gorse Point if all went well, and she already looked forward somewhat +curiously to her next meeting with the singular man who had lent her his +field-glass. + +Mrs. Tregenza was in sorry, snappy case all day. The blow had fallen, and +within a fort-night Tom would go to sea. This dismal fact depressed her not +a little, and she snuffled over her ironing, and her voice grated worse +than usual upon the ear. + +"He's such a hot-headed twoad of a bwoy. I knaw he'll never get on 'pon the +water. I doubt us'll hear he's bin knocked overboard or some sich thing +some day; an' them two brothers, they Pritchards, as allus sails 'long wi' +Tregenza, they'm that comical-tempered every one knaws. Oh, my God, why +couldn' he let the bwoy larn a land trade--carpenterin' or sich like?" + +"But, you see, faither's a rich man, an' some time Tom'll fill his shoes. +Faither do awn his bwoat an' the nets tu, which is more'n most Newlyn men +does." + +"Iss, I should think 'twas," said Mrs. Tregenza, forgetting her present +sorrow in the memory of such splendid circumstances. "Theer ban't wan +feller as awns all like what faither do. The Lard helps His chosen, not but +what Tregenza allus helped hisself an' set the example to Newlyn from his +boyhood." + +Mrs. Tregenza always licked her lips when she talked about money or +religion, and she did so now. + +Among Cornish drifters Gray Michael's position was undoubtedly unique, for +under the rules of the Cornish fishery he enjoyed exceptional advantages +owing to his personal possession both of boat and nets. The owner of a +drift-boat takes one-eighth part of the gross proceeds of a catch, and the +remaining seven-eighths are divided into two equal parts of which one part +is subdivided among the crew of the boat, while the other goes to the owner +or owners of the nets used on board. The number of nets to a boat is about +fifty as a rule, and a man to possess his own boat and outfit must be +unusually well-to-do. + +But it was partly for this reason that Mrs. Tregenza refused to be +comforted. She grudged every farthing spent on anything, and much disliked +the notion of tramping to Penzance to expend the greater part of a +five-pound note on Tom's sea outfit. In a better cause she would not have +thought it ill to expend money upon him. His position pointed to something +higher than a fisherman's life. He might have aspired to a shop in the +future together with a measure of worldly prosperity and importance not to +be expected for any mere seafarer. But Tom had settled the matter by +deciding for himself, and his father had approved the ambition, so there +the matter ended, save for grumbling and sighing. Joan, too, felt sore +enough at heart when she heard that the long-dreaded event lay but a +fortnight in the future. But she knew her father, and felt sure that the +certainty of Tom's going to sea at the appointed time would now only be +defeated by death or the Judgment Day. So she did not worry or fret. +Nothing served to soothe her stepmother, however, and the girl was glad to +slip off after dinner, leaving Thomasin with her troubles. + +Joan made brisk way through Mousehole and in less than an hour stood out +among the furzes in the little lonely theater above the cliffs. For a +moment she saw nothing of John Barron, then she found him sitting on a +camp-stool before a light easel which looked all legs with a mere little +square patch of a picture perched upon them. Joan walked to within a few +yards of the artist and waited for him to speak. But eye, hand, brain were +all working together on the sketch before him, and if he saw the visitor at +all, which was doubtful, he took no notice of her. Joan came a little +closer, and still John Barron ignored her presence. Then she grew +uncomfortable, and, feeling she must break the silence, spoke. + +"I be come, sir, 'cordin' to what you said." + +He added a touch and looked up with no recognition in his eyes. His +forehead frowned with doubt apparently, then he seemed to remember. "Ah, +the young woman who told me about the luggers." Suddenly he smiled at her, +the first time she had seen him do so. + +"You never mentioned your name, I think?" + +"Joan Tregenza, sir." + +"I promised you a little picture of that big ship, didn't I?" + +"You was that kind, sir." + +"Well, I haven't forgotten it. I finished the picture this morning and I +think you may like it, but I had to leave it until to-morrow, because the +paints take so long to dry." + +"I'm sure I thank you kindly, sir." + +"No need. To-morrow it will be quite ready for you, with a frame and all +complete. You see I've begun to try and paint the gorse." He invited her by +a gesture to view his work. She came closer, and as she bent he glanced up +at her with his face for a moment close to hers. Then she drew back +quickly, blushing. + +"'Tis butivul--just like them fuzzes." + +He had been working for two hours before she came, painting a small patch +of the gorse. Old gnarled stems wound upward crookedly, and beneath them +lay a dead carpet of gorse needles with a blade or two of grass shooting +through. From the roots and bases of the main stems sprouted many a shoot +of young gorse, their prickles tender as the claws of a new-born kitten, +their shape, color, and foliage of thorns quite different to the mature +plant above. There, in the main masses of the shrub, mossy brown buds in +clumps foretold future splendor. But already much gold had burst the sheath +and was ablaze, scenting the pure air, murmured over by many bees. + +"You could a'most pick thicky theer flowers," declared Joan of the picture. + +"Perhaps presently, when they are painted as I hope to paint them. This is +only a rough bit of work to occupy my hand and eye while I am learning the +gorse. Men who paint seriously have to learn trees and blossoms just as +they have to learn faces. And we are never satisfied. When I have painted +this gorse, with its thorns and buds, I shall sigh for more truth. I cannot +paint the soul of each little yellow flower that opens to the sun; I cannot +paint the sunny smell that is sweet in our nostrils now. God's gorse scents +the air; mine will only smell of fat oil. What shall I do?" + +"I dunnaw." + +"No more does anybody. It can't be helped. But I must try my best and make +it real--each spike, as I see it--the dead gray ones on the ground and the +live green ones on the tree, and the baby ones and the old gray-pointed +ones, which have seen their best days and will presently die and fall--I +must paint them all, Joan." + +She laughed. + +"Don't laugh," he said, very seriously. "Only an artist would laugh at me, +not you who love Nature. There lives a great painter, Joan, who paints +pictures that nobody else in the wide world can paint. He is growing old, +but he is not too old to take trouble still. Once, when he was a young man, +he drew a lemon-tree far away in Italy. It was only a little lemon-tree, +but the artist rose morning after morning and drew it leaf by leaf, twig by +twig, until every leaf and bud and lemon and bough had appeared. It was not +labored and false; it was grand because it was true: a joy forever; work +Old Masters had loved; full of distinction and power and patience almost +Oriental. A thing, Joan Tregenza, worth a wilderness of 'harmonies' and +'impressions,' 'nocturnes' and 'notes,' smudges and audacities. But I +suppose that is all gibberish to you?" + +"Iss, so it be," she admitted. + +"Learn to love everything that is beautiful, my good child. But I think you +do, unconsciously perhaps." + +"I don't take much 'count of things." + "Yes, unconsciously. You have a cowslip there stuck in your frock, though +where you got it from I can't imagine. The flower is a month too early." + +"Iss, 'tis, I found en in a lew, sunshiny plaace. Us have got a frame for +growin' things under glass, an' it had bin put down 'pon top this cowslip +an' drawed 'en up." + +"Will you give it to me?" + +She did so, and he smelled it. + +"D'you know that the green of the cowslip is the most beautiful green in +all Nature, Joan? Here, I have a flower, too; we will exchange if you +like." + +He took a scrap of blackthorn bloom from his coat and held it out to her, +but she shrank backward and he learned something. + +"Please not that--truly 'tis the dreadfulest wicked flower. Doan't 'e arsk +I to take en." + +"Unlucky?" + +"Iss fay! Him or her as first brings blackthorn in the house dies afore it +blows again. Truth--solemn--us all knaws it down in these paarts. 'Tis a +bewitched thing--a wicked plant, an' you can see it grawin' all +humpetty-backed an' bent an' crooked. Wance, when a man killed hisself, +they did use to bury en wheer roads met an' put a blackthorn stake through +en; an' it all us grawed arter; an' that's the worstest sort o' all." + +"Dear, dear, I'm glad you told me, Joan; I will not wear it, nor shall +you," he said, and flung it down and stamped on it very seriously. + +The girl was gratified. + +"I judge you'm a furriner, else you'd knawn 'bout the wickedness o' +blackthorn." + +"I am. Thank you very much. But for you I should have gone home wearing it. +That puts me in your debt, Joan." + +"'Tain't nothin', awnly there's a many coorious Carnish things like that. +An' coorious customs what some doan't hold with an' some does." + +She sat down near the cliff edge with her back to him, and he smiled to +himself to find how quickly his mild manners and reserve had put the girl +at her ease. She looked perfect that afternoon and he yearned to begin +painting her; but his scheme of action demanded time for its perfect +fulfillment and ultimate success. He let the little timorous chatterbox +talk. Her voice was soft and musical as the cooing of a wood-dove, and the +sweet full notes chimed in striking contrast to her uncouth speech. But +Joan's diction gave pleasure to the listener. It had freedom and wildness, +and was almost wholly innocent of any petrifying educational influences. + +Joan, for her part, felt at ease. The man was so polite and so humble. He +thanked her for her information so gratefully. Moreover, he evidently cared +so little about her or her looks. She felt perfectly safe, for it was easy +to see that he thought more of the gorse than anything. + +"My faither's agin such things an' sayin's," she babbled on, "but I dunnaw. +They seems truth to me, an' to many as is wiser than what I be. My mother +b'lieved in 'em, an' Joe did, till faither turned en away from 'em. But +when us plighted troth, I made en jine hands wi' me under a livin' spring +o' water, though he said 'twas heathenish. Awnly, somehow, I knawed 'twas a +proper thing to do." + +"I should like to hear more about these old customs some day," he said, as +though Joan and he were to meet often in the future, "and I should be +obliged to you for telling me about them, because I always delight in such +matters." + +She was quicker of mind than he thought, and rose, taking his last remark +as a hint that he wished to be alone. + +"Don't go, Joan, unless you must. I'm a very lonely man, and it is a great +pleasure to me to hear you talk. Look here." + +She approached him, and he showed her a pencil sketch now perched on the +easel--a drawing considerably larger than that upon which he had been +working when she arrived. + +"This is a rough idea of my picture. It is going to be much larger though, +and I have sent all the way to London for a canvas on which to paint it." + +'"Twill be a gert big picksher then?" + +"So big that I think I must try and get something into it besides the +gorse. I want something or other in the middle, just for a change. What +could I paint there?" + +"I dunnaw." + +"No more do I. I wonder how that little white pony tethered yonder would +do?" + +Joan laughed. + +"You'd never get the likes o' him to bide still for 'e." + +"No, I'm afraid not; and I doubt if I'm clever enough to paint him either. +You see, I'm only a beginner--not like these clever artists who can draw +anything. Well, I must think: to-morrow is Sunday. I shall begin my big +picture on Monday if the weather keeps kind. I shall paint here, in the +open air. And I will bring your ship, too, if you care to take the trouble +to come for it." + +"Yes, an' thank 'e, sir." + +"Not at all. I owe you thanks. Just think if I had gone home with that +horrid blackthorn." + +He turned to his work as though she were no longer present and the girl +prepared to depart. + +"I'll bid you good-arternoon now, sir," she said timidly. + +He looked up with surprise. + +"Haven't you gone, Joan? I thought you had started. Good-by until Monday. +Remember, if it is cold or rainy I shall not be here." + +The girl trotted off; and when she had gone Barren drew her from memory in +the center of his sketch. The golden glories of the gorse were destined to +be no more than a frame for something fairer. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +COLD COMFORT + + +John Barron made other preparations for his picture besides those detailed +to Joan Tregenza. He designed a large canvas and proposed to paint it in +the open air according to his custom. His health had improved, and the +sustained splendor of the spring weather flattered hopes that, his model +once won, the work he proposed would grow into an accomplished fact. There +was no cottage where he might house his picture and materials within half a +mile of Gorse Point, but a granite cow-byre rose considerably nearer, at a +corner of an upland field. Wind-worn and lichen-stained it stood, situated +not more than two hundred yards from the spot on which Barron's picture was +to be painted. A pathway to outlying farms cut the fields hard by the byre, +and about it lay implements of husbandry--a chain harrow and a rusty plow. +Black, tar-pitched double doors gave entrance to the shed, and light +entered from a solitary window now roughly nailed up from the outside with +boards. A padlock fastened the door, but, by wrenching down the covering of +the window, Barron got sight of the interior. A smell of vermin and decay +rose from the inner darkness; then, as his eyes focused the gloom, he noted +a dry, spacious chamber likely enough to answer his purpose. Brown litter +of last year's fern filled one corner, and in it was marked a lair as of +some medium-sized beast; elsewhere a few sacks with spades and picks and a +small pile of potatoes appeared: the roots were all sprouting feebly from +white eyes, as though they knew spring held the world, though neither +sunshine warmed them nor soft earth aided their struggle for life. Here the +man might well keep his canvas and other matters. Assuming that temporary +possession of the shed was possible, his property would certainly be safe +enough there; for artists are respected in and about Newlyn, and their +needs considered when possible. A farm, known as Middle Hemyll, showed gray +chimneys above the fields, half a mile distant, and, after finding the +shed, Barron proceeded thither to learn its ownership. The master of Middle +Hemyll speedily enlightened him, and the visitor learned that not only did +he speak to the possessor of the cow-byre, but that Farmer Ford was a keen +supporter of art, and would be happy to rent his outhouse for a moderate +consideration. + +"The land ban't under pasture now, an' the plaace ed'n much used just this +minute, so you'm welcome if you mind to. My auld goat did live theer wance, +but er's dead this long time. Maybe you seed the carcass of en, outside? +I'll have the byre cleared come to-morrer; an' if so be you wants winders +in the roof, same as other paintin' gents, you'll have to put 'em theer wi' +your awn money." + +Barron explained that he only needed the shed as a storehouse for his +picture and tools. + +"Just so, just so. Then you'll find a bwoy wi' the key theer to-morrer, an' +all vitty; an' you can pay in advancement or arter, as you please to. Us'll +say half-a-crown a week, if that'll soot 'e." + +The listener produced half-a-sovereign, much to Farmer Ford's +gratification, and asked that a lad or man might be found to return with +him there and then to the shed. + +"I am anxious to see the place and have it in order before I go back to +Newlyn," he explained. "I will pay you extra for the necessary labor, and +it should not take above an hour." + +"No more 'twill, an' I'll come 'long with 'e myself this minute," answered +the other. + +Getting a key to the padlock, and a big birch broom, he returned with +Barron, and soon had the doors of the disused byre thrown open to the air. + +"I shut en up when the auld goat went dead. Theer a used to lie in the +corner, but now he'm outside, an' I doubt the piskeys, what they talks +'bout, be mighty savage wi' me for not buryin' the beast, 'cause all +fairies is 'dicted to goats, they do say, an' mighty fond o' the milk of +'em." + +Farmer Ford soon cleared the place of potatoes, sacks, and tools. Then, +taking his broom, he made a clean sweep of dust and dirt. + +"Theer's a many more rats here than I knawed seemin'ly," he said, as he +examined a sink in the stones of the floor, used for draining the stalls; +"they come up here for sartain, an' runs out 'long the heydge to the +mangel-wurzel mound, I lay." + +Without, evidences of the vermin were clear enough. Long hardened tracks, +patted down by many paws, ran this way and that; and the main rat +thoroughfare extended, as the farmer foretold, to a great mound where, +stowed snugly in straw under earth, lay packed the remains of a +mangel-wurzel crop. At one end the store had been opened and drawn upon for +winter use; but a goodly pile of the great tawny globes still remained, +small lemon-colored leaves sprouting from them. Farmer Ford, however, +viewed the treasure without satisfaction. + +"Us killed a power o' sheep wi' they blarsted roots last winter," he said. +"You'd never think now as the frost could touch 'em, but it did though, +awin' to the wicked long winter. It got to 'em, sure 'nough, an' theer was +frost in 'em when us gived 'em to the sheep, an' it rotted theer innards, +poor twoads, an' they died, more'n a score." + +Barron listened thoughtfully to these details, then pointed to an ugly +sight beyond the wurzel mound. + +"I should like that removed," he said. + +It was the dead goat, withered to a mummy almost, with horns and hide +intact, and a rat-way bored through the body of the beast under a tunnel of +its ribs. + +"Jimmery! to see what them varmints have done to 'en! But I'll bury what's +left right on en; an' I'll stop the sink in the house, then you'll be free +of 'em." + +These things the farmer did, and presently departed, promising to revisit +the spot ere long with some dogs and a ferret or two. So Barron was left +master of the place. He found it dry, weather-proof and well suited to his +requirements in every respect. The concerns which he had ordered from +London would be with him by Saturday night if all went well, and he decided +that they should be conveyed to the byre at an early hour on Monday +morning. + +The next day was Sunday, and half a dozen men, with Barron and Murdoch +among them, strolled into Brady's great whitewashed studio to see and +criticise his academy picture which was finished. Everybody declared that +the artist had excelled himself in "The End of the Voyage." It represented +a sweep of the rocky coast by the Lizard, a wide gray sand, left naked by +the tide, with the fringe of a heavy sea churning on it, and sea-fowl +strutting here and there. In the foreground, half buried under tangles of +brown weed torn from the rocks by past storms, lay a dead sailor, and a big +herring-gull, with its head on one side and a world of inquiry in its +yellow eyes, was looking at him. Tremendous vigor marked the work, and only +a Brady could have come safely through the difficulties which had been +surmounted in its creation. Everybody sang praises, and Barron nodded warm +approval, but said nothing until challenged. + +"Now, find the faults, then tell me what's good," said the gigantic +painter. He stood there, burly, hearty, physically splendid--the man of all +others in that throng who might have been pointed to as the creator of the +solemn gray picture before them. + +"Leave fault-finding to Fleet Street," said Barron; "let the press people +tell you where you are wrong. I am no critic and I know what a mountain of +hard work went to this." + +"That's all right, old man; never mind the work--or me. Be impartial." + +"Why should I? To be impartial, as this world wags, is to be friendless." + +"Good Lord! d'you think I mind mauling? There's something wrong or you +wouldn't be so deucedly evasive. Out with it!" + +"Well, your sailor's not dead." + +Brady roared with laughter. + +"Man! the poor devil's been in the water a week!" + +"Not he. 'Tis a mistake in nine painted corpses out of ten. If you want to +paint a drowned man, wait till you've seen one close. That sailor in the +seaweed's asleep. Sleep is graceful, remember; death by drowning is +generally ugly--stiff, stark, hideous, eyeless, fish-gnawed a week after +the event. But what does it matter? You've painted a great picture. That +sea, with the circular swirl, as each wave goes back into the belly of the +next, is well done; and those lumps of spume fluttering above +watermark--that was finely noted. Easy to write down in print, but +difficult as the fiend to paint. And the picture is full of wind too. Your +troubles are amply repaid and I congratulate you. A man who could paint +that will go as far as he likes." + +The simple Brady forgot the powder in swallowing the jam. Barron had +touched those things in his work which were precious to him. His impulsive +nature took fire, and there was almost a quiver of emotion in his big voice +as he answered: + +"Damn it, you're a brick! I'd sooner hear you praise those lumps of +sea-spume, racing over the sand there, than see my picture on the line." + +But sentiment was strange to John Barron's impersonal nature, and he froze. + +"Another fault exists which probably nobody will tell you but me. Your +seaweed's great, and you knew it by heart before you painted it--that I'll +swear to, but your sleeper there would never lie in the line of it as you +have him. Reflect: the sea must float the light weed after it could move +him no more. He should be stogged in the sand nearer the sea." + +Brady, however, contested this criticism, and so the talk wore on until the +men separated. But the Irishman called on Barron after midday dinner and +together they strolled through Newlyn toward the neighboring village. +Chance brought them face to face with two persons more vital to the +narrative than themselves, and, pausing to chronicle the event of the +meeting, we may leave the artists and follow those whom they encountered. + +Gray Michael kept ashore on Sundays, and today, having come off the sea at +dawn, was not again putting forth until next morning. He had attended +meeting with his wife, his daughter and his son; he had dined also, and was +now walking over to Mousehole that he might bring some religious comfort to +a sorely stricken Luke Gospeler--a young sheep but lately won to the fold +and who now lay at the point of death. Joan accompanied him, and upon the +way they met John Barron and his companion. The girl blushed hotly and then +chilled with a great disappointment, for Barron's eyes were on the sea; he +was talking as he passed by, and he apparently saw neither her nor her +Sunday gown; which circumstance was a sorrow to Joan. But in reality Barron +missed nothing. He had shivered at her green dress and poor finery long +before she reached him. Her garb ruffled his senses and left him wounded. + +"There goes your beauty," laughed Brady; "how would you like to paint her +in that frock with those sinful blue flowers in her hat?" + +"Nature must weep to see the bizarre carnival these people enjoy on the +Seventh Day," answered the other. "Their duns and drabs, their russets and +tawny tones of red and orange, are of their environment, the proper skins +for their bodies; but to think of that girl brightening the eyes of a +hundred louts by virtue of those fine feathers! Dream of her in the Stone +Age, clad in a petticoat torn from a wolf, with her straw-colored hair to +her waist and a necklace of shells or wild beasts' teeth between her +breasts! And the man--her father, I suppose--what a picture his cursed +broadcloth and soft black hat make of him--like the head of a patriarch +stuck on a tailor's dummy." + +Meanwhile, ignorant of these startling criticisms, Mr. Tregenza and his +daughter pursued their road, and presently stopped before a cottage in one +of the cobble-paved alley-ways of Mousehole. A worn old woman opened the +door and courtesied to Gray Michael. He wished her good-afternoon, then +entered the cottage, first bidding Joan return in an hour. She had friends +near at hand, and hurried off, glad to escape the sight of sickness and the +prayers she knew that her father would presently deliver. + +"How be en?" inquired the fisherman, and the widowed mother of the patient +answered: + +"Better, I do pray. Er was in the doldrums issterday an' bad by night also, +a dwaling an' moaning gashly, but, the Lard be praised, he'm better in mind +by now, an' I do think 'tis more along of Bible-readin' than all the +doctor's traade [Footnote: _Traade_--Physic.] he've took. I read to en +'bout that theer bwoy, the awnly son o' his mother, an' her a +widder-wumman, an' how as the Lard brought en round arter he'd gone dead." + +Gray Michael sniffed and made no comment. + +"I'll see en an' put up a prayer or so," he said. + +"An' the Lard'll reward it, Mr. Tregenza." + +Young Albert Vallack greeted the visitor with even greater reverence than +his mother had done. He and the old woman were Falmouth folks and had +drifted Westerly upon the father's death, until chance anchored them in +Newlyn. Now the lad--a dissolute youth enough, until sudden illness had +frightened him to religion--was dying of consumption, and dying fast, +though as yet he knew it not. + +"'Tis handsome in you, a comin' to see the likes o' me," said the patient, +flushing with satisfaction. "You'm like the stickler at a wras'lin' match, +Mister Tregenza, sir; you sees fair play betwixt God an' man." + +"So you'm better, Albert, your mother sez." + +"Iss, a bit. Theer's more kick an' sprawl [Footnote: _Kick an' +sprawl_--Strength, vitality.] in me than theer 'ave bin; an' I feels +more hopeful like 'bout the future." + +Self-righteousness in a new-fledged Luke Gospeler, who had been of the fold +but three months and whose previous record was extremely unsatisfactory, +irritated Gray Michael not a little. + +"Bwoy!" he said loudly, "doan't 'e be deceived that way. 'Gird 'e wi' +sackcloth, lament and howl; for the fierce anger o' the Lard is _not_ +turned back from us.' Three months o' righteousness is a purty bad set off +'gainst twenty years o' sin, an' it doan't become 'e to feel hopeful, I +'sure ye." + +The sick man's color paled, and a certain note as of triumph in his voice +died out of it. His mother had left them, feeling that her presence might +hinder conversation and lessen the comfort which Mr. Tregenza had brought. + +"I did ought to be chap-fall'n, I s'pose." + +"Iss, you did, my son, nobody more'n you. Maybe you'll live; maybe you'll +die; but keep humble. I doan't wish to deceive 'e. Us ain't had time to +make no certainty 'bout things. You'm in the Lard's hand, an' it becomes 'e +to sing small, an' remember what your life's bin." + +The other grew uneasy and his voice faltered while he still fought for a +happy eternity. + +"I'd felt like 'twas all right arter what mother read." + +"Not so. God's a just God 'fore everything. Theer ed'n no favorin' wi' Him. +I hopes you'll live this many a day, Vallack; an' then, when your hour +comes, you'll have piled up a tidy record an' can go wi' a certainty +faacin' you. Seems you'm better, an' us at chapel's prayed hot an' strong +to the Throne that you might be left to work out your salvation now your +foot's 'pon the right road." + +"But if I dies, mister?" + +"'The prayer of the righteous man availeth much,'" answered Gray Michael +evasively. "I be come," he added, "to read the Scriptures to 'e." + +"You all prayed for me, sir?" + +"Iss, every man, but theer was no mincin' matters, Albert. Us was arskin' +for a miserable sinner, a lost sheep awnly just strayed back, an' we put it +plain as that was so." + +"'Tweer mighty kind o' the Luke Gosp'lers, sir." + +"'Twas their dooty. Now I be gwaine to read the Book." + +"I feels that uneasy now," whined the sufferer, in a voice where fear spoke +instead of hope, "but I s'pose 'tis a sign o' graace I should be?" + +"Iss, 'tis. I've comed to tell 'e the truth, for 'tis ill as a man should +be blind to facts on what may be his last bed 'bove the airth. Listen to +this, my son, an' if theer's anything you doan't onderstand, arsk me an' +I'll thraw light 'pon it." + +He read, with loud, slow voice, the fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiah, and that +glorious clarion of great promise gave Michael the lie and drowned his own +religious opinions as thunder drowns the croaking of marsh frogs; but he +knew it not. The brighter burned his own shining light, the blacker the +shadows it threw upon the future of all sinners. + +As Tregenza finished and put down his Bible, the other spoke and quoted +eagerly: + +"'Incline your ear an' come unto Me; fear, an' your sawl shall live!' Theer +do seem a hope in that if it ed'n awver-bold me thinkin' so?" he asked. + +"That's like them Church o' Englanders, a tearin' wan text away from +t'others an' readin' it accordin' as they pleases. I'll expound it all to +wance, as a God-fearin' man did ought to treat the Scriptures." + +Gray Michael's exposition illustrated nothing beyond his own narrow +intellectual limitations. His cold cloud of words obscured the prophet's +sunshine, and the light went out of the dying man's eyes, leaving only +alarm. He trembled on the brink of the horrid truth; he heard it thinly +veiled in the other's stern utterance, saw it looking from his hard blue +eyes. After the sermon, silence followed, broken by Vallack, who coughed +once and again, then raised himself and braced his heart to the tremendous +question that demanded answering. + +"I wants your awn feelin' like, mister. I must have it. I caan't sleep no +more wi'out knawin' the best or worst. You be the justest man ever I seed +or heard tell on out the Scriptures. An' I wants 'e to gimme your opinion +like. S'pose you was the Judge an' I comed afore 'e an' the Books was theer +and you'd read 'em an' had to conclude 'pon 'em--?" + +The fisherman reflected. Vallack's proposition did not strike him as +particularly grotesque. He felt it was a natural question, and he only +regretted that it had been put, because, though he had driven more than one +young man to righteousness along the path of terror, in this present case +the truth came too late save to add another horror to death. He believed in +all sincerity that as surely as the young man before him presently died, so +surely would he be damned, but he saw no particular object in stating the +fact. Such intelligence might tell upon Vallack's physical condition--a +thing of all others to be avoided, for Gray Michael held that the +sufferer's only chance of a happy eternity was increased and lengthened +opportunity in time. + +"It ed'n for me to sit in the Judgment Seat, Albert. 'Vengeance is mine, +sayeth the Lard.' You must allus hold in mind that theer's mighty few saved +alive, best o' times. Many be called, but few chosen. Men go down to the +graave every second o' the day an' night, but if you could see the sawls a +streamin' away, thicker'n a cloud of starlings, you'd find a mass, black as +a storm, went down long, an' awnly just a summer cloud like o' the blessed +riz up. Hell's bigger'n Heaven; an' er's need to be, for Heaven's like to +be a lonely plaace, when all's said. I won't speak no more 'bout that +subjec'. 'Tis good fashion weather for 'e just now, an us'll hope as you +ban't gwaine to die for many a day." + +"Say it out, mister, say it out. I knaws what you means. You reckons if I +gaws I'm lost." + +"My poor sawl, justice is justice; an' the Lard's all for justice an' no +less. Theer's no favorin' wi' Him, Albert." + +"But mightn't He favor the whole bilin' of us--good'n bad--cause He made +us?" + +"Surely not. Wheer's the justice o' that? If He done that, how'd the godly +get their fair dues--eh? Be the righteous man to share God's Heaven wi' +publicans an' sinners? That ed'n justice anyhow. Don't fret, lad; tears +won't mend bad years. Bide quiet an' listen to me whiles I pray for 'e." + +The man in the bed had grown very white, his eyes burned wildly out of a +shrunken face, and he gripped the sheets and shivered in pure physical +terror. + +"I caan't die, I caan't die, not yet," he groaned, "pray to the Lard to +keep me from dyin' yet a while, mister. Arsk en to give me just a lil time, +'cause I'm that sorry for my scarlet sins." + +Thereupon Michael knelt, clasped his hands so close that the bent +finger-joints grew white, raised his massive head upward and prayed with +his eyes closed. The intercession for life ended, he rose up, shook Vallack +by the hand, and so departed. + +"Allus, when you've got the chance, bear the balm o' Gilead to a sinner's +couch," he said to his daughter as they walked home. "'Tis the duty of man +an' maid to spread the truth an' bring peace to the troubled, an' strength +to the weak-hearted, an' rise up them that fall." + +A week later Mr. Tregenza heard how Albert Vallack had burst a blood-vessel +and died, fighting horribly with awful invisible terrors. + +"Another sawl gone down into the Pit," he said. "I reckon fewer an' fewer +be chosen every year as the world do grow older an' riper for the last +fires." + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +FAIRY STORIES + + +Joan found her sketch waiting for her the next day when she reached Gorse +Point about eleven o'clock; and she also discovered John Barron with a +large canvas before him. He had constructed his picture and already made +many drawings for it. Now he knew exactly what he wanted, and he designed +to paint Joan standing looking out at a distant sea which would be far +behind the spectator of the picture. When she arrived, on a fine morning +and mild, Barron rose from his camp-stool, lifted up a little canvas which +stood framed at his side and presented it to her. The sketch in oils of the +"Anna" was cleverer than Joan could possibly know, but she took no small +delight in it and in the setting of rough deal brightly gilded. + +"Sure 'tis truly good of 'e, sir!" + +"You are more than welcome. Only let me say one word, Joan. Keep your +picture hidden away until Joe comes back from sea and marries you. From +what you tell me, your father might not like you to have this trifle, and I +should be very sorry to annoy him." + +"I waddun' gwaine to show en," she confessed. "I shall store the picksher +away as you sez." + +"You are wise. Now look here, doesn't this promise to be a big affair? The +gorse will be nearly as large as life, and I've been wondering ever so long +what I shall put in the middle; and whatever do you think I've thought of?" + +"I dunnaw. That white pony us saw, p'raps?" + +"No; something much prettier. How would it do, d'you think, if _you_ +stood here in front of the gorse, just to fill up the middle piece of the +picture?" + +"Oh, no, no! My faither--" + +"You misunderstand, Joan. I don't want a picture of _you_, you know; +I'm going to paint the gorse. But if you just stood here, you'd make a sort +of contrast with your brown frock. Not a portrait at all, only just a +figure to help the color. Besides, you mustn't think I'm an artist, I +shouldn't go selling the picture or hanging it up for everybody to stare at +it. I'm certain your father wouldn't mind, and I'll tell him all about it +afterward, if you like." + +She hesitated and reflected with trouble in her eyes, while Barron quietly +took the picture he had brought her and wrapped it up in a piece of paper. +His object was to remind her without appearing to do so of her obligation +to him, and Joan was clever enough to take the hint, though not clever +enough to see that it was an intentional one. + +"Would it be a long job, sir?" she asked at length. + +"Yes, it would; because I'm a slow painter and rather stupid. But I should +think it very, very kind of you. I'm not strong, you know, and I daresay +this is the last picture I shall ever paint." + +"You ed'n strong, sir?" + +"Not at all." + +She was silent, and a great sympathy rose in her girl's heart, for frail +health always made her sad. + +"You don't judge 'tis wrong then for a maiden to be painted in a picksher?" + +"Certainly not, Joan. I should never suggest such a thing to you if I +thought it was in the least wrong. I _know_ it isn't wrong." + +"I seed you issterday," she said, changing the subject suddenly, "but you +dedn see me, did 'e?" + +"Yes, I did, and your father. He is a grand-looking man. By the way, Joan, +I think I never told you my name. I'm called John; that's short and simple, +isn't it?" + +"Mister Jan," she said. + +"No, not 'mister'--just 'Jan,'" he answered, adopting her pronunciation. "I +don't call you 'Miss' Joan." + +She looked at once uncomfortable and pleased. + +"We must be friends," the man continued calmly, "now you have promised to +let me put you here among the gorse bushes." + +"Sure, I dunnaw 'bout the picksher, Mister Jan." + +"Well, you would be doing me a great service. I want to paint you very much +and I think you will be kind." + +He looked into her eyes with a steady, inquiring glance, and Joan +experienced a new emotion. Joe had never looked like that; nor yet her +father. She felt a will stronger than her own was busy with her +inclinations. Volition remained free, and yet she doubted whether under any +circumstances could she refuse his petition. As it happened, however, she +already liked the man. He was so respectful and polite. Moreover, she felt +sad to hear that he suffered in health. He would not ask her to do wrong +and she felt certain that she might trust him. A trembling wish and a +longing to comply with his request already mastered her mind. + +"You'm sure--gospel truth--theer ed'n no harm in it?" + +"Trust me." + +In five minutes he had posed her as he wished and was drawing, while every +word he spoke put Joan more at her ease. The spice of adventure and secrecy +fired her and she felt the spirit of romance in her blood, though she knew +no name for it. Here was a secret delight knocking at the gray threshold of +every-day life--an adventure which might last for many days. + +Barron, to touch the woman in her if he could, harped upon her gown and the +color of it, on her shoes and sun-bonnet--on everything but herself. +Presently he reaped his reward. + +"Ban't you gwaine to paint my faace as well, Mister Jan." + +"Yes, if I can. But your eyes are blue, and blue eyes are hard to paint +well. Yours are so very blue, Joan. Didn't Joe ever tell you that?" + +"No--that's all fulishness." + +"Nothing that's true is foolish. Now I'm going to make some little sketches +of you, so as to get each fold and shadow in your dress right." + +Barron drew rapidly, and Joan--ever ready to talk to a willing listener +when her confidence was won--prattled on, turning the conversation as usual +to the matters she loved. Upon her favorite subjects she dared not open her +mouth at home, and even her lover refused to listen to the legends of the +land, but they were part of the girl's life notwithstanding, drawn into her +blood from her mother, a thousand times more real and precious than even +the promised heaven of Luke Gospeldom, not to be wholly smothered at any +time. Occasionally, indeed, uneasy fears that discussion of such concerns +was absolutely sinful kept her dumb for a week, then the religious wave +swept on, and Cornish folk-lore, with its splendor and romance, again +filled her heart and bubbled from her lips. Her little stories pleased +Barron mightily. Excitement heightened Joan's beauty. Her absolute +innocence at the age of seventeen struck him as remarkable. It seemed +curious that a child born in a cottage, where realities and facts are apt +to roughly front boy and girl alike, should know so little. She was a +beautiful, primitive creature, with strange store of fairy fable in her +mind; a treasury which brought color and joy into life. So she prattled, +and the man painted. + +Pure artistic interest filled Barron's brain at this season; not a shadow +of passion made his pencil shaky or his eye dim; he began to learn the girl +with as little emotion as he had learned the gorse. He asked her to +unfasten the top button of her dress that he might see the lines of her +plump throat, and she complied without hesitation or ceasing from her +chatter. He noted where the tan on her neck faded to white under her dress, +and occupied himself with all the artistic problems she unconsciously +spread before him; while she merely talked, garnered in his questions and +comments on all she said, and found delight in the apparent interest and +entertainment her conversation afforded him. + +"I seed a maggotty-pie [Footnote: _Maggotty-pie_--Magpie.] comin' +along this marnin'," she said. "Wan's bad an' a sign o' sorrer; but if you +spits twice over your left shoulder it doan't matter so much. But I be +better off than many maidens, 'cause I be saint-protected like." + +"That's interesting, Joan." + +"Faither'd be mad if I let on 'bout it to him, so I doesn't. He doan't +b'lieve much in dead saints, though Carnwall's full of 'em. Have 'e heard +tell 'bout Saint Madern?" + +"Ah, the saint of the well?" + +"Iss, an' the brook as runs by the Madern chapel." + +"I sketched the little ruin of the baptistery some time ago." + +"'Twas tho't a deal of wance, an' the holy water theer was reckoned better +for childern than any doctor's traade as ever was. My mother weer a Madern +cheel; an' 'er ordained I should be as well, an' when faither was to sea, +as fell out just 'pon the right day, mother took me up theer. That was my +awn mother as is dead. More folks b'lieved in the spring then than what do +now, 'cause that was sebenteen year agone. An' from bein' a puny cheel I +grawed a bonny wan arter dipping. But some liked the crick-stone better for +lil baabies than even the Madern brook." + +"Mên-an-tol that stone is called?" + +"So 'tis, awnly us knaws it as the crick-stone. Theer's a big hole in en, +an' if a cheel was passed through nine times runnin', gwaine 'gainst the +way of the sun every time, it made en as strong as a lion. An' 'tis good +for grawn people tu, awnly folks is afeared to try now 'cause t'others +laugh at en. But I reckon the Madern brook's holy water still. An' theer's +wonnerful things said 'bout the crick-stones an' long stones tu. A many of +'em stands round 'bout these paarts." + +"D'you know Mên Scryfa--the stone with the writing on it? That's a famous +long stone, up beyond Lanyon Farmhouse." + +"I've seed en, 'pon the heath. 'Tis butivul an' solemn an' still, all aloan +out theer in a croft to itself. I trapsed up-long wan day an' got beside of +en an' ate a pasty wi' Joe. But Joe chid me, an' said 'tweer a heathenish +thing sticked theer by the Phoenicians, as comed for tin in Solomon's +times." + +"Don't you believe that, Joan. Mên Scryfa marks the memory of a good +Briton--one who knew King Arthur, very likely. I love the old stones too. +You are right to love them. They are landmarks in time, books from which we +may read something of a far, fascinating past." + +"Iss, but I ded'n tell 'e all 'bout the Madern waters. The best day for 'em +be the fust Sunday in May; an' come that, the mothers did use to gaw up to +the chapel--dozens of 'em--wi' poor lil baabies. They dipped 'em naked in +the brook, an' 'twas just a miracle for rashes and braggety legs and sich +like. An', arterward, the mothers made offerin's to the saint. 'Twas awnly +the thot like, but folks reckoned the saint 'ud take the will for the act, +'cause poor people couldn' give a saint nothin' worth namin'." + +Barren had heard of the votive offerings left by the faithful in past days +at St. Madron's shrine, but felt somewhat surprised to find the practice +dated back to a time so recent as Joan's infancy. He let her talk on, for +the subject was evidently dear to the girl. + +"And what did the mothers give the saint?" + +"Why, rags mostly. Just a rag tored off a petticoat, or some sich thing. +They hanged 'em up around about on the thorn bushes to shaw as they'd a +done more for the good saint if they'd had the power. An' theer's another +marvelous thing as washin' in thicky waters done: it kep' the fairies +off--the bad fairies, I mean. 'Cause theer'm gude an' bad piskeys, same as +gude an' bad men folks." + +"You believe in fairies, Joan?" + +She looked at him shyly, but he had apparently asked for information and +was not in the least amused. + +"I dunnaw. P'raps. Iss, I do, then! Many wiser'n me do b'lieve in 'em. You +arsk the tinners--them as works deep. They knaws; they've 'eard the +knackers an' gathorns many a time, an' some's seen 'em. But the mine +fairies be mostly wicked lil humpetty-backed twoads as'll do harm if they +can; an' the buccas is onkind to fishermen most times; an' 'tis said they +used to bide in the shape of a cat by day. But theer be land fairies as is +mighty good-hearted if a body behaves seemly." + +"I believe in the fairies too," said Barren gravely, "but I've never seen +one." + +"Do 'e now, Mister Jan! Then I'm sure theer is sich things. I ne'er seed +wan neither; but I'd love to. Some maids has vanished away an' dwelt 'mong +'em for many days an' then comed home. Theer's Robin o' the Carn as had a +maiden to work for en. You may have heard the tale?" + +"No, never." + +"'Tis a fine tale; an' the gal had a braave time 'mongst the lil people +till she disobeyed 'em an' found herself back 'mongst men folk agin. But in +coorse some of them--the piskeys, I mean--works for men folk themselves. My +gran'mother Chirgwin, when she was very auld, seed 'em a threshin' corn in +a barn up Drift. They was tiny fellers wi' beards an' red faaces, an' they +handled the flails cruel clever. Then, arter a bit, they done the threshin' +an' was kickin' the short straw out the grain, which riz a gert dust; an' +the piskeys all beginned sneezin'. An' my gran'mother, as was peepin' +through the door unbeknown to 'em, forgot you must never speak to a piskey, +an' sez, 'God bless 'e, hi men!' 'cause that's what us allus sez if a body +sneezes. Then they all took fright an' vanished away in the twinkle of a +eye. Which must be true, 'cause my awn gran'mother tawld it. But they ded'n +leave the farm, though nobody seed 'em again, for arter that 'tis said as +the cows gived a wonnerful shower o' milk, better'n ever was knawn before. +An' I 'sure 'e I'd dearly like to be maiden to good piskeys if they'd let +me work for 'em." + +"Ah, I'm certain you would suit them well, Joan; and they would be lucky to +get you, I think; but I hope they won't go and carry you off until I've +done with you, at any rate." + +She laughed, and he bid her put down her hand from her eyes and rest. He +had brought some oranges for her, but judged the friendship had gone far +enough, and first decided not to produce them. Half an hour later, however, +when the sitting was ended, he changed his mind. + +"Can you come to-morrow, Joan? I am entirely in your hands, remember, and +must consider your convenience always. In fact, I am your servant and shall +wait your pleasure at all times." + +Joan felt proud and rather important. + +"I'll come at 'leben o'clock to-morrow, but I doubt I caan't be here next +day, Mister Jan." + +"Thank you very much. To-morrow at eleven will do splendidly. By the way, I +have an orange here--two, in fact. I thought we might be thirsty. Will you +take one to eat going home?" + +He held out the fruit and she took it. + +"My! What a butivul orange!" + +"Good-by until to-morrow, Joan; and thank you for your great kindness to a +very friendless man. You'll never be sorry for it, I'm sure." + +He bowed gravely and took off his cap, then turned to his easel; and she +blushed with a lively pleasure. She had seen gentlemen take off their hats +to ladies, but no man had ever paid her that respect until then, and it +seemed good to her. She marched off with her picture and her orange, but +did not eat the fruit until out of sight of Gorse Point. + +The man painting there already began to fill a space in Joan's thoughts. He +knew so much and yet was glad to learn from her. He never laughed or talked +lightly. He put her in mind of her father for that reason, but then his +heart was soft, and he loved Nature and beautiful things, and believed in +fairies and spoke no ill of anybody. Joan speculated as to how these +meetings could be kept a secret and came to the conclusion it would not be +difficult to hide them. Then, reaching home, she hid her picture behind the +pig-sty until opportunity offered for taking it indoors to her own bedroom +unobserved. + +As for John Barren, he felt kindly enough toward his model. He could hold +himself with an iron hand when he pleased, and proposed that the growing +friendship should ripen into a fine work of art and no more. But what might +go to the making of the picture could not be foretold. He would certainly +allow nothing to check inspiration or stand between him and the very best +he had power to achieve. No sacrifice could be too great for Art, and +Barron, who was now awake and alive for an achievement, would, according to +his rule, count nothing hard, nothing impossible that might add a grain of +value to the work. His own skill and Joan's beauty were brought in contact +and he meant to do everything a man might do to make the result immortal. +But the human instruments necessary to such work counted for nothing, and +their personal prosperity and welfare would weigh no more with him than the +future of the brushes which he might use, after he had done with them. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +UNCLE CHIRGWIN + + +Joan's first announcement upon the following morning was a regret that the +sitting must be short. + +"We'm mighty busy, come wan thing an' another," she said. "Mother's gwaine +to Penzance wi' my brother to buy his seafarin' kit; and Uncle Chirgwin, as +keeps a farm up Drift, be comin' to dinner, which he ain't done this long +time; an' faither may by chance be home tu, so like as not, for the first +bwoats be tackin' back from the islands a'ready." + +"You shall stop just as short a time as you choose, Joan. It was very good +of you to come at all under these circumstances," declared the artist. + +"Us be fine an' busy when uncle comes down-long, an' partickler this time, +'cause theer've bin a differ'nce of 'pinion 'bout--'bout a matter betwixt +him and faither, but now he's wrote through the post to say as he'm comin', +so 'tis all right, I s'pose, an' us'll have to give en a good dinner +anyways." + +"Of course you must," admitted Barren, working steadily the while. + +"He'm a dear sawl, an' I likes en better'n anybody in the world, I think, +'cept faither. But he's easier to please than faither, an' so humble as a +beggar-man. An' I wants to make some cakes for en against tea-time, 'cause +when he comes, he bides till candle-lighting or later." + +Presently the artist bid her rest for a short while, and her thoughts +reverted to him and the picture. + +"I hope as you'm feelin' strong an' no worser, Mister Jan," she said +timidly. + +He was puzzled for a moment, then recollected that he had mentioned his +health to her. + +"Thank you very much for asking, Joan. It was good and thoughtful. I am no +worse--rather better if anything, now I come to think about it. Your +Cornish air is kind to me, and when the sun shines I am happy." + +"How be the picksher farin'?" + +"I get on well, I think." + +"'Tis cruel clever of 'e, Mister Jan. An' you'll paint me wi' the fuzz all +around?" + +"That is what I hope to do; a harmony in brown and gold." + +"You'll get my likeness tu, I s'pose, same as the photograph man done it +last winter to Penzance? Me an' Joe was took side by side, an' folks +reckoned 'twas the moral of us, specially when the gen'leman painted Joe's +hair black an' mine yeller for another shillin' cost." + +"It must have been very excellent." + +"Iss, 'twas for sartain." + +"What did Mr. Tregenza say of it?" + +"Well, faither, he'm contrary to sich things, as I tawld 'e, Mister Jan. +Faither said Joe'd better by a deal keep his money in his purse; but he let +me have the picksher, an' 'tis nailed up in a lil frame, what Joe made, at +home in the parlor." + +She stopped a moment and sighed, then spoke again. + +"Faither's a wonnerful God-fearin' man, sure 'nough." + +"Is he a God-loving man too, Joan?" + +"I dunnaw. That ed'n 'sackly the same, I s'pose?" + +"As different as fear and love. I'm not an atom frightened of God +myself--no more than I am of you." + +"Lard! Mister Jan." + +"Why should I be? You are not frightened of the air you breathe--yet that +is part of God; you are not frightened of the gold gorse or the blue +sky--yet they are part of God too. God made you--you are part of God--a +deliberate manifestation of Him. What's the use of being frightened? You +and I can only know God by the shapes He takes--by the bluebells and the +ferns and the larks in the sky, and the rabbits and wild things." + +His effort to inspire the girl with Nature-worship, though crudely cast in +a fashion most likely to attract her, yet failed just then, and failed +ludicrously. Her mind comprehended barely enough to accept his idea in a +sense suggested by her acquaintance with fable, and when he instanced a +rabbit as an earthly manifestation of the Everlasting, she felt she could +cap the example from her own store of knowledge. + +"I reckon I sees what you'm meanin', Mister Jan. Theer's things us calls +witch-hares in these paarts up-long. The higher-quarter people have seed +'em 'fore now; nothin' but siller bullets will kill 'em. They goes +loppettin' about down lawnly lanes on moonlight nights, an' they draws +folks arter 'em. But if you could kill wan of 'em 'tis said as they'd turn +into witches theer an' then. So you means that God A'-mighty' takes shaapes +sometimes same as they witches do, doan't 'e?" + +"Not quite that, Joan. What I want you to know is that the great Being you +call God is nearer to you here, on Gorse Point, than in the Luke Gospelers' +meeting-house, and He takes greater delight in a bird's song than in all +your father's prayers and sermons put together. That is because the great +Being taught the bird to sing Himself, but He never taught your father to +pray." + +"I dunnaw 'sackly what you means, Mister Jan, but I judges you ban't so +religious like as what faither is." + +"Religion came from God to man, Joan, because man wanted it and couldn't +get on comfortably without it; but theology--if you know what that +means--man invented for himself. Religion is the light; theology is the +candlestick. Never quarrel with any man's candlestick as long as you can +see his light burning bravely. Mr. Tregenza thinks all men are mistaken but +the Luke Gospelers--so you told me. But if that is the case, what becomes +of all your good Cornish saints? They were not Luke Gospelers--at least I +don't think they were." + +Joan frowned over this tremendous problem, then dismissed it for the +pleasanter and simpler theme John Barron's last remark suggested. + +"Them saints was righteous men anyhow, an' they worked miracles tu, so it +ban't no gude sayin' they wasn't godly in their ways, the whole boilin' of +'em. Theer's St. Piran, St. Michael, St. Austell, St. Blazey, St. Buryan, +St. Ives, St. Sennen, St. Levan, an' a many more, I could call home if I +was to think. Did 'e ever hear tell 'bout St. Neot, Mister Jan?" + +"'No, Joan; I'm afraid I don't know much about him." + +"Not 'bout they feesh?" + +"Tell me, while you rest a minute or two." + +"'Tis a holy story, an' true as any Bible tale, I should guess. St. Neot +had a well, an' wan day he seed three feesh a swimmin' in it an' he was +'mazed to knaw how they comed theer. So a angel flew down an' tawld en +that they was put theer for his eatin', but he must never draw out more'n +wan at a time. Then he'd all us find three when he comed again. An' so he +did; but wance he failed sick an' his servant had to look arter his vittles +meantime. He was a man by the name of Barius, an' he judged as maybe a +change of eatin' might do the saint good. So he goes an' takes two o' them +feesh 'stead o' wan as the angel said. An' he b'iled wan feesh, an' fried +t'other, an' took 'em to St. Neot; an' when he seed what his man been +'bout, he was flustered, I tell 'e. Then the saint up and done a marvelous +straange thing, for he flinged them feesh back in the well, just as they +was, and began praayin' to the Lard to forgive his man. An' the feesh +comed alive ag'in and swimmed around, though Barius had cleaned 'em, I +s'pose, an' took the guts out of 'em an' everything. Then the chap just +catched wan feesh proper, an' St. Neot ate en, an' grawed well by sundown. +So he was a saint anyways." + +"You can't have a miracle without a saint, of course, Joan?" + +"Or else the Lard. But I'll hold in mind what you sez 'bout Him bein' hid +in flowers an' birds an' sich like, 'cause that's a butivul thing to knaw." + +"And in the stars and the sun and the moon, Joan; and in the winds and +clouds. See how I've got on to-day. I don't think I ever did so much work +in an hour before." + +She looked and blushed to note her brown frock and shoes. + +"You've done a deal more to them fuzzes than what you have to me, +seemin'ly," she said. + +"That's because the gorse is always here and you are not. I work at the +gorse morning after morning, when the sun is up, until my fingers ache. +You'll see great changes in the picture of yourself soon though." + +But she was not satisfied, of course misunderstanding the unfinished work. + +"You mustn't say anything yet, you know, Joan," added the artist, seeing +her pouting lips. + +"But--but you've drawed me as flat as a cheeld, an' I be round as a wummon, +ban't I?" she said, holding out her hands that he might see her slight +figure. Her blue eyes were clouded, for she deemed that he had put an +insult upon her budding womanhood. Barren showed no sign of his enjoyment, +but explained as clearly as possible that she was looking at a thing wholly +unfinished, indeed scarce begun. + +"You might as well grumble with me for not painting your fingers or your +face, Joan. I told you I was a slow artist; only be patient; I'm going to +do all fitting honor to every scrap of you, if only you will let me." + +"Warmer words had come to his lips, but he did not suffer them to pass. +Then the girl's beautiful face broke into a smile again. + +"I be nigher eighteen than sebenteen, you knaw, Mister Jan. But, coorse, I +hadn't no bizness to talk like that to 'e, 'cause what do I knaw 'bout sich +things?" + +"You shan't see the picture again till it is finished, Joan. It was my +fault for showing it to you like that, and you had every right to protest. +Now you must go, for it's long past twelve o'clock." + +"I'm afeared I caan't come to-morrer." + +"As you please. I shall be here every day, ready and only too glad to see +you." + +"An'--an' you ban't cross wi' me for speakin' so rude, Mister Jan?" + +"Cross, Joan? No, I'm never cross with anybody but myself. I couldn't be +cross with my kind little friend if I tried to be." + +He shook hands; it was the first occasion that he had done so, and she +blushed. His hand was cold and thin, and she heard one of the bones in it +give a little crack as he held her palm within his own for the briefest +space of time. Then, as usual, the moment after he had said "good-by," he +appeared to become absolutely unconscious of her presence, and returned to +his picture. + +Joan's mind dwelt much upon the artist after she had departed, and every +train of reflection came back to the last words Barron spoke that morning. +He had called her his kind little friend. It was very wonderful, Joan +thought, and a statement not to be explained at all. Her stepmother's voice +cut these pleasant memories sharply, and she returned home to find that +Uncle Chirgwin had already arrived--a fact his old gray horse, tethered in +the orchard, and his two-wheeled market cart, drawn up in the side-lane, +testified to before Mrs. Tregenza announced it. + +"Out again, of coorse, just because you knawed I was to be drove off my +blessed legs to-day. I'll tell your faither of 'e, so I will. Gals like you +did ought to be chained 'longside theer work till 'tis done." + +Uncle Chirgwin sat by the fireside with a placid if bored expression on his +round face. His hands were folded on his stomach; his short legs were stuck +out before him; his head was quite bald, his color high, his gray eyes +weak, though they had some laughter hidden in them. His double chin was +shaved, but a very white bristle of stubbly whisker surrounded it and +ascended to where all that remained of his hair stuck, like two patches of +cotton wool, above his ears. The old man wore a suit of gray tweed and +blinked benignly through a pair of spectacles. He had already heard enough +of Mrs. Tregenza's troubles to last some time, and turned with pleasure to +Joan as she entered. So hearty indeed was the greeting and a kiss which +accompanied it that his niece felt the displeasure which her uncle had +recorded by post upon the occasion of her engagement to Mary Chirgwin's +former sweetheart existed no more. + +"My ivers! a braave, bowerly maid you'm grawin', sure 'nough! Joan'll be a +wummon 'fore us can look round, mother." + +"Iss--an' a fine an' lazy wummon tu. I wish you could make her work like +what Mary does up Drift." + +"Well, I dunnaw. You see there's all sorts of girls, same as plants an' +'osses an' cetera. Some's for work, some's for shaw. You 'specks a flower +to be purty, but you doan't blame a 'tater plant 'cause 'e ed'n particular +butivul. Same wi' 'osses, an' wi' gals. Joan's like that chinee plate 'pon +the bracket, wi' the pickshers o' Saltash Burdge 'pon en, an' gold writin' +under; an' Mary's like that pie-dish, what you put in the ubben a while +back. Wan's for shaw, t'other's for use--eh?" + +"Gwan! you'm jokin', Uncle Thomas!" said Joan. + +"An' a poor joke tu, so 'tis. You'd turn any gal's 'ead wi' your stuff, +Chirgwin. Wheer's the gude of a fuzz-pole o' yeller hair an' a pair o' blue +eyes stuck 'pon top of a idle, good-for-nothin' body? Maidens caan't live +by looks in these paarts, an' they'll find theerselves in trouble mighty +quick if they tries to." + +Uncle Chirgwin instantly admitted that Mrs. Tregenza had the better of the +argument. He was a simple man with a soft heart and no brains worth naming. +Most people laughed at him and loved him. As sure as he went to Penzance on +market-day, he was cordially greeted and made much of, and robbed. People +suspected that his shrewd, black-eyed niece stood between him and absolute +misfortune. She never let him go to market without her if she could help +it; for, on those infrequent occasions when he jogged to town with his gray +horse and cart alone, he always went with a great trust of the world in his +heart and endeavored to conduct the sale of farm produce in the spirit of +Christianity, which was magnificent but not business. Mr. Chirgwin's simple +theories had kept him a poor man; yet the discovery, often repeated, that +his knowledge of human nature was bad, never imbittered him, and he mildly +persisted in his pernicious system of trusting everybody until he found he +could not; unlike his neighbors who trusted nobody until they found that +they could. The farmer had blazed with indignation when Joe Noy flung over +Mary Chirgwin because she would not become a Luke Gospeler. But the matter +was now blown over, for the jilted girl, though the secret bitterness of +her sorrow still bred much gall in her bosom, never paraded it or showed a +shadow of it in her dark face. Uncle Thomas greatly admired Mary and even +feared her; but he loved Joan, for she was like her dead mother outwardly +and like himself in character: a right Chirgwin, loving sunshine and +happiness, herself sunshiny and happy. + +"'Pears I've comed the wrong day, Joan," he said presently, when Mrs. +Tregenza's back was turned, "but now I be here, you must do with me as you +can." + +"Mother's gwaine to town wi' Tom bimebye; then me an' you'll have a talk, +uncle, wi'out nothin' to let us. You'm lookin' braave, me auld dear." + +He liked a compliment, and anticipated pleasure from a quiet afternoon with +his niece. She bustled about, as usual, to make up for lost time; and +presently, when the cloth was laid, walked to the cottage door to see if +her father's lugger was at its moorings or in sight. Meantime Mrs. +Tregenza, having brought forth dinner from the oven, called at the back +door to her son in a voice harsh and shrill beyond customary measure, as +became her exceptional tribulations. + +"Come in, will 'e, an' ait your food, bwoy. Theer ed'n no call to kick out +they boots agin' the pig's 'ouse because I be gwaine to buy new wans for 'e +presently." + +Fired by a word which she had heard from John Barron, that flowers became +the house as well as the garden, Joan plucked an early sprig of pink ribe +and the first buds of wall-flower before returning to the kitchen. These +she put in a jug of water and planted boldly upon the dinner-table as Mrs. +Tregenza brought out a pie. + +"Butivul, sure 'nough," said Mr. Chirgwin, drawing in his chair. His eye +was on the pie-dish, but Joan thought he referred to her bouquet. + +"Lard! what'll 'e do next? Take they things off the table to wance, Joan." + +"But Uncle Thomas sez they'm butivul," she pleaded. + +"They be pleasant," admitted Mr. Chirgwin, "but bloody-warriors [Footnote: +_Bloody-warrior_--Wall-flower.] be out o' plaace 'pon the +dinner-table. I was 'ludin' to this here. You do brown a 'tater to rights, +mother." + +Mrs. Tregenza's shepherd's pies had a reputation, and anybody eating of one +without favorable comment was judged to have made a hole in his manners. +Now she helped the steaming delicacy and sighed as she sat down before her +own ample share. + +"Lard knaws how I done it to-day. 'Tis just a enstance how some things +comes nachrul to some people. You wants a light hand wi' herbs an' to knaw +your ubben. Get the brandy, Joan. Uncle allus likes the edge off drinkin' +water." + +The Tregenzas were teetotalers, but a bottle of brandy for medicinal +purposes occupied the corner of a certain cupboard. + +"You puts it right, mother. 'Tis just the sharpness I takes off. I can't +drink no beer nowadays, though fond o' it, 'cause 'tis belly-vengeance +stuff arter you gets past a certain time o' life. But I'd as soon have +tea." + +"That's bad to drink 'long wi' vlaish," said Mrs. Tregenza. "Tea turns +mayte leather-hard an' plagues the stomach cruel, as I knaws to my cost." + +They ate in silence a while, then, having expressed and twice repeated a +wish that Mary could be taught to make shepherd's pies after the rare +fashion of his hostess, Mr. Chirgwin turned to Tom. + +"So you'm off for a sailor bwoy, my lad?" + +"Iss, uncle, an' mother gwaine to spend fi' puns o' money on my kit." + +"By Golles! be she now? I lay you'll be smart an' vitty!" + +"That he will!" said Joan, but Mrs. Tregenza shook her head. + +"I did sadly want en to be a landsman an' 'prenticed to some good body in +bizness. It's runnin' 'gainst dreams as I had 'fore the bwoy was born, an' +the voice I heard speakin' by night arter I were churched by the Luke +Gosp'lers. But you knaw Michael. What's dreams to him, nor yet voices?" + +"The worst paart 'bout 'em, if I may say it, is that they'm so uncommon +well acquainted like wi' theer awn virtues. I mean the Gosp'lers an' all +chapel-members likewise. It blunts my pleasure in a good man to find he +knaws how good he is. Same as wan doan't like to see a purty gal tossin' +her head tu high." + +"You caan't say no sich thing o' Michael, I'm sure," remonstrated Mrs. +Tregenza instantly; "he'm that modest wi' his righteousness as can be. I've +knawn en say open in prayer, 'fore the whole chapel, as he's no better'n a +crawlin' worm. An' if he's a worm, what's common folks like you an' me? +Awnly Michael doan't seem to take 'count in voices an' dreams, but I knaws +they'm sent a purpose an' not for nort." + +Mr. Chirgwin admitted his own ridiculous religious insignificance as +contrasted with Gray Michael. Indeed the comparison, so little in his +favor, amused him extremely. He sipped his brandy and water and enjoyed a +treacle-pudding which followed the pie. Then, when Joan was clearing up and +Mrs. Tregenza had departed to prepare for her visit to Penzance, Uncle +Thomas began to puff out his cheeks, and blow, and frown, and look uneasily +to the right and left--actions invariably performed when he contemplated +certain monetary achievements of which he was only too fond. The sight of +Mary's eyes upon him had often killed such indiscretions in the bud, but +she was not present just then, so, with further furtive glances, he brought +out his purse, opened it, and found a half-sovereign which reposed alone in +the splendor of a separate compartment. Uncle Chirgwin then beckoned to +Tom, who had gone into the garden till his mother should be ready to start. + +"Good speed to 'e, bwoy," he said, "an' may the Lard watch over 'e by land +an' sea. Take you this lil piece o' money to buy what you've a mind to; an' +knaw you've got a auld man's blessin' 'long wi' it." + +"Mother," said Tom, a minute later, "uncle have gived me a bit o' gawld!" + +She took the coin from him and her eyes rested on it lovingly while the +outlines of her face grew softer and she moistened her lips. + +"First gawld's ever I had," commented Tom. + +"You'm 'mazin' generous wi' your moneys, uncle, an' I thank 'e hearty for +the bwoy. Mighty good of 'e--so much money to wance," said Thomasin, +showing more gratification than she knew. + +"I wants en to be thrifty," answered the old man, very wisely. "You knaws +how hard it is to teach young people the worth o' money." + +"Ay, an' some auld wans! Blest if I doan't think you'd give your head away +if 'e could. But I'll take this here half-suvrin' for Tom. 'Tis a nest-egg +as he shall add to as he may." + +Tom did not foresee this arrangement, and had something to say as he +tramped off with his mother to town; but though he could do more with her +and get more out of her than anybody else in the world, money was a subject +concerning which Mrs. Tregenza always had her way. She understood it and +loved it and allowed no interference from anybody, Michael alone excepted. +But he cared not much for money and was well content to let his wife hold +the purse; yet when he did occasionally demand an account, it was always +forthcoming to the uttermost farthing, and he fully believed what other +people told him that Thomasin could make a sixpenny-piece go further than +any other woman in Newlyn. + +Mother and son presently departed; while Mr. Chirgwin took off his coat, +lighted his pipe, and walked with Joan round about the orchard. He foretold +great things for the plums, now in full flower; he poked the pigs with his +stick and spoke encouragingly of their future also. Then he discussed +Joan's prospects and gladdened her heart by telling her the past must be +let alone and need never be reverted to again. + +"Mary's gettin' over it tu," he said, "least-ways I think she is. Her knaws +wheer to look for comfort, bless her. Us must all keep friendly for life's +not long enough to do 'nough good in, I allus says, let alone the doin' o' +bad." + +Then he discussed Joe Noy, and Joan was startled to find, when she came to +think seriously upon the subject, that though but a week and three days had +passed since she bid her lover "good-by," yet the picture of him in her +mind already grew a trifle dim, and the prospect of his absence for a year +held not the least sorrow in it for her. + +Presently, after looking to his horse, Uncle Thomas hinted at forty winks, +if the same would be quite convenient, and Joan, settling him with some +approach to comfort upon a little horsehair sofa in the parlor, turned her +attention to the making of saffron cakes for tea. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +THE MAKING OF PROGRESS + + +John Barron held strong theories about the importance of the mental +condition when work was in hand. Once fairly engaged upon a picture, he +painted very fast, labored without cessation, and separated himself as far +as might be from every outside influence. No new interests were suffered to +intrude upon his mind; no distractions of any sort, intellectual or +otherwise, were permitted to occupy even those leisure intervals which of +necessity lay between the periods of his work. On the present occasion he +merely fed and slept and dwelt solitary, shunning society of every sort and +spending as little time in Newlyn as possible. Fortunately for his +achievement the weather continued wonderfully fine and each successive day +brought like conditions of sunshine and color, light and air. This +circumstance enabled him to proceed rapidly, and another fact also +contributed to progress; the temperature kept high and the cow-byre, +wherein Barren stored his implements and growing picture, proved so +well-built and so snug withal that on more than one occasion he spent the +entire night there. Sweet brown bracken filled a manger, and of this he +pulled down sufficient quantities to make, with railway rugs, an ample bed. +The outdoor life appeared to suit his health well; some color had come to +his pale cheeks; he felt considerably stronger in body and mentally +invigorated by the strain of work now upon him. + +But though he turned his back on his fellow-men they sought him out, and +rumors at length grew to a certainty that Barron was busy painting +somewhere on the cliffs beyond Mousehole. Everybody supposed he had +abandoned his ambition to get a portrait of Joan Tregenza; but one man was +in his confidence: Edmund Murdoch. The young artist had been useful to +Barron. On many occasions he tramped out from Newlyn with additions to the +scanty larder kept at the cow-byre. He would bring hard-boiled eggs, +sandwiches, bottles of soda-water and whisky; and once he arrived at six +o'clock in the morning with a pony cart in which was a little oil stove. +Barron had confided in Murdoch, but begged he would let it be known that he +courted no society for the present. As the work grew he spent more and more +time upon it. He explained to his friend quite seriously that he was +painting the gorse, but that Joan Tregenza had consented to fill a part of +the picture--a statement which amused the younger artist not a little. + +"But the gorse is extraordinary, I'll admit. You must have worked without +ceasing. She will be exquisite. Where shall you get the blue for her eyes?" + +"Out of the sky and the sea." + +"Does the girl inspire you herself, John? I swear something has. This is +going to be great." + +"It's going to be true, that's all. No, Joan is a dear child, but her +body's no more than a perfect casket to a commonplace little soul. She +talks a great deal and I like nothing better than to listen; for although +what she says is naught, yet her manner of saying it does not lack charm. +Her voice is wonderfully sweet--it comes from her throat like a +wood-pigeon's, and education has not ruined her diction." + +"She's as shy as any wood-pigeon, too--we all know that; and you've done a +clever thing to tame her." + +"God forbid that I should tame her. We met and grew friendly as wild things +both. She is a child of Nature, her mind is as pure as the sea. Moreover, +Joan walks saint-guided. Folklore and local twaddle does not appeal +overmuch to me, as you know, yet the stories drop prettily from her lips +and I find pleasure in listening." + +Murdoch whistled. + +"By Jove! I never heard you so enthusiastic, so positive, so personally +alive and awake and interested. Don't fall in love with the girl before you +know it." + +To this warning Barron made a curious reply. + +"Everything depends on my picture. You know my rule of life; to sacrifice +all things to mood. I shall do so here. The best I can do must be done +whatever the cost." + +A shadow almost sinister lay behind the utterance, yet young Murdoch could +not fathom it. Barren spoke in his usual slow, unaffected tones, and +painted all the time; for the conversation took place on Gorse Point. + +"Not sure if I quite understand you, old man," said Murdoch. + +"It doesn't matter in the least if you don't, my dear fellow." + +His words were hardly civil, but the tone in which Barren spoke robbed the +utterance of any offense. + +"All you need do," he continued, "is to keep silent in the interests of art +and of Joan. I don't want her precious visits to me to get back to her +father's ears or they will cease, and I don't wish to do her a bad turn in +her home, for I owe her a great debt of gratitude. If men ask what I'm +doing, lie to them and beg them not to disturb me, for the sake of Art. +What a glint the east wind gives to color! Yet this is hardly to be called +an east wind, so soft and balmy does it keep." + +"Well, you seem to be the better for your work, at any rate. You're getting +absolutely fat. If Newlyn brings you health as well as fame, I hope you'll +retract some of the many hard things you have said about it." + +"It has brought me an interest, and for that at any rate I am grateful. +Good-by. I shall probably come down to-night, despite the fact that you +have replenished my stores so handsomely." + +Murdoch started homeward and met Joan Tregenza upon the way. She had given +Barron one further sitting after Uncle Chirgwin's call at Newlyn, but since +the last occasion, and for a period of two days, chance prevented the girl +from paying him another visit. Now she arrived, however, as early as +half-past ten, and Murdoch, while he passed her on the hill from Mousehole, +envied his friend the morning's work before him. + +Joan was very hot and very apologetic upon her arrival. + +"I began to fear you had forgotten me," the artist said, but she was loud +in protestations to the contrary. + +"No, no, Mister Jan. I've fretted 'bout not comin' up like anything; ay, +an' I've cried of a night 'cause I thot you'd be reckoning I waddun comin' +no more. But 'tweern't my doin' no ways." + +"You hadn't forgotten me?" + +"Indeed an' I hadn't. An' I'd be sorrerful if I thot you thot so." + +She walked to the old position before the gorse and fell naturally into it, +speaking the while. + +"Tis this way: mother's been bad wi' faace ache arter my brother Tom went +to sea wi' faither. An' mother grizzled an' worrited herself reg'lar ill +an' stopped in bed two days an' kep on whinin' 'bout what I was to do if +she died; cause she s'posed she was gwained to. But so soon as Tom comed +off his first trip, mother cheered wonnerful, an' riz up to see to en, an' +hear tell 'bout how he fared on the water." + +"Your head a wee bit higher, Joan. Well, I'm thankful to see you again. I +was getting very, very lonely, I promise you. And the more I thought about +the picture the more unhappy I became. There's such a lot to do and only +such a clumsy hand to do it. The better I know you, Joan, the harder become +the problems you set me. How am I going to get your soul looking out of +your eyes, d'you think? How am I to make those who may see my picture some +day--years after you and I are both dead and gone, Joan--fall in love with +you?" + +"La! I dunnaw, Mister Jan." + +"Nor do I. How shall I make the picture so true that generations unborn +will delight in the portrait and deem it great and fine?" + +"I dunnaw." + +"And yet you deserve it, Joan, for I don't think God ever made anything +prettier." + +She blushed and looked softly at him, but took no alarm; for though such a +compliment had never before been paid her, yet, as Barron spoke the words, +slowly, critically, without enthusiasm or any expression of pleasure on his +face, they had little power to alarm. He merely stated what he seemed to +regard as a fact. There was almost a suggestion of irritation in his +utterance, as though his model's rare beauty only increased his own +artistic difficulties; and, perhaps fearing from her smile that she found +undue pleasure in his statement, he added to it: + +"I don't say that to natter you, Joan. I hate compliments and never pay +them. I told you, remember, that your wrists were a thought too big." + +"You needn't be sayin' it over an' over, Mister Jan," she answered, her +smile changing to a pout. + +"But you wouldn't like me any more if I stopped telling you the truth. We +have agreed to love what is true and to worship Mother Nature because she +always speaks the truth." + +The girl made no answer, and he went on working for a few moments, then +spoke again. + +"I'm selfish, Joan, and think more of my picture than I do of my little +model. Put down your arm and take a good rest. I tried holding my hand over +my eyes yesterday to see how long I could do so without wearying myself. I +found that three minutes was quite enough, but I have often kept you posed +for five." + +"It hurted my arm 'tween the shoulder an' elbow a lil bit at first, but +I've grawed used to it now." + +"How ever shall I repay you, kind Joan, for all your trouble and your long +walks and pretty stories?" + +"I doan't need no pay. If 'twas a matter o' payin', 'twould be a wrong +thing to do, I reckon. Theer's auld Bascombe up Paul--him wi' curls o' long +hair an' gawld rings in's ears. Gents pays en to take his likeness; an' +theer's gals make money so, more'n wan; but faither says 'tis a heathenish +way of livin' an' not honest. An'--an' I'd never let nobody paint me else +but you, Mister Jan, 'cause you'm different." + +"Well, you make me a proud man, Joan. I'm afraid I must be a poor +substitute for Joe." + +He noticed she had never mentioned her sweetheart since their early +interviews, and wanted to ascertain of what nature was Joan's affection for +the sailor. He did not yet dream how faint a thing poor Joe had shrunk to +be in Joan's mind, or how the present episode in her life was dwarfing and +dominating all others, present and past. + +Nor did the girl's answer to his remark enlighten him. + +"In coorse you an' Joe's differ'nt as can be. You knaws everything +seemin'ly an' be a gen'le-man; Joe's only a seafarin' man, an' 'e doan't +knaw much 'cept what he's larned from faither. But Joe used to say a sight +more'n what you do, for all that." + +"I like to hear you talk, Joan; perhaps Joe liked to hear himself talk. +Most men do. But, you see, the things you have told me are pleasant to me +and they were not to Joe, because he didn't believe in them. Don't look at +me, Joan; look right away to the edge of the sea." + +"You'm surprised like as I talks to ye, Mister Jan. Doan't ladies talk so +free as what I do?" + +"Other women talk, but they are very seldom in earnest like you are, Joan. +They don't believe half they say, they pretend and make believe; they've +got to do so, poor things, because the world they live in is all built up +on ancient foundations of great festering lies. The lies are carefully +coated over and disinfected as much as possible and quite hidden out of +sight, but everybody knows they are there--everybody knows the quaking +foundations they tread upon. Civilization means universal civility, I +suppose, Joan; and to be civil to everybody argues a great power of telling +lies. People call it tact. But I don't like polite society myself, because +my nose is sensitive and I smell the stinking basis through all the pretty +paint. You and I, Joan, belong to Nature. She is not always civil, but you +can trust her; she is seldom polite, but she never says what is not true." + +"You talk as though 'e ded'n much like ladies an' gen'lemen, same as you +be." + +"I don't, and I'm not what you understand by 'a gentleman,' Joan. Gentlemen +and ladies let me go among them and mix with them, because I happen to have +a great deal of money--thousands and thousands of pounds. That opens the +door to their drawing-rooms, if I wanted to open it, but I don't. I've seen +them and gone about among them, and I'm sick of them. If a man wishes to +know what polite society is let him go into it as a very wealthy bachelor. +I'm not 'a gentleman,' you know, Joan, fortunately." + +"Surely, Mister Jan!" + +"No more than you're a lady. But I can try to be gentle and manly, which is +better. You and I come from the same class, Joan; from the people. The only +difference is that my father happened to make a huge fortune in London. +Guess what he sold?" + +"I dunnaw." + +"Fish--just plaice and flounders and herrings and so forth. He sold them by +tens of thousands. Your father sells them too. But what d'you think was the +difference? Why, your father is an honest man; mine wasn't. The fishermen +sold their fish, after they had had the trouble and danger of catching +them, to my father; and then my father sold them again to the public; and +the fishermen got too little and the public paid too much, and so--I'm a +very rich man to-day--the son of a thief." + +"Mister Jan!" + +"Nobody ever called him a thief but me. He was a great star in this same +polite society I speak of. He fed hundreds of fat people on the money that +ought to have gone into the fishermen's pockets; and he died after eating +too much salmon and cucumber at his own table. Poetic justice, you know. +There are stained glass windows up to his memory in two churches and tons +of good white marble were wasted when they made his grave. But he was a +thief, just as surely as your father is an honest man; so you have the +advantage of me, Joan. I really doubt if I'm respectable enough for you to +know and trust." + +"I'd trust 'e with anything, Mister Jan, 'cause you'm plain-spoken an' +true." + +"Don't be too sure--the son of a thief may have wrong ideas and lax +principles. Many things not to be bought can easily be stolen." + +Again he struck a sinister note, but this time on an ear wholly unable to +appreciate or suspect it. Joan was occupied with Barron's startling scraps +of biography, and, as usual, when he began talking in a way she could not +understand, turned to her own thoughts. This sudden alteration of his +position she took literally. It struck her in a happy light. + +"If you'm not a gen'leman then you wouldn' look down 'pon me, would 'e?" + +"God forbid! I look up to you, Joan." + +She was silent, trying to master this remarkable assertion. The artist +stood no longer upon that lofty pedestal where she had placed him; but the +change of attitude seemed to bring him a little closer, and Joan forgot the +fall in contemplating the nearer approach. + +"That's why I asked you not to call me 'Mister Jan,"' Barron added after a +pause. "We are, you see, only different because I'm a man and you're a +woman. Money merely makes a difference to outside things, like houses and +clothes. But you've got possessions which no money can bring to me: a happy +home and a lover coming back to you from the sea. Think what it must be to +have nobody in the world to care whether you live or die. Why, I haven't a +relation near enough to be even interested in all my money--there's +loneliness for you!" + +Joan felt full of a great pity, but could not tell how to express it. Even +her dull brains were not slow enough to credit his frank assertion that he +and she were equals; but she accepted the statement in some degree, and +now, with her mind wandering in his lonely existence, wondered if she might +presume to express sympathy for him and proclaim herself his friend. She +hesitated, for such friendship as hers, though it came hot from her little +heart, seemed a ludicrous thing to offer this man. Every day of intercourse +with him filled her more with wonder and with admiration; every day he +occupied a wider place in her thoughts; and at that moment his utterances +and his declaration of a want in life made him more human than ever to her, +more easily to be comprehended, more within the reach of her understanding. +And that was not a circumstance calculated to lessen her regard for him by +any means. Until that day he had appeared a being far apart, whose +interests and main threads of life belonged to another sphere; now he had +deliberately come into her world and declared it his own. + +The silence became painful to Joan, but she could not pluck up courage +enough to tell the artist that she at least was a friend. Finally she +spoke, feeling that he waited for her to do so, and her words led to the +point, for she found, in his answer to them, that he took her goodwill for +granted. + +"Ain't you got no uncles nor nothin' o' that even, Mister Jan?" + +He laughed and shook his head. + +"Not one, Joan--not anybody in all the world to think twice about me but +you." + +Her heart beat hard and her breath quickened, but she did not speak. Then +Barron, putting down his brushes and beginning to load a pipe, that his +next remark might not seem too serious, proceeded: + +"I call you 'friend,' Joan, because I know you are one. And I want you to +think of me sometimes when I am gone, will you?" + +He went on filling his pipe, and then, looking suddenly into her eyes, saw +there a light that was strange--a light that he would have given his soul +to put into paint--a light that Joe's name never had kindled and never +could. Joan wiped her hand across her mouth uneasily; then she twisted her +hands behind her back, like a schoolgirl standing in class, and made answer +with her eyes on the ground. + +"Iss, I will, then, Mister Jan; an' maybe I couldn't help it if I would." + +He lighted his pipe carefully before answering. + +"Then I shall be happy, Joan." + +But while she grew rose-red at the boldness of her sudden announcement, he +took care neither to look at her nor to let her know that he had realized +the earnestness with which she spoke. And when, ten minutes later, she had +departed, he mused speculatively on the course of their conversation, +asking himself what whim had led him to pretend to so much human feeling +and to lament his loneliness. This condition of his life he loved above all +others. No man, woman or child had the right to interfere with his selfish, +impersonal existence, and he gloried in the fact. But to the scraps of his +life's history, which he had spread before Joan in their absolute truth, he +had added this fiction of friendless loneliness, and it had worked a +wonder. He saw that he was growing to be much to her, and the problem lying +in his path rose again, as it had for a moment when Murdoch warned him in +jest against falling in love with Joan Tregenza. Dim suspicions crossed his +mind with greater frequency, and being now a mere remorseless savage, +hunting to its completion a fine picture, he made no effort to shut their +shadows from his calculation. Everything which bore even indirectly upon +his work received its share of attention; to mood must all sacrifices be +made; and now a new mood began to dawn in him. He knew it, he accepted it. +He had not sought it, but the thing was there, and Nature had sent it to +him. To shun it and fly from it meant a lie to his art; to open his arms to +it promised the destruction of a human unit. Barron was not the man to +hesitate between two such courses. If any action could heighten his +inspiration, add a glimmer of glory to his picture, or get a shadow more +soul into the painted blue eyes of the subject, he held such action +justified. For the present his mind was chaos on the subject, and he left +the future to work itself out as chance might determine. + +His painting was all he concerned himself with, and should Nature +ultimately indicate that greater perfection might be achieved through +worship and even sacrifice at her shrine, neither worship nor sacrifice +would be withheld. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + A WEDDING + + +Joan Tregenza went home in a dream that day. She did not know where to +begin thinking. "Mister Jan" had told her so many astounding things; and +her own heart, too, had made bold utterances--concerning matters which she +had crushed out of sight with some shame and many secret blushes until now. +But, seen in the light of John Barron's revelations, this emotion which she +had thrust so resolutely to the back of her mind could remain there no +more. It arose strong, rampant and ridiculous; only from her point of view +no humor distinguished it. This man, then, was like herself, made of the +same flesh and blood, sprung from the people. That fact, though possessing +absolutely no significance whatever in reality, struck Joan with great +force. Her highly primitive instincts stretched a wide gulf between the +thing called "gentleman" and other men; which was the result of training +from parents of the old-fashioned sort, whose world lay outside and behind +the modern spirit; who had reached the highest development of their +intelligence and formed their opinions before the passing of the Education +Act. Gray Michael naturally held the great ones of the earth as objects of +pity from an eternal standpoint, but birth weighed with him, and, in +temporal concerns, he treated his superiors with all respect and civility +when rare chance brought him into contact with them. He viewed uneasily the +last outcome of progress and the vastly increased facilities for +instruction of the juvenile population. The age was sufficiently godless, +in his judgment; and he had found that a Board School education was the +first nail in the coffin of every young man's faith. + +Joan, therefore, allowing nothing for the value of riches, of education, of +intellect, was content to accept Barron's own cynical statement in a spirit +widely different from the speaker's. He had sneered at himself, just as he +had sneered at his own dead father. But Joan missed all the bitterness of +his speech. To her he was simply a wondrously honest man who loved truth +for itself, who could never utter anything not true, who held it no offense +to speak truth even of the dead. Gentle or simple, he seemed infinitely +superior to all men whom she had met with. And yet this beautiful nature +walked through the world quite alone. He had asked her to remember him when +he was gone; he had said that she was his friend. And he cared little for +women--there was perhaps no other woman in the world he had called a +friend. Then the girl's heart fluttered at the presumption of her silly, +soaring thoughts, and she glanced nervously to the right and to the left of +the lonely road, as though fearful that some hidden eavesdropper might peep +into her open mind. The magic spell was upon her. This little, pale, clever +man, so quiet, so strange, so unlike anything else within her seventeen +years of experience, had wrought Nature's vital miracle, and Joan, who, +until then, believed herself in love with her sailor sweetheart, now stood +aghast before the truth, stood bewildered between the tame and bloodless +fantasy of her affection for Joe Noy and this wild, live reality. She +looked far back into a past already dim and remembered that she had told +Joe many times how she loved him with all her heart. But the words were +spoken before she knew that she possessed a heart at all. Yet Joe then +formed no inconsiderable figure in life. She had looked forward to marriage +with him as a comfortable and sufficient background for present existence; +she had viewed Joe as a handsome, solid figure--a man well thought of, one +who would give her a home with bigger rooms and better furniture in it than +most fishermen's daughters might reasonably hope for. But this new blinding +light was more than the memory of Joe could face uninjured. He shriveled +and shrank in it. Like St. Michael's Mount, seen afar, through curtains of +rain, Joe had once bulked large, towering, even grand, but under noonday +sun the great mass dwindles as a whole though every detail becomes more +apparent; and so with poor Joe Noy. Removed to a distance of a thousand +miles though he was, Joan had never known him better, never realized the +height, breadth, depth of him so acutely as now she did. The former +ignorance in such a case had been bliss indeed, for whereunto her present +acquired wisdom might point even she dared not consider. Any other girl +must have remained sufficiently alive to the enormous disparity every way +between herself and the artist; and Joan grasped the difference, but from +the wrong point of view. The man's delicacy of discernment, his wisdom, his +love of the things which she loved, his fine feeling, his humility--all +combined in Joan's judgment to place him far above herself, though she had +not words to name the qualities; but whereas another lowly woman, reaching +this point, must, if she possessed any mother-wit or knowledge of the +world, have awakened to the danger and grown guarded, Joan, claiming little +wit to speak of, and being an empty vessel so far as knowledge of the world +was concerned, saw no danger and allowed her thoughts to run away with her +in a wholly insane direction. This she did for two reasons: because she +felt absolutely safe, and because she suspected that Nature, who was +"Mister Jan's" God, had now come to be her God also. The man was very wise, +and he hated everything which lacked truth: therefore he would always do +what was right, and he would not be less true to her than he was to the +world. Truth was his guiding star, and he had always found Nature true. +Therefore, why should not Joan find it true? Nature was talking to her now +and teaching her rapidly. She must be content to wait and learn. The two +men, Noy and Barren, fairly represented the opposite views of life each +entertained, and Joan felt the new music wake a thousand sleeping echoes in +her heart while the old grew more harsh and unlovely as she considered it. +Joe had so many opinions and so little information; "Mister Jan" knew +everything and asserted nothing save what Nature had taught him. Joe was so +self-righteous and overbearing, so like her father, so convinced that Luke +Gospeldom was the only gate to glory; "Mister Jan" had said there was more +of the Everlasting God in a bluebell than in the whole of the Old +Testament; he had declared that the smell of the gorse and the sunshine on +the deep sea were better things than the incense and banners at St. +Peter's; he had asserted that the purring of kittens was sweeter to the +Father of all than the thunder of a mighty organ played in the noblest +cathedral ever made with hands. All these foolish and inconsequent +comparisons, uttered thoughtlessly by Barron's lips while his mind was on +his picture, seemed very fine to Joan; and the finer because she did not +understand them. Again, Joe rarely listened to her; this man always did, +and he liked to hear her talk: he had declared as much. + +Her brains almost hurt Joan on her way back to the white cottage that +morning. They seemed so loaded; they lifted her up high above the +working-day world and made her feel many years older. Such reflections and +ideas came to grown women doubtless, she thought. A great unrest arose from +the shadows of these varied speculations--a great unrest and disquiet--a +feeling of coming change, like the note in the air when the swallows meet +together in autumn, like the whisper of the leaves on the high tops of the +forest before rain. Her heart was very full. She walked more slowly as the +thoughts weighed heavier; she went back to her home round-eyed and solemn, +wondering at many things, at the extension of the horizon of life, at the +mental picture of Joe standing clearly out of the mists, viewed from a +woman's standpoint. + +That day much serving awaited her; but, at every turn and pause in the +small affairs of her duty, Joan's mind swooped back like a hawk to the +easel on Gorse Point; and when it did, her cheeks flushed and she turned to +bend over sink or pig's trough to hide the new fire that burned in her +heart and lighted her eyes. + +Mrs. Tregenza, who had suffered from neuralgia and profound depression of +spirit upon Tom's departure to the sea, but who comforted herself even in +her darkest hour by reflection that no lugger boy ever joined the fishing +fleet with such an equipment of new clothes as her son, was somewhat better +and more cheerful now that the lad had made his first trip and survived it. +Moreover, Tom would be home again that night in all probability, and, since +Michael was last ashore, the butcher from Paul had called and offered three +shillings and sixpence more for the next pig to be killed than ever a +Tregenza pig had fetched until that day. Life therefore held some +prosperity in it, even for Thomasin. + +After their dinner both women, the elder with a shawl muffled about her +face, went down the road to Newlyn to see a sight. They stopped at George +Trevennick's little house. It had a garden in front of it with a short +flagstaff erected thereon, and all looked neat, trim and ship-shape as +became the home of a retired Royal Navy man. A wedding was afoot, and Mr. +Trevennick, who never lost an opportunity to display his rare store of +bunting, had plentifully shaken out bright reds and yellows, blues and +greens. The little flags fluttered in four streamers from the head of the +flagstaff, and their colors looked harsh and crude until associated with +the human interests they marked. + +Already many children gazed with awe from the road, while a favored few, +including the Tregenzas, stood in Mr. Trevennick's garden, which was raised +above the causeway. Great good-humor prevailed, together with some +questionable jesting, and Joan heard the merriment with a sense of +discomfort. They would talk like this when Joe came back to marry her; but +the great day of a maid's life had lost its greatness for her now. The +rough, good-natured fun grated on her nerves as it had never grated before; +because, though she only guessed at the sly jokes of her elders, something +told her that "Mister Jan" would have found no pleasure in such merriment. +Mrs. Tregenza talked, Mr. Trevennick smoked, and Sally Trevennick, the old +sailor's daughter, entertained the party and had a word for all. She was +not young, and not well-favored, and unduly plump, but a sweet-hearted +woman nevertheless, with a great love for the little children. This indeed +presently appeared, for while the party waited there happened a tragedy in +the street which brought extreme sorrow to a pair of very small people. +They had a big crabshell full of dirt off the road which they drew after +them by a string, and in which they took no small pride and pleasure; but a +young sailor, coming hastily round a corner, trampled upon the shell, +smashed it, and passed laughing on. The infants, overwhelmed by this sudden +disaster to their most cherished earthly possession, crushed to the earth +by this blotting out of the sunshine of the day, lifted up their voices and +wept before the shattered ruins. One, the biggest, dropped the useless +string and put his face against the wall, that his extreme grief might be +hidden; but the smaller hesitated not to make his sorrows widely known. He +bawled, then took a deep breath and bawled again. As the full extent of his +loss was borne in upon him, he absolutely danced with access of frenzied +grief; and everybody laughed but fat Sally Trevennick. Her black eyes grew +clouded, and she went down into the road to bring comfort to the sufferers. + +"Never mind, then; never mind, you bwoys; us'll get 'e another braave +shell, so us will. Theer, theer, give over an' come 'long wi' me an' see +the flags. Theer's many bigger auld crabshells wheer that comed from, I +lay. Your faither'll get 'e another." + +She took a hand of each babe and brought them into the garden, from which +they could look down upon their fellows. Such exaltation naturally soothed +their sufferings, and amid many gasps and gurgles they found a return to +peace in the close contemplation of Mr. Trevennick's flagstaff and the +discussion of a big saffron pasty. + +Presently the bridegroom and his young brother passed on the way to church. +Both looked the reverse of happy; both wore their Sunday broadcloth, and +both swung along as fast as their legs would carry them. They were red hot +and going five miles an hour; but, though Mousehole men, everybody in +Newlyn knew them, and they were forced to run the gauntlet of much chaff. + +"Time was when they did use to thrash a new-married couple to bed," said +Mr. Trevennick. "'Twas an amoosin' carcumstance an' I've 'elped at many, +but them good auld doin's is dyin' out fast." + +Mrs. Tregenza was discussing the bridegroom's family. + +"He be a poor Billy-be-damned sort o' feller, I've allus heard, an' awnly a +common tinner, though his faither were a grass cap'n at Levant Mine." + +"But he's a steady chap," said Sally; "an' them in his awn station sez he's +reg'lar at church-goin' an' well thot 'pon by everybody. 'Tedn' all young +pairs as parson'll ax out, I can tell 'e. He wants to knaw a bit 'fore +'e'll marry bwoys an' gals; but theer weren't no trouble 'bout Mark +Taskes." + +"Sure I'm glad to hear it, Sally, 'cause if he caan't do everything, +everything won't be done. They Penns be a pauper lot--him a fish-jouster as +ain't so much as his awn donkey an' cart, an' lame tu. Not that 'twas his +awn fault, I s'pose, but they do say a lame chap's never caught in a good +trick notwithstandin'." + +"Here comes the weddeners!" said Joan, "but 'tedn' a very braave shaw," she +added. "They'm all a-foot, I do b'lieve." + +"Aw, my dear sawl! look at that now!" cried Mrs. Tregenza. "Walkin', +ackshally walkin'. Well--well!" + +The little bride advanced between her father and mother, while relations +and friends marched two and two behind. A vision it was of age and youth, +of bright spring flowers, of spotless cotton and black broadcloth. A matron +or two marched in flaming colors; a few fishermen wore their blue jerseys +under their reefer jackets; the smaller children were led by hand; and the +whole party numbered twelve all told. Mr. Penn looked up at the flags as he +limped along, and a great delight broke out upon his face; the bride's +mother beamed with satisfaction at a compliment not by any means expected, +for the Penns were a humble folk; and the bride blushed and stole a nervous +peep at the display. Mr. Penn touched his hat to the party in the garden, +and Mr. Trevennick, feeling the eye of the multitude upon him, loudly +wished the wedding party well as it passed by. + +"Good speed to 'e an' to the maid, Bill Penn. May she live 'appy an' be a +credit to all parties consarned." + +"Thank 'e, thank 'e, kindly, Mr. Trevennick. An' us takes it mighty +favorable to see your butivul flags a hangin' out--mighty favorable, I +'sure 'e." + +So the party tramped on and ugly Sally looked after them with dim eyes; but +Mrs. Tregenza's thin voice dried them. + +"A bad come-along o't for a gal to walk 'pon sich a day. They did ought to +a got her a lift to her weddin', come what might." + +"Maybe 'tis all wan to them poor dears. A coach an' four 'orses wouldn' +make that cheel no better pleased. God bless her, did 'e look 'ow she +flickered up when she seed faither's flags a flyin'?" + +"Theer's a right way an' a wrong o' doin' weddin's, Sarah, an' 'tedn' a +question whether a gal's better pleased or no. It's all wan to a dead +corpse whether 'tis took to the yard in a black hearse wi' plumes, same as +what us shall be, or whether 'tis borne 'pon wan o' them four 'anded +stretchers used for carryin' fishin' nets, same as poor Albert Vallack was +a while back--but wan way's proper an' t'other 'edn'." + +"They'm savin' the money for the feed. Theer's gwaine to be a deal o' clome +liftin' at Perm's cottage bimebye," said another of the party. + +"No honeymoon neither, so I hear tell," added Mrs. Tregenza. + +"But Taskes have bought flam-new furniture for his parlor, they sez," +declared the former speaker. + +"Of coorse. Still no honeymoon 'tall! Who ever heard tell of sich a thing +nowadays? I wonder they ban't 'shamed." + +"Less shame, Mrs. Tregenza, than trapsing off to Truro or somewheers an' +wastin' their time an' spendin' money they'll be wanting back agin 'fore +Christmas," retorted Sally, with some warmth. + +But Mrs. Tregenza only shook her head and sighed. + +"You speaks as a onmarried wummon, Sarah; but if you comed to be a bride +you'd sing dif-fer'nt. No honeymoon's wrong, an' your faither'll tell the +same." + +Mr. Trevennick admitted that no honeymoon was bad. He went further and +declared the omission of such an institution to be unprincipled. He even +said that had he known of this serious defect in the ceremonies he should +certainly have abstained from lending the brightness of his bunting to +them. Then he went to eye the flags from different points of view, while +Sally, in a minority of one, turned to Joan. + +"And what do you say?" she asked. "You'm 'mazin' quiet an' tongue-tied for +you. I s'pose you'm thinkin' of the time when Joe Noy comes home. I lay +you'll have a honeymoon anyways." + +"Iss, that you may depend 'pon," said Mrs. Tregenza. + +And Joan, who had in truth been thinking of her sweetheart's return, grew +red, whereat they all laughed. But she felt secretly superior to every one +of them, for the shrinking process began to extend beyond Joe now. A +fortnight before, she had been much gratified by allusions to the future +and felt herself an important individual enough. Then, she must have shared +her stepmother's pity at the poverty of the pageant which had just passed +by. But now the world had changed. Matrimony with Joe Noy was not a subject +which brought present delight to her, but the little bride who had just +gone to her wedding filled Joan's thoughts. What was in that girl's heart, +she greatly wondered. Did Milly Penn feel for long-legged Mark Taskes what +Joan felt for "Mister Jan"? Was it possible that any other woman had ever +experienced similar mysterious splendors of mind? She could not tell, but +it seemed unlikely to her; it appeared improbable that an ordinary man had +power to inspire another heart with such golden magic as glorified her own. + +Presently she departed with her stepmother, whereupon Sally Trevennick +relieved her pent-up feelings. + +"Thank the Lard that chitter-faaced wummon edn' gwaine to the weddin' any +ways! Us knaws she's a dear good sawl 'nough; but what wi' her sour voice, +an' her sour way o' talkin', an' her sour 'pinions, she'm enough to set a +rat-trap's teeth on edge." + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +MOONLIGHT + + +That evening Thomasin had another spasm of face-ache and went to bed soon +after drinking tea. Michael was due at home about ten o'clock or earlier, +and Joan--having set out supper, made all ready, and ascertained that her +stepmother had gone to sleep--walked out to the pierhead, there to wait for +Mr. Tregenza and Tom. Under moonlight, the returning luggers crept +homeward, like inky silhouettes on a background of dull silver. Every +moment added to the forest of masts anchored at the moorings outside the +harbor; every minute another rowing-boat shot between the granite piers, +slid silently into the darkness under shore, leaving moonlit rings widening +out behind at each dip of the oars. Joan sat down under the lighthouse and +waited in the stillness for her father's boat. Yellow flashes, like +fireflies, twinkled along through Newlyn, and above them the moon brought +out square patches of silver-bright roof seen through a blue night. Now and +then a bell rang in the harbor, and lights leaped here and there, mingling +red snakes and streamers of fire with the white moonbeams where they lay on +still water. Then Joan knew the fish were being sold by auction, and she +grew anxious for her father's return, fearing prices might have fallen +before he arrived. Great periods of silence lay between the ringings of the +bell, and at such times only faint laughter floated out from shore, or +blocks chipped and rattled as a sail came down or a concertina squeaked +fitfully where it was played on a Norwegian iceboat at the harbor quay. The +tide ran high, and Joan watched the lights reflected in the harbor and +wondered why the gold of them contrasted so ill with the silver from the +moon. + +Presently two men came along to the pierhead. They smoked, looked at the +sea, and did not notice her where she sat in shadow. One, the larger, wore +knickerbockers, talked loudly, and looked a giant in the vague light; the +other was muffled up in a big ulster, and Joan would not have recognized +Barron had he not spoken. But he answered his friend, and then the girl's +heart leaped to hear that quiet, unimpassioned voice. He spoke of matters +which she did not understand, of pictures and light and all manner of +puzzles set by Nature for the solution of art; but though for the most part +his remarks conveyed no meaning to her, yet he closed a sentence with words +that made her happy, and warmed her heart and left a precious memory behind +them. + +"Moonlight is a problem only less difficult than sunshine," he said to his +friend. "Where are you going to get that?" and he pointed to the sea. + +"It's been jolly well done all the same." + +"Never. It is not to be done. You can suggest by a trick, but God defend us +from tricks and sleight-of-hand in connection with the solemn business of +painting pictures. Let us be true or nothing." + +They walked away together, and Joan pondered over the last words. Truth +seemed an eternal, abiding passion with John Barron, and the contemplation +of this idea gave her considerable pleasure. She did not know that a man +may be at once true to his art and a liar to his fellows. + +Presently her father returned with Tom, and the three walked home together. +Gray Michael appeared quietly satisfied that his son was shaping well and +showing courage and nerve. But he silenced the lad quickly enough when Tom +began to talk with some gasconade concerning greet deeds done westward of +the Scilly Islands. + +"'Let another man praise thee an' not thine awn mouth,' my bwoy," said Mr. +Tregenza. "It ban't the wave as makes most splash what gaws highest up the +beach, mind. You get Joan to teach 'e how to peel 'taties, 'cause 'tis a +job you made a tidy bawk of, not to mention no other. Keep your weather-eye +liftin' an' your tongue still. Then you'll do. An' mind--the bwoat's clean +as a smelt by five o'clock to-morrow marnin', an' no later." + +Tom, dashed by these base details, answered seaman fashion: + +"Ay, ay, faither." + +Then they all tramped home, and the boy enjoyed the glories of a late +supper, though he was half asleep before he had finished it. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +THE KISS + + +By half-past five o'clock, Mr. Tregenza's black lugger was off again in a +gray dawn all tangled with gold on the eastern horizon. + +His mother had given Tom an early breakfast at half-past four, and the +youngster, agape and dim-eyed at first, speedily brightened up, for he had +a willing listener, in the candle-light and poured a tale of moving +incidents into Thomasin's proud but uneasy mind. + +"Them Pritchards sez as they'll make a busker [Footnote: _Busker_--A +rare good fisherman.] of me, 'cause it blawed a bit issterday marnin', but +'twas all wan to me; an' you abbun no call to fret yourself, nohow, mother, +'cause faither's 'lowed to be the best sailor in the fleet an' theer ban't +a better foul-weather boat sails from Newlyn than ourn." + +He chattered on, larding his discourse with new words picked up aboard, and +presently rolled off to get things shipshape just as his father came down +to breakfast. + +When the men had gone, little remained to be done that day, and, by +half-past seven, about which hour Mrs. Tregenza went into the village that +she might whine with a widow who had two boys in the fleet, Joan found +herself free until the afternoon. She determined therefore to reach Gorse +Point before the artist should arrive there, and set off accordingly. + +Early though she was, she had but a short time to wait, for Barron appeared +with his big canvas by nine o'clock. She thought he showed more pleasure +than usual at the sight of her. Certainly he shook hands and congratulated +her upon such early hours. + +"This is an unexpected pleasure, Joan. You must have been up betimes +indeed." + +"Iss fay, us took breakfus' by five, an' faither sailed 'fore half-past. +'Tis busy times for fishin' folk when the mackerl begins shoalin'." + +"I'm glad I came back to my den in the fields yonder and didn't stop in +Newlyn last night. You must see my little cow-byre some day or other, Joan. +I've made it wonderfully snug. Farmer Ford is good enough to let me take +possession of it for the present; and I've got food and drink stowed away, +and a beautiful bed of sweet, withered bracken. I sleep well there, and the +dawn comes in and wakens me." + +"You ban't feared o' piskeys nor nothin' in a lawnsome plaace like thicky +byre?" + +"No, no--the rats are rather intrusive, though." + +"But they'm piskeys or spriggans so like's not! You see, the lil people +takes all manner o' shaapes, Mister Jan; an' they chaanges 'em tu, but +every time they chaanges they've got to alter into somethin' smaller than +what they was before. An' so, in coorse of time, they do say they comes +down into muryans an' such like insects." + +"Piskeys or no piskeys, I've caught several in a trap and killed them." + +"They'm gashly things, rats, an' I shouldn't think as no good piskeys would +turn into varmints like them." + +"More should I. But something better than rats came to see me last night, +Joan. Guess who it was." + +"I dunnaw." + +"Why, you came!" + +"Me, Mister Jan! You must a bin dreamin'!" + +"Yes, of course I was; but such a lovely dream, Joan! You see, men who +paint pictures and love what is beautiful and dream about beautiful things +and beautiful people see all sorts of visions sometimes. I have pictures in +my head a thousand times more splendid than any I shall ever put upon +canvas, because mere paint-brushes cannot do much, even when they are in +the cleverest hands; but a man's brain is not bound down by material, +mechanical matters. My brain made a picture of you last night--a picture +that came and looked at me on my fern bed--a picture so real, so alive that +I could see it move and hear it laugh. You think that wonderful. It isn't +really, because my brain has done nothing but think of you now for nearly +six weeks. My eye studies you and stamps you upon my brain; then, when +night comes, and no man works, and the world is dark and silent, my brain +sets off on its own account and raises up a magic vision just to show me +what you really are--how different to this poor daub here." + +"Lard, Mister Jan! I never heard tell of sich a coorious thing as that." + +"And the pretty dream-Joan can talk almost as well as you can! Why, last +night, while I was half awake and half asleep, she put her hand upon my +shoulder and said kind things, but I dared not move or kiss her hand at +first for fear she would vanish if I did." + +Joan laughed. + +"That is a funny story, sure 'nough," she said. "I 'specs 'twas awnly +another fairy body, arter all." + +"No, it wasn't. She had your voice and your spirit in her; and that picture +which my brain painted for me was so much better than the thing my hand has +painted that, in the morning, I was almost tempted to destroy this +altogether. But I didn't." + +"An' what did this here misty sort o' maid say to 'e?" + +"Strange things, strange things. Things I would give a great deal to hear +you say. It seemed that you had come, Joan, it seemed that you had +purposely come from your little cottage on the cliff through the darkness +before dawn. Why? To share my loneliness, to brighten my poor shadowy life. +Dreams are funny things, are they not? What d'you think you said?" + +"Sure I dunnaw." + +"Why, you said that you were not going to leave me any more; that you +believed in me and that you had come to me because it was bad for a man to +live all alone in the world. You said that you felt alone too--without me. +And it made me feel happy to hear you say that, though I knew, all the +time, that it was not the real beautiful Joan who spoke to me." + +Thereupon the girl asked a question which seemed to argue some sharpening +of intelligence within her. + +"An' when I spoke that, what did you say, Mister Jan?" + +"I didn't say anything at all. I just took that sweet Joan-of-dreams into +my arms and kissed her." + +He was looking listlessly out over the sea as he spoke, and Joan felt +thankful his eyes were turned away from her, for this wonderful dream +incident made her grow hot all over. He seemed to divine by her silence +that his answer to her question had not added to her happiness. + +"I shouldn't have told you that, Joan, only you asked me. You see, in +dreams, we are real in some senses, though unreal in others. In dreams the +savage part of us comes to the top and Nature can whisper to us. She +chooses night to do so and often speaks to men in visions, because by day +the voice of the world is in their ears and they have no attention for any +other. It was strange, too, that I should fancy such a thing--should +imagine I was kissing you--because I never kissed a woman in my life." + +But from her point of view this falsehood was not so alluring as he meant +to make it sound. + +"'Twould be wrong to kiss any maiden, I reckon, onless you was tokened to +her or she were your awn sister." + +"But, as we look at life, we're all brothers and sisters, Joan--with Nature +for our mother. We agreed about that long ago." + +He turned to his easel, and she went and stood where her feet had already +made a brown mark on the grass. + +"I seen you last night, but you dedn' see me," she said, changing the +conversation with abruptness. + +"Yes, I did," he answered, "sitting under the shadow of the lighthouse, +waiting for Mr. Tregenza, I expect." + +"An' you never took no note o' me!" + +He flung down his brushes, turned away from the picture before he had +touched it, and went and lay near the edge of the cliff. + +"Come here, Joan, and I will tell you why I didn't notice you, though I +longed to do so. Come and sit down by me and I'll explain why I seemed so +rude." + +She came slowly and sat down some distance from him, putting her elbows on +her knees and looking away to sea. + +"'Tweern't kind," she said, "but when you'm with other folks, I s'pose +you'm ashamed o' me 'spite what you tawld me 'bout yourself." + +"You mustn't say that, Joan, or you'll make me unhappy. Ashamed of you! Is +it likely I'm ashamed of the only friend I've got in the world? No, I'm +frightened of losing you; I'm selfish; I couldn't make you known to any +other man because I should be afraid you'd like him better than me, and +then I should have no friend at all. So I wouldn't speak and reveal my +treasure to anybody else. I'm very fond of my friend, and very proud of +her, and as greedy as a miser over his gold." + +Joan took a long breath before this tremendous assertion. He had told her +in so many words that he was fond of her; and he had mentioned it most +casually as a point long since decided. Here was the question which she had +asked herself so often answered once for all. Her heart leaped at tidings +of great joy, and as she looked up into his face the man saw infinite +wonder and delight in her own. Mind was adding beauty to flesh, and he, +fast losing the artist's instinct before another, thought she had never +looked so lovely as then. + +"Oh, Mister Jan, you'm fond o' me!" + +"Why, didn't you know it, Joan? Did it want my words to tell you so? Hadn't +you guessed it?" + +He rose slowly and approached his picture. + +"Oh, how I wish this was a little more like my dream and like reality! I +need inspiration, Joan; I have reached a point beyond which I cannot go. My +colors are dead; my soul is dead. Something must happen to me or I shall +never finish this." + +"Ban't you so well as you was?" + +"No, Joan, I'm not. A thing has come between me and my happiness, between +me and my picture. I know not what to call it. Nature has sent it." + +"Then 'tis right an' proper, I s'pose?" + +"I suppose so, but it stops work. It makes my hand shake and my heart throb +fast and my brains grow hot." + +"Can't 'e take no physic for't?" + +"Why, yes, but I hesitate." + +He turned to her and went close to her. + +"Let me look at you, Joan--close--very close--so close that I can feel your +breath. It was so easy to learn the furze; it is so hard to learn you." + +"Sure I've comed out butivul in the picksher." + +"Not yet, not yet." + +He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes until she grew +nervous and brushed her hand across her cheek. Then, without a second's +warning, he bent down and kissed her on the mouth. + +"Mister Jan! How could 'e! 'Tis wrong--wrong of 'e! I'd never a thot--" + +She started from him, wild, alarmed, blushing hotly; and he shook his head +at her dismay and answered very calmly, very seriously: + +"It was not wrong, Joan, or I should not have done it. You heard me ask to +whom I should pray for inspiration, and Nature told me I must seek it from +you. And I have." + +"You shouldn't never a done it. I trusted 'e so!" + +"But I had to do it. Nature said 'Kiss her, and you will find what you +want.' Do you understand that? I have touched you and I am awake and alive +again; I have touched you, Joan, and I am not hopeless and sad, but happy. +Nature thought of me, Joan, when she made you and brought you into the +world; and she thought of sweet Joan when she fashioned Jan. Believe +it--you must believe it." + +"You did ought to a arsked me." + +"Listen. Nature let you live quiet in the country--for me, Joan. She let me +live all lonely in the world--for you. Only for you. Can't you understand?" + +"You did ought to a arsked me. Kissing be wrong 'tween us. You knaws it, +Mr. Jan." + +"It is right and proper and fair and beautiful," he said quietly. "My heart +sang when I kissed you, Joan, and so did yours. D'you know why? Because we +are two halves of a whole. Because the sunshine of your life would go out +without me; because my life, which never had any sunshine in it until now, +has been full of sunshine since I knew Joan." + +"I dunnaw. 'Twadden a proper thing to do, seein' how I trusted 'e." + +"We are children of Nature, Joan. I always do what she tells me. I can't +help it. I have obeyed her all my life. She tells me to love you, Joan, and +I do. I'm very sorry. I thought she had told you to love me, but I suppose +I was wrong. Never mind this once. Forgive me, Joan. I'll even fight Nature +rather than make you angry with me. Let me finish my picture and go away. +Come. I've no business to waste your precious time, though you have been so +kind and generous with it. Only I was tired and hopeless and you came like +a drink of wine to me, Joan; and I drank too much, I suppose." + +He picked up his brushes, spoke in a sad minor key, and seemed crushed and +weary. The flash died from his face and he looked older again. Joan, the +mistress of the situation, found it wholly bitter. She was bewildered, for +affairs had proceeded with such rapidity. He had declared frankly that he +loved her, and yet had stopped there. To her ideas it was impossible that a +man should say as much as that to a woman and no more. Love invariably +meant ultimate union for life, Joan thought. She could not understand any +other end to it. The man talked about Nature as a little child talks of its +mother. He had deemed himself entirely in the right; yet something--not +Nature, she supposed--had told her that he was wrong. But who was she to +judge him? Who was she to say where his conduct erred? He loved truth. It +was not a lie to kiss a girl. He promised nothing. How could he promise +anything or propose anything? Was she not another man's sweetheart? That +doubtless had been the reason why he had said no more than that he loved +her. To love her could be no sin. Nature had told him to; and God knew how +she loved him now. + +But she could not make it up with him. A cold curtain seemed to have fallen +between them. The old reserve which had only melted after many meetings, +was upon him again. He stood, as it seemed, on the former pedestal. A +strange, surging sensation filled her head--a sense of helpless fighting +against a flood of unhappy affairs. All the new glory of life was suddenly +tarnished through her own act, and she felt that things could never be the +same again. + +She thought and thought. Then John Barron saw Joan's blue eyes begin to +wink ominously, the corners of her bonny mouth drag down and something +bright twinkle over her cheek. He took no notice, and when he looked up +again, she had moved away and was sitting on the grass crying bitterly with +her hands over her face. The sun was bright, a lark sang overhead; from +adjacent inland fields came the jolt and clank of a plow with a man's voice +calling to his horses at the turns. The artist put down his palette and +walked over to Joan. + +"My dear, my dear," he said, "d'you know what's making you so unhappy?" + +She sobbed on and did not answer. + +"I can tell you, I think. You don't quite know whether to believe me or +not, Joan. That is very natural. Why should you believe me? And yet if you +knew--" + +She sat up, swallowed some of her tears, and smudged her face with her +knuckles. He took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to +her. It was cool and pleasant, and she went on crying a while, but tears +which were comforting and different to the first stinging drops bred from a +sudden, forlorn survey of life. He talked on, and his voice soothed her. He +kept his distance, and presently, as her ruffled spirit grew calmer, his +remarks assumed a brighter note. + +"Has my poor little Lady of the Gorse forgiven me at last? She won't punish +me any more, I know, and it is a very terrible punishment to see tears in +her eyes." + +Then she found her tongue again and words to answer him, together with +fluttering sighs that told the tears were ended. + +"I dunnaw why for I cried, Mr. Jan, but I seemed 'mazed like. I'm a stupid +fule of a maid, I reckon, an' I s'pose 'tis auld-fashioned notions as I've +got 'bout what be right an' wrong. But, coorse, you knaws better'n what I +can; an' you'd do me no hurt 'cause you loves me--you've said it; +an'--an'--I love 'e tu, Mister Jan, I 'sure 'e--better'n anything in all +the world." + +"Why, that's good, sweet news, Joan; and Nature told me the truth after +all! We're bound to love one another. She made us for that very reason!" + +He knew that her mind was full of the tangles of life and that she wanted +him to solve some of the riddles just then uppermost in her own existence. +He felt that Joe was in her thoughts, and he easily divined her unuttered +question as to why Nature had sent Joe before she had sent him. But, though +answers and explanations of her troubles were not likely to be difficult, +he had no wish to make them or to pursue the subject just then. Indeed, he +bid Joan depart an hour before she need have done so. Her face was spoiled +for that sitting, and matters had progressed up to the threshold of the +barrier. Before that could be broken down, she must be made to feel that +she was necessary to the happiness of his life; as he already felt that she +was necessary to the completion of his picture. She loved him very dearly, +and he, though love was not possible to his nature, could feel the +substitute. He had fairly stepped out of his impersonal shell into reality. +Presently he would return to his shell again. For a moment a model had +grown more to him than a picture; and he told himself that he must obey +Nature in order adequately to serve Art. + +He picked up the handkerchief he had lent Joan, looked at the dampness of +the tear-stains, and then spread it in the sun to dry. + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +JOAN WALKS HOME + + +While John Barren determined that a space of time extending over some days +should now separate him from Joan, she, for her part, had scarce left Gorse +Point after the conversation just chronicled when there came a great +longing in her heart to return thither. As she walked home she viewed +wearily the hours which lay between her and the following morning when she +might go back to him and see his face again. Time promised to drag for the +next day and night. Already she framed in her mind the things her mouth +should say to-morrow; and that almost before she was beyond sight of the +man's easel. Her fears had vanished with her tears. The future was entirely +in his hand now, for she had accepted his teaching, endeavored to look at +life with his eyes, made his God her own, so far as she had wit to gather +what his God was. She accepted the situation with trust, and felt +responsibility shifted on to "Mister Jan's" shoulders with infinite relief. +He was very wise and knew everything and loved the truth. It is desirable +to harp and harp upon this ever-recurring thought: the artist's grand love +for truth; because all channels of Joan's mind flowed into this lake. His +sincerity begat absolute trust. And, as John Barren and his words and +thoughts filled the foreground of life for her, so, correspondingly, did +the affairs of her home, with all the circumstances of existence in the old +environment, peak and dwindle toward shadowy insignificance. Her father +lost his majestic proportions; the Luke Gospelers became mere objects for +compassion; the petty, temporal interests and concerns of the passing hour +appeared mere worthless affairs for the occupation and waste of time. +"Mister Jan" loved her, and she loved him, and what else mattered? Past +hours of unrest and wakefulness were forgotten; her tears washed the dead +anxieties clean away; and the kiss which had caused them, though it +scorched her lip when it fell there, was now set as a seal and a crowning +glory to her life. He never kissed any other woman. That pledge of this +rare man's affection had been won by the magic of love, and Joan welcomed +Nature gladly and called it God with a warm heart and thankful soul; for +Nature had brought about this miracle. Her former religion worked no +wonders; it had only conveyed terror to her and a comprehensive knowledge +of hell. "Mister Jan" smiled at hell and she could laugh at her old fears. +How was it possible to hesitate between two such creeds? She did not do so, +and, with final acceptation of the new, and secret rejection of the old, +came a great peace to Joan's heart with the whisper of many voices telling +her that she had done rightly. + +So the storm gave place to periods of delicious calm and content only +clouded by a longing to be back with the artist again. He loved her; the +voice of his love was the song of the spring weather, and the thrush echoed +it and the early flowers wrote it on the hedgerows. God was everywhere to +her open eyes. Everything that was beautiful, everything that was good, +seemed to have been created for her delight during that homeward walk. She +was mightily lifted up. Nature seemed so strong, so kind, such a guardian +angel for a maiden. And the birds sang out that "Mister Jan" was Nature's +priest and could do no wrong; and that to obey Nature was the highest good. + +From which reflection rose a hazy happiness--dim, beautiful and indefinable +as the twinkling gold upon the sea under the throne of the sun. Joan dwelt +on the memory of the day which was now over for her, and on the thought of +morning hours which to-morrow would bring. But she looked no further; and +backward she did not gaze at all. No thought of Joe Noy dimmed her mental +delight; no shadowy cloud darkened the horizon then. All was bright, all +perfect. Her mind seemed to be breaking its little case, as the butterfly +bursts the chrysalis. Her life till then had been mere grub existence; now +she could fly and had seen the sun drawing the scent from flowers. Great +ideas filled her soul; new emotions awoke; she was like a baby trying to +utter the thing he has no word for; her vocabulary broke down under the +strain, and as she walked she gave thanks to Nature in a mere wordless +song, like the lark, because she could not put her acknowledgment into +language. But the great Mother, to whom Life is all in all, the living +individual nothing, looked on at a world wakening from sleep and viewed the +loves of the flowers and the loves of the birds and beasts and fishes with +concern as keen as the love in the blue eyes of Joan upon her homeward way. + +Busy indeed at this vernal season was the mysterious Nurse of God's little +world. Her hands rested not from her labors. She worked strange wonders on +the waste, by magic of a million breaking buds, by burying of the dead, by +wafting of subtle pollen-life from blossom to blossom. And in cliffs above +the green waters the nests of her wild-fowl were already lined with wool +and feather; neither were her samphires forgotten in their dizzy +habitations; and salt spray sprinkled her uncurling sea ferns in caves and +crannies where they grew. She laughed at the porpoises rolling their fat +sides into sunshine; she brought the sea-otter where it should find fish +for its young; she led giant congers to drowned men; she patted the sleek +head of the sad-eyed seal. Elsewhere she showed the father-hawk a leveret +crouching in his form; she took young rabbits to the new spring grass; the +fox to the fowl, the fly to the spider, the blight to the bud. Her weakly +nestlings fell from tree and cliff to die, but she beheld unmoved; her +weasel sucked the gray-bird's egg, yet no hand was raised against the +thief, no voice comforted the screaming agony of the mother. With the van +of her legions she moved, and the suffering stragglers cried in vain, for +her concerns were not with them. She did no right, she worked no evil; she +was not cruel, neither shall we call her kind. The servant of God was she, +then as always, heedful of His utterances, obedient to His laws. Which +laws, when man better divines, he shall learn thy secret too, Nurse of the +world, but not sooner. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + LONELY DAYS + + +Having already learned from experience that hard work quickens the flight +of time, Joan, returning in happy mood to her home and with no trace of the +past tears upon her cheeks, surprised Mrs. Tregenza by a display of most +unusual energy and activity. She helped the butcher to get the pig into a +low cart built expressly for the conveyance of such unwieldy animals; she +looked mournfully at her departing companion, knowing that the morrow had +nothing for him but a knife, that he had eaten his last meal. And while +Joan listened to the farewell grunts of the fattest pig which had ever +adorned her father's sty, Mrs. Tregenza counted the money and bit a piece +here and there, and wondered if she could get the next young pig from Uncle +Chirgwin for even a lower figure than the last. + +The day which had wrought such wonders for Joan's inner life, and brought +to her eyes a sort of tears unshed till then, ended at last, and for her a +sleepless night followed upon it. Not until long past one o'clock in the +morning did she lose consciousness, and then the thoughts of the day broke +loose again in visions, taking upon themselves fantastic shapes and moving +amid dream scenery of strange splendor. Now it was her turn to conjure +brain pictures out of fevered thoughts, and she woke at last with a start +in the dawn, to see a faint light painting the square of her bedroom +window. Looking out, she found the world dimly visible, a darker shadow +through the gloom where the fishing-boats were gathering in the bay, the +lighthouse lamp still shining, stars twinkling overhead, absolute silence +everywhere, and a cold bite about the air. The girl went back to bed again, +but slept no more and anon arose, dressed, set about morning duties, and, +much to Mrs. Tregenza's astonishment, had the fire burning and breakfast +ready by the time her stepmother appeared. + +"Aw jimmery!" Thomasin exclaimed, as Joan came in from the outhouse to find +her warming cold hands at the fire, "I couldn't b'lieve my eyes at first +an' thot the piskey men had come to do us a turn spite o' what faither sez. +You've turned over a leaf seemin'ly. Workin' out o' core be a new game for +you." + +"I couldn' sleep for thinkin' 'bout--'bout the pig an' wan thing an' +'nother." + +"He's pork now, or nearly. You heard butcher promise me some nattlins, +dedn' 'e? You'd best walk up to Paul bimebye an' fetch, 'em. 'Tis easier to +call to mind other folk's promises than our awn. He said the same last +pig-killin' an' it comed to nort." + +Joan escaped soon after breakfast and set off eagerly enough. She took a +basket with her and designed to call at Paul on the way home again. +Moreover, she chose a longer route to Gorse Point than that through +Mousehole, for her very regular habits of late had caused some comment in +that village, and more than one acquaintance had asked her, half in jest, +half in earnest, who it was she went to see up Mousehole hill. This had +frightened Joan twice already, and to-day, for the first time, she took the +longer route above Paul Church-town. It brought her over fields near the +cow-byre where Barren spent much of his time and kept his picture; and when +she saw her footpath must pass the door of the little house, a flutter +quickened her pulses and she branched away over the field and proceeded to +the cliffs through a gap in the hedge some distance from the byre. + +But as Joan came out upon the sward through the furzes her heart sank in +sight of loneliness. She was not early to-day, but she had come earlier +than "Mister Jan." The gray figure was invisible. There were the marks on +the turf where his easel and camp-stool stood; there was the spot his feet +were wont to press, and her own standing-point against the glimmering +gorse; but that was all. She knew of no reason for his delay. The weather +was splendid, the day was warm, and he had never been so late before within +her recollection. Joan, much wondering, sat down to wait with her eyes upon +the sea, her ears alert for the first footstep, and her mind listening +also. Time passed, and indefinite uneasiness grew into a fear; then that +expanded and multiplied as her mind approached the problem of "Mister +Jan's" non-appearance from a dozen different standpoints. Hope declared +some private concern had kept him and he would not be long in coming; fear +inquired what unforeseen incident was likely to have risen since +yesterday--asked the question and answered it a dozen ways. The girl +waited, walked here and there, scanned the footpath and the road, returned, +sat down in patience, ate a cake she had brought, and so whiled the long +minutes away. The fears grew as hour and half-hour passed--fears for him, +not herself. The crowning despair did not touch her mind till later, and +her first sorrow was a simple terror that harm had fallen upon the man. He +had told her that he valued life but little, that at best no great length +of days awaited him; and now she thought that wandering about the cliffs by +night he might have met the death he did not fear. Then she remembered he +was but a sick man always, with frail breathing parts; and her thoughts +turned to the shed, and she pictured him lying ill there, unable to +communicate with friends, perhaps waiting and praying long hours for her +footfall as she had been waiting and praying for his. Upon this most +plausible possibility striking Joan, her heart beat at her breast and her +cheeks grew white. She rose from her seat upon the cliff, turned her face +to the cow-byre and made a few quick steps in that direction. Then a vague +flutter of sense, as of warning where no danger is visible, slowed her +speed for a moment; but her heart was strung to action, and the strange new +voice did not sound like Nature's, so she put it aside and let it drown +into silence before the clamor of fear for "Mister Jan's" well-being. +Indeed, that dim premonitory whisper excited a moment's anger in the girl +that any distrust could shadow her love for such a one at such a time. She +hated herself, held the thought a sin of her own commission, and sped +onward until she stood upon the northern side of the byre in a shadow cast +from it by the sun. The place was padlocked, and at that sight Joan's +spirits, though they rose in one direction, yet fell in another. One fear +vanished, a second loomed the larger; for the padlock, while it indicated +that the artist had left his lonely habitation for the time, did not +explain his absence now or dispel the possibilities of an accident or +disaster. The tar-pitched double door of the shed was fast and offered no +peep-hole; but Joan went round to the south side, where an aperture +appeared and where a little glass window had taken the place of the wooden +shutters. Sunshine lighted the shed inside; she could see every detail of +the chamber, and she photographed it on her mind with a quick glance. A big +easel with the life-size picture of herself upon it stood in the middle of +the shed, and a smaller easel appeared hard by. The artist's palettes, +brushes and colors littered a bench, and bottles and tumblers were +scattered among them. Two pipes which she had seen in his mouth lay +together upon a box on the floor, and beside them stood a tin of tobacco +wrapped in yellow paper. A white umbrella and some sticks stood in one +corner, and another she saw was filled by some railway rugs spread over +dried bracken. Two coats hung on nails in the wall, and above one was +suspended a Panama hat which Barren often wore when painting. Something +moved suddenly, and, looking upon the stone floor, she saw a rat-trap with +a live rat in it. The beast was running as far as it could this way and +that, poking its nose up and trying the roof of its prison. She noticed its +snout was raw from thrusting between the wire, and she wished she could get +in to kill it. She did not know that it was a mother rat with young ones +outside squeaking faintly in the stack of mangel-wurzels; she did not know, +as it hopped round and round, that its beady eyes were glittering with a +great agony, and that the Mother of all was powerless to break down a mere +wire or two and save it. + +Presently, worn and weary, Joan trudged home again, with no very happy +mind. She found food for comfort in one reflection alone: the artist had +made no special appointment for that day, and it might be that business or +an engagement at Newlyn, Penzance or elsewhere was occupying his time. She +felt it must be so, and tried hard to convince herself that he would surely +be at the usual spot upon the morrow. + +So she walked home unhappy; and time, which had dragged yesterday, to-day +stood still. Before night she had lived an age; the hours of darkness were +endless, but her father's return furnished excuse for another morning of +early rising; and when Gray Michael and Tom had eaten, donned clean raiment +and returned to the sea, Joan, having seen them to the pierhead, did not go +home, but hastened straight away for Gorse Point, and arrived there earlier +than ever she had done before. There was something soothing to her troubled +mind in being upon the spot sacred to him. Though he was not present, she +seemed closer far to him on Gorse Point than anywhere else. His foot had +marked the turf there; his eye had mirrored the furzes a hundred times; she +knew just where his shadow had fallen as he stood painting, and the spot +upon which he was wont to sit by the cliff-edge when came the time for +rest. Beside this holy place she now seated herself and waited with hope +higher in the splendor of morning; for sorrows, fears and ills are always +blackest when the sun has set, and every man or woman can better face +trouble on opening their eyes in a sunny dawn than after midnight has +struck, a sad day left them weakened, and nothing wakes in the world but +Care and themselves. + +The morning wore away, and the old fears returned with greater force to +chill her soul. The sun was burnishing the sea, and she watched Mousehole +luggers putting out and dancing away through the gold. Under the cliffs the +gulls wheeled with sad cries and the long-necked cormorants hastened +backward and forward, now flying fast and low over the water, now fishing +here and there in couples. She saw them rear in the water as they dived, +then go down head first, leaving a rippling circle which widened out and +vanished long before the fishers bobbed up again twenty yards further on. +Time after time she watched them, speculating vaguely after each +disappearance as to how long the bird would remain out of sight. Then she +turned her face to the land, weary of waiting, weary of the bright sea and +sky, and the music of the gulls, and of life. She sat down again presently, +and put her hand over her face and struggled with her thoughts. Manifold +fears compassed her mind about, but one, not felt till then, rose now, a +giant above the rest. Yesterday she had been all alarm for "Mister Jan"; +to-day there came terror for herself. Something said "He has gone, he has +left you." Her brain, without any warning, framed the words and spoke them +to her. It was as though a stranger had brought the news, and she rose up +white and stricken at this fatal explanation of the artist's continued +absence. She put the thought from her as she had put another, but it +returned with pertinacity, and each time larger than before, until the fear +filled all her mind and made her wild and desperate, under the conviction +of a sudden, awful life-quake launched against her existence to shatter all +her new joy and dash the brimming cup of love from her lips. + +Hours passed, and she grew somewhat faint and hollow every way--in head and +heart and stomach. Her eyes ached, her brains were worn out with thinking; +she felt old, and her body was heavy and energy dead. The world changed, +too. The gorse looked strange as the sun went round, the lark sang no more, +the wind blew coldly, and the sea's gold was darkened by a rack of flying +clouds whose shadows fell purple and gray upon the waters. He had gone; he +had left her; perhaps she would never see him or hear of him again. Then +the place grew hateful to her and terrible as a grave. She dragged herself +away, dizzy, weary, wretched; and not until half way home again did she +find power to steady her mind and control thought. Then the old alarm +returned--that first fear which had pictured him dead, perhaps even now +rolling over and over under the precipices, or hid forever in the cranny of +some dark cavern at the root of the cliffs, where high tides spouted and +thundered and battered the flesh off his bones against granite. She +suffered terribly in mind upon that homeward journey. Her own light and +darkness mattered nothing now, and her personal and selfish fears had +vanished before she reached Newlyn. She was thinking how she should raise +an alarm, how she should tell his friends, who possibly imagined "Mister +Jan" safe and comfortable in his cow-byre. But who were his friends and how +should she approach them without such a step becoming known and getting +talked about? Her misery was stamped on her face when she at last returned +to the white cottage at three o'clock in the afternoon of that day, and +Mrs. Tregenza saw it there. + +"God save us! wheer you bin to, an' what you bin 'bout? You'm so pasty an' +round-eyed as if you'd bin piskey-led somewheers. An' me worn to death wi' +work. An' wheer'm the nattlins an' the basket?" + +Joan had quite forgotten her commission and left the basket on Gorse Point. + +"I'll gaw back bimebye," she said. "I bin walkin' 'long the cliffs in the +sun an' forgot the time. Gimme somethin' t'ate, mother; I be hungry an' +fainty like wi' gwaine tu far. I could hardly fetch home." + +"You'm a queer twoad," said Thomasin, "an' I doan't knaw what's come over +'e of late days. 'Pears to me you'm hidin' summat; an' if I thot that, I'd +mighty quick get faither to find out what 'twas, I can tell 'e." + +Then she went off, and brought some cold potatoes and dripping, with bread +and salt, and a cup of milk. + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +LESSONS LEARNED + + +The lesson which he had set for Joan Tregenza's learning taught John Barron +something also. Eight-and-forty hours he stayed in Newlyn, and was +astounded to find during that period what grip this girl had got upon his +mind, how she had dragged him out of himself. His first thought was to +escape all physical excitement and emotion by abandoning his picture almost +upon the moment of its completion and abandoning his model too; but various +considerations cried out against such a course. To go was to escape no +difficulty, but to fly from the spoils of victory. The fruit only wanted +plucking, and, through pleasure, he believed that he would proceed to +speedy, easy and triumphant completion of his picture. No lasting +compunction colored the tenor of his thoughts. Once, indeed, upon the day +when he returned to Gorse Point and saw Joan again, some shadow of regret +for her swept through his brain; but that and the issue of it will be +detailed in their place. + +Time went heavily for him away from Joan. He roamed listlessly here and +there and watched the weather-glass uneasily; for this abstention from work +was a deliberate challenge to Providence to change sunshine for rain and +high temperature for low. Upon the third day therefore he returned at early +morning to his picture in the shed. The greater part was finished, and the +masses of gorse stood out strong, solid and complete with the slender brown +figure before them. The face of it was very sweet, but to Barron it seemed +as the face of a ghost, with no hot blood in its veins, no live interests +in its eyes. + +"'Tis the countenance of a nun," he said sneeringly to himself. "No fire, +no love, no story--a sweet virgin page of life, innocent of history or of +interest as a new-blown lily." The problem was difficult, and he had now +quite convinced himself that solution depended on one course alone. "And +why not?" he asked himself. "Why, when pleasures are offered, shall I +refuse them? God knows Nature is chary enough with her delights. She has +sowed death in me, here in my lungs. I shall bleed away my life some day or +die strangled, unless I anticipate the climax and choose another exit. Why +not take what she throws to me in the meantime?" + +He walked down to the Point, set up his easel and waited, feeling that Joan +had certainly made two pilgrimages since his last visit and little doubting +that she would come a third time. Presently indeed she did, scarcely daring +to raise her eyes, but flushing with great waves of joy when she saw him, +and crying "Mister Jan!" in a triumphant ripple of music from a full heart. +Then the artist rose very boldly and put his arms round her and looked into +her face, while she nestled close to him and shut her eyes with a sigh of +sheer content and thankfulness. She had learned her lesson thoroughly +enough; she felt she could not live without him now, and when he kissed her +she did not start from the caress, but opened her eyes and looked into his +face with great yearning love. + +"Oh, thank the good God you'm comed back agin to me! To think it be awnly +two lil days! An' the time have seemed a hunderd years. I thot 'e was lost +or dead or killed, an' I seed 'e, when I slept, a tossin' over down in the +zawns [Footnote: _Zawns_--Sea caves.] where the sea roars an' makes the +world shake. Oh, Mister Jan, an' I woke screamin', an' mother comed up, an' +I near spoke your name, but not quite." + +"You need not have feared for me, Joan, though I have been very miserable +too, my little sweetheart; I have indeed. I was overworked and worried and +wretched, so I stopped in Newlyn, but being away from you had only taught +me I cannot exist away from you. The time was long and dreary, and it would +have been still worse had I known that you were unhappy." + +"'Tweer wisht days for me, Mister Jan. I be such a poor lass in brains, an' +I could awnly think of trouble 'cause I loved 'e so true. 'Tedn' like the +same plaace when you'm away. Then I thot you'd gone right back to Lunnon, +an' I judged my heart 'ud break for 'e, I did." + +"Poor little blue-eyed woman! Could you really think I was such a brute?" + +"'Twas awnly wan thot among many. I never thot so much afore in my life. +An' I looked 'bout tu; an' I went up to the lil byre, where your things +was, an' peeped in en. But I seed naught of 'e, awnly a gashly auld rat in +a trap. But 'e won't gaw aways like that ag'in, will 'e?" + +"No, no. It was too bad." + +"Coorse I knawed that if all was well with 'e, you'd a done the right +thing, but it 'peared as if the right thing couldn' be to leave me, Mister +Jan--not now, now you be my world like; 'cause theer edn' nothin' or nobody +else in the world but you for me. 'Tis wicked, but t'others be all faded +away; an' faither's nort, an' Joe's nort, alongside o' you." + +He did not answer, and began to paint. Joan's face was far short of looking +its best; there were dark shadows under her eyes and less color than usual +brightened her cheeks. He tried to work, but circumstances and his own +feelings were alike against him. He was restless and lacked patience, nor +could his eye see color aright. In half an hour he had spoiled not a little +of what was already done. Then he took a palette-knife, made a clean sweep +of much previous labor and began again. But the music of her happy voice +was in his blood. The child had come out of the valley of sorrow and she +was boisterously happy and her laughter made him wild. Mists gathered in +his eyes and his breath caught now and again. Passion fairly gripped him by +the throat till even the sound of his own voice was strange to him and he +felt his knees shake. He put down his brushes, turned from the picture, and +went to the cliff-edge, there flinging himself down upon the grass. + +"I cannot paint to-day, Joan; I'm too over-joyed at getting you back to me. +My hand is not steady, and my Joan of paint and canvas seems worse and +feebler than ever beside your flesh and blood. You don't know--you cannot +guess how I have missed you." + +"Iss fay, but I can, Mister Jan, if you felt same as what I done. 'Tweer +cruel, cruel. But then you've got a many things an' folks to fill up your +time along with; I abbun got nothin' now but you." + +"I expect Joe often thinks about you." + +"I dunnaw. 'Tis awful wicked, but Joe he gone clean out my mind now. I thot +I loved en, but I was a cheel then an' I didn't 'sackly knaw what love was; +now I do. 'Twadden what I felt for Joe Noy 'tall; 'tis what I feels for +you, Mister Jan." + +"Ah, I like to hear you say that. Nature has brought you to me, Joan, my +little jewel; and she has brought Jan to you. You could not understand that +last time I told you; now you can and you do. We belong to each other--you +and I--and to nobody else." + +"I'd be well content to belong to 'e, Mister Jan. You'm my good fairy, I +reckon. If I could work for 'e allus an' see 'e an' 'ear 'e every day, I +shouldn' want nothin' better'n that." + +Then it was that the shade of a compunction and the shadow of a regret +touched John Barron; and it cooled his hot blood for a brief moment, and he +swore to himself he would try to paint her again as she was. He would fight +Nature for once and try if pure intellect was strong enough to get the face +he wanted on to the canvas without the gratification of his flesh and +blood. In which determination glimmered something almost approaching to +self-sacrifice in such a man. He did not answer Joan's last remark, but +rose and went to his picture, and she, thinking herself snubbed by his +silence after her avowal, grew hot and uncomfortable. + +"The weather is going to change, sweetheart," he said, allowing himself the +luxury of affectionate words in the moment of his half-hearted struggle; +"the weather-glass creeps back slowly. We must not waste time. Come, Joan; +we are the children of Nature, but the slaves of Art. Let me try again." + +But she, who had spoken in all innocence and with a child's love, was +pained that he should have taken no note of her speech. She was almost +angry that he had power to conjure such words to her lips; and yet the +anger vanished from her mind quickly enough and her thoughts were all happy +as she resumed her pose for him. + +The past few days had vastly deepened and widened her mental horizon; and +now Barron for the first time saw something of what he wanted in her eyes +as she gazed away over the sea and did not look at him as usual. There, +sure enough, was the soul that he knew slept somewhere, but had never seen +until then. And the sight of it came as a shock and swept away his +sophistries and ugly-woven ideas. Inclination had told him that Nature, +through one channel only, would bring the mystery of hidden thought to +Joan's blue eyes, and he had felt well satisfied to believe it was so; but +now even the plea of Art could not excuse the thing which had grown within +him of late, for experiences other than those he dreamed of had glorified +the frank blue eyes and brought mind into them. Now it only remained for +him to paint them if he could. Not wholly untroubled, but never much more +beautiful than that morning, Joan gazed out upon the remote sea. Then the +thoughtful mood passed, and she laughed and babbled again, and the new-born +beauty departed from her eyes for a season, and the warm blood raced +through her veins, and she was all happiness. Meanwhile nothing came of his +painting and he was not sorry when she ended the ordeal. + +"The bwoats be comin' back home along, Mister Jan. I doan't mark faither's +yet, but when 'tis wance in sight he'll be to Newlyn sooner'n me. So I'd +best be gwaine, though it edn' more than noon, I s'pose. An' my heart's a +tidy sight lighter now than 'tweer issterday indeed." + +"I'm almost afraid to let you go, Joan." + +She looked at him curiously, waiting for his bidding, but he seemed moody, +and said no more. + +"When be you comin' next?" + +"To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow, my pearl above price. It is so +hard, so very hard," he answered. "Fine or wet I shall be here to-morrow, +for I am not going back to Newlyn again till my work is done. Three more +sittings, Joan, if you have enough patience--" + +"In coorse, Mister Jan." + +She did not explain to him what difficulties daily grew in the way of her +coming, how rumor was alive, and how her stepmother had threatened more +than once to tell Gray Michael that his wayward daughter was growing a +gadabout. Joan had explained away her roaming with a variety of more or +less ingenious lies, and she always found her brain startlingly fertile +where the artist and his picture were concerned. She felt little doubt that +three more visits to Gorse Point might be achieved--ay, and thirty more if +necessary. But afterward? What would follow the painting of the picture? +She asked herself the question as he kissed her, with a kiss that was +almost rough, while he bid her go quickly; and the former reply to every +doubt made answer. Her fears fled as usual before the invigorating +spectacle of this sterling, truth-loving man. With him all the future +remained and with him only. Hers was the pleasant, passive task of +obedience to one utterly trusted and passionately loved. Her fate lay +hidden in his heart, as the fate of the clay lies hid in the brain of the +potter. + +And so home she went, walking in a sunshine of her own thoughts. The clouds +were gone; they massed gloomily on the horizon of the past; but looking +forward, she saw no more of them. All time to come was at the disposition +of the wisest man she had ever met. She did not know or guess at the battle +which this same wise man had fought and lost under her eyes; she gathered +nothing of the truth from his gloom, his silence, his changed voice, his +sudden farewell. She did not know passion when she saw it; and the ugly +visible signs thereof told no tale to her. + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +STORM + + +That night the change came and the wind veered first to the south, then to +the southwest. By morning, gray clouds hid the sky and hourly grew darker +and lower. As yet no rain fell, but the world had altered, and every +light-value, from an artist's standpoint, was modified. + +John Barren sat by his stove in the byre, made himself a cup of black +coffee, and presently, wrapped in a big mackintosh, walked out to Gorse +Point. His picture he left, of course, at the shed, for painting was out of +the question. + +Nature, who had been smiling so pleasantly in sunshine these many days, now +awoke in a grim gray mood. The sea ran high, its white foam-caps and ridges +fretting the rolling volume of it; the luggers fought their way out with +buried noses and laboring hulls; rain still held off, but it was coming +quickly, and the furze and the young grasses panted for it on Gorse Point. +Below the cliffs a wild spirit inhabited the sea fowl, and they screamed +and wheeled in many an aerial circle, now sliding with motionless +outstretched wing upon the gathering gale, now beating back against it, now +dancing in a fleet and making music far away in the foam. Upon the beach +the dry sand whipped round in little whirls and eddies where wind-gusts +caught it; the naked rocks poked shining weed-covered heads out of a low +tide, and the wet white light of them glimmered raw through the gray tones +of the atmosphere. Now and then a little cloud of dust would puff out from +the cliff-face where the wind dislodged a dry particle of stone or mould; +elsewhere Barren saw the sure-rooted samphire and tufts of sea-pink, +innocent of flowers as yet; and sometimes little squeaking dabs of down +might also be observed below where infant gulls huddled together in the +ledges outside their nests and gazed upon a condition of things as yet +beyond their experience. + +Joan came presently to find the artist looking out at the sea. + +"You ban't gwaine to paint, I s'pose, 'cause o' this ugly fashion weather?" +she said. + +"No, sweetheart! All the gold has gone out of the world, and there is +nothing left but lead and dross. See how sharp the green is under the gray, +and note the clearness of the air. Everything is keen and hard upon the eye +to-day; the sky is full of rain and the sea is a wild harmony in gray and +silver." + +"Iss, the cleeves be callin' this marnin'. 'Tis a sort o' whisper as comes +to a body's ear, an' it means that the high hills knaws the rain is nigh. +An' they tell it wan to t'other, and moans it mournful over the valleys +'pon the wind. 'The storm be comin', the storm be comin',' they sez." + +The south and west regions of distance blackened as they sat there on the +cliff, and upon the sea separate heavy gusts of wind roughened up the +hollows of the waves. Which effect seen from afar flickered weirdly like a +sort of submarine lightning shivering white through dark water. Presently a +cloud broke, showing a bank of paler gray behind, and misty silver arrows +fell in broad bands of light upon the sea. They sped round, each upon the +last, like the spokes of a gigantic wheel trundling over the world; then +the clouds huddled together again and the gleam of brightness died. + +"You'm wisht this marnin', Mister Jan. You abbun so much as two words for +me. 'Tis 'cause you caan't paint your picksher, I reckon." + +He sighed and took her hand in his. + +"Don't think that, my Joan. Once I cared nothing for you, everything for my +picture; now I care nothing for my picture, everything for you. And the +better I love you, the worse I paint you. That's funny, isn't it?" + +"Iss, 'tis coorious. But I'm sure you do draw me a mighty sight finer than +I be. 'Tis wonnerful clever, an' theer edn' no call to be sad, for no man +else could a done better, I lay." + +He did not answer, and still held her hand. Then there came a harder breath +of wind with a sob of sound in it, while already over the distant sea swept +separate gray curtains of rain. + +"It's coming, Joan; the storm. It's everywhere, in earth and air and water; +and in my blood. I am savage to-day, Joan, savage and thirsty. What will be +the end of it?" + +He spoke wildly, like the weather. She did not understand, but she felt his +hand clinch tightly over hers, and, looking at the white thin fingers +crooked round her wrist, they brought to her mind the twisted claws of a +dead sea-gull she remembered to have found upon the beach. + +"What will be the end of it, Joan? Can't you answer me?" + +"Doan't 'e, Mister Jan; you'm hurtin' my hand. I s'pose as a sou'westerly +gale be comin'. Us knaws 'em well enough in these paarts. Faither reckoned +theer was dirty weather blawin' up 'fore he sailed. He was away by +daylight. The gales do bring trouble to somebody most times." + +"What will be the end of us, I mean, not of the weather? The rain will come +and the clouds will melt, and we know, as sure as God's in heaven, that we +shall see sunshine and blue sky again. But what about our storm, Joan; the +storm of love that's burst in my heart for you--what follows that?" + +His question frightened her. She had asked herself the same and been well +content to leave an answer to him. Here he was faced with a like problem +and now invited her to solve it. + +"I dunnaw. I thot such love never comed to no end, Mister Jan. I thot +'tweer good to wear; but--but how do I knaw if you doan't?" + +"You trust me, Joan?" + +"Why, who should I trust, if 'tweern't you? I never knawed any person else +as set such store 'pon the truth. I doan't s'pose the cherrybims in heaven +loves it more'n what you do." + +"Here's the rain on the back of the wind," he said. + +A few heavy drops fell, cold as ice upon his burning face, and Joan laughed +as she held out her hand, on which a great splash as big as a shilling had +spread. + +"That be wan of Tregagle's tears," she said, "an' 'tis the voice of en as +you can hear howlin' in the wind. He's allus a bawlin' an' squealin', poor +sawl, but you can awnly hear en now an' again 'fore a storm when the gale +blaws his hollerin' this way." + +"Who was Tregagle?" + +"He was a lawyer man wance, an' killed a many wives, an' did a many +shameful deeds 'fore he went dead. Then, to Bodmin Court, theer comes a law +case, an' they wanted Tregagle, an' a man said Tregagle was the awnly +witness, and another said he wadden. The second man up an' swore 'If +Tregagle saw it done, then I wish to God he may rise from's graave and come +this minute.' Then, sure enough, the ghost of Tregagle 'peared in the +court-house an' shawed the man was a liar. But they couldn' lay the ghost +no more arter; an' it was a devil-ghost, which is the worstest kind; an' it +stuck close to thicky lyin' man an' wouldn' leave en nohow. But at last a +white witch bound the spirit an' condemned it to empty out Dosmery Pool wi' +a crogan wi' a hole in it. A crogan's a limpet shell, which you mightn't +knaw, Mister Jan. Tregagle, he done that party quick, an' then he was at +the man again; but a passon got the bettermost of en an' tamed en wi' +Scripture till Tregagle was as gentle as a cheel. Then they set en to work +agin an' bid en make a truss o' sand down in Gwenvor Cove, an' carry it +'pon his shoulder up to Carn Olva. Tregagle weer a braave time doin' that, +I can 'sure 'e, but theer comed a gert frost wan winter, an' he got water +from the brook an' poured it 'pon the truss o' sand, so it froze hard. Then +he carried it up Carn Olva; an' then, bein' a free spirit agin, he flew off +quicker'n lightning to that lyin' man to tear en to pieces this time. But +by good chance, when Tregagle comed to en, the man weer carryin' a lil +baaby in's arms--a lil cheel as had never done a single wicked act, bein' +tu young; so Tregagle couldn' do no hurt. An' they caught en again, an' +passon set en 'pon another job: to make a truss o' sand in Whitsand Bay +wi'out usin' any fresh water. But Tregagle caan't never do that; so he +cries bitter sometimes, an' howls; an' when 'e howls you knaw the storm's a +comin' to scatter the truss o' sand he's builded up." + +Barron followed the legend with interest. Tregagle and his victim and the +charm of the pure child that saved one from the other filled his thought +and the event to which Fate was now relentlessly dragging him. He argued +with himself a little; then the rain came down and the wind leaped like a +lion over the edge of the land, and the man's blood boiled as he breathed +ocean air. + +"Us'll be wetted proper. I'll run for it, Mister Jan, an' you'd best to go +up-long to your lil lew house. Wet's bad for 'e, I reckon." + +"No," he said, "I can't let you go, Joan. Look over there. Another flood is +going to burst, I think. Follow me quickly, quickly." + +The rain came slanting over the gorse in earnest, but Joan hesitated and +hung back. Louder than the wind, louder than the cry of the birds, than the +howling of Tregagle, than the calling of the cleeves, spoke something. And +it said "Turn, on the wing of the storm; fly before it, alone. Let this man +walk in the teeth of the gale if he will; but you, Joan Tregenza, follow +the wind and set your face to the east, where the sole brightness now left +in the sky is shining." + +Sheets of gray swept over them; the world was wet in an instant; a little +mist of water splashed up two inches high off the ground; the gorse tossed +and swayed its tough arms; the sea and the struggling craft upon it +vanished like a dream; from the heart of the storm cried gulls, themselves +invisible. + +"Come, Joan, we shall be drowned." + +He had wrapped her in a part of the mackintosh, and laughed as he fastened +them both into it and hugged her close to himself. But she broke away, +greatly fearing, yet knowing not what she feared. + +"I reckon I'd best run down fast. Indeed an' I want to go." + +"Go? Where? Where should you go? Come to me, Joan; you shall; you must. We +two, sweetheart--we two against the rain and the wind and the world. Come! +It will kill me to stand here, and you don't want that." + +"But--" + +"Come, I say. Quicker and quicker! We two--only we two. Don't make me +command you, my priceless treasure of a Joan. Come with me. You are mine +now and always. Quicker and quicker, I say. God! what rain!" + +Still she hesitated and he grew angry. + +"This is folly, madness. Where is your trust and belief? You don't trust, +nor love, nor--" + +"Doan't 'e say that! Never say that! It edn' true. You'm all to me, an' you +knaws it right well, an' I'll gaw to the world's end with 'e, I will--ay, +an' trust 'e wi' my life!" + +He moved away and she followed, hastening as he hastened. Unutterable +desolation marked the spot. Life had vanished save only where sheep +clustered under a bank with their tails to the weather, and long-legged +lambs blinked their yellow eyes and bleated as the couple passed. Despite +their haste the man and the girl were very wet before reaching the shelter +of the byre. Rain-water dribbled off his cap on to his hot face and his +feet were soaking. Joan was breathless with haste; her draggled skirts +clung to her; and the struggle against the storm made her giddy. + +So they reached the place of shelter; and the gale burst over it with a +great, crowning yell of wind and hurtle of rain. Then John Barren opened +the byre door and Joan Tregenza passed in before him; whereupon he followed +and shut the door. + +A loose slate clattered upon the roof, and from inside the byre it sounded +like a hand tapping high above the artist's bed of brown fern--tapping some +message which neither the man nor the girl could read--tapping, tapping, +tapping tirelessly upon ears wholly deaf to it. + + + + + + +BOOK TWO + +NATURE + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +AN INTERVAL + + +For a week the rain came down and it blew hard from the west. Then the +weather moderated, and there were intervals of brightness and mild, damp +warmth that brought a green veil trembling over the world like magic. The +elms broke into a million buds, the pear trees in sunny corners put forth +snowy flowers; the crimson knobs of the apple-blossom prepared to unfold. +In the market gardens around and about Newlyn the plums were already +setting, the wallflowers, which make a carpet of golden-brown beneath the +fruit-trees in many orchards, were velvety with bloom; the raspberry canes, +bent hoop-like in long rows, beautifully brightened the dark earth with +young green; and verdure likewise twinkled even to the heart of the +forests, to the stony nipples of the moor's vast, lonely bosom. So spring +came, heralded by the thrush; borne upon the wings of the western wind. And +then followed a brief change with more heavy rains and lower temperature. + +The furzes on Gorse Point were a scented glory now--a nimbus of gold for +the skull of the lofty cliff. Here John Barren and Joan Tregenza had met +but twice since the beginning of the unsettled weather. For her this period +was in a measure mysterious and strange. Centuries of experience seemed to +separate her from the past, and, looking backward, infinite spaces of time +already stretched between what had been and what was. Now overmuch sorrow +mingled with her reflections, though a leaven of it ran through all--a +sense of loss, of sacrifice, of change, which flits, like the shadow of a +summer cloud, even through the soul of the most deeply loving woman who +ever opened her eyes to smile upon the first day-dawn of married life. But +Joan's sorrow was no greater than that, and little unquiet or uneasiness +went with it. She had his promises; from him they could but be absolute; +and not a hundred attested ceremonies had left her heart more at ease. In +fact she believed that John Barren was presently going to marry her, and +that when he vanished from Newlyn, she, as the better-loved part of +himself, would vanish too. It was the old, stale falsehood which men have +told a hundred thousand times; which men will go on telling and women +believing, because it is the only lie which meets all requirements of the +case and answers its exact purpose effectively. Age cannot wither it, for +experience is no part of the armor of the deceived, and Love and Trust have +never stopped to think since the world began. + +As for the artist, each day now saw him slipping more deeply, more +comfortably back into the convolutions of his old impersonal shell. He had +been dragged out, not unwilling, by a giant passion, and he had sacrificed +to it, sent it to sleep again, and so returned. He felt infinitely kind to +Joan. A week after her visit to the linhay he, while sitting alone there, +had turned her picture about on the easel, withdrawn its face from the wall +and studied his work. And looking, with restored critical faculty and cold +blood, he loved the paint for itself and deemed it very good. The storm was +over, the transitory lightnings drowned lesser lights no more, and that +steady beacon-flame of his life, which had been merged, not lost, in the +fleeting blaze, now shone out again, steadfast and clear. Such a revulsion +of feeling argued well for the completion of his picture, ill for the model +of it. + +They sat one day, as the weather grew more settled, beside a granite +bowlder, which studded the short turf at the extremity of Gorse Point, +where it jutted above the sea. Joan, with her chin upon her hands, looked +out upon the water; Barron, lying on a railway-rug, leaned back and smoked +his pipe and studied her face with the old, keen, passionless eagerness of +their earliest meetings. + +"When'll 'e tell me, Jan love? When'll 'e tell me what 'e be gwaine to do? +Us be wan now--you an' me--but the lines be all the lovin'est wife can +p'int to in proof she _be_ a wife. Couldn't us be axed out in church +purty soon?" + +He did not make immediate answer, but only longed for his easel. There, in +her face, was the wistful, far-away expression he had sighed for; a measure +of thought had come to the little animal--her brains were awake and her +blue eyes had never looked liked this before. Joan asked the question +again, and Barren answered. + +"The same matter was in my own mind, sweetheart. I am in a mighty hurry +too, believe it. You are safe with your husband, Joan. You belong to me +now, and you must trust the future with me. All that law demands to make us +man and wife it shall have; and all religion clamors for as well, if that +is a great matter to you. But not here--in this Newlyn. I think of you when +I say that, Joan, for it matters nothing to me." + +"Iss. I dunnaw what awful sayin's might go abroad. Things is all contrary +to home as 'tis. Mother's guessed part an' she tawld faither I weer gwaine +daft or else in love wi' some pusson else than Joe. An' faither was short +an' sharp, an' took me out walkin', an' bid me bide at home an' give over +trapsin' 'bout. An' 'e said as 'ow I was tokened to Joe Noy an' bound by +God A'mighty to wait for en if 'twas a score years. But if faither had +knawed I weer never for Noy, he'd a' said more'n that. I ban't 'feared o' +faither now I knaws you, Jan, but I be cruel 'feared o' bein' cussed, +'cause theer's times when cusses doan't fall to the ground but sticks. +'Twouldn' be well for the likes o' you to have a ill-wished, awver-luked +body for wife. An' if faither knawed 'bout you, then I lay he'd do more'n +speak. So like's not he'd strike me dead for't, bein' that religious. But +you must take me away, Jan, dear heart. I'm yourn now an' you must go on +lovin' me allus, 'cause theer'll never be nobody else to not now. I've +chose you an' gived 'e myself an' I caan't do no more." + +He listened to her delicious voice, and shut out the crude words as much as +might be while he marked the music. He was thinking that if Joan had +possessed a reasonable measure of intellect, a foundation for an education, +he would have been satisfied to keep her about him during that probably +limited number of years which must span his existence. But the gulf between +them was too wide; and, as for the present position, he considered that no +harm had been done which time would not remedy. Joan was not sufficiently +intelligent to suffer long or much. She would forget quickly. She was very +young. Her sailor must return before the end of the year. Then he began to +think of money, and then sneered at himself. But, after all, it was natural +that he should follow step by step upon the beaten track of similar events. +"Better not attempt originality," he thought, "for the thing I have done is +scarce capable of original treatment. I suppose the curtain always rings +down on a check--either taken or spurned." + +"So you think you can give them all up for poor me, Joan? Your home, your +father, brother, mother--all?" + +"I've gived up a sight more'n them, Jan. I've gived 'e what's all to a +maiden. But my folks weern't hard to give up. 'Tis long since they was +ought to me now. I gaws an' comes from the cottage an' sez, all the time, +'this ban't home no more. Mister Jan's home be mine,' I sez to myself. An' +each time as I breaks bread, an' sleeps, an' wakes, an' looks arter +faither's clothes I feels 'tis wan time nigher the last. They'll look back +an' think what a snake 'twas they had 'bout the house, I s'pose. Mother'll +whine an' say, 'Ah! 'er was a bitter weed for sartain,' an' faither'll +thunder till the crocks rattle an' bid none dare foul the air wi' my name +no more. But I be wearyin' of 'e wi' my clackin', Jan, dear heart?" + +"Not so, Joan--never think that. I could listen to you till Doomsday. Only +we must act now and talk presently. I know you're tired of the picture, and +you were cross last time we met because I could speak of it; but I must for +a moment more. It cries out to be finished. A few hours' good work and +all's done. The weather steadies now and the glass is rising, so our +sittings may begin in a day or two. Let me make one last, grand struggle. +Then, if I fail, I shall fling the picture over this cliff, and my palette +and brushes after it. So we will keep our secret a little longer. Then, +when the picture is made or marred, away we'll go, and by the time they +miss you from your old home you will be half way to your new one." + +But she did not heed the latter part of his remarks, for her thoughts were +occupied with what had gone before. + +"'Pears, when all's said, you'd sooner have the picksher Joan than the real +wan. 'Tis all the picksher an' the picksher an' the picksher." + +This was not less than the truth, but of course he blamed her for so +speaking, and said her words hurt him. + +"'Tis this way," she said, "I've larned so much since I knawed 'e, an' I be +like as if I was woke from a sleep. Things is all differ'nt now; but 'tis +awnly my gert love for 'e as makes me 'feared sometimes 'cause life's too +butivul to last. An' the picksher frights me more'n fancy, 'cause, +seemin'ly, theer's two Joans, an' the picksher Joan's purtier than me. +'Er's me, but better'n me. 'Er's allus bright an' bonny; 'er's never +crossed an' wisht; 'er 'olds 'er tongue an' doan't talk countrified same as +me. Theer'll never be no tears nor trouble in her eyes; she'll bring 'e a +name, an' bide purty an'--an' I hates the picksher now, so I do." + +Barron listened with considerable interest to these remarks. There was +passion in Joan's voice as she concluded, and her emotion presently found +relief in tears. She only uttered thoughts long in her mind, without for an +instant guessing the grim truth or suspecting what his work was to the man; +yet, things being as they were, she felt some real passing pain to find him +devote so much thought to it. Before the storm his painting had sunk to +insignificance, since then it began to grow into a great matter again; and +Joan was honestly jealous of the attention the artist bestowed upon it now. +If she had dared, she would have asked him to destroy it; but something +told her he would refuse. No fear for the future was mingled with this +emotion. Only his mighty interest in the work annoyed her. It was a natural +petty jealousy; and when John Barron laughed at her and kissed her tears +away, she laughed too and felt a little ashamed, though none the less glad +that she had spoken. + +But while he flung jests at her anger, Barron felt secretly surprised to +note the strides his Awdrey's mind was making. Much worth consideration +appeared in her sudden attack upon the picture. She had evidently been +really reflecting, with coherence and lucidity. That astonished him. But +still he answered with a laugh. + +"Jealous, Joan! Jealous of yourself--of the poor painted thing which has +risen from the contents of small tubes smeared over a bit of canvas! My +funny little dear delight! Will you always amuse me, I wonder? I hope you +will. Nobody else can. Why, the gorse there will grumble next and think I +love my poor, daubed burlesque of its gold better than the thing itself. If +I find pleasure in the picture, how much the more must I love the soul of +it? You see, I'm ambitious. You are quite the hardest thing I ever found to +paint, and so I go on trying and trying. Hard to win and hard to paint, +Joan." + +She stretched out her hands to him and shook her head. + +"Not hard to win, Jan. Easy enough to win to you. I ne'er seed the likes o' +you in my small world. Not hard to win I wasn't." + +"You won't refuse me a few more sittings, then, because you have become my +precious wife?" + +"In coorse not. An' I'm so sorry I was cranky. I 'dedn' mean what I said +ezacally." + +To-day, coming fresh to his ear after a week's interval, after several days +spent with cultured friends and acquaintances in Newlyn, Joan's rustic +speech grated more painfully than usual. Once he had found pleasure in it; +but he was not a Cornishman to love the sound of those venerable words +which sprinkled Joan's utterances and which have long since vanished from +all vocabularies save those of the common people; and now her language +began to get upon his nerves and jar them. He was tired of it. Often, while +he painted, she had prattled and he, occupied with his work, had heard +nothing; but to-day he recognized the debt he owed and listened patiently +for a considerable time. Her deep expectancy irritated him too. He had +anticipated that, however, and was aware that her trust and confidence in +him were alike profound. Perhaps a shadow of fear, distrust or uneasiness +had pleased him better. He was snugly back in his tub of impersonality from +which he liked to view the fools' show drift pass. His last experiment in +the actively objective had ruined a girl and promised to produce a fine +picture. And that was the end of it. No fellow-creature could ever share +this cynic's barrel with him. + +Presently Joan departed upon her long tramp home. She had gone to convey a +message to one of Thomasin Tregenza's friends at Paul. And when the girl +left him, with a promise to come at all costs upon the next sunny morning, +Barron began to think about money again. He found that the larger the +imaginary figures, the smaller shadow of discomfort clouded his thoughts. +So he decided upon an act of princely generosity, as the result of which +resolve peace returned and an unruffled mind. For the musty conventionality +of his conclusion, it merely served as a peg upon which to hang thoughts +not necessary to set down here. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +THE PARTING + + +Joan had only told her lover a part of what happened in her home when +Thomasin broke her suspicions to Gray Michael. He had taken the matter very +seriously indeed, delivered a stern homily and commanded his daughter to +read the Book of Ecclesiasticus through thrice. + +"'The gad-about is a vain thing and a mighty cause for stumblin'.' You mind +that, an' take better care hencefarrard to set a right example to other +maids an' not lead 'em wrong. Theer shan't be no froward liver under this +roof, Joan Tregenza, an' you, as be my awn darter's the last I'd count to +find wanderin'." + +She lied as to particulars. She had no fear of her father now as a man, but +hard words always hurt her, and superstition, though she was fast breaking +from many forms of it under Barron's tuition, still chained her soul in +some directions. Did her father know even a shadow of the truth, some dire +and blasting prediction would probably result from it, and though +personally he was little to her now, as a mouthpiece of supernatural powers +he might bring blighting words upon her; for he walked with God. But +Michael's God was Joan's no more. She had fled from that awful divinity to +the more beautiful Creator of John Barron. He was kind and gentle, and she +loved to hear His voice in the hum of the bees upon the gorse and see His +face everywhere in the fair on-coming of spring. Nature, as she understood +it now, chimed with the things her mother had taught Joan. She found room +for all the old, pretty stories in this new creed. The dear saints fitted +in with it, and their wonders and mysteries, and the comprehensive if vague +knowledge that "God is Love." She believed she understood the truth about +religion at last; and Nature smiled very sweetly at her and shared in the +delight of the time. So she walked dreaming on toward the invisible door of +her fool's paradise, and never guessed how near it was or what Nature would +look like from the other side. + +She still dwelt at the little home on the cliff, so unreal and shadowy now; +she built cloud castles ablaze with happiness; she found falsehood not +difficult, for her former absolute truthfulness deadened her stepmother's +suspicion. Certain lies told at home enabled her to keep faith with the +artist; and the weather also befriending him, three more sittings in speedy +succession brought John Barron to the end of his labors. After Joan's +exhibition of jealousy he was careful to say little about his work and +affect no further interest in it. He let her chatter concerning the future, +told her of his big house in London, and presently took care to drop hints +from time to time that the habitation was by no means as yet ready to +receive his bride. She always spoke on the assumption that when the picture +was done he would leave for London and take her with him. She already +imagined herself creeping off to join him at the station, sitting beside +him in the train, and then rolling away, past Marazion, into the great +unfamiliar world which lay beyond. And he knew that no such thing would +happen. He intended that Joan should become a pleasant memory, with the +veil of distance and time over it to beautify what was already beautiful. +He wanted to remember the music of her throbbing voice, and forget the +words it used to utter. The living girl's part was played and ended. Their +lives had crossed at right angles and would never meet again. "Nature makes +a glorious present to Art, and I am privileged to execute the deed of +gift," thought Barron; "that is the position in an epigram." He felt very +grateful to Joan. He knew her arm must have ached often enough, but whether +her heart would presently do so he hardly felt qualified to judge. The +incidents of that stormy day might have been buried in time ten years, so +faint was his recollection of them now. He remembered the matter with no +greater concern than the image of the shivering negresses in the blue water +at Tobago. + +And so the picture, called "Joe's Ship," was finished, and while it fell +far short of what Barron had hoped, yet he knew his work was great and the +best thing he had done. A packing case for the canvas was already ordered +and he expected it upon the identical day that saw his farewell to Joan. + +Bit by bit he had broken to her that it was not his intention to take her +with him, but that he must go to his house alone and order things in +readiness. Then he would come back and fetch her. And she had accepted the +position and felt wondrous sad at the first meeting with Barren after the +completion of the picture. It seemed as though a great link was broken +between them, and she realized now what folly her dislike of his work had +been. + +"I wish I could take you right away with me, Joan, my little love; but a +bachelor's house is a comfortless concern from a woman's point of view. You +will hear from me in a day or two. You must call at the post-office in +Penzance for letters, because I shall not send them here." + +"You'll print out what you writes big, so's I doan't miss nort, won't 'e?" + +"I'll make the meaning as clear as possible, Joan." + +"'Tis wisht to think as theer'll be hunderds o' miles 'twixt us. I doan't +know how I be gwaine to live the days out." + +"Only a fortnight, remember." + +"Fourteen whole days an' nights." + +"Yes, indeed. It seems a terribly long time. You must comfort me, +sweetheart, and tell me that they will be very quickly done with." + +Joan laughed at this turning of the tables. + +"I reckon a man's allus got a plenty things to make time pass for en. But +'tis different wi' a gal." + +She trusted him as she trusted God to lift the sun out of the eastern sea +next morning and swing it in its solemn course over heaven. And as there +was no fear of danger and no shadow of distrust upon her, Joan made a +braver parting than her lover expected. + +"Some men are coming to see my picture presently," he said, very gently. "I +expect my sweet Joan would like to be gone before they arrive." + +She took the hint, braced her heart for the ordeal, and rose from where +they had been sitting on Gorse Point. She looked dreamily a moment at the +furzes and the place whereon she had stood so often, then turned to the man +and came close and held up four little spring lilies which she had brought +with her. Her voice grew unsteady, but she mastered it again and smiled at +him. + +"I brot these for 'e, dear Jan. Us calls 'em butter-an'-eggs, 'cause o' the +colors, I s'pose. They'm awnly four lil flowers. Will 'e keep 'em? An'--an' +give me summat as I can knaw's just bin in your hand, will 'e? 'Tis +fulishness, dear heart, but I'm thinkin' 'twould make the days a dinky bit +shorter." + +He took the gift, thought a moment, and gave her a little silver ring off +his finger. Then he kissed her, pressed her close to him and said +"good-by," asking God to bless her, and so forth. + +With but a few tears rebelling against her determination, Joan prayed good +upon his head, repaid the caress, begged him for his love to come quickly +back again, then tore herself away, turned and hastened off with her head +held bravely up. But the green fields swam and the sea danced for her a +moment later. The world was all splashed and blotched and misty. "I'll be +braave like him," she thought, smothering the great sobs and rubbing her +knuckles into her eyes till she hurt them. But she could not stem the +sorrow in a moment, and, climbing through a gap in the hedge, she sat down, +where only ewes and lambs might see, and cried bitterly a while. And so +weeping, a sensation, strange, vague, tremendous, came into her being; and +she knew not what it meant; but the mystery of it filled her with great +awe. "'Tis God," she said to herself, "'tis God's hand upon me. He've +touched me, He've sealed me to dear, dear Jan. 'Tis a feelin' to bring +happiness along with it, nor sorrer." She battled with herself to read the +wonder aright, and yet at the bottom of her heart was fear. Then physical +sensations distracted her; she found her head was aching and her body +feeling sick. Truly the girl had been through an ordeal that day, and so +she explained her discomfort. "I be wivvery an' wisht along o' leavin' en," +she said; "oh! kind, good God A'mighty, as hears all, send en back to me, +send en back to me very soon, for I caan't live wi'out en no more." + +As for the man, he sighed when Joan disappeared; and the expiration of +breath was short and sharp as the sound of a key in a lock. He had in truth +turned the key upon a diary to be opened no more; for the sweetness of the +closed chapter was embalmed in memory, blazoned on canvas. Yet there was +bitterness, too, of a sort in his sigh, and the result of this sunken +twinge at his heart appeared when Brady, Tarrant and one or two other +artists presently joined him. They saw their companion was perturbed, and +found him plunged into a black, cynic fit more deeply than usual. He spared +no subject, no individual, least of all himself. + +Paul Tarrant--a Christian painter, already mentioned--was the first to +find fault with Barron's picture. The rest had little but praise for it, +and Brady, who grew madly enthusiastic, swore that "Joe's Ship" was the +finest bit of work that ever went out of Cornwall. But Tarrant cherished a +private grievance, and, as his view of art and ethics made it possible for +him, from his standpoint, to criticise the picture unfavorably in some +respects, he did so. It happened that he had recently finished a curious +work for the Academy: a painting called "The Good Shepherd." It represented +a young laboring man with a face of rare beauty but little power, plodding +homeward under setting sunlight. Upon his arm he bore a lamb, and behind +his head the sinking sun made a glorious nimbus. Barron had seen this work, +admired some of the painting, but bluntly sneered at the false sentiment +and vulgar parade of religious conviction which, as he conceived, animated +the whole. And now, the other man, in whose heart those contemptuous words +still rankled, found his turn had come. He had bitterly resented Barron's +sarcastic reference to those holy things which guided his life; there was +something of feminine nature in him too; so he did not much regret the +present opportunity. + +"And you, Tarrant? This gives you scant pleasure--eh?" asked Barron. + +"It is very wonderful painting, but there's nothing under the paint that I +can see." + +"Nothing but the canvas--in so far at least as the spectator is concerned. +Every work of art must have a secret history only known to its creator." + +"What the divil d'you mean, Paul?" asked Brady. + +"You know what I mean well enough," answered the first speaker coldly. "My +views are not unfamiliar to any of you. Here is a thing without a soul--to +me." + +"God! you say that! You can look at those eyes and say that?" + +"I admire the painting, but _cui bono_? Who is the better, the wiser? +There is nothing under the paint." + +"You are one of those who turn shadows into crosses, clouds into angels. Is +it not so?" asked Barron smiling; and the other fired at this allusion to +his best known picture. + +"I am one of those who know that Art is the handmaid of God," he answered +hotly. "I happen to believe in Jesus Christ, and I conceive that no picture +is worthy to be called great or worthy of any Christian's painting unless +it possess some qualities calculated to ennoble the mind of those who see. +Art is the noblest labor man can employ time upon. The thing comes from +God; it is a talent only to be employed in the highest sense when devoted +to His glory." + +"Then what of heathen art? You let your religion distort your view of +Nature. You sacrifice truth to a dogma. Nature has no ethics. You profess +to paint facts and paint them wrong. You are not a mystic; that we could +understand and criticise accordingly. You try to run with the hare and hunt +with the hounds. You talk about truth and paint things not true." + +"From your standpoint possibly. Yours is the truth of naturalism; mine is +the truth of Faith." + +"If you are going to entrench yourself behind Faith, I have done, of +course. Only, don't go about saying, as you did just now, that Art is the +noblest labor man can employ time upon. That's bosh, pure and simple. There +are some occupations not so noble, that is all. Art is a heathen and always +will be, and you missionary-men, with a paint-brush in one hand and a Bible +in the other, are even worse than certain objectionable literary +celebrities, whose novels reek of the 'new journalism' and the Sermon on +the Mount--the ridiculous and sublime in tasteless combination. You +missionaries, I say, sap the primitive strength of Art; you demoralize her. +To dare to make Art pander to a passing creed is vile--worse than the +spectacle of the Salvation Army trying to convert Buddhists. That I saw in +India, and laughed. But we won't quarrel. You paint Faith's jewelry; I'll +amuse myself with Truth's drabs and duns. The point of view is all. I +depict pretty Joan Tregenza looking over the sea to catch a glimpse of her +sweetheart's outward-bound ship. I paint her just as I saw her. There was +no occasion to leave out or put in. I reveled in a mere brutal transcript +of Nature. You would have set her down by one of the old Cornish crosses +praying to Christ to guard her man. And round her you would have wrought a +world of idle significance. You would have twisted dogma into the flowers +and grass-blades. The fact that the girl happened to be practically +brainless and a Luke Gospeler would not have weighed with you a moment." + +"I'm weary of the old cant about Nature," said Tarrant. "You're a +naturalist and a materialist. That ends it. There is no possibility of +argument between us." + +"Would the man who painted that gorse cant?" burst out Brady. "Damn it all, +Tarrant, if a chap can teach us to paint, perhaps he can teach us something +else as well. Look at that gorse, I tell you. That's the truth, won with +many a wrestle and heartache, I'll swear. You know as well as I do what +went to get that, and yet you say there's nothing behind the paint. That's +cant, if you like. And as to your religious spirit, what's the good of +preaching sermons in paint if the paint's false? We're on it now and I'll +say what I believe, which is that your 'Good Shepherd' is all wrong, apart +from any question of sentiment at all. Your own party will probably say +it's blasphemous, and I say it's ridiculous. You've painted a grand sky and +then ruined it with the subject. Did you ever see a man's head bang between +you and a clear setting sun? Any way, that figure of yours was never +painted with a sunset behind him, I'll swear." + +"You can't paint truth as you find it and preach truth as you believe it on +the same canvas if you belong to any creed but mine," said Barron calmly. +"You build on the foundations of Art a series of temples to your religious +convictions. You blaze Christianity on every canvas. I suppose that is +natural in a man of your opinions, but to me it is as painful as the +spectacle of advertisements of quack nostrums planted, as you shall see +them, beside railway lines--here in a golden field of buttercups, there +rising above young barley. Of course, I don't presume to assert that your +faith is a quack nostrum; only real Art and Religion won't run in double +harness for you or anybody. They did once, but the world has passed beyond +that point." + +"Never," answered Tarrant. "We have proof of it. Souls have been saved by +pictures. That is as certain as that God made the earth and everything on +it." + +"There again! Every word you speak only shows how difficult it is for us to +exchange ideas. Why is it so positively certain that God made the earth and +everything on it? To attribute man's origin direct to God is always, in my +mind, the supreme proposition of human conceit. Did it need a God to +manufacture you or me or Brady? I don't think so. Consider creation. I +suppose if an ant could gauge the ingenuity of a steam engine, he would +attribute it without hesitation to God, but it happens that the steam +engine is the work of a creature--a being standing somewhere between God +and the ant, but much nearer the latter than the former. You follow me? +Even Tarrant will admit, for it is an article of his creed, that there +exist many beings nearer to God than man. They have wings, he would tell +us, and are eternal, immortal, everlasting." + +"I see," said Brady, "you're going to say next that faulty concerns like +this particular world are the work of minor intelligences. What rot you can +talk at times, old man!" + +"Yet is it an honor to God Almighty that we attribute the contents of this +poor pill of a planet to Him? I think it would be an insult if you ask me. +Out of respect to the Everlasting, I would rather suppose that the earth, +being by chance a concern too small for His present purposes, He tosses it, +as we toss a dog a bone, to some ingenious archangel with a theory. Then +you enjoy the spectacle of that seraph about as busy over this notable +world as a child with a mud pie. The winged one sets to work with a will. A +little pinch of life; develops under his skillful manipulation; evolution +takes its remorseless course through the wastes of Time until--behold! the +apotheosis of the ape at last. Picture that well-meaning but muddle-headed +archangel's dismay at such a conclusion! All his theories and conceits--his +splendid scheme of evolution and the rest--end in a mean but obstinate +creature with conscious intelligence and an absolute contempt and disregard +for Nature. This poor Frankenstein of a cherub watches the worm he has +produced defy him and refuse absolutely to obey his most fundamental +postulates or accept his axioms. The fittest survive no more; these +gregarious, new-born things presently form themselves into a pestilential +society, they breed rubbish, they--" + +"By God! stop it, John," said Murdoch. "Now you're going too far. Look at +Tarrant. He'd burn you over a slow fire for this if he could. Speak for +yourself at any rate, not for us." + +"I do," answered the other bitterly. "I speak for myself. I know what a +poor, rotten cur I am physically and mentally--not worth the bread I eat to +keep me alive. And shall I dare say that God made me?" + +"But what's the end of this philosophy of despair, old chap?" asked Brady; +"what becomes of your worst of all possible planets?" + +"The end? Dust and ashes. My unfortunate workman, having blundered on for +certain millions of years tinkering and patching and improving his dismal +colony, will give the thing up; and God will laugh and show him the +mistakes and then blot the essay out, as a master runs his pen through the +errors in a pupil's exercise. The earth grows cold at last, and the herds +of humanity die, and the countless ages of agony and misery are over. Yes, +the poor vermin perish to the last one; then their black tomb goes whirling +on until it shall be allowed to meet another like itself, when a new sun +shines in heaven and space is the richer by one more star." + +"May God forgive you for your profanity, John Barren," said Tarrant. "That +He places in your hand such power and suffers your brain to breed the +devil's dung that fills it, is to me a mystery. May you live to learn your +errors and regret them." + +He turned away and two men followed him. Conversation among those who +remained reverted to the picture; and presently all were gone, excepting +only Barren, who had to wait and see his work packed. + +Remorse will take strange shapes. His bitter tirade against his environment +and himself was the direct result of this man's recent experiences. He knew +himself for a mean knave in his dealings with an innocent girl and the +thought turned the aspect of all things into gall. + +Solitude brought back a measure of peace. The picture was packed and +started to Penzance railway-station, while Barron's tools also went, by +pony-cart, back to his rooms in Newlyn. He was to leave upon the following +morning with Murdoch and others who were taking their work to the +Exhibitions. + +Now he looked round the cow-byre before locking it for the last time and +returning the key to Farmer Ford's boy, who waited outside to receive it. +"The chapter is ended," he said to himself. "The chapter which contains the +best thing that ever I did, and, I suppose, the worst, as morals have it. +Yet Art happily rises above those misty abstractions which we call right +and wrong. She resembles Nature herself there. Both demand their +sacrifices. 'The white martyrdom of self-denial, the red martyrdom of +blood--each is a thousand times recorded in the history of painting and +will be a thousand times again." + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +THE ACT OF FAITH + + +So John Barren set forth, well content to believe that he would never again +visit Cornwall, and Joan called at the Penzance post-office on the morning +which followed his departure. Her geographical knowledge was scanty. Truro +and Plymouth, in her belief, lay somewhere upon the edge of the world; and +she scarcely imagined that London could be much more remote. + But no letter awaited her, and life grew to be terribly empty. For a week +she struggled with herself to keep from the post-office, and then, nothing +doubting that her patience would now be well rewarded, Joan marched off +with confidence for the treasure. But only a greater disappointment than +the last resulted; and she went home very sorrowful, building up +explanations of the silence, finding excuses for "Mister Jan." The prefix +to his name, which had dropped during their latter intimacy, returned to +her mind now the man was gone: as "Mister Jan" it was that she thought +about him and prayed for him. + +The days passed quickly, and when a fortnight stood between herself and the +last glimpse of her lover, Joan began to grow very anxious. She wept +through long nights now, and her father, finding the girl changed, guessed +she had a secret and told his wife to find it out. But it was some time +before Thomasin made any discovery, for Joan lied stoutly by day and prayed +to God to pardon by night. She strove hard to follow the teaching of the +artist, to find joy in flowers and leaves, in the spring music of birds, in +the color of the sea. But now she dimly guessed that it was love of him +which went so far to make all things beautiful, that it was the magic and +wisdom of his words which had gilded the world with gold and thrown new +light upon the old familiar objects of life. Nature's organ was dumb now +that the hands which played upon it so skillfully had passed far away. But +she was loyal to her teacher; she remembered many things which he had said +and tried hard to feel as he felt, to put her hand in beautiful Mother +Nature's and walk with her and be at peace. Mister Jan would soon return; +the fortnight was already past; each day as she rose she felt he might come +to claim her before the evening. + +And, meanwhile, other concerns occupied her thoughts. The voice which spoke +to her after she bid John Barren "good-by," had since then similarly +sounded on the ear of her heart. Alike at high noon and in the silence of +the night watches it addressed her; and the mystery of it, taken with her +other sorrows, began to affect her physically. For the first time in her +life the girl felt ill in body. Her appetite failed, dawn found her sick +and weary; her glass told her of a white, unhappy face, of eyes that were +lighted from within and shone with strange thoughts. She was always +listening now--listening for the new voice, that she might hear the word it +uttered. Her physical illness she hid with some cunning and put a bright +face upon life as far as she could do so before those of her home; but the +task grew daily more difficult. Then, with a period of greatly increased +discomfort, Joan grew alarmed and turned to the kind God of "Mister Jan," +and made great, tearful praying for a return of strength. Her petition was +apparently granted, for the girl enjoyed some improvement of health and +spirit. Whereupon she became fired with a notable thought, and determined +to seek her patron saint where still she suspected his power held sway: at +the little brook which tinkles along beside the ruins of St. Madron's +chapel in a fair coomb below the Cornish moorlands. The precious water, as +Joan remembered, had brought strength and health to her when a baby; and +now the girl longed to try its virtues again, and a great conviction grew +upon her that the ancient saint never forgot his own little ones. +Opportunity presently offered, and through the first misty gray of a +morning in early April, she set out upon her long tramp from Newlyn through +Madron to the ruined baptistery. + +St. Madron, or Padern, lived in the sixth century, somewhat earlier than +Augustine. A Breton by birth, he labored chiefly in Wales, established a +monastery on Brito-Celtic lines in Cardiganshire, and became its bishop +when a see was established in that district. He traveled far, visited +Mount's Bay and established the church of Madron, still sacred to his name, +while doubtless the brook and chapel hard by were associated with him from +the same period. In Scawen's time folk were wont to take their hurts +thither on Corpus Christi evening, drink of the water, deposit an offering, +and repose upon the chapel floor till dawn. Then, drinking again, they +departed whole, if faith sufficiently mighty had supported them. Norden +remarks of the water that "its fame was great for the supposed vertue of +healinge, which St. Maderne had thereunto infused; and maine votaries made +anuale pilgrimages unto it...." In connection with the custom of immersion +here indicated, we find there obtained the equally venerable practice of +hanging votive rags upon the thorn bushes round about the chapel. This +conceit is ancient as Japan, and one not only in usage to this day among +the Shintoists of that land, but likewise common throughout Northern Asia +and, nearer home, in the Orkneys, in Scotland, in Ireland. Older far than +Christianity are these customs; the megalithic monuments of the pagan +witness similar practices in remote corners of the earth; rag-trees, +burdened with the tattered offerings of the devout, yet stud the desert of +Suez, and those who seek shall surely find some holy well or grave hard at +hand in every case. To mark and examine the junction of these venerable +fancies with Christian superstition is no part of our present purpose, but +that ideas, pagan in their birth, have lent themselves with sufficient +readiness to successive creeds and been knit into the dogmas of each in +turn, is certain enough. Thus, through Cornwall, the imaginings of wizard +and wonder-worker in hoary time come, centuries later, to be the glory and +special power of a saint. Such fantastic lore was definitely interdicted in +King Edgar's reign, when "stone worshipings, divinations, well worshipings +and necromances" were proclaimed things heathen, and unhallowed; but with +the advent of the Saint-Bishops from Wales, from Ireland, from Brittany, +primitive superstitions were patched upon the new creed, and, to suit +private purposes, the old giants of the Christian faith sanctified holy +well and holy stone, posing by right divine as sure dispensers of the +hidden virtue in stream and granite. But the roots of these fables burrow +back to paganism. Hundreds of weakly infants were passed through +Mên-an-tol--the stone with a hole or the "crick-stone"--in the names of +saints; and hundreds had already been handed through it centuries before +under like appeal to pagan deities. + +Of Madron baptistery, now a picturesque ruin, it seems clear that until the +Reformation regular worship and the service of baptism were therein +celebrated. The place has mercifully escaped all restoration or renovation +and stands at this moment open to the sky in the slow hand of Time. A brook +runs babbling outside, but the holy well or colymbethra is now dry, though +it might easily be filled again. This interesting portion of the chapel +remains intact, and the entrance to it lies upon the level of the floor +according to ancient custom, being so ordered that the adult to undergo +baptism might step down into the water, and that not without dignity. + +Hither came Joan. Her patchwork of faith and Nature-worship was a live +thing to her now, and she found no difficulty in reconciling the sweet +saint-stories heard in childhood from her dead mother's lips, with the +beautiful and fair exposition of truth which "Mister Jan" found written +large upon the world by Nature in spring-time. + +It was half-past four o'clock when she trudged through Madron to see the +gray church and the little gray houses all sleeping under the gray sky. She +plodded on up the hill past the gaunt workhouse which stands at the top of +it; and what had seemed soft, sweet repose among the cottage homes, felt +like cold death beneath these ashy walls. To Joan, the workhouse was a word +of shame unutterable. Those among whom she lived would hurl the word +against enemies as a prophecy of the utmost degradation. She shivered as +she passed, and was sad, knowing that a whole world of poverty, failure, +sorrow, regret, was hidden away in that cold, still pile. But the hand of +sleep lay softly there; only a sick soul or two stirred, the paupers were +the equal of princes till a hoarse bell brought them back out of blessed +unconsciousness. + +Bars of light streaked the east, and Joan, only stopping at the hill crest +to see dawn open silver eyes on the sea, hastened inland through silent, +dewy fields. Presently a fence and wall cut civilization from the wild land +of the coomb, and the girl proceeded where grass-grown cart-ruts wound +among furze and heather and the silver coils of new-born bracken just +beginning to peep up above the dead fern of last year. This hollow ran +between undulations of fallow and meadow; no harrow clinked as yet; only +the cows stood here and there above the dry patches on the dewy fields +where their bodies had lain in sleep. She saw their soft eyes and smelled +the savor of them. Presently the cart-ruts disappeared in fine grass all +bediamonded, knobbed with heather, sprouting rusty-red, and sprinkled with +tussocks of coarser grass, whereon green blades sprang up above the dead +ones, where they struggled, matted and bleached and sere. Rabbits flashed +here and there, the white under-side of their little scuts twinkling +through the gorse; and then the birds woke up; a thrush sang low, sleepy +notes from the heart of a whitethorn; yellowhammers piped their mournful +calls from the furze. On Joan's left hand there now rose a clump of +wind-worn beech-trees, their brown spikes breaking to green, even where +dead red leaves still clung to the parent branches. Beneath them ran a +hedge of earth above a deep pool or two, very clear and fringed with young +rushes, upright and triumphant above the old dead ones. Everywhere Joan saw +Life trampling and leaping, growing and laughing over the ruins of things +that had lived and died. It saddened her a little. Did Nature forget so +soon? Then she told herself that kind Nature had loved them and gloried in +them too; and now she would presently bury all her dead children in +beautiful graves of new green. The mosses and marsh were lovely and the +clear pools full of living creatures. But these things were not +saint-blessed and eternal. No spring fed these silent wells, no holy man of +old had ever smiled upon them. + +A stepping-stone by a wall lay before her now; this she crossed, heard the +stream murmuring peace, and hastened, and presently stood beside it. Here +were holy ground and water; here were peace and a place to pray in. Blue +forget-me-nots looked wondering up, seeing eyes as blue as their own, and +she smiled at them and drank of the ripples that ran at their roots. Gray +through the growing haze of green, a ruined wall showed close to the girl. +The blackthorns' blooms were faded around her, the hawthorn was not yet +powdered with white. She cast one look to right and left before entering +the chapel. A distant view of the moorland rose to the sky, and the ragged +edge of the hills was marked by a gaunt engine-stack noting past +enterprise, triumphs long gone by, ruined hopes but recently dead. Snug +fox-covers of rhododendron swept up toward the head of the coomb; and +below, distant half a mile or more, cottages already showed a glimmer of +gold on their thatches where the increasing splendor of day brightened +them, and morning mists were raising jeweled arms. Then Joan passed into +the ruin through that narrow opening which marks the door of it. The +granite walls now stand about the height of a man's shoulder and the +chamber itself is small. Stone seats still run round two sides of it; ivy +and stone-worts and grasses have picked the mortar from the walls and +clothed them, even as emerald moss and gray lichens and black and gold +glorify each piece of granite; a may-bush, tangled about a great shiny +ivy-tod, surmounts the western walls above the dried well; furzes and +heather and tall grasses soften the jagged outlines of the ruin, and above +a stone altar, at the east end of it, rises another white-thorn. At this +season of the year the subsequent floral glories of the little chapel were +only indicated: young briers already thrust their soft points over the +stone of the altar and the first leaves of foxgloves were unfolding, with +dandelions and docks, biting-stone-crop and ferns, ragged-robins and wild +geraniums. These infant things softened no outline yet. The flat paving of +the floor, where it yet remained, was bedded in grass; a little square +incision upon the stone of the altar glimmered full of water and reflected +the light from fleecy clouds which now climbed into heaven, bearing sunrise +fires upward over a pale blue sky. + +Here, under the circumambient, sparkling clearness, coolness and silence, +Joan stood with strange medley of thoughts upon her soul. The saints and +the fairies mingled there with visions of Nature, always smiling, with a +vague shadow of one great God above the blue, but dim and very far away; +and a nearer picture which quickened her heart-beat: the picture of "Mister +Jan." Here she felt herself at one with the world spread round her. The +mother eyes of a blackbird, sitting upon her eggs in the ivy-tod, kept +their bright gold on Joan, but showed no fear; the young rabbits frisked at +hand; a mole poked his snout and little paddle-paws out of the grass; all +was peace and happiness, it seemed, with the voice of good St. Madron +murmuring love in his brooklet at hand. + +Joan knelt down by the old altar and bowed her head there and prayed to +Nature and to God. At first merely wordless prayers full of passionate +entreaty rose to the Throne; then utterance came in a wild simple throng of +petitions; and all her various knowledge, won from her mother and John +Barren, found a place. Pan and Christ might each have heard and listened, +for she called on the gods of earth and heaven from a heart that was full. + +"Kind Mother o' the flowers, doan't 'e forget a poor maiden what loves 'e +so dear. I be sad an' sore-hearted 'cause things is bad wi' me now Mister +Jan's gone; an' I knaws as I've lied an' bin wicked 'bout Joe, but, kind +Mother, I awnly done what Mister Jan, as was wise an' loved me, bid. Oh, +God A'mighty, doan't 'E let en forget me, 'cause I've gived up all--all the +lil I had for en, an' Nature made me as I be. Oh, kind God, make me happy +an' light-hearted an' strong agin, same as the lil birds an' sich like is +happy an' strong; an' forgive me for all my sins an' make me well for +Mister Jan, an' clever for Mister Jan, so's I'll be a fine an' good wife to +en. An' forgive me for lyin', 'cause what I done was Nature, 'cordin' to +Mister Jan; an' Nature's kind to young things, 'cordin' to Mister Jan; an' +I be young yet. An' make me a better lass, for I caan't abear to feel as I +do; an' make me think o' the next world arter this wan. But, oh, dear God, +make me well an' braave agin, for 'tis awful wisht for me wi'out Mister +Jan; an' make Mister Jan strong too. I be all in a miz-maze and doan't knaw +wheer to turn 'cept to Nature, dear Lard. Oh, kind God A'mighty, lemme have +my angel watchin' over me close, same as what mother used to say he did +allus. An' bring Mister Jan back long very quick, 'cause I'm nothin' but +sadness wi'out en. An', dear St. Madern, I ax 'e to bless me same as you +done when--when I was a lil baaby, 'cause I be gwaine to bathe in your +brook, bein' a St. Madern cheel. Oh, dear, good God o' all things, please +to help me an' look to me, 'cause I be very sad, an' I never done no harm +to none, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen." + +Then she said the Lord's Prayer, because her mother had taught her that no +human petition was ever heard unless accompanied by it. And it seemed as +though the lark, winding upward with wide spiral to his song-throne in the +sky and tinkling thin music on the morning wind, was her messenger: which +thought was beautiful to Joan and made her heart glad. + +Never had she looked fairer. Her blue eyes were misty, but the magic of +prayer, the glory of speaking straight to the Father of all, call Him what +she might, had nobly fortified her sinking spirit. Peace brooded in her +soul then, and faith warmed her blood. She was sure her prayer would be +answered; she was certain that her health and her loved one would both come +back to her. And she stood by the altar and smiled at the golden morning, +herself the fairest thing the sun shone upon. + +Having peeped shyly about her, Joan took off her clothes, placed them on +the altar-stones, shook down her hair, and glided softly to the stream. At +one point its waters caught the sunshine and babbled over white sand +between many budding spikes of wild parsley and young fronds of fern. Naked +and beautiful the girl stood, her bright hair glinting to her waist, all +rippled with the first red gold of the morning, her body very white save +where the sun and western wind had browned both arms and neck; her form +innocent as yet of the mystery hid for her in Time. Joan's fair limbs spoke +of blood not Cornish, of days far past when a race of giants swept up from +behind the North Sea to tread a new earth and take wives of the little dark +women of the land, abating the still prevalent nigrescence of the Celt with +Saxon eyes and hair, adding their stature and their strength to races +unborn. A sweet embodiment of all that was lovely and pure and fresh, she +looked--a human incarnation of youth and springtime. + +There was a pool deeper than the general shallowness of the stream which +served for Joan's bath, and she entered there, where soft white sand made +pleasant footing for her toes, where more forget-me-nots twinkled their +turquoise about the margin, where shining gorse towered like a sentinel +above. + +She suffered the holy water to flow over every inch of her body, and then, +rubbing her white self red and glowing with the dead brake fern of last +year and squeezing the water out of her hair, Joan quickly dressed again +and prepared to depart. She was about to leave a fragment torn from her +skirt hanging by the chapel, but changed her mind, and getting a splinter +of granite, rough-edged, she began to chip away a tress of her own bright +hair, sawing it off upon the stone table as best she could. Like a fallen +star it presently glimmered in the thorn bush above St. Madron's altar +where she wound the little lock, presently to bring gold to the nests and +joy to the heart of small feathered folk. + +Joan walked home with the warm blood racing in her veins, roses on her +cheeks and the glory of hope in her eyes. Already she felt her prayers were +being heard; already she was thanking God for heeding her cry, and St +Madron for the life-giving waters of his holy stream. Thee, where finches +chattered and fluttered forward, breakfasting together in pleasant company, +a shadow and a swift, strong wing flashed across Joan's sight--and a hawk +struck. The little people shrieked, a few gray feathers puffed here and +there, and one spark of life was blown out that other sparks might shine +the brighter. For presently Joan's kind "Mother o' the flowers" watched the +beaks of fledgeling hawks grow red, and the parent bird of prey's cold eyes +brightened with satisfaction; as will every parent eye brighten at the +spectacle of baby things eating wholesome food with hearty appetite. + +The death of the small fowl clouded the pilgrim's thoughts, but only for a +moment. Sentiment and emotion had passed; now she was eager with delicious +physical hunger and longing for her breakfast. The girl had not felt so +well or so happy for a considerable time. Half her prayer, she told +herself, was answered already; and the other half, relating to "Mister +Jan," would doubtless meet with similar merciful response ere many hours +had flown. + +So joyfully homeward out of dreamland into a world of facts Joan hastened. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +A THOUSAND POUNDS + + +A glad heart shortens the longest road, and Joan, whose return journey from +the holy well was for the most part downhill, soon found herself back again +in Penzance. The fire of devotion still actuated her movements, and she +walked fearlessly, doubting nothing, to the post-office. There would be a +letter to-day; she knew it; she felt it in her consciousness, as a +certainty. And when she asked for it and mentioned her name, she put her +hand out and waited until the sleepy-eyed clerk rummaged through a little +pile of letters standing together and tied with a separate string. She +watched him slowly untie them and scan the addresses, grumbling as he did +so. Then he came to the last of all and read out: + +"'Miss Joan Tregenza, Post-Office, Penzance. To be left until called for.'" + +"Mine, mine, sir! I knawed 'e'd have it! I knawed as the kind, good--" + +Then she stopped and grew red, while the clerk looked at her curiously and +then yawned. "What's a draggle-tailed chit like her got to do with such a +thing?" he wondered, and then spoke to Joan: + +"Here you are; and you must sign this paper--it's a registered letter." + +Joan, her hand shaking with excitement, printed her name where he directed, +thanked the man with a smile that softened him, and then hastened away. + +The girl was faint with hunger and happiness before she reached home. She +did not dare to open the letter just then, but took it from her pocket a +dozen times before she reached Newlyn and feasted her eyes on her own name, +very beautifully and legibly printed. He had written it! His precious hand +had held the pen and formed each letter. + +Deep, wordless thanks welled up in Joan's heart, for God was not very far +away, after all. He had heard her prayer already, and answered it within an +hour. No doubt it was easy for Him to grant such a little prayer. It could +be nothing much to God that one small creature should enjoy such happiness; +but what seemed wonderful was that He should have any time to listen at +all, that He should have been able to turn from the mighty business of the +great awakening world and give a thought to her. + +"Sure 'twas the lil lark as the good Lard heard, an' my asking as went +up-long wi' en," said Joan to herself. + +She found her father at home and the family just about to take breakfast. +Gray Michael had returned somewhat unexpectedly, with a fine catch, and did +not intend sailing again before the evening tide. A somewhat ominous +silence greeted the girl, a silence which her father was the first to +break. + +"Ayte your food, my lass, an' then come in the garden 'long with me," he +said. "I do want a word with 'e, an' things must be said which I've put off +the sayin' of tu long. So be quick's you can." + +But this sauce did not spoil the girl's enjoyment of her porridge and +treacle. She ate heartily, and her happy humor seemed catching, at least so +far as Tom was concerned. A bright color warmed Joan's cheek; the cloud +that had dimmed her eyes was there no longer; and more than once Mr. +Tregenza looked at his wife inquiringly, for the tale she had been telling +of Joan's recent moods and disorder was at variance with her present +spirits and appetite. After breakfast she went to her room while her father +waited; and then it was that Joan snatched a moment to open John Barron's +letter. There would be no time to read it then, she knew: that delicious +task must take many hours of loving labor; but she wanted to count the +pages and see "Mister Jan's" name at the end. She knew that crosses meant +kisses, too. There might be crosses somewhere. So she opened the envelope +in a fever of joyous excitement, being careful, however, not to tear a +letter of the superscription. And from it there came a fat, folded pile of +tissue paper. Joan knew it was money, and flung it on her bed and fumbled +with sinking heart for something better. But there was nothing else--only +ten pieces of tissue-paper. She remembered seeing her father with similar +pieces; and her mother saying there was nothing like Bank of England notes. +But they had been crumpled and dirty, these were snowy white. Each had a +hundred pounds marked upon it; and Joan was aware that ten times a hundred +is a thousand. But a thousand pounds possessed no more real meaning for her +than a million of money does for the average man. She could not estimate +its significance in the least or gauge its possibilities. Only she knew +that she would far rather have had a few words from "Mister Jan" than all +the money in the world. + +Mr. Tregenza's voice below broke in upon the girl's disappointment, and, +hastily hiding the money under some linen in a little chest of drawers, +where the picture of Joe's ship was also concealed, she hurried to join her +father. But the empty envelope, with her name printed on it, she put into +her pocket that it might be near her. + +Joan did not for an instant gather what meaning lay under this great gift +of money, and to her the absence of a letter was no more than a passing +sorrow. She read nothing between the lines of this silence; she only saw +that he had not forgotten, and only thought that he perhaps imagined such +vast sums of money would give her pleasure and make the waiting easier. +What were banknotes to Joan? What was life to her away from him? She +sighed, and fell back upon the thought of his wisdom and knowledge. He must +be in the right to delay, because he was always in the right. A letter +would presently come to explain why he had sent the money and to treat of +his return. The girl felt that she had much to thank God for, after all. He +had sent her the letter; He had answered her prayer in His own way. It ill +became her, she thought, to question more deeply. She must wait and be +patient, however hard the waiting. + +So thinking, she joined her father. Tom was away up the village, Mrs. +Tregenza found plenty to occupy her mind and body indoors; Joan and Mr. +Tregenza had the garden to themselves. He was silent until they reached the +wicket, then, going through it, he led the way slowly up a hill which wound +above the neighboring stone quarry; and as he walked he addressed Joan. +She, weary enough already, prayed that her parent intended going no further +than the summit of the hill; but when he spoke she forgot physical fatigue, +for his manner was short and stern. + +"Theer's things bein' hid 'twixt you an' me, darter, an' 'tis time you +spoke up. Every parent's got some responsibility in the matter of his +cheel's sawl, an', if theer's aught to knaw, 'tis I must hear it. 'The +faither waketh for the darter when no man knaweth,' sez the Preacher, an' +he never wrote nothin' truer. I've waked for you, Joan. 'Keep a sure watch +over a shameless darter,' sez the Preacher agin; but God forbid you'm that. +Awnly you'm allus wool-gatherin', an' roamin', an' wastin' time. An' time +wance squandered do never come agin. I hear tell this has been gwaine +forrard since Joe went to sea. What's the matter with 'e? Say it out plain +an' straight an' now this minute." + +Joan had particularly prayed by the Madron altar that the Everlasting would +keep her from lying. She remembered the fact as her father put his +question; and she also recollected that John Barron had told her to say +nothing about their union until he returned to her. So she lied again, and +that the more readily because Gray Michael's manner of asking his question +put a reasonable answer into her head. + +"I s'pose as it might be I'm wisht 'cause o' Joe Noy, faither." + +"Then look 'e to it an' let it cease. Joe's in the hand o' the Lard same as +we be. He's got to work out his salvation in fear an' tremblin' same as us. +Some do the Lard's work ashore, some afloat, some--sich as me--do it by +land an' sea both. You doan't work Joe no good trapsing 'bout inland, here, +theer, an' everywheers; an' you do yourself harm, 'cause it makes 'e oneasy +an' restless. Mendin' holes an' washin' clothes an' prayin' to the Lard to +'a' mercy on your sinful sawl's what you got to do. Also learnin' to cook +'gainst the time you'm a wife an' the mother o' childern, if God so wills. +But this ban't no right way o' life for any wan, gentle or simple, so mend +it. A gad-about, lazy female's hell-meat in any station. Theer's enough of +'em as 'tis, wi'in the edge o' Carnwall tu. What was you doin' this +marnin'? Mother sez 'er heard you stirrin' 'fore the birds." + +"I went out a long walk to think, faither." + +"What 'e want to think 'bout? Your plaace is to du, not to think. God'll +think for 'e if 'e ax; an' the sooner you mind that an' call 'pon the +A'mighty the better; 'cause the Devil's ready an' willin' to think for 'e +tu. Read the Book more an' look about 'e less. Man's eyes, an' likewise +maid's, is best 'pon the ground most time. Theer's no evil writ theer. The +brain of man an' woman imagineth ill nearly allus, for why? 'Cause they +looks about an' sees it. Evil comes in through the eyes of 'em; evil's +pasted large 'pon every dead wall in Newlyn. Read the Book--'tis all summed +up in that. You've gotten a power o' your mother in 'e yet. Not but you've +bin a good darter thus far, save for back-slidin' in the past; but I saved +your sawl then, thanks be to the voice o' God in me, an' I saved your +mother's sawl, though theer was tidy wraslin' for her; an' I'll save yourn +yet if you'll do your paart." + +Here Gray Michael paused and turned homeward, while Joan congratulated +herself upon the fact that a conversation which promised to be difficult +had ended so speedily and without misfortune. Then her father asked her +another question. + +"An' what's this I hear tell 'bout you bein' poorly? You do look so well as +ever I knawed 'e, but mother sez you'm that cranky with vittles as you +never was afore, an' wrong inside likewise." + +"Ban't nothin', faither. 'Tis awver an' done. I ate tu much or some sich +thing an' I be bonny well agin now." + +"Doan't be thinkin' then. 'Tis all brain-sickness, I'll lay. I doan't want +no doctor's traade in my 'ouse if us can keep it outside. The Lard's my +doctor. Keep your sawl clean, an' the Lard'll watch your body. 'E's said as +much. 'E knaws we'm poor trashy worms an' even a breath o' foul air'll take +our lives onless 'E be by to filter it. Faith's the awnly medicine worth +usin'." + +Joan remembered her morning bath and felt comforted by this last +reflection. Had she not already found the magic result? For a moment she +thought of telling her father what she had done, but she changed her mind. +Such faith as that would have brought nothing but wrath upon her. + +While Mr. Tregenza improved the hour and uttered various precepts for his +daughter's help and guidance, Thomasin was occupied at home with grave +thoughts respecting Joan. She more than suspected the truth from signs of +indisposition full of meaning to a mother; but while duly mentioning the +girl's illness, Mrs. Tregenza did not dare to breathe the color of her own +explanation. She prayed to God in all honesty to prove her wrong, but her +lynx eyes waited to read the truth she feared. If things were really so +with Joan, then they could not be hid from her eyes much longer; and in the +event of her suspicions proving correct, Mrs. Tregenza told herself, as a +right Luke Gospeler, she must proclaim her horrid discovery and let the +perdition of her husband's daughter be generally made manifest. She knew so +many were called, so few chosen. No girl had ever been more surely called +than Joan: her father's trumpet tongue had thundered the ways of +righteousness into her ears from her birth; but, after all, it began to +look as though she was not chosen. The circumstance, of course, if proved, +would rob her of every Luke Gospeler's regard. No weak pandering with +sentiment and sin was permitted in that fold. And Mrs. Tregenza had little +pity herself for unfortunate or mistaken women. Let a girl lose her +character and Thomasin usually refused to hear any plea of mercy from any +source. Only once did she find extenuating circumstances: in a case where a +ruined farmer's daughter brought an action for breach of promise and won +it, with heavy damages. But money acted in a peculiar way with this woman. +It put her conscience and her judgment out of focus, softened the outlines +of events, furnished excuses for unusual practices, gilded with a bright +lining even the blackest cloud of wrongdoing. Where Mrs. Tregenza could see +money she could see light. Money made her charitable, broad-minded, even +tolerant. She knew she loved it, and was careful to keep the fact out of +Gray Michael's sight as far as possible. She held the purse, and he felt +that it was in good hands, but cautioned her from time to time against the +awful danger of letting a lust for this world's wealth come between the +soul and God. + +And now a course long indicated in Thomasin's mind was being by her +pursued. Having convinced herself that under the present circumstances any +step to found or dispel her fears concerning Joan would be just and proper, +she took the exceptional one of searching the girl's little room while her +stepdaughter was out with Michael. Even as Mr. Tregenza turned to go +homeward again, his wife stood in the midst of Joan's small sanctuary, and +cast keen, inquiring eyes about her. She rarely visited the apartment, and +had not been in it for six months. Now she came to set doubt at rest if +possible, or confirm it. Her own secret opinion was that Joan had come to +serious trouble with her superiors. In that case letters, presents or +tokens had probably passed into her hands; and, if such existed, in this +room they would be. + +"God send as I'm makin' a mistake an' shaan't find nothin' 'tall," said +Mrs. Tregenza to herself. And then she began her scrutiny. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + THE TRUTH + + +Thomasin saw that all things about Joan's room were neat, spotless, and in +order. For one brief moment a sense of disquiet at the action before her +touched the woman's heart and head; but duty alike to her husband and her +stepdaughter demanded the search in her opinion. Should there be nothing to +find, so much the better; if, on the other hand, matters affecting Joan's +temporal and eternal welfare were here hidden, then they could not be +uncovered too quickly. She looked first through the girl's little wooden +trunk, the key of which was in the lock, but nothing save a childish +treasure or two rewarded Mrs. Tregenza here. In a broken desk, which had +belonged to her mother, Joan kept a few Christmas cards, and two +silhouettes: one of Uncle Thomas, of Drift, one of Mary Chirgwin. Here were +also some cooking recipes copied in her mother's writing, an agate marble +which Joan had found on Penzance beach, lavender tied up in a bag, and an +odd toy that softened Thomasin's heart not a little as she picked it up and +looked at it. The thing brought back to her memory a time four years +earlier. It was a small, grotesque figure on wires, built up of chestnuts +and acorns with a hazel-nut for its head and black pins stuck in for the +eyes. She remembered Tom making it and giving it to Joan on her birthday. +Then the memory of Joan's love for Tom from the time he was born came like +a glow of sunshine into the mother's heart, and for a moment she was minded +to relinquish her unpleasant task upon the spot; but she changed her +intention again and proceeded. The box held little else save a parcel of +old clothes tied up with rosemary in brown paper. These the woman surveyed +curiously, and knew, without being told, that they had belonged to Joan's +mother. For some reason the spectacle killed sentiment and changed her +mood. She shut down the box, and then, going to the chest of drawers, +pulled out each compartment in turn. Nothing but Joan's apparel and her few +brooches and trinkets appeared here. The history of each and all was +familiar to Mrs. Tregenza. But on reaching the bottom drawer of the chest, +she found it locked and the key absent. To continue her search, however, +was not difficult. Nothing separated the drawers, and by removing that +above the last, the contents of the lowest lay at her mercy, It was full of +linen for the most part, but hidden at the bottom, Thomasin made a +discovery, and found certain matters which at once spoke of tremendous +mystery, and, to her mind, indicated the nature of it. First she came upon +the little picture of Joe's ship in its rough gilded frame. This might be +an innocent gift from some of the young men who had asked in the past to be +allowed to paint Joan and received a curt negative from Gray Michael. But +the other discovery meant more. Pushing her hand about the drawer she found +a pile of paper, felt the crackle of it, and pulled it eagerly to the +light. Then, and before she learned the grandeur of the sum, she was seized +with a sudden palpitation and sat down on Joan's bed. Her mouth grew full +as a hungry man's before a feast, her lips were wet, her hand shook as she +opened and spread the notes. Then she counted them and sat gasping like a +landed fish. Thomasin had never seen so much money before in her life. A +thousand pounds! Unlike Joan, to whom the sum conveyed no significance, +Mrs. Tregenza could estimate it. Her mind reached that far, and the +bank-notes, for her, lay just within the estimation of avarice. Every snowy +fragment meant a hundred pounds--a hundred sovereigns--two hundred +ten-shilling pieces. The first shock overpast, and long before she grew +sufficiently calm to associate the treasure with its possessor, Mrs. +Tregenza began spending in her mind's eye. The points in house and garden, +outhouse and sty, whereon money might be advantageously expended, rose up +one after the other. Then she put aside eight hundred and fifty out of the +grand total and pictured herself taking it to the bank. She thought of a +nest-egg that would "goody" against the time Tom should grow into a man; +she saw herself among the neighbors, pointed at, whispered of as a woman +with hundreds and hundreds of pounds put by; she saw the rows of men +sitting basking about in Newlyn, as their custom is when off the sea; and +she heard them drop words of admiration at the sight of her. Presently, +however, this gilded vision vanished, and she began to connect the money +with Joan. She solved the mystery then with a brutal directness which hit +the mark in one direction; as to the source of the money, but went wide of +it in some measure upon the subject of the girl. Thomasin held briefly that +her stepdaughter had fallen, and now, knowing her condition, had informed +some man of it, with the result that from him came this unutterable gift. +That the money made an enormous difference to Mrs. Tregenza's mental +attitude must be confessed. She found herself fashioning absolute excuses +for Joan. Girls so often came to ill through no fault of their own. The man +must at least have been a gentleman to pay for his pleasure in four +figures. Four figures! Here she stopped thinking in order to picture the +vision of a unit followed by three ciphers. Then she marveled as to what +manner of man he was who could send a girl like Joan a thousand pounds. She +never heard of such a price for the value received. Her respect for Joan +began to increase when she realized that the money was hers. Probably there +was even more where that came from. "Anyway," she reflected, "it ban't no +use cryin' ower spilt milk. What's done's done. An' a thousand pounds'll go +long ways to softenin' the road. She might travel up-long to Truro to my +cousin an' bide quiet theer till arter, an' no harm done, poor lass. When +all's said, us knaws the Lard Hissel weer mighty easy wi' the like o' she, +an' worser wenches tu. But Michael--God A'mighty knaws he won't be easy. +She'm a damned wummon, I s'pose, but she's got to live through 'er life +here--damned or saved; an' she's got a thousand pound to do't with. A +terrible braave dollop o' money, sure 'nough. To think 'ow 'ard a man's got +to work 'fore he earns five of 'em!" But her imagination centered upon Gray +Michael now, and she almost forgot the banknotes for a moment. She thought +of his agony and trembled for the result. He might strike Joan down and +kill her. The man's anger against evil-doers was always a terrific thing; +and he had no idea of the value of money. She hazarded guesses at the +course he would pursue, and each idea was blacker than the last. Then +Thomasin fell to wondering what Michael would be likely to do with the +money. She sighed at this thought, and then she grew pale at the imaginary +spectacle of her husband tearing the devil-sent notes to pieces and +scattering them over the cliff to the sea. This horrible possibility stung +her to another train of ideas. Might it be within her power to win Joan's +secret, share it, and keep it from the father? Her pluck, however, gave way +when she looked a little deeper into the future. She would have done most +things in her power for a thousand pounds, but she would not have dared any +treachery to Michael. The woman put the notes together and stroked them and +listened to the rustle of them and rubbed her hard cheek with them. Then, +looking from the little window of Joan's garret, she saw the girl herself +approaching with Mr. Tregenza. They were nearly home again, so Thomasin +returned the money and the picture to their places in the chest of drawers, +smoothed the bed, where she had been sitting for half an hour, and went +downstairs still undetermined as to a course of action. + +Before dinner was eaten, however, she had decided that her husband must +know the truth. Even her desire toward the money cooled before the prospect +of treachery to him. Fear had something to do with this decision, but the +woman's own principles were strong. It is unlikely that in any case they +would have broken down. She sent Joan on an errand to the village after the +meal was ended; and upon her departure addressed her husband hurriedly. + +"You said I was 'mazed to dinner, an' so I was. I've gotten bad news for +'e, Michael, touchin' Joan." + +"No more o' that, mother," he answered, "I've talked wi' she an' said a +word in season. She'm well in body an' be gwaine to turn a new leaf, so +theer's an end o' the matter." + +"'Tedn' so," she declared, "I've bin in the gal's room an' I've found--but +you bide here an' I'll bring 'em to 'e. Hold yourself back, Michael, for us +caan't say nothin' sure till us knaws the truth from Joan." + +"She've tawld me the truth out a walkin' an' I've shawed her the narrer +path. What should you find?" + +"Money--no lil come-by-chance neither; more money than ever you or me seed +in our born days afore or shall agin." + +"You'm dreamin', wummon!" he said. + +"God knaws I wishes it weer so," she answered, and went once more to Joan's +room. + +Gray Michael was walking up and down the kitchen when she returned, and +Thomasin said nothing, but put money and picture upon the table. Her +husband fought with himself a moment, as it appeared, then seemed to pray a +while, standing still with his hand pressed over his eyes, and finally sat +himself down beside the things which Thomasin had brought. + +"I'd no choice but to tell 'e," she said. + +Gray Michael's eyes were on the picture and utter astonishment appeared in +them. + +"Why! 'tis Joe Noy's ship. Us seed her off the islands, outward bound! He +might 'a' gived it her hisself surely?" + +"But t'other thing; the money. Count them notes. Noy never gived Joan +them." + +He spread the parcel, counted the money, and sat back thunderstruck. + +"God in heaven! A thousan' pound, an' notes as never went through no dirty +hands neither! What do it mean?" + +"How should I tell what it means? I found the whole fortune hid beneath her +smickets. Lard knaws how she comed by it. What have the likes o' she to +give for money?" + +"What do 'e mean by that?" he blazed out, rising to his feet and clinching +his fists. + +"Ax your darter. Do 'e think I'd dare to say a word onless I was sartain +sure? You'd smash me, your own wife, if I weer wrong, like enough. I ban't +wrong. Joan's wi' cheel or I never was. Maybe that thraws light on the +money, maybe it doan't. I did pray as it might 'a' comed out to be her man +at sea. But you'll find it weern't. God help 'e, Michael, my heart do bleed +for 'e. Can 'e find it in 'e to be merciful same as the Lard in like case, +or--?" + +He raised his hand to stop her. He was sitting back in his chair with a +face that had grown gray even to the skin, with eyes that looked out at +nothing. There was a moment's silence save for the tall clock in the +corner; then Tregenza brushed beads of water off his forehead and dried his +hand on his trousers. He raised his eyes to the roof and gripped his hands +together on his chest and slowly spoke a text which his wife had heard upon +his lips before, but only at times of deep concern or emotion. + +"'The Lard is king, be the people never so impatient; He sitteth between +the cherubims, be the airth never so unquiet.'" + +Few saw any particular meaning in this quotation applied in moments of +stress, as Michael usually employed it; but to the man it was a supreme +utterance, the last word to be spoken in the face of all the evil and +wickedness of the world. Come what might, God still reigned in heaven. + +He spoke aloud thus far, and afterward, by the movement of his beard and +lip, Thomasin could see he was still talking or praying. + +"Let the Lard lead 'e, husband, in this hard pass," she said. "'Vengeance +is Mine,' the Book sez." + +He turned his eyes upon her. His brows were dragged down upon them; he had +brushed his gray hair like bristles upright on his head; across the mighty +wall of his forehead jagged cross-lines were stamped, like the broken +strata over a cliff-face. + +"Ay, you say it. Vengeance be God's awn, an' mercy be God's awn. 'Tedn' for +no man to meddle wi' them. Us caan't be aught but just. She'll have justice +from me--no more'n that. 'Tis all wan now. Wanton or no wanton, she've +flummoxed me this day. The giglot lied an' said the thing that was not. +She'm not o' the Kingdom--the fust Tregenza as ever lied--the fust." + +"God send it edn' as bad as it do look, master. 'Er caracter belike ban't +gone. S'pose as she'm married?" + +"Hould your clack, wummon. I be thinkin'." + +He was thinking, indeed. In the face of this discovery, the ghost of an +idea, which had haunted Gray Michael's mind more than once during the +upbringing of Joan, returned a greater and more pronounced shadow than ever +before. The conviction carried truth stamped upon it from the standpoint of +his present horrid knowledge. To an outsider his thought had appeared +absolutely devilish, to the man himself it was as a buoy thrown to one +drowning. The belief flooded his mind, swept him away, convinced him. Its +nature presently appeared as he answered Thomasin. She was still thinking +of the thousand pounds. + +"Theer's no word in the Book agin mercy, Michael. Joan's your awn +darter--froward or not froward." + +"You'm wrong theer," he said. He was now cool and quiet. "I did think so +wance; I did tell her so when us walked not two hour agone. Now I sees +differ'nt. She'm none o' mine. She'm no Tregenza. Be Nature, as made us +God-fearin' to a man, to a wummon, to a cheel, gwaine to lie after +generations 'pon generations? Look back at them as bred me, an' them as +bred them--back, an' back, an' back. All Tregenzas was o' the Lard's +harvest; an' should I, as feared God more'n any o' 'em, an' fought for the +Lard of Hosts 'fore I was higher'n this table--should I--Michael Tregenza, +breed a damned sawl? The thot's comed black an' terrible 'pon my mind 'fore +to-day; an' I've put en away from me, judgin' 'twas the devil. Now I knaw +'twas God spoke; now I knaw that her's none o' my gettin'. 'Who honoreth +his faither shall 'a' joy o' his awn childern.' Shall I, as weer a pattern +son, be cussed wi' a strumpet for a darter?" + +"You'm speakin' a hard thing o' dead bones, then. The Chirgwins is upland +folks o' long standin', knawn so far as the Land's End, an' up Drift an' +down Lizard likewise." + +"She've lied to me," was his answer; "she've lied oftentimes; she'm false +to whatever I did teach her; she've sawld herself--she've--no more on +it--no more on it but awnly this: I call 'pon God A'mighty to bear witness +she'm no Tregenza--never--never." + +"'Tweer her mother in the gal; but doan't 'e say more 'bout that, Michael. +Poor dear sawl, she'm dead an' gone, an' she loved 'e wi' all her 'eart, as +I, what knawed her, can testify to." + +"No more o' that," he said, "the gal's comin'. Thank God she ban't no cheel +o' mine--thank God, as 'ave tawld me 'tedn' so. He whispered it, an' I put +it away an' away. Now I knaws. You bide here, Thomasin Tregenza, and I'll +speak what's fittin'." + +Thus in one moment this hideous conviction was stamped upon the man's soul +for life. He judged the dead mother by the daughter and visited the child's +sin upon the parent's memory. Any conclusion more monstrous, more directly +opposed to every natural instinct, can hardly be conceived, but the man had +been strangling natural instincts for fifty years. Only pride of family +remained. There were but few Tregenzas left and soon there would be none +unless Tom carried on the name. Michael was the quintessence of the +Tregenza spirit, the fruit of generations, the high-water mark. He stood on +that giddy pinnacle which has religious mania for its precipice. To damn a +dead woman was easier than to accept a wanton daughter. Better an +unfaithful wife than that any soul born of Tregenza blood should be lost. +So he washed his hands of both, thanking God, who had launched the truth +into his mind at last; and then he rose to his feet as Joan entered the +room. + +She stood for a moment in the doorway with her blue eyes fixed in amazement +upon the kitchen table. Then she grew very red to the roots of her hair and +came forward. There was almost a joy in her mind that the long story of +falsehood must end at last. She did not fear her father now and looked up +into his face quite calmly as she approached the table. + +"These be mine," she said. "Was it you, faither, as took 'em from wheer +they was?" + +"'Twas me, Joan," answered Mrs. Tregenza; "an' I judge the Lard led me." + +The girl stood erect and scornful. + +"I'm glad you found them; now I can tell the truth." + +"Truth!" thundered Michael. "Truth--what do you knaw 'bout Truth, darter o' +Baal? Your life's a lie, your tongue's rotten in your mouth wi' lyin'. +Never look in no honest faace agin!" + +"You'd do best to bide still while I tell 'e what this here means," said +Joan quietly. The man's anger alarmed her no more than the squeak of a +caged rat. "I ban't no darter o' Baal, an' the money's come by honest. I've +lied afore, but never shall again. An' I've let Joe go 'is ways thinkin' I +loved en, which I doan't. I be tokened to a furriner from London, an' he's +took me for his awn, an' he be gwaine to come down-long mighty soon an' +take me away. But I couldn't tell 'e nothin' of that 'cause he bid me keep +my mouth shut. So theer." + +"'Took 'e for 'is awn'! Wheer is he, then? Why be you here?" + +"He'm comin', I tell 'e. He'm a true man, an' he shawed me what 'tis to +love." + +"Bought you, you damned harlot!" + +She knew the word was vile, but a shred of John Barron's philosophy +supported her. + +"My awnly sin is I've lied to you, faither; an' you've no right to call me +evil names." + +"Never call me faither no more, lewd slut! I be no faither o' thine, nor +never was. God A'mighty! a Tregenza a wanton! I'd rather cut my hand off +than b'lieve it so. It's this--this--blood-money--the price o' a damned +sawl! No more lyin'. I knaw--I knaw--an' the picksher--the ship of a true +man. It did ought to break your heart to see it, if you had wan. A +devil-spawned painting feller, in coorse. An' his black heart happy an' +content 'cause he've sent this filth. You stare, wi' your mother's +eyes--you stare, an' stare. Hell's yawning for 'e, wretched wummon, an' for +him as brot 'e to it!" + +"He doan't believe in hell, no more doan't I," said Joan calmly; "an' it +ban't a faither's plaace to damn's awn flaish an' blood no way." + +"Never name me thy faither no more! I ban't your faither, I tell 'e, an' I +do never mean to see thy faace agin. Go wheer you'm minded; but get 'e gone +from here. Tramp the broad road with the crowd--the narrer path's closed +agin 'e. And this--this--let it burn same as him what sent it will." + +He picked up the note nearest to him, crumpled it into a ball and flung it +upon the fire. + +"Michael, Michael!" cried his wife, rushing forward, "for God's love, what +be doin' of? The money ban't damned; the money's honest!" + +But Joan did more than speak. As the gift flamed quickly up, then sunk to +gray ash, a tempest of passion carried her out of herself. She trembled in +her limbs, grew deadly pale, and flew at her father like a tigress. No evil +word had ever crossed her lips till then, though they had echoed in her +ears often enough. But now they jumped to her tongue, and she cursed Gray +Michael and tore the rest of the money out of his hand so quickly that his +intention of burning it was frustrated. + +"It's mine, it's mine, blast you!" she screamed like a fury, "what right +have you to steal it? It's mine--gived me by wan whose shoe you ban't +worthy to latch! He's shawed me what you be, an' the likes o' you, wi' your +hell-fire an' prayin' an' sour looks. I ban't afeared 'o you no more--none +o' you. I be sick o' the smeech o' your God. 'Er's a poor thing alongside +o' mine an' Mister Jan's. I'll gaw, I'll gaw so far away as ever I can; an' +I'll never call 'e my faither agin, s'elp me God!" + +Mrs. Tregenza had thanked Providence under her breath when Joan rescued the +notes, but now, almost for the first time, she realized that her own +interest in this pile of money was as nothing. Every penny belonged to her +stepdaughter, and her stepdaughter evidently meant to keep it. This +discovery hit her hard, and now the bitterness came forth in a flood of +words that tumbled each over the other and stung like hornets as they +settled. + +Gray Michael's broadside had roared harmlessly over Joan's erect head; +Thomasin's small shot did not miss the mark. She was furious; her husband +stood dumb; her virago tongue hissed the truth; and Joan, listening, knew +that it was the truth. + +No matter what the elder woman said. She missed no vile word of them all. +She called Joan every name that chills the ear of the fallen; and she +explained the meaning of her expressions; she bid the girl take herself and +the love-child within her from out the sight of honest folks; she told her +the man had turned his back forever, that only the ashy road of the ruined +remained for her to tread. And that was how the great news that Nature had +looked upon her for a mother came to Joan Tregenza. Here was the riddle of +the mysterious voice unraveled; here was the secret of her physical sorrows +made clear. She looked wildly from one to the other--from the man to the +woman; then she tottered a step away, clutching her money and her little +picture to her breast; and then she rolled over, a huddled, senseless heap, +upon the floor. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +DRIFT + + +When Joan recovered consciousness she found her head and neck wet where her +stepmother had flung cold water over her. Thomasin was at that moment +burning a feather under her nose, but she stopped and withdrew it as the +girl's eyes opened. + +"Theer, now you'll be well by night. He've gone aboard. Best to change your +gownd, for 'tis wetted. Then I'll tell 'e what 'er said. Can 'e get +upstairs?" + +Joan rose slowly and went with swimming brain to her room. She still held +her picture and her money. She took off her wet clothes, then sat down upon +her bed to think; and as her mind grew clear, there crept through the +gloomy shadows of the past tragedy a joy. It lightened her heart a moment, +then vanished again, like the moon blotted suddenly from the sky by a rack +of storm-cloud. Joan was full of the stupendous news. The shock of hearing +her most unsuspected condition had indeed stricken her insensible, but it +was the surprise of it more than the dismay. Now she viewed the +circumstance with uncertainty, not knowing the attitude "Mister Jan" would +adopt toward it. She argued with herself long hours, and peace brooded over +her at the end; for, as his cherished utterances passed in review before +her memory, the sense and sum of them seemed to promise well. He would be +very glad to share in the little life that was upon the way to earth. He +always spoke kindly of children; he had called them the flower-buds in +Nature's lap. Yes, he must be glad; and Nature would smile too. Nature knew +what it was to be a mother, Joan told herself. She was in Nature's hand +henceforth. But her blue eyes grew cold when she thought of the morning. So +much for St. Madron and his holy water; so much for the good angels who her +dead parent had told her were forever stretching loving, invisible hands to +guard and shield. "Mister Jan's be the awnly God," she thought, "an' He'm +tu far aways to mind the likes o' we; so us must trust to the gert Mother +o' the flowers." She accepted the position with an open heart, then turned +her thoughts to her loved one. Having now firmly convinced herself that her +condition would bring him gratification and draw them still nearer each to +the other, Joan yearned unutterably for his presence. She puzzled her +brains to know how she might communicate with him, how hasten his return. +She remembered that he had once told her his surname, but she could not +recollect it now. He had always been "Mister Jan" to her. + +She went down to her supper in the course of the evening, and the great +matter in her mind was for a while put aside before a present necessity. +Action, she found, would be immediately required of her. Her father, before +going from the kitchen after she had fainted, directed Thomasin to bid her +never see his face again. She must depart, according to his direction, on +the following day; for the thatched cottage upon the cliff could be her +home no more. + +"Theer weern't no time for talkin'; but I lay 'er'll sing differ'nt when +next ashore. You bide quiet here till 'er's home agin. 'Tain't nachur to +bid's awn flaish an' blood go its ways like that. An', 'pears to me, as +'tedn' the law neither. But you bide till he'm back. I be sorry as I spawk +so sharp, but you was that bowldacious that my dander brawk loose. Aw +Jimmery! to think as you dedn' knaw you was cheeldin'!" + +"'Twas hearin' so suddint like as made me come over fainty." + +"Ate hearty then. An' mind henceforrard you'm feedin' an' drinkin' for two. +Best get to bed so soon's you can. Us'll talk 'bout this coil in the +marnin'." + +"Us'll talk now. I be off by light. I 'edn' gwaine to stop no more. Faither +sez I ban't no cheel o' his an' he doan't want to see my faace agen. Then +he shaan't. I'll gaw to them as won't be 'shamed o' me: my mother's +people." + +"Doan't 'e be in no tearin' hurry, Joan," said Mrs. Tregenza, thinking of +the money. "Let him, the chap, knaw fust what's come along o' his +carneying, an' maybe he'll marry 'e, as you sez, right away. Bide wi' me +till you tells en. Let en do what's right an' seemly. That's the shortest +road." + +"Iss fay; he'm a true man. But I ban't gwaine to wait for en in this 'ouse. +To-morrow I'll send my box up Drift by the fust omblibus as belongs to +Staaft, an' walk myself, an' tell Uncle Thomas all's there is to tell. +He've got a heart in his breast, an' I'll bide 'long wi' him till Mister +Jan do come back." + +"Wheer's he to now?" + +"To Lunnon. He've gone to make his house vitty for me." + +"Well, best to get Uncle Chirgwin to write to en, onless you'd like me to +do it for 'e." + +"No. He'll do what's right--a proper, braave man." + +"An 'mazin' rich seemin'ly. For the Lard's love, if you'm gwaine up Drift, +take care o' all that blessed money. Doan't say no word 'bout it till you'm +in the farm, for theer's them--the tinners out o' work an' sich--as 'ud +knock 'e on the head for half of it. To think as Michael burned a hunderd +pound! Just a flicker o' purpley fire an' a hunderd pound gone! 'Tis 'nough +to make a body rave." + +The girl flushed, and something of her father's stern look seemed reflected +in her face. + +"He stawl my money. No, I judge his word be truth: he'm no faither o' mine +if the blood in the veins do count for anything." + +Joan went to bed abruptly on this remark, and lay awake thinking and +wondering through a long night--thinking what she should say to Uncle +Chirgwin, wondering when "Mister Jan" was coming back to her, and picturing +his excitement at her intelligence. In the morning she packed her box, ate +her breakfast, and then went into the village to find somebody who would +carry her scanty luggage as far as Penzance. From there, an omnibus ran +through Drift, past Mr. Chirgwin's farmhouse door. Joan herself designed to +walk, the distance by road from Newlyn being but trifling. It chanced that +the girl met Billy Jago, he who in early spring had cut down an elm tree +while John Barron watched. Him Joan knew, for he had worked on her uncle's +farm for many years. Mr. Jago, who could be relied upon to do simple +offices, undertook the task readily enough and presently arrived with a +wheelbarrow. He whined, as ever, about his physical sufferings, but drank a +cup of tea with evident enjoyment, then fetched Joan's box from her room +and set off with it to meet the public vehicle. Her goods were to be left +at Drift, and Joan herself started at an early hour, wishing to be at the +farm before her property. She walked in the garden for the last time, +marked the magic progress of spring, then took an unemotional leave of her +stepmother. + +"There 'edn' no call to leave no message as I can see," said Joan, while +she stood at the door. "He ban't my faither, he sez, so I'll take it for +truth. But I'll ask you to kiss Tom for me. Us was allus good brother an' +sister, whether or no; an' I loves en dearly." + +"Iss, I knaw. He'll grizzle an' fret proper when he finds you'm gone. +Good-by to 'e. May the Lard forgive 'e, an' send your man 'long smart; an' +for heaven's sake doan't lose them notes." + +"They be safe stawed next to my skin. Uncle Chirgwin'll look to them; an' +you needn't be axin' God A'mighty to forgive me, 'cause I abbun done +nothin' to want it. I be Nature's cheel now; an' I be in kindly hands. You +caan't understand that, but I knaws what I knaws through bein' taught. +Good-by to 'e. Maybe us'll see each other bimebye." + +Joan held out her hand and Mrs. Tregenza shook it. Then she stood and +watched her stepdaughter walk away into Newlyn. The day was cold and +unpleasant, with high winds and driving mists. The village looked grayer +than usual; the boats were nearly all away; the gulls fluttered in the +harbor making their eternal music. Seaward, white horses flecked the leaden +water; a steamer hooted hoarsely, looming large under the low, sullen sky, +as it came between the pierheads. Presently a scat of heavy rain on a +squall of wind shut out the harbor for a time. Mrs. Tregenza waited until +Joan had disappeared, then went back to her kitchen, closed the door, sat +in Gray Michael's great chair by the hearth, put her apron over her head +and wept. But the exact reason for her tears she could not have explained, +for she did not know it. Mingled emotions possessed her. Disappointment had +something to do with this present grief; sorrow for Joan was also +responsible for it in a measure. That the girl should have asked her to +kiss Tom was good, Thomasin thought, and the reflection moved her to +further tears; while that Joan was going to put her money into the keeping +of a simple old fool like Uncle Chirgwin seemed a highly pathetic +circumstance to Mrs. Tregenza. Indeed, the more she speculated upon it the +sadder it appeared. + +Meanwhile Joan, leaving Newlyn and turning inland along the little lane +which has St. Peter's church and the Newlyn brook upon its right, escaped +the wind and found herself walking through an emerald woodland world all +wrapped in haze and rain. Past the smelting works, where purple smoke made +wonderful color in rising against the young green, over the brook and under +the avenue of great elms went Joan. Her heart ached this morning, and she +thought of yesterday. It seemed as though a hundred years of experience had +passed over her since she knelt by St. Madron's stone altar. She told +herself bitterly how much wiser she was to-day, and, so thinking strange +thoughts, tramped forward over Buryas Bridge, and faced the winding hill +beyond. Then came doubts. Perhaps after all St. Madron had answered her +prayer. Else why the underlying joy that now fringed her sorrows with +happiness? + +Drift is a place well named, when seen, as then, gray through sad-colored +curtains of rain on the bare hilltop. But the orchard lands of the coomb +below were fair, and many primroses twinkled in the soaking green of the +tall hedge-banks. Joan splashed along through the mud, and presently a lump +rose in her throat, born of thoughts. It had seemed nothing to leave the +nest on the cliff, and she held her head high and thanked God for a great +deliverance. That was less than an hour ago; yet here, on the last hill to +Drift and within sight of the stone houses clustering at the summit, her +head sank lower and lower, and it was not the rain which dimmed her eyes. +She much doubted the value of further prayers now, yet every frantic hope +and aspiration found its vent in a petition to her new God, as Joan mounted +the hill. She prayed, because she could think of no other way to soothe her +heart; but her mind was very weary and sad--not at the spectacle of the +future, for that she knew was going to be fair enough--but at the vision of +the past, at the years ended forever, at the early pages of life closed and +locked, to be opened again no more. A childhood, mostly quite happy, was +over; she would probably visit the house wherein she was born never again. +But even in her sorrow, the girl wondered why she should be sad. + +Mr. Chirgwin's farm fronted the highway, and its gray stone face was +separated therefrom by a small and neat patch of garden. Below the house a +gate opened into the farmyard, and Uncle Chirgwin's land chiefly sloped +away into the coomb behind, though certain fields upon the opposite side of +the highroad also pertained to him. The farmhouse was time-stained, and the +stone had taken some wealth of color where black and golden lichens fretted +it. The slates of the roof shone with wet and reflected a streak of white +light that now broke the clouds near the hidden sun. The drippings from the +eaves had made a neat row of little regular holes among the crocuses in the +garden. Tall jonquils also bent their heads there, heavy with water, and +the white violets which stood in patches upon either side of the front door +had each a raindrop glimmering within its cup. A japonica splashed one gray +wall with crimson blossoms and young green leaves; but, for the rest, this +house-front was quite bare. Joan saw Mary Chirgwin's neat hand in the snowy +short blinds which crossed the upper windows; and she knew that the +geraniums behind the diamond panes of the parlor were her uncle's care. +They dwelt indoors, winter and summer, and their lanky, straggling limbs +shut out much light. + +The visitor did not go to the front door, whither a narrow path, flanked +with handsome masses of "Cornish diamonds," or quartz crystals, directly +led from the wicket, but entered at a larger gate which led into the +farmyard. Here cattle-byres and shippons ranged snugly on three sides of an +open space, their venerable slates yellow with lichens, their thatches +green with moss. In the center of the yard a great manure heap made +comfortable lying for pigs and poultry; while the farmhouse stretched back +upon the fourth side. Another gate opened beyond it, and led to the land +upon the sloping hill and in the valley below. Joan passed a row of cream +pans, shining like frosted silver in the mist, then turned from the bleak +and dripping world. The kitchen door was open, and revealed a large, low +chamber whose rafters were studded with orange-colored hams, whose +fireplace was vast and black save for a small wood fire filling but a +quarter of the hearth. Grocer's almanacs brought brave color to the walls, +sharing the same with a big dresser where the china made a play of +reflected light from the windows. Above the lofty mantel-piece there hung +an old fowling-piece, and a row of faded Daguerreotypes, into most of which +damp had eaten dull yellow patches. The mantel-shelf carried some rough +stoneware ornaments, an eight-day clock, a tobacco jar, and divers small +utensils of polished tin. A big table covered with American cloth filled +the center of the kitchen, a low settle crossed the alcove of the window, +and a leather screen, of four folds and five feet high, surrounded Uncle +Chirgwin's own roomy armchair in the chimney-corner. Strips of cocoanut +fiber lay upon the ground, but between them appeared the bare floor. It was +paved with blue stone for the most part, though here and there a square of +white broke the color; and the white patches had worn lower than the rest +under many generations of hobnailed boots. A faint odor of hams was in the +air, and the slight, stuffy smell of feathers. + +A woman sat in the window as Joan entered. She had her back to the door, +and not hearing the footfall, went on with her work, which was the plucking +of a fowl. A cloth lay spread over the floor at her feet, and each moment +the pile of feathers upon it increased as the plucker worked with rhythmic +regularity and sang to herself the while. + +Mary Chirgwin was a dark, good-looking girl, with a face in which strong +character appeared too prominently shadowed to leave room for absolute +beauty. But her features were regular if swarthy; her eyes were splendid, +and her brow, from which black hair was smoothly and plainly parted away, +rose broad and low. There was nothing to mark kinship between the cousins +save that both held their heads finely and possessed something of the same +distinction of carriage. Mary was eight-and-twenty, and, whatever might be +thought about her face, there could be but one opinion upon her feminine +splendor of figure. Her broad chest produced a strange speaking and singing +voice--mellow as Joan's, but far deeper in the notes. Mary gloried in +congregational melodies, and those who had not before heard her efforts at +church on Sundays would often mistake her voice for a man's. She was +dressed in print with a big apron overall; and her sleeves, turned up to +her elbows, showed a pair of fine arms, perfect as to shape, but brown of +color as the woman's face. + +Joan stood motionless, then her cousin looked round suddenly and started +almost out of her chair at a sight so unexpected. But she composed herself +again instantly, put down the semi-naked fowl and came forward. They had +not seen each other since the time when Joe Noy flung over Mary for Joan; +and the latter, remembering this circumstance very well, had hoped she +might escape from meeting her cousin until after some talk with Uncle +Thomas. But Mary hid her emotion from Joan's sight, and they shook hands +and looked into one another's faces, each noting marked changes there since +the last occasion of their meeting. The elder spoke first, and went +straight to the past. It was her nature to have every connection and +concern of life upon a definite and clear understanding. She hated mystery, +she disliked things hidden, she never allowed the relations between herself +and any living being to stand otherwise than absolutely defined. + +"You'm come, Joan, at last, though 'twas a soft day to choose. Listen +to me, will 'e? Then us can let the past lie, same as us lets sleepin' +dogs. I called 'pon God to blight your life, Joan Tregenza, when--you +knaw. I thot I weer gwaine to die, an' I read the cussin' psalm +[Footnote: _The Cursing Psalm--Psalm CIX_. If read by a wronged person +before death, it was, and is sometimes yet, supposed to bring +punishment upon the evil-doer.] agin you. 'Feared to me as you'd +stawl the awnly thing as ever brot a bit o' brightness to my life. But +that's all over. Love weern't for me; I awnly dreamed it weer. An' I +larned better an' didn't die; an' prayed to God a many times to +forgive that first prayer agin you. The likes o' you doan't know nort +'bout the grim side o' life or what it is to lose the glory o' +lovin'. But I doan't harbor no ill agin you no more." + +"You'm good to hear, Polly, an' kind words is better'n food to me now. I'll +tell 'e 'bout myself bimebye. But I must speak to uncle fust. Things has +happened." + +"Nothin' wrong wi' your folks?" + +"I ain't got no folks no more. But I'll tell 'e so soon's I've tawld Uncle +Thomas." + +"He'm in the croft somewheers. Better bide till dinner. Uncle'll be back by +then." + +"I caan't, Mary--not till I've spoke wi' en. I'll gaw long down Green Lane, +then I shall meet en for sure. An' if a box o' mine comes by the omblibus, +'tis right." + +"A box! Whatever is there in it, Joan?" + +"All's I've gotten in the world--leastways nearly. Doan't ax me nothin' +now. You'll knaw as soon as need be." + +Without waiting for more words Joan departed, hastened through the gate on +the inner wall of the farmyard and walked along the steep hillside by a +lane which wound muddily downward to the grasslands, under high hazel +hedges. The new leaves dripped showers at every gust of the wind, then a +gleam of wan sunlight brightened distant vistas of the way, while Joan +heard the patter of a hundred hoofs in the mud, the bleat of lambs, the +deeper answer of ewes, the barking of a shepherd's dog. Soon the cavalcade +came into view--a flock of sheep first, a black and white dog with a black +and white pup, which was learning his business, next, and Uncle Chirgwin +himself bringing up the rear. The first sunshine of the day seemed to have +found him out. It shone over his round red face and twinkled in the dew on +his white whiskers. He stumped along upon short, gaitered legs, but went +not fast, and stayed at the steep shoulder of the hill that his lambs might +have rest and time to suck. + +Mary Chirgwin meantime speculated on this sudden mystery of her cousin's +arrival. She spread the cloth for dinner, bid her maid lay another place +for Joan and wondered much what manner of news she brought. There were +changes in Joan's face since she saw it last--not changes which might have +been attributed to the possession of Joe Noy, but an alteration of +expression betokening thought, a look of increased age, of experiences not +wholly happy in their nature. + +And Joan had also marked the changes in Mary. These indications were clear +enough and filled her with sorrow. A river of tears will leave its bed +marked upon a woman's face; and Joan, who had never thought overmuch of her +cousin's sorrows until then, began to feel her heart fill and run over with +sudden sympathy. She asked herself what life would look like for her if +"Mister Jan"; changed his mind now and never came back again. That was how +Mary felt doubtless when Joe Noy left her. Already Joan grew zealous in +thought for Mary. She would teach her something of that sweet wisdom which +was to support her own burden in the future; she would tell her about +Nature--the "All-Mother" as "Mister Jan" called her once. And, concerning +Joe Noy--might it be within the bounds of possibility, within the power of +time to bring these two together again? The thought was good to Joan, and +wholly occupied her mind until the sight of Uncle Chirgwin with his sheep +brought her back to the present moment and her own affairs. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +A PROBLEM + + +When Mr. Chirgwin caught sight of Joan his astonishment knew no bounds, and +his first thought was that something must certainly be amiss. He stood in +the roadway, a picture of surprise, and, for a moment, forgot both his +sheep and lambs. + +"My stars, Joan! Be it you really? Whatever do 'e make at Drift, 'pon such +a day as this? No evil news, I hope?" + +"Uncle," she answered, "go slow a bit an' listen to what I've got to say. +You be a kind, good sawl as judges nobody, ban't you? And you love me +'cause your sister was my mother?" + +"Surely, surely, Joan; an' I love you for yourself tu--nobody better in +this world." + +"You wouldn' go for to send me to hell-fire, would 'e?" + +"God forbid, lass! Why, whatever be talkin' 'bout?" + +"Uncle Thomas, faither's not my faither no more now. He've turned me out +his house an' denied me. I ban't no darter of his henceforrard; an' he'm no +faither o' mine. He don't mean never to look 'pon my faace agin, nor me +'pon his. The cottage edn' no home for me no more." + +"Joan, gal alive! what talk be this?" + +"'Tis gospel. I'm a damned wummon, 'cordin' to my faither as was." + +"God A'mighty! You--paart a Chirgwin--as comed, o' wan side, from her as +loved the Lard so dear, an', 'pon t'other, from him as feared un so much. +Never, Joan!" + +"Uncle Thomas, I be in the fam'ly way; an' faither's damned me, an' +likewise the man as loves me, an' the cheel I be gwaine to bring in the +world. I've comed to hear you speak. Will you say the same? If you will, +I'll pack off this instant moment." + +The old man stood perfectly still and his jaw went down while he breathed +heavily; a world of amazement and piteous sorrow sat upon his face; his +voice shook and whistled in the sound as he answered. + +"Joan! My poor Joan! My awn gal, this be black news--black news. Thank God +she'm not here to knaw--your mother." + +"I've done no wrong, uncle; I ban't 'shamed of it. He'm a true, good man, +and he'm comin' to marry me quick." + +"Joe Noy?" + +"No, no, not him. I thot I loved en well till Mister Jan comed, an' opened +my blind eyes, an' shawed me what love was. Mister Jan's a gen'leman--a +furriner. He caan't live wi'out me no more; he's said as he caan't. An' I'm +droopin' an' longin' for the sight o' en. An' I caan't bide in the streets, +so I axes you to keep me till Mister Jan do come to fetch me. I find words +hard to use to 'splain things, but his God's differ'nt to what the Luke +Gosp'lers' is, an' I lay 'tis differ'nt to yourn. But his God's mine +anyways, an' I'm not afeared o' what I done, nor 'shamed to look folks in +the faace. That's how 'tis, Uncle Thomas. 'Tis Nature, you mind, an' I be +Nature's cheel no--wi' no faither nor mother but her." + +The old man was snuffling, and a tear or two rolled down his red face, +gathered the damp already there and fell. He groaned to himself, then +brought forth a big, red pocket-handkerchief, and wept outright, while Joan +stood silently regarding him. + +"I'd rather a met death than this; I'd rather a knawn you was coffined." + +"Oh, if I could awnly 'splain!" she cried, frantically; "if I awnly could +find his words 'pon my tongue, but I caan't. They be hid down deep in me, +an' by them I lives from day to day; but how can I make others see same as +I see? I awnly brings sorrer 'pon sorrer now. Theer's nothin' left but him. +If you could a heard Mister Jan! You would understand, wi' your warm heart, +but I caan't make 'e; I've no terrible, braave, butivul words. I'll gaw my +ways then. If any sawl had tawld me as I'd ever bring tears down your faace +I'd never b'lieved 'em--never; but so I have, an' that's bitterness to me." + +He took her by the hand and pressed it, then put his arm round her and +kissed her. His white bristles hurt, but Joan rejoiced exceedingly, and now +it was her turn to shed tears. + +"He'll come back--he'm a true man," she sobbed; "theer ban't the likes o' +Mister Jan in Carnwall, an'--an' if you knawed en, you'd say no less. You'm +the fust as have got to my heart since he went; an' he'd bless 'e if he +knawed." + +"Come along with me, Joan," answered Uncle Chirgwin, straightening himself +and applying his big handkerchief to her face. "God send the man'll be +'longside 'e right soon, as you sez. Till he do come, you shaan't leave me +no more. Drift's home for you while you'm pleased to bide theer. An' I'll +see your faither presently, though I wish 'twas any other man." + +"I knawed you was all us the same; I knawed you'd take me in. An' Mister +Jan shall knaw. An' he'll love you for't when he do." + +"Come an' see me put the ewes an' lambs in the croft; then us'll gaw to +dinner, an' I'll hear you tell me all 'bout en." + +He tried hard to put a hopeful face upon the position and, himself as +simple as a child, presently found Joan's story not hopeless at all. He +seemed indeed to catch some of her spirit as she proceeded and painted the +manifold glories of "Mister Jan" in the best language at her command. To +love Nature was no sin; Mr. Chirgwin himself did so; and as for the money, +instead of reading the truth of it, he told himself very wisely that the +giver of a sum so tremendous must at least be in earnest. The amount +astounded him. Fired by Joan's words, for as he played the ready listener +her eloquence increased, he fell to thinking as she thought, and even +speaking hopefully. The old farmer's reflections merely echoed his own +simple trust in men and had best not been uttered, for they raised Joan's +spirits to a futile height. But he caught the contagion from her and spoke +with sanguine words of the future, and even prayed Joan that, if wealth and +a noble position awaited her, she would endeavor to brighten the lives of +the poor as became a good Cornish woman. This she solemnly promised, and +they built castles in the air: two children together. His sheep driven to +their new pasture, Uncle Chirgwin led the way home and listened as he +walked to Joan's story. She quite convinced him before he reached his +kitchen door--partly because he was very well content to be convinced, +partly because he could honestly imagine no man base enough to betray this +particular blue-eyed child. + +Mr. Chirgwin's extremely unworldly review of the position was balm to Joan. +Her heart grew warm again, and the old man's philosophy brightened her +face, as the sun, now making a great clearness after rain, brightened the +face of the land. But the recollection of Mary Chirgwin sobered her uncle +not a little. How she would take this tremendous intelligence he failed to +guess remotely. Opportunity to impart it occurred sooner than he expected, +for Joan's box had just arrived. During dinner the old man explained that +his niece was to be a visitor at Drift for a term of uncertain duration; +and after the meal, when Joan disappeared to unpack her box and make tidy a +little apple-room, which was now empty and at her service, Uncle Chirgwin +had speech with Mary. He braced himself to the trying task, waited until +the kitchen was empty of those among his servants who ate at his table, and +then replied to the question which his niece promptly put. + +"What do this mean, Uncle Thomas? What's come o' Joan that she do drop in +'pon us like this here wi' never a word to say she was comin'?" + +"Polly," he answered, "your cousin Joan have seen sore trouble, in a manner +o' speakin', an' you'd best to knaw fust as last. Us must be large-minded +'bout a thing like this She'm tokened to a gen'leman from Lunnon." + +"What! An' him--Joe Noy?" + +"To be plain wi' you, Polly, she've thrawed en over. Listen 'fore you +speaks. 'Twas a match o' Michael Tregenza's makin', I reckon, an', so +like's not, Joe weern't any more heart-struck than Joan. I finds it hard to +feel as I ought to Gray Michael, more shame to me. But Joan's failed in +love wi' a gen'leman, an' he with her, an' he'm comin' any mornin' to fetch +'er--an'--an'--you must be tawld--'tis time as he did come. An' he've sent +Joan a thousand pound o' paper money to shaw as 'e means the right thing." + +But the woman's mind had not followed these last facts. Her face was white +to the lips; her hands were shaking. She put her head down upon them as she +sat by the fire, and a groan which no power could strangle broke from her +deep bosom. She spoke, and regretted her words a moment later. "Oh, my God! +an' he brawk off wi' me for the likes o' she!" + +"Theer, theer, lass Mary, doan't 'e, doan't 'e. You've hid your tears that +cunnin', but my old eyes has seen the marks this many day an' sorrered for +'e. 'Tis a hard matter viewed from the point what you looks 'pon it; but I +knaws you, my awn good gal; I knaws your Saviour's done a 'mazin' deal to +hold you up. An' 'twont be for long, 'cause the man'll come for her mighty +soon seemin'ly. Can 'e faace it, the Lard helpin'? Poor Joan's bin kicked +out the house by her faither. I do _not_ like en--never did. What do +'e say? She doan't count it no sin, mind you, an' doan't look for no +reprovin', 'cause the gen'leman have taught her terrible coorious ideas; +but 'tis just this: we'm all sinners, eh, Polly? An' us caan't say 'sactly +what size a sin do look to God A'mighty's eye. An' us have got the Lard's +way o' handlin' sich like troubles writ out clear--eh? Eh, Polly? He dedn' +preach no sermon at the time neither." + +The old man prattled on, setting out the position in the most favorable +light to Joan that seemed possible to him. But his listener was one no +longer. She had forgotten her cousin and the present circumstances, for her +thoughts were with a sailor at sea. One tremendous moment of savage joy +gripped her heart, but the primitive passion perished in its birth-pang and +left her cold and faint and ashamed. She wondered from what unknown, +unsecured corner of her soul the vile thing came. It died on the instant, +but the corpse fouled her thoughts and tainted them and made her feel faint +again. The irony of chance burst like a storm on the woman, and mazes of +tangled thoughts made her brain whirl in a chaos of bewilderment. She sat +motionless, her face dark, and much mystery in her wonderful eyes, while +Mr. Chirgwin, with shaking head and scriptural quotation and tears, babbled +on, pleading for Joan with all his strength. Mary heard little of what he +said. She was occupied with facts and asking herself her duty. From the +storm in her mind arose a clear question at last, and she could not answer +it. The point had appeared unimportant to anybody but Mary Chirgwin, but no +question of conduct ever looked trivial to her. At least the doubt was +definite and afforded mental occupation. She wondered now whether it was +well or possible that she and Joan could live together under the same roof. +Why such a problem had arisen she knew not; but it stood in the path, a +fact to be dealt with. Her heart told her that Joan and her uncle alike +erred in the supposition that the girl's seducer would ever return. She +read the great gift of money as Thomasin had read it--rightly; and the +thought of living with Joan was at first horrible to her. + +Mr. Chirgwin talked and Mary reflected. Then she rose to leave the room. + +"'Tis tu gert a thing for me to say--no wummon was ever plaaced like what I +be now. I do mean to see passon at Sancreed, uncle. He'll knaw what's right +for me. If he bids me stay, I'll stay. 'Tis the thot o' Joe Noy maddens me. +My head'll burst if I think any more. I'll go to passon." + +"Whether you'll stay, Polly! Why shouldn't 'e stay? Surely it do--" + +"Doan't 'e talk no more 'tall, uncle. You caan't knaw what this is to me, +you doan't understan' a wummon faaced wi' a coil like this here. Joe--Joe +as loved 'er, I s'pose, differ'nt to what 'e did me. An' she, when his back +weer turned--an'--an'--me--God help me!--as never could do less than love +en through all!" + +She was gone before he had time to answer, but he realized her mighty agony +of mind and stood dumb and frightened before it. Then a thought came +concerning Joan and he felt that, at all costs, he must speak to Mary again +before she went out. Mr. Chirgwin waited quietly at the stair-foot until +she came down. The turmoil was in her eyes still, but she spoke calmly and +listened to him when he replied. + +"Doan't 'e say nuthin' to Joan, Uncle Thomas. I be gwaine to larn my duty, +as is hidden from me. An' my duty I will do." + +"An' so you alias have, Polly, since you was a grawed gal; an' God knaws +it. But--do'e think as you could--in a manner o' speakin'--hide names from +passon? Ban't no call to tell what's fallen out to other folks. Joan--eh, +Polly? Might 'e speak in a parable like--same as Scripture--wi'out namin' +no names. For Joan's sake, Mary--eh?" + +She was silent a full minute, then answered slowly. + +"I see what you mean, uncle. I hadn' thot o' she just then. Iss fay, you'm +right theer. Ban't no work o' mine to tell 'bout her." + +She hesitated, and the old man spoke again. + +"I s'pose that a bit o' prayer wouldn' shaw light on it--eh, Polly? Wi'out +gwaine to Sancreed. The Lard knaws your fix better'n what any words 'ud put +it clear to passon. An' theer's yourself tu. 'Pears to me, axin' your +pardon, for you'm clever'n what I am, that 'tedn' a tale what you can put +out 'fore any other body 'sactly--even a holy man like him." + +She saw at once that it was not. Her custom had been to get the +kind-hearted old clergyman of her parish church to soothe the doubts and +perplexities which not seldom rose within her strenuous mind. And before +this great, crushing problem, with the pretext of the one difficulty which +had tumbled uppermost from the chaos and so been grasped as a reality, she +had naturally turned to her guide and friend. But, as her uncle spoke, she +saw that in truth this matter could not be laid naked before any man. +Another's hidden life was involved; another's secret must come out if all +was told, and Mary's sense of justice warned her that this could not be. +She had taken her own mighty grief to the little parsonage at Sancreed, and +a kindly counselor, who knew sorrow at first hand, helped her upon the road +that henceforth looked so lonely and so long; but this present trial, +though it tore the old wounds open, must be borne alone. She saw as much, +and turned and went upstairs again to her chamber. + +"Think of her kindly," said Uncle Chirgwin as Mary left him without more +words. "She'm so young an' ignorant o' the gert world, Polly. An' if the +worst falls, which God forbid, 'tis her as'll suffer most, not we." + +"Us have all got to suffer an' suffer this side our graaves," she said, +mounting wearily. + +"So young an' purty as she be--the moral o' her mother. I doan't knaw--'tis +sich a wonnerful world--but them blue eyes--them round blue eyes couldn't +do a thing as was wrong afore God as wan might fancy," he said aloud, not +knowing she was out of earshot. Then he heaved a sigh, returned to the +kitchen, and presently departed to the fields. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +WAITING FOR "MISTER JAN" + + +With searching of heart, Mary Chirgwin spent time during that afternoon. In +one room Joan, happier than she had been for many days, set out her few +possessions, boldly hung the picture of Joe Noy's ship upon the wall and +gazed at it with affection, for it spoke of the painter, not the sailor, to +her; while, in a chamber hard by, Mary solved the problem of the day, +coming at her conclusion with great struggle of mind and clashing of +arguments. She resolved at last to abide at Drift with her uncle and with +Joan. The reason for those events now crowding upon her life was hidden +from her; and why Providence saw fit to awaken or mightily intensify the +sorrows which time was lulling to sleep, she could not divine. She accepted +her position, none the less, doubted nothing but that the secret hidden in +these matters would some day be explained, and, according to her custom +before the approach of all mundane events and circumstances affecting +herself, viewed the present trial as heaven-sent to purify and strengthen. +So your religious egotists are ever wont to read into the great waves of +chance, as here and there a ripple from them sets their own little vessels +shaking, as here and there some splash of foam, a puff of wind, strikes the +nutshell which floats their lives, a personal, deliberate intervention, an +event designed by the Everlasting to test their powers, ripen their +characters, equip their souls for an eternity of satisfaction. + +At tea time the cousins met again, and Uncle Chirgwin, returning from his +affairs, was rejoiced to learn Mary's decision. No outward sign marked her +struggle. She was calm, even stately, with a natural distinction which +physically appeared in her bearing and carriage. She chilled Joan a little, +but not with intention. Yet Joan was bold for her love and spoke no less +than the truth when she asserted that she viewed her position without shame +and without remorse. She spoke of it openly, fearlessly, and kept Uncle +Chirgwin on thorns between the cold silence of his elder niece and the +garrulous chatter of the younger. The saint was so stern, the sinner so +happy and so perfectly impressed with her own innocence, which latter fact +Mary too saw clearly; and it instantly solved half the problem in her mind. +Joan had obviously been sent to Drift that the truth might reach her heart. +She came a heathen from the outer darkness of sin, with vain babbling on +her lips and a mind empty. She called herself "Nature's child" and the +theatric thunders of Luke Gospeldom had never taught her that she was +God's. Here, then, was one to be brought into the fold with all possible +dispatch, and Mary, who loved religious battle, braced herself to the task +while silently listening to Joan, that she might the better learn what +manner of spiritual attack would best meet this sorry case. + +Uncle Chirgwin took charge of his niece's bank-notes, and, after some +persuasion, consented to accept the weekly sum of three shillings and +sixpence from Joan. He made many objections to any such arrangement, but +the girl overruled them, declaring absolutely that she would not stop at +Drift, even until her future husband's return, unless the payment of money +was accepted from her. It bred a secret joy in Joan to feel that "Mister +Jan's" wealth now enabled her to enjoy an independence which even Mary +could not share. She much desired to give more money, but Uncle Chirgwin +reduced the sum to three shillings and sixpence weekly and would take no +more. This wealth was viewed with very considerable loathing by Mary +Chirgwin, and she criticised her uncle's decision unfavorably; but he +accepted the owner's view, arguing that it was only justice to all parties +so to do, until facts proved whether Joan was mistaken. The notes did not +cause him uneasiness--at any rate during this stage of affairs--and he took +them to Penzance upon the occasion of his next visit. Mr. Chirgwin's lawyer +saw to the safe bestowal of the money; and when she heard that her nine +hundred pounds would produce about five-and-twenty every year and yet not +decrease the while, Joan was much astonished. + +Meantime John Barren neither came to fetch her, nor sent any writing to +tell of the causes for his delay. The girl was fruitful of new reasons for +his silence, and then grew a black fear which answered all doubts and, by +its reasonableness, terrified her. Perhaps "Mister Jan" was ill--too ill +even to write. He had but little strength--that she knew, and few +friends--of that Joan was also aware, for he had told her so. Yet, surely, +there were those, if only his servants, who might have written to bid her +hasten. A line--a single word--and she would get into the train and stop in +it until she saw "London" written on a board at a station. Then she would +leap out and find him and get to his heart and warm it and kiss life back +to his body, light to his loved gray eyes. So thinking, time dragged, and +as the novelty of the new life abated, and wore thin, Joan's spirits +wavered until long and longer intervals of gloomy sadness marked the +duration of each day for her. But she was young, and hope yet held revels +in her heart when the mood favored, when the wind was soft, the sun bright, +and Mother Nature seemed close and kind, as often happened. Joan worked +too, helping Mary and the maids, but after a wayward manner of her own. +There was no counting upon her and she loved better to be with her uncle, +abroad upon the land, or by herself, hidden in the orchard, in the fruit +garden, or in the secret places of the coomb. + +She had her favorite spots, for as yet that great, overwhelming regard for +the old stone crosses, which came to her afterward, had not grown into a +live passion. Her present pilgrimages were short, her shrines those of +Nature's building. Much she loved the arm of an ancient apple-tree hid in +the very heart of the orchard. A great gnarled limb bent abruptly out, grew +long and low, and was propped at a distance of three yards from the parent +tree. Midway between the stem and support, a crooked elbow of the bough +made a pleasant seat for Joan; and here, when life at the farm looked more +gray than common, she came and sometimes sat long hours. Her perch raised +her above a velvet scented sea of wall-flowers which ran in regular waves +beneath the apple-trees, under murmuring of many bees. The blossom above +Joan's head was all a lacework of sunny rose and cream; and the sun painted +glorious russet harmonies below, glinted magically in the green and white +above, turned the gray lichens, which clustered on the weather side of the +trunks and boughs, to silver. The glory of life here always heartened Joan. +She felt the immortality of Nature, who, from naked earth and barren +boughs, thus at the sun's smile splendidly awakened, and teemed and +overflowed with bewildering, inexhaustible luxuriance. Nor seldom this +aspect of her Mother's infinite wealth touched her blood, and a strange +sensation as of very lust of life made her wild. At such times she would +pick the green things and tear them and watch the colorless life ooze from +their wounds; she would gather blossoms and scatter them against the wind, +break buds open and pluck their hearts out, fill her mouth with sorrel and +young grass-shoots, and feel the cool saps of them upon her palate. And +sometimes her Mother frightened her, for the dim clouds hid beneath the +horizon of maternity were moving now and their color was dark. Nature had +as many moods as Joan and often looked distant and terrible. Poor little +blue-eyed "sister of the sun and moon!" She likened herself so bravely to +the other children of her Mother--to the stars, to the fair birch-trees, +where emerald showers now twinkled down over the silver stems, to the +uncurling fronds of the fern, to the little trout in the coomb-stream; and +yet she was not content as they were. + +"Her's good, so good, but oh! if her was a bit nigher--if I could sit in +her lap an' feel her arms around me an' thread the daisies into chains like +when I was a lil maid! But I be a grawed wummon now--an' yet caan't feel it +so--not yet. Her'll hold my hand, maybe, an' lead me 'pon the road past +pain an' sorrow. I can trust her, 'cause Mister Jan did say as Nature never +lies--never." + +So the child's thoughts wandered on a day when she sat upon the bough and +brought a shower of pale petals down with every movement. But as yet only +the shadows of shadows clouded her thoughts when she thought about herself. +It was the loneliness brought real care--the loneliness and the waiting. + +She spent time, too, in Uncle Chirgwin's old walled garden. This place and +its products went for little in the traffic of the farm, though every year +its owner was wont to count upon certain few baskets of choice fruit as an +addition to his income, and every year his hopes were blighted. For the +walls whereon his peaches and nectarines grew had stood through +generations, their red brick work was much fretted by time, and the +interstices between the bricks made snug homes for a variety of insects. +Joan once listened to her uncle upon this subject, and henceforth chose to +make his scanty fruit her special care. + +"'Tis like this," he explained, "an' specially wi' the necter'ns. The +moment they graws a shade, an' long afore they stone, them dratted lil auld +sow-pigs [Footnote: _Sow-pigs_--Woodlice.] falls 'pon 'em cruel. Then +they waits theer time till the ripenin', an', blame me, but the varmints do +allus knaw just a day 'fore I does, when things be ready, an' they eats the +peaches an' necter'ns by night, gouging 'em shameful, same as if you'd done +it wi' your nails. 'Tis a terrible coorious wall for sow-pigs, likewise for +snails; an' I be allus a gwaine to have en repaired an' pinted, but yet +somehow 'tedn' done. But your sharp eyes'll be a sight o' use wi' creepin' +things. 'Tis a reg'lar Noah's Ark o' a wall, to be sure; not but what I lay +theer's five pound worth o' stone fruit 'pon it most years if 'twas let +bide." + +Joan enjoyed watching the peaches grow. First they peeped like pearls from +the dried frills of their blossoms; then they expanded and cast off the +encumbrance of dead petals and nestled against the red bricks that sucked +up sunshine and held it for them when the sun had gone. She found the +garden wall was a whole busy world, and, taught by her vanished master, she +took interest in all that dwelt thereon. But the snails and woodlice she +slew ruthlessly that her uncle might presently come by his five pounds' +value of fruit. + +Mary Chirgwin speedily discovered the task of reforming her cousin was like +to be lengthy and arduous. There appeared no foundations upon which to +work, and while the certainty of Barron's return still remained with Joan +as a vital guide to conduct, no other gospel than that which he had taught +found her a listener. She refused to go to church, to Mary's chagrin and +Uncle Chirgwin's sorrow; but he explained the matter correctly and indeed +found a clew to most of Joan's actions at this season. Mary saw the old +man's growing love for the new arrival, and a smaller mind might have sunk +to jealousy quickly enough under such circumstances, but she, deeply +concerned with Joan's eternal welfare, rose above temporary details, At the +same time her uncle's mild and tolerant attitude caused her pain. + +"As to church-gwaine," he said, on a Sunday morning when he and his elder +niece had driven off to Sancreed as usual, leaving Joan in the orchard; +"she've larned to look 'pon it from a Luke Gosp'ler's pint o' view. Doan't +you fret, Polly. Let her bide. 'Twill come o' itself bimebye wan o' these +Sundays. Poor tiby lamb! Christ's a watchin' of her, Polly. An' if this +here gen'leman, by the name o' Mister Jan, doan't come--" + +"You make me daft!" she interrupted, with impatience. "D'you mean as you +ever thot he would?" + +"I hopes. Theer's sich a 'mazin' deal o' good in human nature. Mayhap he'm +wraslin' wi' his sawl to this hour. An' the Lard do allus fight 'pon the +side o' conscience. Iss fay! Some 'ow I do think as he'll come." + +Mary said no more. She was quite positive that her cousin and her uncle +were alike mistaken; but she saw that, until the hard truth forced itself +upon Joan, the girl would go her present way. It was not that Joan lacked +goodness and sweetness, but, in Mary's opinion, she took an obstinate and +wrong-headed course upon the one vital subject of her own salvation. Mary +fought with herself to love Joan, and the battle now was only hard when Joe +Noy came within the scope of her thoughts. She banished him as much as she +could, but it never grew easy, and the complex problems bred of reflections +on this theme maddened her. For she had always loved him, and that +affection, thrust away as deadly-sin, when he left her for another, could +not be wholly strangled now. + +Time hung heavily and more heavily with Joan at Drift. A fortnight passed; +but the hope of the ignorant and trustful dies very hard and the faith +which is bred of absolute love has a hundred lives. The girl walked into +Penzance every second day, and hope blazed brightly on the road to the +post-office, then sank a little deeper into the hidden places of her heart +as she plodded empty-handed back to Drift. + +Slowly, and so gradually that she herself knew it not, her thoughts grew +something less occupied with John Barren, something more concerned about +herself. For the world was full of happy mothers now. One "Brindle"--a +knot-cow of repute--dropped a fine bull-calf in a croft hard by the +orchard, and Joan looked into "Brindle's" solemn eyes after the event, and +learned. She marveled to see the little brown calf stand on his shaking +legs within an hour of his birth; then his mother licked him lovingly, +while Uncle Chirgwin himself drew off her "buzzy milk." There was another +mother in a disused pigsty. There Joan found a red and white tortoise-shell +cat with four blind, squeaking atoms beside her, and as the cat rolled over +and the atoms sucked life, Joan saw her shining eyes, afore-time so bright +and hard, full of a new strange light, like the cloud that glimmers over +the fires of an opal. The cat's green orbs were full of mystery: of pain +past, of joy present. So again Joan learned. But a black tragedy blotted +out that little happy family in the pigsty, and Death, in the shape of Amos +Bartlett, Mr. Chirgwin's head man, fell upon them. Then the farmer learned +that his niece could be angry. One morning Joan found the mother cat +running wildly here and there, with a world of misery in its cry; while a +moment afterward she came upon the kittens in a duck pond. Mr. Bartlett was +present and explained. + +"Them chets had to gaw, missy. 'Tis a auld word an' it ban't wise to take +no count of sayings like that. 'May chets bad luck begets.' You've heard +tell o' that? Never let live no kittens born in May. They theer dead chets +comed May Day." + +"You'm a cruel devil!" she said hotly; "how'd you like for your two lil +children to be thrawed in the water, May or no May? Look at thicky cat, +breakin' her heart, poor twoad!" + +Mr. Bartlett was justly angry that Joan could dare to thus class his +priceless red-headed twins with a litter of dead kittens, and he said more +than was wise, ramming home a truth, and that coarsely. + +"Theer's plenty more wheer them comed from, I lay. Nachur's so free, you +see--tu free like sometimes. Ban't no dearth o' chets or childern as I've +heard on. They comes unaxed, an' unwanted tu. You might a heard tell o' +some sich p'raps?" + +She blushed and shook with passion at this sudden new aspect of affairs. +Here was a standpoint from which nobody had viewed her before. Worse--far +worse than her father's rage or Uncle Chirgwin's tears was this. Amos +Bartlett represented the world's attitude. The world would not be angry +with her, or cry for her; it would merely laugh and pass on, like Mr. +Bartlett. So Joan learned yet again; and the new knowledge cowed her for +full eight-and-forty hours. But the eyes of the mothers had taught Joan +something of the secret of pain, and a thread of gravity ran henceforth +through all thoughts concerning the future. She much marveled that "Mister +Jan" had never touched upon this leaf in the book. Beauty was what he +invariably talked about, and he found beauty hidden in many a strange +matter too; but not in pain. That was because he suffered himself +sometimes, Joan suspected. And yet, to her, pain, though she had never felt +it, seemed not wholly hideous. She surprised herself mightily by the depth +of her own thoughts now. She seemed to stand upon the brink of deep matters +guessing dimly at things hidden. Then her moods would break again from the +clouds to brightness. Hot sunshine on her cheek always raised her young +spirits, and her health, now excellent, threw joy into life despite the +ever-present anxiety. Then came a meeting which roused interest and brought +very genuine delight with it. + +It happened upon a fine Sunday afternoon, when Joan was walking through the +fields on the farm--those which extended southward--that she reached a +stile where granite blocks lay lengthwise, like the rungs of a ladder, +between two uprights. Here she stopped a while, and sat her down, and +looked out over the promise of fine hay. The undulating green expanse was +studded with the black knobs of ribwort plantain and gemmed with +buttercups, which here were dotted like sparks of fire, here massed in +broad bunches and splashes of color. The wind swept over the field, and its +course was marked by sudden flecks and ripples of transient sheeny light, +paler and brighter than the mass of the herbage. Then a figure appeared +afar off, following the course of the footpath where it wound through the +gold of the flowers and the silver of the bending grasses. It approached, +resolved itself into a fisher-boy and presently proved to be Tom Tregenza. +Joan ran forward to meet him as soon as the short figure, with its +exaggerated nautical roll, became known to her. She kissed her half-brother +warmly, and he hugged her and showed great delight at the meeting, for he +loved Joan well. + +"I've stealed away, 'cause I was just burstin' to get sight of 'e again, +Joan. Faither's home an' I comed off for a walk, creepin' round here an' +hopin' as we'd meet. 'Tis mighty wisht to home now you'm gone, I can tell +'e. I've got a sore head yet along o' you." + +"G'wan, bwoy! Why should 'e?" + +"Iss so. 'Twas like this. When us comed back from sea wan mornin' a week +arter you'd gone I ups an' sez, ''Tis 'bout as lively as bad feesh ashore +now Joan ban't here.' I dedn' knaw faither was in the doorway when I said +it, 'cause he'd give out you was never to be named no more. But mother seed +en an' sez to me, 'Shut your mouth.' An', not knawin' faither was be'ind +me, I ups agin an' sez, 'Why caan't I, as be her awn brother, see Joan +anyway an' hear tell what 'tis she've done? I lay as it ban't no mighty +harm neither, 'cause Joan's true Tregenza!'" + +"Good Lard! An' faither heard 'e?" + +"Iss, an' next minute I knawed it. He blazed an' roared, an' comed over an' +bummed my head 'pon the earhole--a buster as might 'a' killed some lads. My +ivers! I seed stars 'nough to fill a new sky, Joan, an' I went down tail +over nose. I doubt theer's nobody in Newlyn what can hit like faither. But +I got up agin an' sot mighty still, an' faither sez, 'She as was here ban't +no Tregenza, nor my darter, nor nothin' to none under my hellings +[Footnote: _Hellings_--Roof.] no more--never more, mark that.' Then +mother thrawed her apern over her faace an' hollered, 'cause I'd got such a +welt, an' faither walked out in the garden. I was for axin' mother then, +but reckoned not for fear as he might be listenin' agin. But I knawed you +was up Drift, 'cause I heard mother say that much; an' now I've sot eyes on +you agin; an' I knaw you'll tell me what's wrong wi' you; an' if I can do +anything for 'e I will, sink or swim." + +"Faither's a cruel beast, an' he'll come to a bad end, Tom, 'spite of they +Gosp'lers. He'm all wrong an' doan't knaw nothin' 'tall 'bout God. I do +knaw what I knaw. Theer's more o' God in that gert shine o' buttercups 'pon +the grass than in all them whey-faced chapel folks put together." + +"My stars, Joan!" + "'Tis truth, an' you'll find 'tis some day, same as what I have." + +"I doan't see how any lad be gwaine to make heaven myself," said Tom +gloomily. "Us had a mining cap'n from Camborne preach this marnin', an', by +Gollies! 'tweer like sittin' tu near a gert red'ot fire. Her rubbed it in, +I tell 'e, same as you rubs salt into a hake. Faither said 'twas braave +talk. But you, Joan, what's wrong with 'e, what have you done?" + +"I ain't done no wrong, Tom, an' you can take my word for't." + +"Do 'e reckon you'm damned, like what faither sez?" + +"Never! I doan't care a grain o' wheat what faither sez. What I done +weern't no sin, 'cause him, as be wiser an' cleverer an' better every way +than any man in Carnwall, said 'tweern't; an' he knawed. I've heard wise +things said, an' I've minded some an' forgot others. None can damn folks +but God, when all's done, an' He's the last as would; for God do love even +the creeping, gashly worms under a turned stone tu well to damn 'em. Much +more humans. I be a Nature's cheel an' doan't b'lieve in no devil an' no +hell-fire 'tall." + +"I wish I was a Nachur's cheel then." + +Joan flung down a little bouquet of starry stitchworts she had gathered +upon the way and turned very earnestly to Tom. + +"You _be_, you _be_ a Nature's cheel. Us all be, but awnly a few +knaws it." + +Tom laughed at this idea mightily. + +"Well, I'll slip back long, Joan; an' if I be a Nachur's cheel, I be; but I +guess I'll keep it a secret. If I tawld faither as I dedn' b'lieve in no +auld devil, I guess he'd hurry me into next world so's I might see for +myself theer was wan." + +They walked a little way together. Then Tom grew frightened and stopped his +companion. "Guess you'd best to be turnin'. Folks is 'bout everywheer in +the fields, bein' Sunday, an' if it got back to faither as I'd seed you, +he'd make me hop." + +"D'you like the sea still, Tom?" + +"Doan't I just! Better'n better; an' I be grawin' smart, 'cause I heard +faither tell mother so when I was in the wash'ouse an' they thot I wasn't. +Faither said as I'd got a hawk's eye for moorin's or what not. An' I licked +the bwoy on Pratt's bwoat a fortnight agone. A lot o' men seed me do't. I +hopes I'll hit so hard as faither hisself wan day, when I'm grawed. +Good-by, sister Joan. I'll see 'e agin when I can, an' bring up a feesh +maybe. Doan't say nothin' 'bout me to them at the farm, else it may get +back." + +So Tom marched off, speculating as to what particular lie would best meet +the case if cross-questioning awaited him on his return, and Joan watched +the thickset little figure very lovingly until it was out of sight. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +MEADOWSWEETS + + +June came. The wall-flowers were long plucked or dead, the last snows of +apple-blossom had vanished away, and the fruit was setting well. The +woodlice were already ruining the young nectarines. "They spiles 'em in +the growth an' scores 'em wi' their wicked lil teeth, then, come August +an' they ripens, they'll begin again. But the peaches they won't touch +now, 'cause of the fur 'pon 'em. Awnly they'll make up for't when the +things is ready for eatin'." So Uncle Thomas explained the position to +Joan. He, good man, had fulfilled his promise to see Michael Tregenza. +It happened that a load of oar-weed was wanted on the farm, and Mr. +Chirgwin, instead of sending one of the hands with horse and cart to +Newlyn according to his custom when seaweed was needed, went himself. +His elder niece expostulated with him and explained that such a trip +would be interpreted to mean straitened circumstances on the farm; but +her uncle was not proud, and when he explained that his real object was +an opportunity to speak with Joan's father Mary said no more. + +Screwing courage to the sticking-point, therefore, the old man went down to +Newlyn on a morning when Joan was not by to question his movements. Fortune +favored him. Michael had landed at daylight and was not sailing again till +dusk. The fisherman listened patiently, but Mr. Chirgwin's inconsequent and +sentimental conversation sounded as tinkling brass upon his ear. Both +argued the question upon religious grounds, but from an entirely different +standpoint. Michael was not at the trouble to talk much, for his visitor +seemed scarce worthy of powder and shot. He explained that he deemed it +damnation to hold unnecessary converse with sinners; that, by her act, Joan +had raised eternal barriers between herself and those of her own home, and, +indeed, all chosen people; that he had walked in the light from the dawn of +his days until the present time, and could not imperil the souls of his +wife, his son and himself by any further communion with one, in his +judgment, lost beyond faintest possibility of redemption. Uncle Chirgwin +listened with open mouth to these sentiments. He longed to relate how Joan +had repented of her offense, how she had thrown herself upon the Lord, and +found peace and forgiveness. No such thing could be recorded, however, and +he felt himself at a disadvantage. He prayed for mercy on her behalf, but +mercy was a luxury Gray Michael deemed beyond the reach of man. He showed +absolutely no emotion upon the subject, and his chill unconcern quenched +the farmer's ardor. Mr. Chirgwin mourned mightily that he held not a +stronger case. Joan had tied his hands, at any rate, for the present. If +she would only come round, accept the truth and abandon her present +attitude--then he knew that he would fight like a giant for her, and that, +with right upon his side, he would surely prevail. His last words upon the +subject shadowed this conviction. + +"Please God time may soften 'e, Tregenza; an', maybe, soften Joan tu. Her +heart's warm yet, an' the truth will find its plaace theer in the Lard's +awn time; but you--I doubt 'tedn' in you to change." + +"Never, till wrong be right." + +"You makes me sorry for 'e, Tregenza." + +"Weep for yourself, Thomas Chirgwin. You'm that contented, an' the +contented sawl be allus farthest from God if you awnly knawed it. Wheer's +your fear an' tremblin' too? I've never seed 'e afeared or shaken 'fore the +thrawn o' the Most High in your life. But I 'sure 'e, thee'll come to it." + +"An' you say that!' You'm 'mazin' blind, Tregenza, for all you walk in the +Light. The Light's dazed 'e, I'm thinkin', same as birds a breakin' theer +wings 'gainst lighthouse glasses. You sez you be a worm twenty times a day, +an' yet you'm proud enough for Satan hisself purty nigh. If you'm a worm, +why doan't 'e act like a worm an' be humble-minded? 'Tis the lil childern +gets into heaven. You'm stiff-necked, Michael Tregenza. I sez it respectful +an' in sorrer; but 'tis true." + +"I hope the Lard won't lay thy sin to thy charge, my poor sawl," answered +the fisherman with perfect indifference. "You--you dares to speak agin me! +I wish I could give 'e a hand an' drag 'e a lil higher up the ladder o' +righteousness, Chirgwin; but you'm o' them as caan't dance or else won't, +not if God A'mighty's Self piped to 'e. Go your ways, an' knaw you'm in the +prayers of a man whose prayers be heard." + +"Then pray for Joan. If you'm so cocksure you gets a hearin' 'fore us +church folks, 'tis your fust duty to plead for her." + +"It was," he said. "Now it is too late, I've sweated for her, an' wrastled +wi' principalities an' powers for her, an' filled the night watches by sea +an' shore wi' gert agonies o' prayer for her. But 'tweern't to be. Her +name's writ in the big Book o' Death, not the small Book o' Life. David +prayed hard till that cheel, got wrong side the blanket, died. Then he +washed his face an' ate his meat. 'Twas like that wi' me. Joan's dead now. +Let the dead bury theer dead." + +"'Tis awful to hear 'e, Tregenza." + +"The truth's a awful thing, Chirgwin, but a lie is awfuler still. 'Tis the +common fate to be lost. You an' sich as you caan't grasp the truth 'bout +that. Heaven's no need to be a big plaace--theer 'edn' gwaine to be no +crowdin' theer. 'Tis hell as'll fill space wi' its roominess." + +"I be gwaine," answered Mr. Chirgwin. "Us have talked three hour by the +clock, an' us ain't gotten wan thot in common. I trusts in Christ; you +trusts in yourself. Time'll shaw which was right. You damn the world; I +wouldn't damn a dew-snail. [Footnote: _Dew-snail_--A slug.] I awnly +sez again, 'May you live to see all the pints you'm wrong.' An' if you do, +'twill be a tidy big prospect." + +They exchanged some further remarks in a similar strain. Then Tom informed +Uncle Chirgwin that his cart with a full load of oar-weed was waiting at +the door. Whereupon the old man got his hat, loaded his pipe, wished +Thomasin good-by, and drove sorrowfully away. Mrs. Tregenza had secretly +inquired after Joan's health and wealth. That the first was excellent, the +second carefully put away in the lawyer's hands, caused her satisfaction. +She told Mr. Chirgwin to make Joan write out a will. + +"You never knaws," she said. "God keep the gal, but they do die now an' +agin. 'Tweer better she wrote about the money 'cordin' to a lawyer's way. +And, say, for the Lard's love, not to leave it to Michael. So well light a +fire wi' it as that. He bawled out as the money had lit a fire a'ready, +when I touched 'pon it to en--a fire as was gwaine to burn through +eternity; but Michael's not like a human. His ideas 'pon affairs is all +pure Bible. You an' me caan't grasp hold o' all he says. An' the money's +done no wrong. So you'll drop in Joan's ear as it might be worldly-wise to +save trouble by sayin' what should be done if anything ill failed 'pon +her--eh?" + +Uncle Chirgwin promised that he would do so, and Mrs. Tregenza felt a +weight off her mind which had distressed it for some while. She was +thinking of Tom, of course. She knew that Joan loved him, and though the +prospect of his ever coming by a penny of the money appeared slender, yet +to think that he might be in a will, named for hundreds of pounds, was a +shadowy sort of joy to her. + +That night Joan's uncle told the girl of his afternoon's work, and she +expressed some sorrow that he should have thus exerted himself on her +behalf. + +"Faither's dirt beside the likes of you," she said. "'Twas wastin' good +time to talk to en, an' I wouldn't go back to Newlyn, you mind, if he was +to ax me 'pon his knees. I'm a poor fool of a gal, but I knaws enough to +laugh at the ignorance o' faither an' that fiddle-faaced crowd to the Luke +Gospel Chapel." + +"Doan't 'e be bitter, Joan. Us all makes mistakes an' bad's the best o' +human creatures. Your faither will chaange, sure as I'm a livin' man, some +day. God ban't gwaine to let en gaw down to's graave wi' sich a 'mazin' +number o' wrong opinions. Else think o' the wakin' t'other side! Iss, it +caan't be. Why, as 'tis, if he went dead sudden, he'd gaw marchin' into +heaven as bold as brass, an' bang up to the right hand o' the thrawne! +Theer's a situation for a body! An' the awk'ardness o' havin' to step +forrard an' tell en! No, no, the man'll be humbled sure 'fore his journey's +end. Theer's Everlasting eyes 'pon en, think as you may." + +"I never think at all about him," declared Joan, "an' I ban't gwaine to. He +won't chaange, an' I never wants en to. I've got you to love me, an' to +love; an' I'm--I'm waitin' for wan as be gawld to faither's dross." + +She sighed as she spoke. + +"Waitin' for en still?" + +"Ay, for Mister Jan. It caan't be no gert length o' time now. I s'pose days +go quicker up Lunnon town than wi' us." + +"Joan, my dovey, 'tis idle. Even I sees it now. I did think wi' you fust as +he was a true man. I caan't no more. I wish I could." + +A month before Joan would have flashed into anger at such a speech as this, +but now she did not answer. Young love is fertile in imagination. She had +found a thousand glories in John Barren, and, when he left her, had woven a +thousand explanations for his delayed return. Now invention grew dull; +enthusiasm waned; her confidence was shaken, though she denied the fact +even to herself as a sort of treachery. But there is no standing still in +time. The remorseless fact of his non-return extended over weeks and +months. + +Mr. Chirgwin saw her silence, noted the little quiver of her mouth as he +declared his own loss of faith, stroked the hand she thrust dumbly into his +and felt her silence hurt his heart. + +Presently Joan spoke. + +"I've got none to b'lieve in en no more then--not wan now, not even you. +Whiles you stuck up for en I felt braave 'bout his comin'; now--now Mister +Jan have awnly got me to say a word for en. An' you doan't think he'm a +true man no more then, uncle?" + +"Lassie, I wish to God as I did. Time's time. Why ban't he here?" + +"I doan't dare think this is the end. I'm feared to look forrard now. If +it do wance come 'pon me as he've gone 'twill drive me mad, I knaws." + +"No, never, not if you'd awnly turn your faace the right way. Theer's +oceans o' comfort an' love waitin' for 'e, gal. You did belong to a hard +world, as I knaws who have just comed from speech wi' your faither; but +'twas a world o' clean eatin' an' dressin' an' livin'--a God-fearin' world +leadin' up'ards on a narrer, ugly road, but a safe road, I s'pose. An' you +left it. You'll say I be harsh, but my heart do bleed for 'e, Joan. If +you'd awnly drop this talk 'bout Nature, as none of us understands, an' +turn to the livin' Christ, as all can understand. That's wheer rest lies +for 'e, nowheers else. You'm like Eve in the garden. She was kindiddled an' +did eat an' lost eternal life an' had to quit Eden. An' 'tis forbidden +fruit as you've ate, not knawin' 'twas sich. Nature doan't label her +pisins, worse luck." + +"Eve? No, I ban't no Eve. She had Adam." + +There was a world of sorrow in the words and the hopeless ring in them +startled Uncle Chirgwin, for it denoted greater changes in the girl's mind +than he thought existed. She seemed nearer to the truth. It cut his heart +to see her suffering, but he thanked Heaven that the inevitable knowledge +was coming, and prayed it might be the first step toward peace. He was +silent with his thoughts, and Joan spoke again, repeating her last words. + +"Iss, Eve had Adam to put his arm around her an' kiss her wet eyes. He were +more to her than what the garden was, I'll lay, or God either. That's the +bitter black God o' my faither. What for did He let the snake in the garden +'tall if He really loved them fust poor fools? Why dedn' He put they +flamin' angels theer sooner. 'Twas the snake they should have watched an' +kep' out." + +Uncle Chirgwin looked at her with round terrified eyes. She had never +echoed Barron's sentiments to such a horrified listener. + +"Doan't, for pity's sake, Joan! The wickedness of it! Him as taught you to +think such frightful thoughts tried to ruin your sawl so well as your body. +Oh, if you'd awnly up an' say, 'That man was wrong an' I'll forget en an' +turn to the Saviour.'" + +"You caan't understan'. I do put ugly bits o' thot afore 'e, but if you'd +heard him as opened my eyes, you'd knaw 'tedn' ugly taken altogether. I +knaws so much, but caan't speak it out. Us done no sin, an' I ban't shamed +to look the sun in the faace, nor you. An' he will come--he will--if +theer's a kind God in heaven he'll come back to me. If 'e doan't, then I'll +say that faither's God's the right wan." + +"Doan't 'e put on a bold front, Joan gal. Theer's things tu deep for the +likes o' us. You ban't prayin' right, I reckon. Theer's a voice hid in you. +Listen to that. Nature's spawk to 'e an' now er's dumb. Listen to t'other, +lassie. Nature do guide beasts an' birds an' the poor herbs o' the field; +but you--you listen to t'other. You'll never be happy no more till you awns +'twas a sad mistake an' do ax in the right plaace for pardon." + +"I want no pardon," she said. "I have done no wrong, I tell 'e. Wheer's +justice to? 'Cause the man do bide away, I be wicked; if he comed back +to-morrer an' married me--what then? I be sinless in the matter of it, an' +Nature do knaw it, an' God do knaw it." + +But her breast heaved and her eyes were wet with unshed tears. Uncle +Chirgwin, her solitary trust and stand-by, had drifted away too. His hope +was dead and she could not revive it. He had never spoken so strongly +before, but now he was taking up Mary's line of action and had ranged +himself against her. It almost seemed to Joan that he reflected in a meek, +diluted fashion, as the moon turns the sun's golden fire to silver, +something of what he must have heard that afternoon from her father. This +defection acted definitely on the girl's temperament. She fought fear, +hardened her heart against doubt, cast suspicion far away as treason to +"Mister Jan" and gave to hope a new lease of life. She would be patient for +his sake, she would trust in him still. + +There was something grand in the loneliness, she told herself. He would +know perhaps one day of her great patient faith and love. And the trial +would make her brain and heart bigger and better fit her for the position +of wife to him. The struggle was fought by her with that courage which lies +beyond man's comprehension. She looked at the world with bright eyes when +there was necessity for facing it; she exhausted her ingenuity in schemes +for communicating with John Barron. If he only knew! She felt that even had +change darkened his affection for her, yet, most surely, the thought of the +baby must tempt him back again. Thus, with sustained bravery and ignorance, +she left her hand in Nature's, and her faith, rising gloriously above the +doubt of the time, trusted that majestic heathen goddess as a little child +trusts its mother. + +Fate played another prank upon her not long afterward and thrust into her +hands a possible means of access to John Barron. A favorite resort of +Joan's was the brook which ran down the valley beneath Drift and Sancreed. +The little stream wound through a fair coomb between orchards, meadows, +wastes of fern and heather. At this season of the year the valley was very +lonely, and a certain spot beside the stream often tempted Joan by reason +of its comfort and its peace. From here, sitting on a granite bowlder +clothed in soft green mosses and having a shape into which human limbs +might fit easily, the girl could see much that was fair. The meadows were +all sprinkled with the silver-mauve of cuckoo-flowers--Shakespeare's +"lady's smock"; the hills sloped upward under oaken saplings as yet too +young for the stripping; the valley stretched winding landward beneath +Sancreed. Above and far away stretched the Cornish moors dotted with man's +mining enterprises, chiefly deserted. Ding-Dong raised its gaunt engine +stack and, distant though it was, Joan's sharp eyes could see the rusty arm +of iron stretching forth from the brickwork, motionless, not worth the +removing. Close at hand, where the stream wandered babbling at her feet, +the whole glory of spring shone on blossoms and grasses where the world of +the stream-side sent forth a warm, living smell. The wildness of the upland +moors stretched down into the valley below them. There glimmered blue-green +patches of bracken, speckled with the red and white hides of calves which +fed and scampered dew-lap deep; and the fern was all sheened with light +where the sunshine brightened its polished leaves. The stream wound through +the midst, bedecked and adorned with purple bugle flowers, bridged with +dog-roses and honeysuckles, in festoons, in bunches and in sprays, crowned +with scented gorse, fringed with yellow irises which splashed flaming +reflections where the brook widened and slowed into shallow little +backwaters. Flags and cresses framed the margins; meadowsweets made the air +fragrant above, and granite bowlders fretted the waters silver, their +foundations hidden in dark water-weed. Sunshine danced on every tiny +cascade and threw stars and twinkling flashes of light upward from the +brown pools upon the banks. Everything was upon a miniature scale, even to +the trout which lived in the stream, flashed their dim shadows under its +waters, leaped into the air after the flies, set little clouds of sand +shimmering as they darted up and down or, when surprised, wriggled away +into favorite holes and hiding places beneath the banks and trailing weeds. +Ling and wortleberry too were moorland visitors in the valley, and the bog +heather already budded. + +Here was one of the many favorite resting-places of Joan, and hither she +came on a rare morning in mid June at the wish of another person. + +Uncle Chirgwin had set his niece a task, and the object of her present +visit was no mere dawdling and thinking while perched upon the granite +throne above the meadowsweets. This fact a basket and a three-pronged fork +indicated. Her uncle deemed himself an authority on simples and possessed +much information, mostly erroneous, concerning the properties of wild herbs +and flowers. A decoction of hemp agrimony he at all times considered a most +valuable bitter tonic; and of this plant the curious flesh-colored flowers +on their long green stems grew pretty freely by the stream-side in the +valley. The time of flowering was not yet come, but Joan knew the dull leaf +of the herb well enough and, that found, she could easily dig up the root, +wherein its virtue dwelt. But before starting on her search, the girl +rested a while where the serrated foliage and creamy blossom of the +meadowsweets laced and fringed the granite of her couch; and, as she sat +there, her eye taking in the happy valley, her brain reading into the +luxuriant life of nature, some strange new thoughts hidden until lately, +she became suddenly conscious of a phenomenon beyond her power to +immediately explain or understand It drove the hemp agrimony quite out of +her head, and, when the mystery came to be explained, filled Joan's mind +with the memory of her own sad affairs. First and repeatedly there +glimmered a gossamer over the stream, falling into the water and as often +rising again; then above the film of light flashed another, rising abruptly +golden into the sunshine. Not for a moment or two did she discover the +flashing thing was a fly-rod, but presently the man who held it appeared +below her at a bend of the streamlet. He was clad much like the artists, +and it made the blood flush hot to her cheek as she thought he might be +one. Young men sometimes fished the brook for the fingerling trout it +contained. They were small but sweet, and the catching them with a fly was +difficult work in a stream so overhung with tangles of vine and brier, so +densely planted in the wider reaches with water hemlock and lesser weeds. +This fisherman, at any rate, found successful sport beyond his power to +achieve. He flogged away, but hung his fly clear of the stream at every +second cast and deceived not the smallest troutlet of them all. The young +man, after the manner of those anglers classified as "chuck and chance it," +worked his clumsy way toward Joan's chair on the granite bowlder. +Motionless she sat, and her drab attire and faded sun-bonnet harmonized so +well with the tones around it--the gray of the stones, the lights of the +river, the masses of the meadowsweet--that while noting a broad and +sparkling stickle winding away beneath her, the angler missed the girl +herself. This stickle spread, with an oily tremor and white undercurrent +full of air pearls, from a waterfall where the foot of Joan's throne +fretted the stream. Below it the waters slowed and ran smoothly into dark +brown shadows, being here marked by the wrinkled lines of their currents +and splashed with the sky's reflected blue. An ideal spot for a trout it +doubtless was, and the approaching sportsman exercised unusual care in his +approach, crouching along the bank and finally creeping bent double within +casting distance. Then, as he freed his fly, he saw Joan, like a queen of +the pool reigning motionless and silent. She moved and no fish was likely +to rise after within the visual radius of her sudden action. Thereupon the +angler in the man cursed; the artist in him drew a short, sharp breath. He +scrambled to his feet and looked again upon a beautiful picture. The plump, +baby freshness of Joan's face had vanished indeed, and there was that in +the slightly anxious expression and questioning look of her blue eyes that +had told any medical man he stood before a future mother; but, in her +seated position, no tangible suggestion of a hidden life was thrust upon +the spectator's view. He only saw a wondrously pretty woman in a charming +attitude, amid objects which enhanced her beauty by their own. She seemed a +trifle pale for a cottage girl, but her mouth was scarlet and dewy as ripe +wood-strawberries, her eyes were just of that color where the blue sky +above was reflected and changed to a darker shade by the pools of the +brook. She sat with her hands folded in her lap and looked straight at the +sportsman with a frank interest which surprised him. He was a modest lad, +but the sudden presentment of an object so lovely woke his pluck and he +fished ostentatiously to Joan's very feet, suspecting that the absurdity of +the action would not be apparent to her. She watched the morsel of feather +and fur dragged across the water after the fantastic fashion of the "chuck +and chancer," and he, when her eyes were on the water, kept his own fast +upon her face. Both man and woman were profoundly anxious each to hear the +other's voice, but neither felt brave enough to speak first. Then the +artist's ingenuity found a means, and Joan presently saw his fly stick fast +upon the side of the stream where she sat. The thing was caught at the +seed-head of a rush within reach of Joan's hand, and while this incident +appeared absolutely accidental, yet it was not so, for the artist had long +been endeavoring to get fast somewhere hard by Joan. Now, finding his +maneuver accomplished, he made but the feeblest efforts to loosen the fly, +then raised his hat and accosted Joan. + +"Might I trouble you to set my line clear? Ashamed to ask such a thing, but +it would be awfully kind. Oh, thank you, thank you. Take care of your +fingers! The hook is very sharp." + +Joan got the fly free in a moment, and then, to Harry Murdoch's +gratification, addressed him. The young fellow was Edmund Murdoch's cousin, +and at present dwelt in Newlyn with the elder artist already mentioned as +John Barron's friend. + +"May I make so bold as to ax if you do knaw a paintin' gen'leman by name +o'--o' Mister Jan? Leastways, that's wan on's names, but I never can call +home the other, though he tawld me wance. He was here last early +spring-time, an' painted a gert picture of me up 'pon top the hill they +calls Gorse Point." + +"Lucky devil," thought the artist; but though he knew something of Barron +and his work and had heard that Barron painted when at Newlyn, he did not +associate these facts with the girl before him. + +"He'm in Lunnon, so far's I knaw," she continued. + +Harry Murdoch had to look hard at Joan before answering, and he delayed a +while with an expression of deep thought upon his face. At length he spoke. + +"No, I cannot say that I have heard of him or the picture. But perhaps some +of the men in Newlyn will know. He was lucky to get you to paint. I wish +you would let me try." + +She shook her head impatiently. + +"No, no. He done it 'cause--'cause he just wanted a livin' thing to fill up +a bit o' his canvas. 'Tweern't for shaw or for folks to see. He done it for +pleasure. An' I wants to knaw wheer he lives 'cause he might think I be in +Newlyn still, but I ban't. I'm livin' up Drift along wi' Mr. Chirgwin. An' +I wish he could knaw it." + +"He was called 'Mister John'? Well, I'll see what I can do to find out +anything about him. And your name?" + +"Joan Tregenza. If you'll be so good as to put a question round 'mongst the +painting gen'lemen, I'd thank 'e kindly." + +"Then I certainly will. And on Saturday next I'll come here again to tell +you if I have heard anything. Will you come?" + +"Iss fay, an' thank you, sir." + +So he passed slowly forward, and she sat a full hour after he had left her +building new castles on the old crumbling foundations. It was even in her +mind to pray, to pray with her whole heart and soul; but chaos had settled +like a storm upon her beliefs. She did not know where to pray to now; yet +to-day Hope once more glimmered like a lighthouse lamp through the dreary +darkness. So she turned her eyes to that radiance and waited for next +Saturday to come. + +Then she set about grubbing up roots of hemp agrimony where they grew. She +was almost happy and whistled gently to herself as she filled her little +basket. + +That night Edmund Murdoch heard his cousin's story and explained that +"Mister Jan" was doubtless John Barron. + +"I'm owing the beggar a letter; I'll write tomorrow." + +"Was it a good picture?" + +"I should say that few better ever came out of Newlyn. Perhaps none so +good. Is the model as pretty as ever?" + +Young Harry raved of the vision that Joan had presented among the +meadowsweets. + +"Well, I suppose he wouldn't mind her knowing where he lives; but he's such +a queer devil that I'll write and ask him first. We shall hear in a couple +of days; I can tell him her address, at any rate; then he may write direct +to her, if he cares to." + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +TWO LETTERS + + +Four days elapsed, and then Edmund Murdoch received an answer to his +letter. He had written at length upon various affairs and his friend did no +less. + +"No. 6 Melbury Gardens, S.W. + +"June 8, 189--. + +"Dear Murdoch--Your long screed gave me some pleasure and killed an hour. +You relate the even course of your days since my departure from Cornwall, +and I envy the good health and happy contentment of mind which your note +indicates. I gained no slight benefit from my visit to the West Country, +and it had doubtless carried me bravely through this summer but for an +unfortunate event. A sharp cold, which settled on my chest, has laid me low +for some length of time, though I am now as well again as I shall ever be. +So much for facing the night air in evening dress. Nature has no patience +with our idiotic conventions, and hates alike man's shirt-front and woman's +bare bosom when displayed, as is our imbecile custom, at the most dangerous +hours in the twenty-four. My doctors are for sending me away, and I shall +probably follow their advice presently. But the end is not very far off. + +"I rejoice that you have sucked in something of my spirit and are trying to +get at the heart of rocks and sea before you paint them. Men waste so much +time poking about in art galleries, like the blind moles they mostly are, +and forget that Nature's art gallery is open every day at sunrise. Dwell +much in the air, glean the secrets of dawns, listen when the white rain +whispers over woodland, translate the tinkle of summer seas where they kiss +your rocky shores; get behind the sunset; think not of what colors you will +mix when you try to paint it, but let the pageant sink into your soul like +a song. Do not drag your art everywhere. Forget it sometimes and develop +your individuality. You have learned to draw tolerably; now learn to think. +Believe me, the painting people do not think enough. + +"Truly I am content to die in the face of the folly I read and see around +me. Know you what certain obscure writers are now about in magazines? They +are vindicating the cosmic forces, whitewashing Mother Nature after +Huxley's Romanes lecture! He told the truth, and Nature loved him for it; +but now come hysterical religious ciphers who squeak boldly forth in print +that Nature is the mother of altruism, that self-sacrifice is her first +law! One genius observes that 'tis their cruelty and selfishness have +arrested the progress of the tiger and the ape! Poor Nature! Never a word +of shotguns in all this drivel, of course. Cruelty and selfishness! +Qualities purely and solely human--qualities resulting from conscious +intelligence alone. You and I are selfish, not the ape; you and I are +cruel, not the tiger. He at least learns Nature's lessons and obeys her +dictates; we never do and never shall. A plague upon these fools with their +theologic rubbish heaps. They would prostitute the very fonts of reason and +make Nature's eternal circle fit the little squares of their own faiths. +Man! I tell you that the root of human misery might be pulled out and +destroyed to-morrow like the fang of a decayed tooth if only reason could +kill these weeds of falsehood which choke civilization and strangle +religion. But the world's 'doers' have all got 'faith' (or pretend to it); +the world's thinkers are mere shadows moving about in the background of +active affairs. They only write and talk. Action is the sole way of +chaining a nation's mind. + +"Your churchman is active enough, hence the spread of that poison which +keeps human reason stunted, impotent, anaemic. Take Liberty--the cursed +ignis fatuus our dear poets have shrieked for, our preachers have prayed +for, our patriots have perished for through all time. In pursuit of this +rainbow-gold more blood and brains have been wasted than would have +sufficed to make a nation. And yet a breath from Reason blows the thing to +tatters, as an uprising wind annihilates a fog. Freedom is an attribute of +the Eternal, and creation cannot share it with him, any more than it can +share his throne with him. 'The liberty of the subject'! A contradiction in +terms. Banish this unutterable folly of freedom, and control the breeding +of human flesh as we control the output of beef and of mutton. Then the +face of the world will alter. Millions of money is annually spent in order +that mindless humanity, congenital lunatics and madmen, may be fed and +housed and kept alive. Their existences are to themselves less pleasurable +than that of the beasts, they are a source of agony to those who have borne +them; but they live to old age and devour tons of good food, while +wholesome intellects starve in the gutters of every big city. Banish this +cant of freedom then, I tell you. The lightning in heaven is not free; the +stars are not free; Nature herself is the created slave of the Great +Will--and _we_ prattle about liberty. Let the State look to it and +practice these lessons Nature has taught and still preaches patiently to +deaf ears. Let it be as penal to bring life into the world without +permission from authority as it is to put life out of the world. Let the +begetting of paupers be a crime; let the health and happiness of the +community rise higher than the satisfaction of individuals; let the +self-denial practiced by the reasonable few be made a legal necessity to +the unreasonable many. Let the blighted, the malformed, the brainless go +back to the earth from which they came. Let the world of humanity be +cleansed and sweetened and purified as Nature cleanses and sweetens and +purifies her own kingdom. She removes her failures; we put ours under glass +and treat them like hothouse flowers. That is called humanity; it is the +mad leading the mad.... But why waste your time? Nature will have the last +word; Reason must win in the end; a genius, at once thinker and doer, will +come along some day and put the world right, at a happy moment when the din +of theologists is out of its ears. We want a new practical religion; for +Christianity, distorted and twisted through the centuries into its present +outworn, effete, ignoble shape, is a mere political force or a money-making +machine, according to the genius of the country which professes it. The +golden key of the founder, which is lost, may be found again, but I think +it never will be." + +[Here the man elaborated his opinions. They were like himself: a medley--a +farrago--wherein ascerbity, acuteness, and a mind naturally philosophic +were stranded in the arid deserts of a pessimism bred partly from his own +decaying physical circumstances and partly from recognition of his own +wasted time.] + +"I do not suppose that I shall paint any more. I had my Cornish picture +brought from its packing-case and framed, and supported on a great easel at +the foot of my bed while I was stricken down last month. Mistress Joan eyed +me curiously from under her hand, and through the night-watches, while my +man snored in the next chamber and I tossed with great unrest, the girl +seemed to live and move and smile at me under the flicker of the night +lamp. Everybody is pleased to say that 'Joe's Ship' seems good to them. I +have it now in the studio, and contrasted it yesterday with my bathing +negresses from Tobago. I think I like it better. It is difficult to read +the soul in black faces, especially when the models are freezing to death +as mine were. But there is something near to soul in this painted +Joan--more I doubt than the living reality would be found to possess +to-day. She was a good girl all the same, and I am gratified to hear she +did not quite forget me. I have written to her at the address you mention. +They pester me to send the picture somewhere, and to stop their +importunities--especially the women--I have promised to let the thing go to +the Institute in the autumn. I shall doubtless change my mind before the +time comes. + +"My life slowly but surely dwindles to that mere battle with Death which +your consumptive wages at the finish. I fancy Biskra will see my bones +later in the year. The R.A. took not less than six months off my waning +days this spring. Thank God they hung Brady as he deserved. Twenty good +works I saw--'the rest is silence.' + +"Yours, while I remain, + +"JOHN BARRON." + +It was true that the artist had written another letter addressed to Joan +Tregenza at Drift. He had written it first--written it hurriedly, wildly, +on the spur of the moment. But, after the completion of his communication +to Murdoch, the mood of the man changed. He had coldly read again the +former epistle, and altered his mind concerning it. Barron wanted Joan back +again sometimes, if life dragged more than usual; but pens and paper +generally modified his desire when he got that far toward calling her to +him. Her memory tickled him pleasantly and whiled away time. He framed the +various sketches he had made of her and suffered thought to occupy itself +with her as with no other woman who had entered his life. But the day on +which he wrote to Murdoch was a good one with him. He felt stronger and +better able to suck pleasure out of living than he had for a month. + +"When I whistle she will come," he thought to himself. "Perhaps there would +be some pleasure in taking her to Biskra presently. I will wait, at any +rate, until nearer the last scene. She would be pretty to look at when I'm +dying. Yes, she shall close my eyes some day, if she likes. That's a +pleasant thought--for me." + +So the letter to Murdoch was sent forth, but the letter to Joan, containing +some poetic thoughts on Nature, a pathetic description of Barron's +enfeebled state, and an appeal to her to join him that they might part no +more on this side the grave, was torn up. He laughed at the trouble he had +taken to print it all, and pondered pleasantly on the picture which Murdoch +had drawn of Joan ruling the kingdom of the meadowsweets, of her eager +question concerning "Mister Jan." + +"Strange," he reflected, "that her mediocre intelligence should have clung +to a man so outwardly mean as myself. If I thought that she had remembered +half I said when I was with her, or had made a single attempt to practice +the gospel I preached so finely--damned if I wouldn't have her back again +to-morrow and be proud of her too. But it can't be. She was such an +absolute fool. No, I much fear she only desires to find out what has become +of the goose who laid the big golden egg. Or if she doesn't, perhaps her +God-fearing father and mother do." + +Which opinion is not uninteresting, for it illustrates the usual failure of +materialism to discover or gauge those mental possibilities which lie +hidden within the humblest and worst equipped intelligences. John Barron +was an able man in some respects, but his knowledge of Joan Tregenza had +taught him nothing concerning her character and its latent powers of +development. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +DISENCHANTMENT + + +With summer, Nature, proceeding on her busy way, approached again the +annual phenomena of seed-time and harvest. To Joan, as spring had brought +with it a world of mothers, so the subsequent season filled Nature with +babies; and, in the light of all this newborn life, the mothers suffered a +change. Now, sorrow-guided, did Joan begin to read under the face of +things, "to get behind the sunset," as Barren had said in his letter to +Murdoch, to realize a little of the mystery hidden in green leaves and +swelling fruits and ripening grain, to observe at least the presence of +mystery though she could not translate more than an occasional +manifestation thereof. She found much matter for wonder and for fear. +Visible Nature had grown to be a smiling curtain behind which raged eternal +struggles for life. Every leaf sheltered a tragedy, every bough was a +battlefield. The awful frailty of all existence began to dawn upon Joan +Tregenza, and the discovery left her helpless, lonely, longing for new +gods. She knew not where to turn. Any brightness from any source had been +welcome then. + +Disenchantment came with the second visit of the artist to the stream. +There; young Murdoch had met her and told her that "Mister Jan" was going +to write her a letter. Upon which she had sung glad songs in a sunlit world +and amazed Mary and Uncle Chirgwin alike by the exhibition of a sudden and +profound happiness. But that longed-for letter never came; weeks passed by; +the truth rolled up over her life at last; and, as a world seen in a blaze +of sunshine only dazzles us and conceals its facts under too much light, +but reveals the same clear cut and distinct at dawn or early twilight, so +now Joan's eyes, obscured no more by the blinding promise of great joy, +began to see her world as it was, her future as it would be. + +Strange thoughts came to her on an evening when she stood by the door of +the kitchen at Drift, waiting for the cart to return from market. It was a +cool, gray gloaming, wreathed in diaphanous mists born of past ram. These +rendered every outline of tree and building vague and immense. Where Joan +stood, the peace of the time was broken only by a gentle dripping from the +leaves of a great laurel by the gate which led from the farmyard to the +fields. Below it, moist ground was stamped with the trident impress of many +fowls' feet; and, now and then, a feather sidled down from the heart of the +evergreen, where poultry, black and white and spangled, were settling to +roost. A subdued clucking and fluttering marked their hidden perches; then +came showers of rain-drops from the shining leaves as a bird mounted to a +higher branch; after which silence fell again. + +And Joan found all hope fairly dead at last. There and then, in the misty +eveningtide, the fact fell on the ear of her heart as though one had spoken +it; and henceforth she dated disenchantment from that hour. The whole +pageant of her romance, with the knightly figure of the painter that filled +its foreground, shriveled to a scroll no bigger than a curled, dead +leaf--sere, wasted, ghostly, and light enough to be washed away on a tear, +borne away upon a sigh. + +Then there followed for her prodigious transformations in the panorama of +Nature. Seen from the standpoint of his great, overwhelming lie to her, the +philosophy which this man had professed changed in its appearance, and that +mightily. He had used his cleverness like a net to trap her, and now, +though she could not prove his words untrue save in one particular, yet +that crowning act of faithlessness much tended to vitiate all the beauties +of imagination which had gone before it. They were lilies grown from a +dung-heap. Looking back in the new cold sidelight, her life came out +clearly with all the color gone from it and the remorseless details +distinct. And in this survey Nature dwindled to a minor Deity, a goddess +with moods as many and whims as wild as a woman's. She was unstable, it +seemed to Joan then; the immemorial solidity and splendor of her had +departed; her eyes were not fixed on Heaven any more, nor did peace any +longer rest within them; they were frightened, terrified, and their wild +and furtive glances followed one Shadow, reflected one Shape. It stood +waiting at the end of all her avenues; It peered from the heart of her +forests; it wandered on her heaths and moors; it lay under the stones in +her rivers; it stalked her sea-shores, floated on her waves, rode upon her +lightning, hid in her four winds; and the Shadow's name was Death. Joan +stood face to face with it at last and gazed round-eyed at a revelation. +She was saddened to find her own story told by Nature in many allegories, +painted upon the garden, set forth in waste places, fashioned by humble +weeds, reflected in the small, brief lives of unconsidered creatures. Now +she imagined herself an ill-shaped apple in the orchard which the mother of +all had neglected. It was crumpled up on one side, twisted out of its fair +full beauty, ruined by some wicked influence--a failure. Now she was a fly +caught by the gold spider who set his web shaking to deceive. Now she was a +little bird singing one moment, the next crawling dazed and shaking under +the paw of a cat. Why should Nature make the strong her favorites and be so +cruel to the weak? That seemed an ungodly thing to Joan. She had only +reached this point. She had no inkling of the great cleansing process which +removes the dross, the eternal competition from which only the cleanest and +sweetest and best come forth first. She saw the battle indeed, but did not +understand the meaning of it any more than the rest of the world which, in +the words of the weakling Barren, beneath the emblems of a false humanity, +keeps its weeds under hot-house glasses and, out of mercy to futile +individuals, does terribly wrong its communities. Our cleansing processes +are only valuable so far as they go hand in hand with Nature, and where the +folly of many fools rejects the wisdom of the wise, there Nature has her +certain revenge sooner or later. The sins of the State are visited on the +children of the State, and those who repeal laws which Science, walking +hand in hand with Nature, has proposed, those who refuse laws which +Science, Nature-taught, urges upon Power, do not indeed suffer themselves, +but commit thousands of others to suffering. So their false sentiment in +effect poisons the blood-springs of a nation. Religion leads to these +disasters, and any religion answerable for gigantic human follies is either +false or most falsely comprehended. + +Her uncle still tarried, and Joan, weary of waiting, betook herself and her +sorrows to the old garden, there to view a spectacle which she never tired +of. She watched the evening primroses, saw their green bud-cases spring +open and the soft yellow leaves tremble out like butterflies new come from +the chrysalis. She loved these little lemon-colored lamps that twinkled +anew at every sundown in the green twilight of the garden. She knew their +eyes would watch through the night and that their reward would be death. +Many shriveled fragments marked the old blossoms on the long stems, but the +crowns of each still put out new buds, and every dusk saw the wakening of +fresh blossoms heedless of their dead sisters below. "They was killed +'cause they looked at the sun," thought Joan. "I suppose the moon be theer +mistress and they should not chaange their god. Yet it do seem hard like to +be scorched to death for lookin' upward." + +What she saw now typified in a dead flower was her own case under a new +symbol; but the girl wasted no anger on the man who had played with her to +make a holiday pleasant, on that mock sun whose light now turned to +darkness. Her mind was occupied entirely with pity for herself. And that +fact probably promised to be a sure first step to peace. The lonely void of +her life must be filled, else Joan was like to go mad; and the filling, +left to Faith, might yet be happily accomplished. For Faith, if no more +than a "worm with diamond eyes" yet has eyes of diamonds, and rainbows are +the arches of her shape. Faith is fair and a very heart-companion to those +who know her and love her courts; and Joan, of all others, was best endowed +by disposition and instinct for the possession of her. Faith had slept in +the girl's heart since her mother died; but, sleeping, had grown, and now +waited in all strength to be called to a great task. The void was at its +deepest just now; the lowest note of Joan's soul had sounded; the facts of +her ruin and desertion were fully accepted at last; and such knowledge +served even to turn the growing mother in her sour for a time. Maternal +instinct stood still just a little while at this point in the girl's inner +life; then, when all things whirled away to chaos; on this night, when +nothing remained sure for her but death; in her hour of ultimate, +unutterable weakness and at the dawn of a blank despair, came one last plea +from Uncle Chirgwin. Mary had given up talking, fairly wearied out and +convinced that to waste more words on Joan would be a culpable disposal of +time; but Mr. Chirgwin blundered doggedly on with the humility of a worm +and the obstinacy of a friendly dog. He hammered at the portals of Joan's +spiritual being with admirable pertinacity; and at length he had his +reward. Faith in something being an absolute and vital essential to the +welfare of every woman, Joan Tregenza was no exception to the rule. + +It fell out on the night of her uncle's weekly visit to market, that Joan +had just returned from the garden, when she heard the clatter of the +spring-cart. It drew up at the kitchen door and Mary alighted with Mr. +Chirgwin. The baskets that had started laden with eggs, butter and other +produce came back empty save for a few brown paper parcels. Exceptional +prices had ruled in the market-place that day, so Mr. Chirgwin and his +niece returned home in excellent temper. + +They all met at supper, together with those farm-servants who took their +meals at the farmer's table. Then the laborers and the women workers +withdrew; Mary sat down to a little sewing before bedtime; and Mr. Chirgwin +smoked his pipe and looked at Joan. He noticed that the weather reflected +much upon her moods. She was more than usually silent tonight despite the +bright news from market. + +Presently Mary put on the kettle and brought out a bottle of rum. Her uncle +had taken his nightcap of spirit and water from her hand for nearly ten +years, and the little duty of preparing it was dear to her. She also made +cups of tea for Joan and herself. Mary often blamed herself for this luxury +and only allowed it on the night that ended those arduous duties proper to +market-day. "While thus employed, both she and Uncle Thomas tried to draw +Joan out of her gloomy silence. + +"Theer's to be a braave sight o' singin' down to Penzance come next week, +Joan. Lunnon folks, they tell me, wi' names a foot tall stuck 'pon the +hoardings. Us thot 'twould be a pleasin' kind o' junketin' to go an' +listen. Not but entertainments o' singin' by night be mighty exciting to +the blood. Awnly just for wance, Polly reckoned it might do us all good. +An' Polly knaws what's singin' an' what edn' so well as any lass. The +riders [Footnote: _The riders_--A circus.] be comin' likewise, though +maybe that's tu wild an' savage amoosment for quiet folks." + +"You an' Polly go to the singin' then. 'Tedn' for the likes o' me." + +Then Joan turned to her cousin, who was pouring tea out of a little pot +which held two cups and no more. + +"Let me have the last nine drops, Polly; they'm good for the heartache, an' +mine's more'n common sore to-night." + +Mary sighed, opened her mouth to preach a sermon, but shut it without a +word. She drained the teapot into Joan's cup, and then, from a bright mood +for her, relapsed into cold silence. Uncle Chirgwin, however, prattled on +about the concert until his elder niece finished her tea and went to bed. +Then he put down his pipe, took a long pull at his drink, and began to talk +hurriedly to Joan. + +"I bin an' got a wonnerful fine notion this day, drivin' home-long, Joan; +an' it's comed back an' back that importuneous that I lay it's truth, an' +sent for me to remember. D'you knaw that since you comed to Drift us have +prospered uncommon? Iss, us have. The winter dedn' give no mighty promise, +nor yet the spring, till you comed. Then the Lard smiled 'pon Drift. Look +at the hay what's gwaine to be cut, God willin', next week. I never seed +nothin' more butivul thick underneath in all my days. A rare aftermath tu, +I'll warrant. 'Tis so all round. The wheat's kernin' somethin' cruel +fine--I awnly wish theer was more of it--an' the sheep an' cattle's in +braave kelter likewise. Then the orchard do promise no worse. I never seed +such a shaw of russets an' of quarantines 'pon they old trees afore." + +"'Tis a fine, fair season." + +"Why, so I say--a 'mazin' summer thus far--but what's the reason o't? +That's the poser as an answer comed to in the cart a drivin' home. You'm +the reason! You mind when good Saint Levan walked through the fields that +the grass grawed the greener for his tread, an' many days arter, when he'd +gone dead years an' years, the corn allus comed richest 'long the path what +he trod. An' 'tis the same here, 'cause God's eye be on you, Joan Tregenza, +an' His eye caan't be fixed 'pon no spot wi'out brightening all around. You +mind me, that's solemn truth. The Lard's watchin' over you--watchin' double +tides, as the sailors say--and so this bit o' airth's smilin' from the herb +o' the field to the biggest tree as graws. He'm watchin' over Drift for +your sake, my girl, an' the farm prospers along o' the gert goodness o' the +watchin' Lard. Iss fay, He fills all things livin' with plenshousness, an' +fats the root an' swells the corn 'cause He'm breathin' sweet over the +land--'cause He'm wakin' an' watchin' for you, Joan." + +"He'm watchin' all of us, I s'pose--just to catch the trippin' footstep, +like what faither sez. He abbun no call to worry no more 'bout me, I +reckon. I be Nature's cheel, I be; an' my mother's turnin' hard too--like a +cat, as purrs to 'e wan moment an' sclows 'e the next. My day's done. I've +chose wrong an' must abide by it. But 'tis along o' bein' sich a lil fool. +Nature pushes the weak to the wall. I've seed that much 'o late days. I was +born to have my heart broke, I s'pose. 'Tedn' nothin' very straange." + +"I judge your angel do cry gert tears when you lets on like that, my Joan. +Oh, gal, why won't 'e give ear to me, as have lived fifty an' more winters +in the world than what you have? Why caan't 'e taste an' try what the Lard +is? Drabbit this nonsense 'bout Nature! As if you was a fitcher, or an +'awk, or an owl! Caan't 'e see what a draggle tail, low-minded pass all +this be bringin' 'e to? Yet you'm a thinkin' creature an' abbun done no +worse than scores o' folks who be tanklin' 'pon harps afore the throne o' +God this blessed minute. You chose wrong; you said so, an' I was glad to +hear 'e, for you never 'lowed even that much till this night. What then? +Everybody chooses wrong wan time or another. Some allus goes for it, like +the bud-pickers to the red-currant bushes, some slips here an' theer, an' +do straightway right 'emselves--right 'emselves again an' again. The best +life be just a slippin' up an' rightin' over an' over, till a man dies. +You've slipped young an' maybe theer's half a cent'ry o' years waitin' for +'e to get 'pon the right road; yet you sez you must abide by what you've +done. Think how it stands. You've forgived him as wronged 'e, an' caan't +the Lard forgive as easy as you can? He forgived you 'fore you was born. I +lay the Luke Gosp'lers never told 'e that braave fact, 'cause they doan't +knaw it theerselves. 'Tis like this: your man did take plain Nature for +God, an' he did talk fulishness 'bout finding Him in the scent o' flowers, +the hum o' bees an' sichlike. Mayhap Nature's a gude working God for a +selfish man, but she edn' wan for a maid, as you knaws by now. Then your +faither--his God do sit everlastingly alongside hell-mouth, an' laugh an' +girn to see all the world a walkin' in, same as the beasts walked in the +Ark. Theer's another picksher of a God for 'e; but mark this, gal, they be +lying prophets--lying prophets both! You've tried the wan, an' found it +left your heart hollow like, an' you've tried t'other an' found that left +it no better filled; now try Christ, will 'e--? Just try. Doan't keep Him, +as is allus busy, a waitin' your whims no more. Try Christ, Joan dearie, +an' you'll feel what you've never felt yet. I knaw, as put my 'and in His +when 'twas plump an' young as yourn. An' He holds it yet, now 'tis +shriveled an' crooked wi' rheumatics. He holds it. Iss, He do." + +The old man put out his hand to Joan as he spoke and she took it between +her own and kissed it. + +"You'm very good," she said, "an' you'm wise 'cause you'm auld an' have +seen many years. I prayed to Saint Madern to hear me not long since, an' I +bathed in his waters, an' went home happy. But awnly the birds an' the +rabbits heard me. An' next day faither turned me out o' his house an' +counted me numbered for hell." + +"Saints be very well, but 'tedn' in 'cordance with what we'm tawld nowadays +to pray to any but the Lard direct." + +He pleaded long and patiently, humbly praying for the religion which had +lightened his own road. The thought of his vast experience and the +spectacle of his own blameless and simple life, as she reviewed it, made +Joan relent at last. The great loneliness of her heart yearned for +something to fill it. Man had failed her, saints had failed her; Nature had +turned cold; and Uncle Chirgwin held out a great promise. + +"Ban't no sort o' use, I'm thinkin'," she said at last, "but if you'm that +set 'pon it I'll do your wish. I owe you that an' more'n that. Iss, I'll +come along wi' you an' Mary to Sancreed church next Sunday. 'Tis lil enough +to do for wan as have done so much for me." + +"Thank God!" he said earnestly. "That's good news, to be sure, bless your +purty eyes! An' doan't 'e go a tremblin' an' fearin', you mind, like to +meetin'. 'Tedn' no ways like that. Just love o' the Lard an' moosic an' +holy thots from passon, an' not more hell-fire than keeps a body +healthy-minded an' awake. My ivers! I could a'most sing an' dance myself +now, an' arter my day's work tu, to think as you'll sit alongside o' me in +church come Sunday!" + +Joan smiled at his enthusiasm on her behalf, then kissed him and went to +bed; while he, mixing up his prayers, his last pipe, and his final glass of +spirits according to his custom, sat the fire out while he drank deeper and +prayed harder than usual in the light of his triumph. + +"Polly couldn' do it, not for all her brains an' godliness," he murmured to +himself, "yet 'twas given to an auld simple sawl like me! An' I have. I've +led her slap-bang into the hand o' the Lard, an' the rest be His business. +No man's done a better day's work inside Cornwall to-day than what I +have--that's sure!" + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +FROM JOE + + +Since her visit to the church at Newlyn, Joan had been in no place of +worship save the chapel of the Luke Gospelers. What might be the nature of +the service before her she did not know, nor did she care. But the girl +kept her promise and drove in the market-cart to Sancreed with her uncle +and cousin when Sunday came. The little church lay bowered in its grove of +sycamores, and, around it, a golden-green concourse of quivering shadows +cooled those who had walked or driven from Drift--an outlying portion of +the parish--approached through lanes innocent of all shade. Mr. Chirgwin +put up the horse and presently joined his nieces in church. Then Joan saw +him under interesting and novel conditions. He wore glasses with gold rims; +he covered his bald head with a little velvet cap; at the appointed time he +took a wooden plate and carried it round for money. Mary found the old +man's places for him and sang in a way that fairly astounded Joan. The +enormous satisfaction brought to herself by these vocal efforts was +apparent. Her soul appeared mightily lifted up. She amused chance visitors +to the church, but the regular congregation liked to hear Mary; and Joan, +seeing the comfort her cousin sucked from singing, wished she had heart to +join. That, however, she wholly lacked. Moreover, the words were strange to +her. + +The quiet service, brightened by music, dragged its slow length murmuringly +along. The sermon, delivered by a visitor, was not of a sort to hold Joan, +and, indeed, could hardly be expected to attract many in such a +congregation. The preacher had lately been reading old Cornish history, +and, overcome by the startling fact that the far west of England--Cornwall +and Devon--were Christian long before Augustine saw Kent, dwelt upon the +matter after a very instructive fashion in ears unlikely to benefit from +such knowledge. That the Cornu-British bishops preached Christ while yet +Sussex, Wessex, Hampshire, Berks and other districts worshiped Woden, +Freya, the Queen of Heaven, the Thunder God, and other deities whose altars +were set up after the Conquest, did not interest Joan for one or Mr. +Chirgwin for another. But the girl woke up at the mention of Irish and +Welsh and Breton saints. Pleasant to hear was the utterance of names which +she had loved once but of late almost forgotten. They came back now, and, +the service having turned her heart to softness, she welcomed them gladly +as friends returned from afar. For the rest, the Litany it was which roused +Joan to deepest interest and opened her mind to new impressions. Here was a +prayer, gigantic in length, universal, all-embracing, catholic beyond the +compass of anything her thoughts had heretofore conceived. From the Queen +upon her throne to Joan herself, from the bishops, the princes and the +Lords of the Council to Uncle Chirgwin and his fruits of the earth, that +astounding petition ranged with equal vigor and earnestness. Nothing was +too high, nothing was too low for it; all the world was named, and the +people cried for a hearing or for mercy between each supplication and each +prayer. The overwhelming majesty of such praying impressed Joan much; as, +indeed, it impresses all who come adult thereto and do not associate it +with their childhood, with weary hours dragging interminably out, with +sleepy buzz of voices, with sore knees or a breaking back, with yearnings +stifled, with devices for passing time, with the longed-for sunshine +stealing inch by inch eastward on the church walls. + +"A power o' larnin' in a small headpiece," commented Uncle Chirgwin as he +drove home with the girls sitting side by side on his left. "A braave +ch'ice o' words an' a easy knowledge o' the saints as weern't picked up in +a day. Tis well to hear a furriner now an' again. They do widen the grasp +of a man's mind, looking 'pon things from a changed point o' view. Not as +us could be 'spected to be Latiners, yet I seem 'tis very well to listen to +it as chance offers. 'Tis something to knaw 'twas Latin, an' that did I, +though I doubt some o' the good neighbors couldn' tell it for what 'twas, +by no means." + +Joan said little about the service, but she praised the Litany from her own +peculiar attitude toward it. + +"That be fine prayin'," she said, "with nobody forgot, an' all in black +print so's wance said 'tedn' lost." + +After dinner, when Mary had gone to see a friend and the farm people were +dawdling abroad till evening milking-time, Joan made her uncle read the +service through again. This he did comfortably between the whiffs of his +pipe, and Joan answered the responses, cooing them in her sweet voice as +softly as the red and blue pigeons crooned on the roof outside. Drift was +asleep under a hot blaze of afternoon sunshine. Sometimes a child's keen +voice in the road cut the drowsy silence and came to Joan's ears where she +sat, in the best parlor with Uncle Thomas; sometimes slow wheels rumbled up +the hill toward Buryan. Other sounds there were none. The old people slept +within their cottages after the extra baked meats of Sunday's dinner; many +of the young paired and walked where pathways ran over meadows and through +yellowing wheat; while others, more gregarious and unattached, had tramped +away to Penzance to join the parade by the sea and meet their friends from +the shops. + +Anon nailed boots stamped up the little pathway to Drift farmhouse, and Tom +Tregenza appeared. To-day he entered fearlessly, for he came upon an errand +from his father. He kissed Joan and shook hands with Uncle Thomas. Then he +said: + +"'Tis a letter as I've brought for Joan--a furriner." + +The girl's heart beat hard, and the blood rushing from her cheeks left them +white. But the letter only came from Joe Noy, and it is certain that Mr. +Tregenza would have forwarded no other. Excitement died, and was painfully +renewed, in a fresh direction, when Joan realized from whom the missive +came and thought about its writer. He had long been a stranger to her mind, +and now he seemed suddenly to re-enter it--like a stranger. + +"I can stay for a bit of tea so long as I be back by chapel-time," +explained Tom. + +"An' so you shall, my son. Run 'e out o' doors an' amoose yourself where +you mind to; awnly don't ope the lil linhay in the Brook Croft, 'cause auld +bull's fastened up theer an' his temper's gettin' more'n more out o' hand." + +So Tom departed, and Uncle Chirgwin read Joan's letter aloud to her. It +came from Santa Rosalia, and contained not much news but plenty of love and +some religious sentiments bred from the writer's foreign environment. Joe +Noy would be back in England again before the end of the year. + +Joan was reduced to tears by this communication. She refused to be +comforted, and, indeed, the position was beyond Uncle Chirgwin's power to +brighten. The letter had come at a bad moment, and that calm and repose +which almost appeared to be softening Joan's sorrows now spread speedy +wings and departed, leaving her wholly forlorn. Curtains were falling +behind her, but curtains were also rising in front. She had looked forward +vaguely, and now the position was suddenly defined by the arrival of Joe's +letter, with all its future phases clear-cut, cold and terrible. + +"My baaby's comin' just then. An' that's what'll fall 'pon his ear fust +thing. Oh, if us could awnly tell en afore he comes so he might knaw 'tis +all chaanged! 'Twould be easier for en, lovin' me that keen. He'd grawed to +be a shadder of a man in my mind; but now I sees en real flaish'n blood; +an' maybe--maybe he'll seek me out an' kill me for what's done." + +"I do creem to hear 'e, gal! No, no, Joe Noy's a God fearin' sawl." + +"If he'd forgive me fust, I'd so soon he killed me as not. Sam Martin +killed Widow Garth's gal 'cause she were ontrue to en; an' a many said +'twas wrong to hang en to Bodmin. Death's my deserts, same as Ann Garth; +an' she got it; an' I doan't care how soon I do. None wants me no more, nor +what I'm breedin' neither. I'd die now, an' smilin', if 'tweern't for +arterwards." + +"Cuss the letter!" said Uncle Chirgwin, getting red in the face. "Cuss it, +I says, for gwaine an' turnin' up just this day! A fortnight later you +could 'a' looked on it wi' quiet mind an' knawed wheer to turn; to-day's +it's just bin an' undone what was done. Not but what 'tis as butivul a +letter as ever comed off the sea; but if theer'd awnly been time to +'stablish 'e 'fore it comed! Now you've turned your back 'pon the Household +o' Faith just as arms was being stretched out that lovin'." + +"Faith won't undo what I've done, nor yet make my wickedness fall lighter +for Joe. Yes, 'twas wicked, wicked, wicked. I knaw it now." + +Mary and Tom came in from different directions about this time. The latter +had regaled himself with a peep at "auld bull," heard the terrific snorting +of his nostrils and observed how he bellowed mightily at durance on such an +afternoon. Tea being finished, the boy started homeward with a basket of +fresh eggs and butter, a pound of cream and some early apples of a sort +used for cider, but yet equal to the making of a pie. + +"As for the butter, 'tis Joan's churnin'," said Mary, "but you'd best not +to tell your faither that, else, so like's not, he'll pitch it into the +sea. If us could send en a pound o' charity, I doubt he'd be better for't." + +"Faither's a holy man, whatever else he be," said Tom stoutly. "He doan't +want for no good qualities like, 'cause what he doan't knaw 'bout God edn' +worth knawin'." + +Mary laughed. It was a feat she seldom performed, and the sound of her +amusement lacked joy. + +"Well, us won't argue 'bout en. You'm right to say that. Be the basket too +heavy for 'e?" + +"No! not likely. Have 'e ever seed my forearm, Polly?" + +"Never. I will another time. Best be gwaine, else you'll be late for +chapel." + +So Tom marched off, and Mary, returning to the house, heard of Joan's +letter. + +The old gusts of misery, sorrow, indignation, rose in her heart again then, +but faintly, like the dying flutter of winds that have blown themselves +out. She tried to find a way of bringing comfort to her cousin, but failed. +Joan had retired and refused consolation. + +The glory of splendid summer hours passed away; the long twilight sank to +darkness; the opal lights in the west at last died under the silver of the +moon. And then, like a child weary with crying, Joan slept, while Mary, +creeping a third time to see and speak with her, departed silently. But she +did not sleep; and her wakefulness was fortunate, for long after eleven +o'clock came a noisy summons at the outer door. Looking from her room which +faced the front of the house, the woman saw Tom with his full basket +standing clearly defined below. The world of the weald and woods shimmered +silvery in dew and moonlight. Infinite silence reigned. Then the boy's +small, indignant voice broke it. + +"You'll have to let me in, I reckon. Blamed if I doan't think you was right +'bout faither arter all." + +The reason for Tom's return may be briefly told. He had taken his basket +home and got it safely under cover to his mother. Then, after chapel, Gray +Michael went into the village, and Thomasin had an opportunity to ask some +of those questions she was burning to put. + +"An' how be Joan?" she began. + +"Wisht an' drawed thin 'bout the faace seemin'ly. An' Joe's letter just +made her cry fit to bust her eyes, 'stead o' cheerin' of her like." + +"Poor lass. I dedn' expect nothin' differ'nt. I've most a mind to go up +Drift an' see her--for a reason I've thot upon. Did Joan say anythin' 'bout +a last will an' testament to 'e?" + +"No, nothin' 'bout anything worth namin'. But Polly had a deal to say. Her +wished her could send faither a pound o' charity 'stead o' butter." + +"She dared!" + +At that moment Mr. Tregenza returned to supper, and soon afterward his son +went to bed. The lad had not been asleep half an hour before Gray Michael +came across the basket from Drift. Two minutes later Tom heard the thunder +of his father's voice. + +"Tom! you come down here an' be sharp about it!" + +The boy tumbled out of bed instantly, and went down to the kitchen in his +nightshirt and trousers. Michael Tregenza was standing by the table. Upon +it appeared the basket from Drift, stored with cream, butter, eggs and +apples. Thomasin sat in the low chair by the fire with her apron over her +face, and that was always a bad sign, as Tom knew. + +"What day be this, bwoy?" began Michael. + +"The Lard's, faither." + +"Ay: the Lard's awn day, though you've forgot it seemin'ly." + +"No I abbun, faither." + +"Doan't 'e answer me 'cept I tells you to. Where did these things come +from?" + +"Drift, faither. Uncle Chirgwin bid me bring 'em with his respects." + +"Did you tell en 'twas breakin' the commandments?" + +"No, faither." + +"Why didn't 'e? You knawed it yourself." + +"Iss, faither; but uncle's a ancient man, an' I guessed he knawed so well +as me, an' I reckoned 'twould be sauce for such as me to say anything to a +auld, gray body like him." + +"Sinners is all colors an' ages. Another time doan't you do what's wrong, +whether 'tis auld or young as tempts 'e to't. You'm a Luke Gosp'ler, an' it +edn' being a shinin' light 'tall to go wrong just because wan as did ought +to knaw wiser an' doan't, tells 'e to. Now you can lace on your boots, as +soon as you'm minded to, an' traapse up Drift with that theer basket an' +all in it. 'Twon't harm godless folks to wake 'em an' faace 'em with their +wrongdoing. An' I lay you'll remember another time." + +Tom, knowing that words would be utterly wasted, went back to his attic, +dressed, and started. He had the satisfaction of eating apples in the +moonlight and of posing as a bitterly wronged boy at Drift when Mary came +down, lighted a candle, and let him into the house. + +Uncle Chirgwin also appeared, and said some hard things in a sleepy voice, +while Tom drank cider and ate a big slice of bread and bacon. + +"A terrible Old Testament man, your faither, sure 'nough," said Uncle +Chirgwin. "Be you gwaine to stop the night 'long o' us or no?" + +"Not me! I got to be in the bwoat 'fore half-past five to-morrer marnin'." + +"This marnin' 'tis," said Mary, "or will be in a few minutes. An' you can +tell your faither what I said 'bout charity, if you like. I sez it again, +an' it won't hurt en to knaw." + +"But it might hurt me to tell. The less said soonest mended wi' faither." + +Tom departed, the lighter for his basket. He flung a stone at a hare, +listened to the jarring of a night-hawk, and finally returned home about +one o'clock. Both his parents were awaiting him, and the boy saw that his +mother had been enduring some trouble on his behalf. + +"Mind, my son, hencefarrard that the Sabbath is the Lard thy God's. You may +have done others a good turn besides yourself this night." + +"What did they say, Tom?" asked his mother. + +"They wasn't best pleased. They said a hard sayin' I'd better not to say +agin," answered the boy, heavy with sleep. + +"Let it be. Us doan't want to hear it. Get you to bed. An', mind, the bwoat +at the steps by half-past five to-morrer." + +"Ay, ay, faither." + +Then Tom vanished, his parents went to their rest, and the cottage on the +cliff slept within the music of the sea, its thatch all silver-bright under +a summer moon. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +A BARGAIN FOR MRS. TREGENZA + + +To the superficial eye dead hopes leave ugly traces; viewed more +inquiringly the cryptic significance of them appears; and that is often +beautiful. Joan's soul looked out of her blue eyes now. Seen thoughtfully +her beauty was refined and exalted to an exquisite perfection; but the +unintelligent observer had simply pronounced her pale and thin. The event +which first promised to destroy the new-spun gossamers of a religious faith +and break them even on the day of their creation, in reality acted +otherwise. For Joan, Joe's letter was like a window opening upon a hopeless +dawn; and her helplessness before this spectacle of the future threw the +girl upon religion--not as a sure rock in the storm of her life, but as a +straw to the hand of the drowning. The world had nothing else left in it +for her. She, to whom sunshine and happiness were the breath of life, she +who had envied butterflies their joyous being, now stood before a future +all uphill and gray, lonely and loveless. As yet but the dawn of affection +for the unborn child lightened her mind. Thought upon that subject went +hand in hand with fear of pain. And now, in her dark hours, Joan happily +did not turn to feed upon her own heart, but fled from it. For distraction +she read the four Gospels feverishly day by day, and she prayed long to the +Lord of them by night. + +Mary helped her in an earnest, cheerless fashion, and before her cousin's +solicitude, Joan's eyes opened to another thought: the old friendship +between Mary and Joe Noy. It had wakened once, on her first arrival at +Drift, then slept again till now. She was troubled to see the other woman's +indifference, and she formed plans to bring these two together again. The +act of getting away from herself and thinking for others brought some +comfort to her heart and seemed to rise indirectly out of her reading. + +The Christianity of Drift was old-fashioned, and reflected the Founder. No +distractions rose between Joan and the story. She took it at first hand, +escaping thus from those petty follies and fooleries which blight and fog +the real issues today. She sucked her new faith pure. A noble rule of +conduct lay before her; she dimly discerned something of its force; and +unselfishness appeared in her, proving that she had read aright. As for the +dogma, she opened her arms to that very readily because it was beautiful +and promised so much. Faith's votaries never turn critical eyes upon the +foundations of her gorgeous fabric; their sight is fixed aloft on the +rainbow towers and pinnacles, upon the golden fanes. And yet this man-born +structure of theology, with aisles and pillars fretting and crumbling under +the hand of reason, needs such eternal propping, restoring and repairing, +that priestly tinkers, masons, hod-carriers are solely occupied with it. +They grapple and fight for the poor shadows of dogma by which they live, +and, so engaged, the spirit and substance of religion is by them altogether +lost. None of the Christian churches will ever be overcrowded with men who +possess brain-power worthy the name. Mediocrity and ignorance may starve, +but talent and any new nostrum to strangle reason and keep the rot from the +fabric will always open their coffers. + +Joan truly found the dogma more grateful and comforting than anything else +within her experience, and the apparition of a flesh and blood God, who had +saved her with His own life's blood before she was born, appeared too +beautiful and sufficing to be less than true. Her eyes, shut so long, +seemed opening at last. With errors that really signify nothing, she drew +to herself great truths that matter much and are vital to all elevated +conduct. She thought of other people and looked at them as one wakened from +sleep. And, similarly, she looked at Nature. Even her vanished lover had +not taught her all. There were truths below the formulae of his worship; +there were secrets deeper than his intellectual plummet had ever sounded. +Without understanding it, Joan yet knew that a change had come to pass in +material things. Sunshine on the deep sea hid more matters for wonder than +John Barron had taught or known. Once only as yet had she caught a glimpse +of Nature's beating heart; and that was upon the occasion of her visit to +St. Madron's chapel. She was lifted up then for a magic hour; but the lurid +end of that day looked clearer afterward than ever the dewy dawn of it. +Nature had smiled mutely and dumbly at her sufferings for long months since +then. But now added knowledge certainly grew, and from a matrix mightier +than the love of Nature or of man, was Joan's new life born. It embraced a +new sight, new senses, ambitions, fears and hopes. + +Joan went to church at every opportunity. Faith seemed so easy, and soon so +necessary. Secret prayer became a real thing to be approached with joy. To +own to sins was as satisfactory as casting down a heavy burden at a +journey's end; to confess them to God was to know that they were forgiven. +There were not many clouds in her religious sky. As Mary's religion was +bounded by her own capabilities and set forth against a background of +gloom, which never absolutely vanished save in moments of rare exaltation, +so Joan's newfound faith took upon itself an aspect of sunshine. Her clouds +were made beautiful by the new light; they did not darken it. Mary's gray +Cornish mind kept sentiment out of sight. She lived with clear eyes always +focusing reality as it appeared to her. Heaven was indeed a pleasanter +eternal fact than hell; yet the place of torment existed on Bible +authority; and it was idle to suppose it existed for nothing. Grasping +eternity as a truth, she occupied herself in strenuous preparation; which +preparation took the form of good works and personal self-denial. Joan +belonged to an order of emotional creatures widely different. She loved the +beautiful for its own sake, kept her face to the sun when it shone, +shivered and shut up like a scarlet pimpernel if bad weather was abroad. +And now a chastened sunshine, daily growing stronger, shot through the +present clouds, painted beauty on their fringes, and lighted the darkness +of their recesses so that even the secrets of suffering were fitfully +revealed. Joan grasped at new thoughts, the outcome of her new road. + +Nature presently seemed of a nobler face, and certain immemorial +achievements of man also flashed out in the side-light of the new +convictions; as objects, themselves inconsiderable, will suddenly develop +unsuspected splendors from change of standpoint in the beholder. The magic +of that Christianity, which Joan now received directly from her Bible, +wrought and embroidered a new significance into many things. And it worked +upon none as upon the old crosses, some perfect still, some ruined as to +arm or shaft, some quite worn out and gnawed by time from their original +semblance. These dotted her native land. Them she had always loved, but now +they appeared marvelously transfigured, and the soul hid in their granite +beamed through it. Supposing the true menhirs to be but ruined crosses +also, Joan shed on them no scantier affection than upon the less venerable +Brito-Celtic records of Christianity. Bid so to do, and prompted also by +her inclination, the girl was wont to take walks of some length for her +health's sake; and these had an object now. As her dead mother's legends +came back to her memory and knit Nature to her new Saviour, so the +weather-beaten stones brought Him likewise nearer, marked the goal of +precious daily pilgrimages, and filled a sad young life with friends. + +Returning from a visit to Tremathick cross, where it stands upon a little +mound on the St. Just road, Joan heard a thin and well-known voice before +she saw the speaker. It was Mrs. Tregenza, who had walked over to drink tea +and satisfy herself on sundry points respecting her stepdaughter. + +"Oh, my Guy Faux, Polly!" she said upon arriving, "I'm in a reg'lar take to +be here, though I knaws Michael's t'other side the islands an' won't fetch +home 'fore marnin'. I've comed 'cause I couldn't keep from it no more. +How's her doin', poor tibby lamb, wi' all them piles o' money tu. Not that +money did ought to make a differ'nce, but it do, an' that's the truth, an' +it edn' no good makin' as though it doan't. What a world, to be sure! An' +that letter from Noy? I knaw you was fond of en likewise in your time. The +sadness of it! Just think o' that mariner comin' home 'pon top o' this +mishap." + +Mary winced and answered coldly that the world was full of mishaps and of +sadness. + +"The man must face sorrer same as what us all have got to, Mrs. Tregenza. +Some gets more, some gets less, as the sparks fly up'ard. Joe Noy's got +religion tu." + +Mary spoke the last words with some bitterness, which she noted too late +and set against herself for a sin. + +"Oh, my dear sawl," said Mrs. Tregenza, looking round nervously, as though +she feared the shadow of her husband might be listening. "Luke Gosp'ling's +a mighty uncomfortable business, though I lay Tregenza'd most kill me if he +heard the word. 'Tedn' stomachable to all, an' I doubts whether 'twill be a +chain strong enough to hold Joe Noy, when he comes back to find this coil. +'Tis a kicklish business an' I wish 'twas awver. Joe's a fiery feller when +he reckons he's wronged; an' there ban't no balm to this hurt in Gosp'ling, +take it as you will. I tell you, in your ear awnly, that Luke Gosp'lers +graw ferocious like along o' the wickedness o' the airth. Take Michael, as +walks wi' the Lard, same as Moses done; an' the more he do, the ferociouser +he do get. Religion! He stinks o' religion worse than ever Newlyn stinks o' +feesh; he goes in fear o' God to his marrow; an' yet 'tis uncomfortable, +now an' then, to live wi' such a righteous member. Theer's a sourness along +of it. Luke Gosp'ling doan't soften the heart of en." + +"It should," said Mary. + +"An's so it should, but he says the world's no plaace for softness. He'm a +terror to the evildoer; an' he'm a terror to the righteous-doer; an' to +hisself no less, I reckon; an' to God A'mighty tu, so like's not. The +friends of en be as feared of en as his foes be. An' that's awful wisht, +'cause he goes an' comes purty nigh alone. The Gosp'lers be like fry flyin' +this way an' that 'fore a school o' mackerl when Michael's among 'em. Even +minister, he do shrivel a inch or two 'longside o' Michael. I've seen en +wras'lin' wi' the Word same as Jacob wras'led wi' the angel. An' yet, why? +Theer's a man chosen for glory this five-an'-forty years, an' he knaws it +so well as I do, or any wan." + +"He knaws nothin' o' the sort. The best abbun no right to say it," declared +Mary. + +Then Mrs. Tregenza fired up, for she resented any criticism on this subject +other than her own. + +"An' why not, Polly Chirgwin? Who's a right to doubt it? Not you, I reckon, +Ban't your plaace to judge a man as walks wi' God, like Moses done. If +Michael edn' saved, then theer's no sawl saved 'pon land or sea. You +talk--a young maiden! His sawl was bleedin' an' his hands raw a batterin' +the gate o' heaven 'fore you was born, Polly--ay, an' he'd got the +bettermost o' the devil wance for all 'fore you was conceived in the womb; +you mind that." + +"Us caan't get the bettermost o' the devil wance for all," said Mary, +changing the issue, "no--not no more'n us can wash our skin clean wance for +all. But you an' me thinks differ'nt an' allus shall, Mrs. Tregenza." + +"Iss, though I s'pose 'tis the same devil as takes backslidin' church or +chapel folks. Let that bide now. Wheer's Joan to? I've got to thank 'e +kindly for lookin' arter Tom t'other Sunday night. Tis things like that +makes religion uncomfortable. But you gived the bwoy some tidy belly-timber +in the small hours o' day, an' he comed home dog-tired, but none the worse. +An' thank 'e for they apples an' cream an' eggs, which I'm sorry they had +sich poor speed. A butivul basket as hurt me to the heart to paart with. +But I wasn't asked. No offense, I hope, 'bout it? Maybe uncle forgot 'twas +the Lard's day?" + +"He'm the last ever to do that." + +Joan entered at this point in the conversation and betrayed some slight +emotion as her stepmother kissed her. It was nearly five months since they +had met, and Mary now departed, leaving them to discuss Joan's physical +condition. + +"I be doin' clever," said Joan, "never felt righter in body." + +Mrs. Tregenza poured forth good advice, and after a lengthy conversation +came to a secret ambition and broached it with caution. + +"I called to mind some baaby's things--shoes, clouts, frocks an' sich-like +as I've got snug in lavender to home. They was all flam-new for Tom, an' I +judged I'd have further use for 'em, but never did. Theer they be, even to +a furry-cloth, as none doan't ever use nowadays, though my mother did, and +thot well on't. So I did tu. 'Tis just a bit o' crimson red tailor's cloth +to cover the soft plaace 'pon a lil baaby's head 'fore the bones of en graw +together. An' I reckon 'tis better to have it then not. I seem you'd do +wise to take the whole kit; an' you'm that well-to-do that 'twouldn' be +worth thinkin' 'bout. 'Twould be cheaper'n a shop; an' theer's everything a +royal duke's cheel could want; an' a butivul robe wi' lacework cut 'pon it, +an' lil bits o' ribbon to tie in the armholes Sundays. They'm vitty +clothes." + +Joan's eyes softened to a misty dreaminess before this aspect of the time +to come. She had thought so little about the baby and all matters +pertaining thereto, that every day now brought with it mental novelty +and a fresh view of that experience stored for her in the future. + +"Iss, I do mind they things when Tom was in 'em. What be the value in +money?" + +Mrs. Tregenza answered shyly and almost respectfully. + +"Well, 'tis so difficult to say, not bein' a reg'lar seller o' things. They +cost wi'out the robe, as was a gift from Mrs. Blight, more'n five pound." + +"Take ten pound, then. I'll tell uncle." + +Thomasin's red tongue-tip crept along her lips and her bright eyes blinked, +but conscience was too strong. + +"No, no--a sight too much--too much by half. I'll let 'e have the lot for a +fi'-pun' note. An' I'd like it to be a new wan, if 'tis the same to you." + +Joan agreed to this, and ten minutes afterward Uncle Chirgwin was opening +his cash-box and handing Thomasin the snowy, crackling fragment she +desired. + +"'Tis the fust bit o' money ever I kept unbeknawnst to Michael," she said, +"an', 'pon me life, Chirgwin, I be a'most 'feared on't." + +"You'll soon get awver that," declared Uncle Thomas. "I'll send the trap +home with 'e, an' you can look out the frippery; an' you might send a nice +split bake back-along with it, if you've got the likes of sich a thing +gwaine beggin' to be ate." + +Presently Mrs. Tregenza drove away and Joan went to her room to think. +Magic effects had risen from the spectacle of the well-remembered face, +from the sound of the sharp, high voice. A new sensation grew out of them +for Joan. Home rose like a vision, with the sighing of the sea, the crying +of the gulls, the musical rattle of blocks in the bay, the clink, clink of +picks in the quarry, the occasional thunder of a blast. Many odors were +with her: the smell of tar and twine and stores, the scent of drying fish. +She saw the low cliffs all gemmed at this season with moon-flowers--the +great white convolvulus which twinkled there. A red and purple fuchsia in +the garden, had blossomed also. She could see the bees climbing into its +drooping bells. She remembered their music, as it murmured drowsily from +dead and gone summers, and sounded sweeter than the song of the bees at +Drift. She heard the tinkle of a stream outside the cottage, where it ran +under the hedge through a shute and emptied itself into a great +half-barrel; and then, turning her thoughts to the house, her own attic, +with the view of St. Michael's Mount and the bay, rose in thought, with +every detail distinct, even to the glass scent-bottle on the mantel-piece, +and the colored print of John Wesley being rescued in his childhood from a +burning house. These and kindred memories made a live picture to Joan's +eyes. For the first time since she had left her home the girl found in her +heart a desire to return to it. She awoke next morning with the old +recollections increased and multiplied; and the sensation bred from +continued contemplation was the sensation of a loss. + + + + + + +BOOK THREE + +CHANCE + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +OF THE CROSSES + + +The significance of the ancient crosses in Joan Tregenza's latest phase of +mental growth becomes much finer after learning somewhat more concerning +them than she could ever know. The ephemeral life of one unhappy woman +viewed from these granite records of Brito-Celtic pagan and Christian +faith, examined in its relation to these hoary splinters of stone, grows an +object of some pathetic interest. Such memorials of the past as are here +indicated, vary mightily in age. The Christian monuments are not older than +the fifth century, but many have been proved palimpsests and rise on pagan +foundations dating from a time far more ancient than their own. The relics +are divided into two classes by antiquarians: Pillar Stones and Sculptured +Crosses. The former occur throughout the Celtic divisions of Great Britain, +and are sometimes marked with the Chi Rho monogram, or early rude cross +form. In most cases these earlier erections indicated a grave, while the +sculptured crosses either denoted boundaries of sanctuary, or were raised +promiscuously where men and women passed or congregated, their object being +to encourage devotion and lead human thoughts heavenward. The designs on +these monuments are usually a bad imitation of Irish key patterns and +spirals; but many, in addition, show crucifixes in their midst, with +pre-Norman figures depicting the Christ in a loose tunic or shirt, his head +erect and his body alive, after the Byzantine fashion. The mediaeval mode +of carving a corpse on the cross is of much later date and may not be +observed before the twelfth century. + +More than three hundred of these sculptured crosses have been discovered +within the confines of Cornwall. In churchyards and churchyard walls they +stand; they have even been discovered wrought into the fabric of the +churches themselves; the brown moor likewise knows them, for they stud its +wildernesses and rise at the crossways of many lonely roads; while +elsewhere, villages hold them in their hearts, and the emblem rises daily +before the sight of generation upon generation. In hedges they are also to +be seen, and in fields; many have been rescued from base uses; and all have +stood through the centuries as the sign and testimony of primitive Cornish +faith, even as St. Piran's white cross on a black ground, the first banner +of Cornwall, bore aloft the same symbol in days when the present emblem, +with its fifteen bezants and its motto, "One and All," was not dimly +dreamed of. + +These ancient crosses now rose like gray sentinels on the gray life of Joan +Tregenza. At Drift she was happily placed among them, and many, not +necessary to separately name, lay within the limit of her daily wanderings, +and her superstitious nature, working with the new-born faith, wove +precious mystery into them. Much she loved the more remote and lonely +stones, for beside them, hidden from the world's eye, she could pray. Those +others about which circled human lives attracted her less frequently. To +her the crosses were sentient creatures above the fret of Time, eternally +watching human affairs. The dawn of art as shown in early religious +sculpture generally amuses an ignorant mind, but, to Joan, the little +shirted figures of her new Saviour, which opened blind eyes on the stones +she loved, were matter for sorrow rather than amusement. They did by no +means repel her, despite the superficial hideousness of them; indeed, with +a sort of intuition, Joan told herself that human hands had fashioned them +somewhere in the dawn of the world when yet her Lord's blood was newly +shed, at a time before men had learned skill to make beautiful things. + +Once, beside the foot of the cross which stood in Sancreed [Footnote: This +fine sculptured cross has since these events been placed within the said +churchyard, at the desire of Mr. A. G. Langdon, the greatest living +authority on the subject of Cornish remains.] churchyard wall, between two +tree-trunks under a dome of leaves, the girl found growing a spotted +persicaria, and the force of the discovery at such a spot was great to her. +Familiar with the legend of the purple mark on every leaf of the plant, +nothing doubting that it had aforetime grown at the foot of the true cross +and there been splashed with the blood of her Master, Joan accepted the old +story that henceforth the weed was granted this proud livery and badge of +blood. And now, finding it here, the fable revived with added truth and +conviction, the legend of the persicaria was as true to her as that other +of the Lord's resurrection from death. Thus her views of Nature suffered +some approach to debasement in a new direction, but this degradation, so to +call it, brought mighty comfort to her soul, daily rounded the ragged edges +of life, woke merciful trust and belief in a promised life of bliss beyond +the grave, and embroidered thereupon a patchwork, not unbeautiful, built of +fairy folk-lore, saintly legend and venerable myth. Her credulous nature +accepted right and left; anything that harbored a promise or was lovely or +wonderful in itself found acceptance; and Joan read into the very pulses of +the summer world the truth as she now understood it. Cornwall suddenly +became a new Holy Land to the girl. Here the circumstances of life chimed +with those recorded in the New Testament, and it was an easy mental +achievement to transplant her Saviour from a historical environment into +her own. She pictured Him as walking amid Uncle Chirgwin's ripening corn; +she saw Him place His hands on the heads of the little children at cottage +doors; she imagined Him standing upon one of the stranded luggers in Newlyn +harbor with the gulls floating round His head and the fishermen listening +to his utterance. + +The growing mother instincts in Joan also developed about this season. They +leaped from comparative quiescence into activity; they may indeed be +recorded as having arisen within her after a manner not less sudden than +had the new faith itself, which was exhibited to you as blossoming with an +abruptness almost violent, because it thus occurred. Now most channels of +thought led Joan to her unborn infant, and there came at length an occasion +upon which she prayed for the first time that her child might be justified +in its existence. + +The petition was raised where, in the past, she had uttered one widely +different: at the altar-stone in the ruined baptistery of Saint Madron. +Thither on a day in early August, Joan traveled by short cuts over fields +which brought the chapel within reach of Drift. The scene had changed from +that of her former visit, and summer was keeping the promises of spring. +Yellow stars of biting stone-crop covered the walls of the ruin; the fruit +of the blackthorn was growing purple, of the hawthorn, red; the lesser +dodder crept, like pink lacework, over furze and heather; bright-eyed +euphrasy and sweet wild thyme were murmured over by many bees; at the +altar's foot grew brake fern and towering foxgloves; while upon the sacred +stone itself brambles laid their fruit, a few ripe blackberries shining +from clusters of red and green. Seeding grasses and docks likewise +nourished within the little chapel, and ragged robins and dandelions +brought the best beauty they had. Among which matters, hid in loneliness, +to the sound of that hymn of life which rises in a whisper from all earth +at summer noon, Joan prayed for her baby that it might not be born in vain. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +HOME + + +Among the varied ambitions now manifested by Joan was one already hinted +at--one which increased to the displacement of smaller interests: she much +desired to see again her home, if but for the space of an hour. The days +and weeks of an unusually smiling summer brought autumn, and with it the +cutting of golden grain; but the bustle and custom of harvest failed to +draw Joan among her kind. Human life faded somewhat, even to the verge of +unreality with her. Silence fell upon her, and a gravity of demeanor which +was new to the beholders. Uncle Chirgwin and Mary were alike puzzled at +this sign, and, misunderstanding the nature of the change, feared that the +girl's spiritual development must be meeting unseen opposition. Whims and +moods were proper to her condition, so the farmer maintained; but the fancy +of eternally sequestering herself, the conceit of regarding as friends +those ancient stones of the moor and crossroads, was beyond his power to +appreciate. To Mary such conduct presented even greater elements of +mystery. Yet the fact faced them, and the crosses came in time to be one of +the few subjects which Joan cared to talk upon. Even then it was to her +uncle alone she opened her heart concerning them: Mary never unlocked the +inner nature of her cousin. + +"I got names o' my awn for each of 'em," Joan confessed, "an' I seem they +do knaw my comin' an' my secrets an' my troubles. They teach me the force +o' keepin' my mouth shut; an' much mixin' wi' other folks arter the silence +o' the stones 'mazes me--men an' wummen do chatter so." + +"An' so did you, lassie, an' weern't none the worse. Us doan't hear your +purty voice enough now." + +"'Tis better thinkin' than talkin', Uncle Thomas. I abbun nort to talk +'bout, you see, but a power o' things to think of. The auld stones speaks +to me solemn, though they can't talk. They'm wise, voiceless things an' +brings God closer. An' me, an' all the world o' grass an' flowers, an' the +lil chirruping griggans [Footnote: Grasshoppers.] do seem so young beside +'em; but they'm big an' kind. They warm my heart somethin' braave; an' they +let the gray mosses cling to 'em an' the dinky blue butterflies open an' +shut their wings 'pon 'em, an' the bramble climb around theer arms. They've +tawld me a many good things; an' fust as I must be humbler in my bearin'. +Wance I said I'd forgive faither, an' I thot 'twas a fair thing to say; now +I awnly wants en to forgive me an' let me come to my time wi' no man's +anger hot agin me. If I could win just a peep o' home. I may never see it +no more arter, 'cause things might fall out bad wi' me." + +"'Tis nachrul as you harp on it; an', blame me, if I sees why you shouldn' +go down-long. Us might ride in the cart an' no harm done." + +"Ay, do 'e come, theer's a dear sawl. Just to look upon the plaace--" + +"As for that, if us goes, us must see the matter through an' give your +faither the chance to do what's right by 'e." + +"He'll not change; but still I'd have en hear me tell I'm in sorrer for the +ill I brot 'pon his name." + +"Ay, facks! 'Tis a wise word an' a right. Us'll go this very arternoon. You +get a odd pound or so o' scald cream, an' I'll see to a basket o' fruit wi' +some o' they scoured necterns, as ban't no good for sellin', but eats so +well as t'others. Iss, we'll go so soon as dinner be swallowed. Wishes +doan't run in a body's head for nothin'." + +Uncle Chirgwin's old market-cart, with the gray horse and the squeaking +wheel, rattled off to Newlyn some two hours later, and the ordeal, longed +for at a distance, towered tremendous and less beautiful at nearer +approach. When they started, Joan had hoped that her father might be at +home; as they neared Newlyn she felt a growing relief in the reflection +that his presence ashore was exceedingly improbable. Her anxieties were +forgotten for a few moments at sight of the well-known outlines of the +hills above the village. Now arrish-mows--little thatched stacks some eight +feet high--glimmered in the pale gilded stubbles of the fields; the +orchards gleamed with promise; the foliage of the elms was at its darkest +before the golden dawn of autumn. Well-remembered sights rose on Joan's +misty eyes with the music proper to them; then came the smell of the sea +and the jolting of the cart, going slowly over rough stones. Narrow, steep +streets and sharp corners had to be traversed not only with caution but at +a speed which easily placed Joan within the focus of many glances. Troubles +and humiliation of a sort wholly unexpected burst suddenly upon her, +bringing the girl's mind rudely back from dreams born of the familiar +scene. Newlyn women bobbed about their cottage doors with hum and stir, and +every gossip's mouth was full of news at this entry. Doors and windows +filled with curious heads and bright eyes; there was some laughter in the +air; fishermen got up with sidelong looks from the old masts or low walls +whereon, during hours of leisure, they sat in rows and smoked. Joan, all +aflame, prayed Uncle Chirgwin to hasten, which he did to the best of his +power; but their progress was of necessity slow, and local curiosity +enjoyed full scope and play. Tears came to the girl's eyes long before the +village was traversed; then, through a mist of them, she saw a hand +stretched to meet her own and heard a voice which rang kindly on her ears. +It was Sally Trevennick, who faced the spiteful laughter without flinching +and said a few loud, friendly words, though indeed her well-meant support +brought scant comfort with it for the victim. + +"Lard sakes! Joan, doan't 'e take on so at them buzzin' fools! 'Tedn' the +trouble, 'tis the money make 'em clatter! Bah! Wheer's the wan of them +black-browed gals as 'alf the money wouldn' buy? You keep a bold faace, an' +doan't let 'em see as their sniggerin's aught more to 'e than dog-barking." + +"Us'll be theer in a minute," added Mr. Chirgwin, "an' I'll drive back agin +by Mouzle; then you'll 'scape they she-cats. I never thot as you'd a got to +stand that dressin' down in a plaace what's knawed you an' yours these many +years." + +Joan asked Sally Trevennick whether she could say if Gray Michael was on +the water, and she felt very genuine thankfulness on learning that Sally +believed so. Two minutes later the spring-cart reached level ground above +the sea, then, whipping up his horse, Uncle Chirgwin increased the pace, +and very quickly Joan found herself at the door of home. + +Thomasin was within, and, hearing the sound of wheels cease before the +cottage, came forth to learn who had arrived. Her surprise was only equaled +by her alarm at sight of Joan and Mr. Chirgwin. So frightened indeed did +she appear that both the newcomers supposed Mr. Tregenza must be within. +Such, however, was not the case, and Joan's stepmother explained the nature +of her fears. + +"He'm to sea, but the whole world do knaw you be come, I'll lay; an' he'll +knaw tu. Sure's death some long-tongued female will babble it to en 'fore +he's off the quay. Then what?" + +"'Tedn' your fault anyways," declared Uncle Thomas. "Joan's wisht an' sad +to see home agin, as was right an' proper; an' in her present way she've +got to be humored. So I've brot her, an' what blame comes o't my shoulders +is more'n broad enough to carry. I wish, for my paart, as Michael was home, +so's I might faace en when Joan says what her've comed to say. I be gwaine +to Penzance now, 'pon a matter o' business, an' I'll come back here in an +hour or so an' drink a dish o' tea along with you 'fore we staarts." + +He drove away immediately, and for a while Joan was left with Mrs. +Tregenza. The latter's curiosity presently soothed her fears, and almost +the first thing she began to talk about was that "will and testament" which +she had long since urged upon her stepdaughter. But the girl, moving about +in the well-known orchard, had no attention for anything but the sights, +sounds and scents around her. Silently and not unhappily she basked in old +sensations renewed; and they filled her heart. Meanwhile Thomasin kept up a +buzz of conversation concerning Joan's money and Joan's future. + +"Touchin' that bit o' writin'! Do 'e see to it, soas; 'tis awnly wisdom. +Theer's allus a fear wi' the fust, specially in the case o' a pin-tail +built lass like you be. An' if you was took, which God forbid, theer'd be +that mort o' money to come to Michael, him bein' your faither--that is, +s'pose the cheel was took tu, which God forbid likewise. An' he'd burn +it--every note--I mean Michael. Now if you was to name Tom--just in case o' +accidents--? He'm of your awn blood by's faither." + +"But my baaby must be fust." + +"In coorse er must. 'Tis lawful an' right. Love childern do come as sweet +an' innercent on to the airth as them born o' wedlock--purty sawls. 'Tis +the fashion to apprentice 'em to theer faithers mostly, an' they be a sort +o' poor cousins o' the rightful fam'ly; but your lil wan--well--theer edn' +gwaine to be any 'poor cousin' talk 'bout en--if en do live. But I was +talkin' o' the will." + +"I've writ it out all fair in ink 'cordin' as Uncle Chirgwin advised," said +Joan. "Fust comes my cheel, then Tom. Uncle sez theer ban't no call to name +others. I wanted hisself to take a half on it, but he said theer weren't no +need an' he wouldn't nohow." + +"Quite right," declared Thomasin. "Iss fay! He be a plain dealer an' a good +righteous man." + +Joan's thoughts meanwhile were mainly concerned with her surroundings, and +when she had walked thrice about the garden, visited the pigs, peeped into +the tool-house to smell the paint and twine, noted the ripening plums and a +promising little crop of beets coming on in the field beyond, she went +indoors. There a pair of Michael's tall sea-boots stood in the chimney +corner, with a small pair of Tom's beside them; the old, well-remembered +crockery shone from the dresser; geraniums and begonias filled the window; +on a basket at the right of the fireside stood a small blue plate with gold +lettering upon it and a picture of Saltash Bridge in the middle. The legend +ran--_A present for a good girl_. It was a gift from her father to +Joan, on her tenth birthday. She picked it up, polished it, and asked for a +piece of paper to wrap it in, designing to carry the trifle away with her. + +Every old nook and corner had been visited by the time that Uncle Chirgwin +returned. Then all sat down to eat and drink, and the taste of the tea went +still further to quicken Joan's memory. + +Mrs. Tregenza gave them such information as suggested itself to her during +the progress of the meal. She was chiefly concerned about her son. + +"Cruel 'ard worked he be, sure 'nough," she murmured. "'Tis contrary to +reason a boy can graw when he's made to sweat same as Tom be. An' short for +his age as 'tis. But butivul broad, an' 'mazin' strong, an' a fine sight to +see en ate his food. Then the Gosp'lers--well, they'm cold friends to the +young. A bwoy like him caan't feel religion in his blood same as grawed +folks." + +"Small blame to en," said Joan promptly. "Let en go to church an' hear +proper holy ministers in black an' white gownds, an' proper words set down +in print, same as what I do now." + +"I'd as soon not have my flaish creep down the spine 'pon Sundays as not," +confessed Thomasin, "but Michael's Michael, an' so all's said." + +Uncle Chirgwin went to smoke a pipe and water his horse at this juncture; +but he returned within less than ten minutes. + +"It's blowin'," he said, "an' the fust skew o' gray rain's breakin' over +the sea. I knawed 'twas comin' by my corns. The bwoats is sailin' back +tu--a frothin' in proper ower the lumpy water." + +"Then you'd best be movin'," said Mrs. Tregenza. "I judged bad-fashioned +weather was comin' tu when I touched the string o' seaweed as hangs by the +winder. 'Tis clammy to the hand. God save us!" she continued, turning from +the door, "theer's ourn at the moorin's! They've been driv' back 'fore us +counted 'pon seein' 'em by the promise of storm. Get you gone, for the love +o' the Lard; an' go Mouzle way, else you'll run on top o' Michael for +sure." + +"Ban't no odds if us do. Joan had a mind to see en," answered the farmer; +but Joan spoke for herself. She explained that she now wished to depart +without seeing her father if possible. + +It was, however, too late to escape the meeting. Even as the twain bade +Mrs. Tregenza a hasty farewell, heavy feet sounded on the cobbles at the +cottage door and a moment later Tregenza entered. His oilskins were wet and +shiny; half a dozen herrings, threaded through the gills on a string, hung +from his right hand. + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +"THE LORD IS KING" + + +Michael Tregenza instantly observed Joan where she sat by the window, and, +seeing her, stood still. The fish fell from his hand and dropped slithering +in a heap on the stone floor. There was a silence so great that all could +hear a patter of drops from the fisherman's oilskins as the water rolled to +the ground. At the same moment gusts of rising wind shook the casement and +bleared the glass in it with rain. Joan, as she rose and stood near Mr. +Chirgwin, heard her heart thump and felt the blood leap. Then she nerved +herself, came a little forward, and spoke before her father had time to do +so. He had now turned his gaze from her and was looking at the farmer. + +"Faither," she said very gently, "faither dearie, forgive me. I begs it so +hard; 'tis the thing I wants most. I feared to see 'e, but you was sent off +the waters that I might. I comed in tremblin' an' sorrer to see wheer I've +lived most all my short days. I'm that differ'nt now to what I was. Uncle +Thomas'll tell 'e. I know I'm a sinful, wicked wummon, an' I'm heart-broke +day an' night for the shame I've brot 'pon my folks. I'll trouble 'e no +more if 'e will awnly say the word. Please, please, faither, forgive." + +She stood without moving, as did he. Uncle Chirgwin watched silently. Mrs. +Tregenza made some stir at the fire to conceal her anxiety. No relenting +glimmer softened either the steel of Gray Michael's eyes or one line in his +great face. The furrows knotted between his eyebrows and at the corners of +his eyes. His sou'wester still covered his head. At his mouth was a +down-drawing, as of disgust before some offensive sight or smell, and the +hand which had held the fish was clinched. He swallowed and found speech +hard. Then Joan spoke again. + +"Uncle's forgived me, an' Mary, an' Tom, an' mother here. Caan't 'e, caan't +'e, faither? My road's that hard." + +Then he answered, his words bursting out of his lips sharply, painfully at +first, rolling as usual in his mighty chest voice afterward. The man +twisted Scripture to his narrow purposes according to Luke Gospel usage. + +"'Forgive'? Who can forgive but the Lard, an' what is man that he should +forgive them as the A'mighty's damned? 'Tis the sinners' bleat an' whine +for forgiveness what's crackin' the ear o' God whensoever 'tis bent 'pon +airth. Ain't your religion taught you that--you, Thomas Chirgwin? If not, +'tis a brawken reed, man. Get you gone, you fagot, you an' this here +white-haired sawl, as is foolin' you an' holdin' converse wi' the outcast +o' heaven. I ban't no faither o' yourn, thank God, as shawed me I +weern't--never, never. Gaw! Gaw both of 'e. My God! the sight of 'e do +sicken me as I stand in the same air. You--an auld man--touchin' her an' +her devil-sent, filthy moneys. 'Twas a evil day, Thomas Chirgwin, when I +fust seed them o' your blood--an ill hour, an' you drives it red-hot into +my brain with your actions. Bad, bad you be--bad as that lyin', false, lost +sinner theer--a-draggin' out your cant o' forgiveness an' foolin' a damned +sawl wi' falsehoods. _You_ knaws wheer she'm gwaine; an' your +squeakin', time-servin' passon knaws; an' you both tells her differ'nt!" + +"Out on 'e, you stone-hearted wretch o' a man!" began Uncle Chirgwin in a +small voice, shaking with anger; but the fisherman had not said his last +word, and roared the other down. Gray Michael's self-control was less than +usual; his face had grown very red and surcharged veins showed black on the +unwrinkled sides of his forehead. + +"No more, not a word. Get you gone an' never agin set foot 'pon this here +draxel. [Footnote: _Draxel_--Threshold.] Never--never none o' Chirgwin +breed. Gaw! or auld as you be, I'll force 'e! God's on the side o' right!" + +Hereupon Joan, not judging correctly of the black storm signs on her +father's face or the force of the voice, now grating into a shriek as +passion tumbled to flood, prayed yet again for that pardon which her parent +was powerless to grant. The boon denied grew precious in her eyes. She wept +and importuned, falling on her knees to him. + +"God can do it, God can do it, faither. Please--please, for the sake o' the +God as leads you, forgive. Oh, God in heaven, make en forgive me--'tis all +I wants." + +But a religious delirium gripped Tregenza and poisoned the blood in him. +His breast rose, his fists clinched, his mouth was dragged sidewise and his +underlip shook. A damned soul, looking up with wild eyes into his, was all +he saw--the very off scouring and filth of human nature--hell tinder, to +touch which in kindness was to risk his own salvation. + +"Gaw, gaw! Else the Lard'll make me His weapon. He's whisperin'--He's +whisperin'!" + +There was something horribly akin to genuine madness in the frenzy of this +utterance. Mrs. Tregenza screamed; Joan struggled to her feet in some +terror and her head swam. She turned to get her hat from the dresser-ledge, +and, as she did so, the little blue plate, tied up in paper beside it, fell +and broke, like the last link of a snapping chain. Gray Michael was making +a snorting in his nostrils and his head seemed to grow lower on his +shoulders. Then Mr. Chirgwin found his opportunity and spoke. + +"I've heard you, an' it ban't human nachur to knuckle down dumb, so I be +gwaine to speak, an' you can mind or not as you please." + +He flung his old hat upon the ground and walked without fear close beside +the fisherman who towered above him. + +"God be with 'e, I sez, for you need En fine an' bad for sartain--worse'n +that poor 'mazed lamb shakin' theer. _You_ talk o' the ways o' God to +men an' knaw no more 'bout 'em than the feesh what you draw from the sea! +You'm choustin' yourself cruel wi' your self-righteousness--take it from +me. _You'm_ saved, be you? _You_ be gwaine to heaven, are 'e? Who +tawld 'e so, Michael Tregenza? Did God A'mighty send a flyin' angel to tell +'e a purpose? Look in your heart, man, an' see how much o' Christ be in it. +Christ, I tell 'e, Christ--Christ--Jesus Christ. It's _Him_ as'll +smuggle us all into heaven, not your psalm-smitin', knock-me-down, +ten-commandment, cussin' God. I'm grawin' very auld an' I knaw what I knaw. +Your God's a _devil_, fisherman--a graspin', cruel devil; an' them the +devil saves is damned. 'Tis Christ as you've turned your stiff back +'pon--Christ as'll let this poor lass into heaven afore ever you gets +theer! You ban't in sight o' the gates o' pearl, not you, for all your cold +prayers. You'm young in well-doin'; an' 'tis a 'ard road you'll fetch home +by, I'll swear; an' 'tis more'n granite the Lard'll use to make your heart +bleed. He'll break you, Tregenza--you, so bold, as looks dry-eyed 'pon the +sun an' reckons your throne'll wan day be as bright. He'll break you, an' +bring you to your knees, an' that 'fore your gray hairs be turned, as mine, +to white. Oh, Christ Jesus, look you at this blind sawl an' give en +somethin' better to lay hold 'pon than his poor bally-muck o' religion +what's nort but a gert livin' lie!" + +Thomas Chirgwin seemed mightily transfigured as he spoke. The words came +without an effort, but he uttered them with pauses and in a loud voice not +lacking solemnity. His head shook, yet he stood firm and motionless upon +his feet; and he made his points with a gesture, often repeated, of his +open right hand. + +As for Tregenza, the man listened through all, though he heard but little. +His head was full of blood; there was a weight on his tongue striking it +silent and forcing his mouth open at the same moment. The world looked red +as he saw it; his limbs were not bearing him stiffly. Thomasin had her eye +upon him, for she was quite prepared to throw over her previous statements +and support her husband against an attack so astounding and unexpected. And +the more so that he had not himself hurled an immediate and crushing +answer. + +Meantime the old farmer's sudden fires died within him; he shrank to his +true self, and the voice in which he now spoke seemed that of another man. + +"Give heed to what I've said to 'e, Michael, an' be humble afore the Lard +same as your darter be. Go in fear, as you be forever biddin' all flaish to +go. Never say no sawl's lost while you give all power to the Maker o' +sawls. Go in fear, I sez, else theer'll come a whirlwind o' God-sent sorrer +to strike wheer your heart's desire be rooted. 'Tis allus so--allus--" + +Tom entered upon these words, and Uncle Chirgwin's eyes dropping upon him +as he spoke, his utterance sounded like a prophecy. So the boy's mother +read it, and with a half sob, half shriek, she turned in all the frenzy of +sudden maternal wrath. Her sharp tongue dropped mere vituperation, but did +so with boundless vigor, and the woman's torrent of unbridled curses and +threats swept that scene of storm to its close. Joan went first from the +door, while Mr. Chirgwin, picking up his hat and buttoning his coat, +retreated after her before the volume of Thomasin's virago attack. Tom +stood open-mouthed and silent, dumfounded at the tremendous spectacle of +his mother's rage and his father's stricken silence. Then, as Mrs. Tregenza +slammed the door and wept, her husband sunk slowly down with something +strangely like terror in his eyes. The man in truth had just passed through +a physical crisis of alarming nature. He sat in his easy-chair now, removed +his hat, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with hands that +shook. It was not what he had heard or beheld that woke alarm in a spirit +which had never known it till then, but what he had felt: a horror which +crowded down upon every sense, gripped his volition with unseen hands, +blinded him, stopped his ears, held his limbs, stirred his brains into a +whirling waste. He knew now that in his moment of passion he had stood upon +the very brink of some terrific, shattering evil, possibly of death itself. +Body or brain or both had passed through a great, unknown danger; and now, +dazed and for the time much aged, he looked about him with slow +eyes--mastered the situation, and realized the incident was ended. + +"The Lard--'the Lard is King,'" he said, and stopped a moment. Then he +slowly rose to his feet and with the old voice, though it shook and slurred +somewhat upon his tongue, spoke that text which served him in all occasions +of unusual stress and significance. + +"'The Lard is King, be the people never so impatient; He sitteth between +the cherubims, be the airth never so unquiet'!" + +Then he sat again and long remained motionless with his face buried in his +hands. + +Meantime the old horse dragged Uncle Chirgwin and his niece away along the +level road to Mousehole. Joan was wrapped in a tarpaulin and they proceeded +silently a while under cold rains, which swept up from a leaden south over +the sea. The wind blew strong, tore green leaves from the hedges, and +chimed with the thoughts of the man and his niece. + +"How did you come to speak so big an' braave, Uncle Thomas? I couldn' say +no more to en, for the lights rose up in my throat an' choked me; but you +swelled out somethin' grand to see, an' spawk as no man ever yet spawk to +faither afore." + +"'Twas put in me to say; I doan't knaw how ever I done it, but my tongue +weern't my awn for the time. Pull that thing tighter about 'e. This rain +would go through a barn door." + +At the steep hill rising from Mousehole to Paul, Uncle Chirgwin got out and +walked, while the horse, with his shoulders to the collar, plodded forward. +Then, down the road came the laboring man, Billy Jago, mentioned aforetime +as one who had worked for Mr. Chirgwin in the past. He touched his hat to +his old master and greeted him with respect and regard. For a moment the +farmer also stopped. No false sentiment tied Billy's tongue and he spoke of +matters personal to those before him, having first mournfully described his +own state of health. + +"But theer, us gaws down to the tomb to make way for the new born. I do +say, an' swear tu, that the butivulest things in all wild nachur be a ship +in full sail an' a wummon in the fam'ly way. Ban't nothin' to beat 'em. An' +I'll say it here, 'pon this spot, though the rain's bitin' into my bones +like teeth. So long to 'e, maaster, an' good cheeldin' to 'e, miss!" + +The man rolled with loutish gait down the hill; the darkness gathered; the +wind whistled through high hedges on the left; farmer Chirgwin made sounds +of encouragement to his horse, which moved onward; and Joan thought with +curious interest of those things that Billy Jago had said. + +"'Tis straange us met that poor, croony antic at sich a moment," mused +Uncle Thomas; "the words of en jag sore 'pon a body's mind, comin' arter +what's in our thots like." + +"Maybe 'tis paart o' the queerness o' things as us should fall 'pon en +now," answered Joan. + +Then, through a stormy gloaming, they returned in sadness to the high lands +of Drift. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +A GLEN-ADER + + +"A new broom sweeps clean, but 'tis the auld wan as is good for corners," +said Uncle Chirgwin, when with his nieces he sat beside the kitchen fire +that night and discussed the events of the day. + +"By which I means," he added, "that these new-fangled ways of approaching +the A'mighty may go to branch and trunk an' make a clean sweep o' evil, but +they leaves the root o' pride stickin' in a man's sawl. 'Tis the auld broom +as Christ brought in the world as routs into the dark corners like nothin' +else." + +"I be glad you spawk to en," said Mary. "Seed sawed do bring forth fruit in +a 'mazin'' way." + +"I reckoned he'd a smote me, but he dedn'. He just turned rosy red an' +stood glazin' at me as if I was a ghost." + +"I never see en look like that afore," declared Joan; "he 'peared to be +afeared. But the door's shut 'gainst me now. I caan't do no more'n I have +done. He'll never forgive." + +"As to that, Joan, I won't say. You bide quiet till the seed sprouts. I lay +now as you'll hear tell about your faither an' maybe get a message from en +'fore the year's a month older." + +With which hopeful prediction Uncle Chirgwin ended the discussion. + +That night the circular storm, which had died away at dark, turned upon +itself and the wind moaned at window latches and down chimneys, prophesying +autumn. Dawn broke on a drenched, gray world, but the storm had clean +passed, and at noon the gray brightened to silver and burned to gold when +the sun came out. The wind wore to the west, and on to northwest; the +weather settled down and days of a rare late summer pursued their even way. + +A fortnight passed, and the farmer's belief that Gray Michael would +communicate with his daughter began to waver. + +"Pharaoh's a soft-'earted twoad to this wan," he declared gloomily. "It do +beat me to picksher sich a man. I've piped to en hot an' strong, as Joan +knaws, but he ban't gwaine to dance 'tall seemin'ly. Poor sawl! When the +hand o' the Lard do fall, God send 'twon't crush en all in all. +'Saved'--_him_--dear, dear!" + +"The likes of Tregenza be saved 'pon St. Tibbs Eve, [Footnote: _St. Tibbs +Eve_--Equivalent to the "Greek Calends."] I reckon, an' no sooner," +answered Mary scornfully. Then she modified her fiery statement according +to her custom, for the woman's zeal always had first call upon her tongue, +and her judgment usually took off the edge of every harsh statement +immediately upon its utterance. + +"Leastways 'tis hard to see how sich bowldashious standin' up in the eye o' +God should prosper. But us can be saved even from our awnselves, I s'pose. +So Tregenza have got his chance along o' the best." + +Joan never resented the outspoken criticisms on her parent. She listened, +but rarely joined the discussion. The whole matter speedily sank to a +position of insignificance. Her own mind was clear, and the deadlock only +cut off one more outer interest and reduced Life's existing influences to a +smaller field. She drew more and more into herself, slipped more and more +from out the routine life of Drift. She became self-centered, and when her +body was not absent, as happened upon most fine days, her mind abstracted +itself to extreme limits. She grew shy of fellow-creatures, found no day +happy of which a part had not been spent beside a cross, showed a gradual +indifference to the services of the church which not long since had +attracted her so strongly and braced the foundations of her soul. There +came at last a black Sunday when Joan refused to accompany Mary and the +farmer to morning worship at Sancreed. She made no excuse, but designed a +pilgrimage of more than usual length, and, having driven as far as the +church with her uncle and cousin, left them there and walked on her way. +Even the fascinations of a harvest festival failed to charm her; and the +spectacle of fat roots, mighty marrows, yellow corn and red apples on the +window-ledges, of grapes and tomatoes, flowers and loaves upon the altar, +pulpit and font, did not appeal overmuch to Joana--a fact perhaps +surprising. + +With a plump pasty of meat and flour in her pocket and one of Uncle +Chirgwin's walking-sticks to help her footsteps, Joan went on her way, +passed the Wesleyan Chapel of Sancreed, and then maintained a reasonably +direct line to her destination by short cuts and field paths. She intended +to visit Mên Scryfa, that famous "long stone" which stands away in a moor +croft beyond Lanyon. She knew that it was no right cross, but she +remembered it well, having visited the monument frequently in the past. It +was holy with infinite age, and the writing upon it fascinated her as a +mystery fascinates most of us. + +The words, "_Rialobrani Cunovali Fili_," which probably mark the fact +that Rialobran, son of Cunoval, some Brito-Celtic chieftain of eld, lies +buried not far distant, meant nothing to Joan, but the old gray-headed +stone, perhaps the loneliest in all Cornwall, was pleasant to her thoughts, +and she trudged forward gladly with her eyes open for all the beauties of +a smiling world. + +Summer clouds, sunny-hearted and towering against the blue, dropped immense +shadows on the glimmering gold of much stubble and on the wastes of the +moor rising above them. In the cornfields, visible now that the crops were +cut and gathered into mows, stood little gray-green islands--a mark +distinctive of Cornish husbandry. Here grew cow-cabbages in rank +luxuriance, on mounds of manure which would be presently scattered over the +exhausted land. The little oases in the deserts of the fields were too +familiar to arrest Joan's eye. She merely glanced at the garnered wheat and +thought what a brief time the arrish geese, stuffing themselves in the +stubble, had yet to live. A solemn, splendid peace held the country-side, +and hardly a soul was abroad where the road led upward to wild moor and +waste. Sometimes a group of calves crowding under the shady side of hedges +regarded Joan with youthful interest; sometimes, in a distant coomb-bottom, +where blackberries grew, little sunbonnets bobbed above the fern and a +child's shrill voice came clear to her upon the wind. But the loneliness +grew, and, anon, turning from her way a while, the traveler sat on the gray +crown of Trengwainton Carn to rest and look at the wide world. + +From the little tor, over undulations of broad light and blue shadow, Joan +could see afar to Buryan's lofty tower, to Paul above the sea, to +Sancreed's sycamores and to Drift beyond them. Wild sweeps of fell and +field faded on the sight to those dim and remote hues of distance only +visible upon days of exceeding aerial brilliancy. Immediately beneath the +eminence subtended ragged expanses of rainbow-colored heath and fern and +furze spotted with small fir trees which showed blue against the tones of +the moor. The heather's pink clearly contrasted with the paler shades of +the ling, and an additional silvery twinkle of light inhabited the latter +plant, its cause last year's dead white branches and twigs still scattered +through the living foliage and flower. Out of a myriad bells that wild +world spoke, and the murmur of the heath came as the murmur of a wise voice +to the ear on which it fell. There was a soul in the day; it lived, and +Joan looked into the eyes of a glorious, conscious entity, herself a little +part of the space-filling whole. + +Presently, refreshed by brief rest, the pilgrim journeyed on over a road +which climbs the moor above deep fox-covers of rhododendron, already +mentioned as visible from Madron chapel. The way dipped presently, crossed +a rivulet and mounted again past the famous cromlech of Lanyon. But Joan +passed the quoit unheeding, and kept upon flint roads through Lanyon farm, +where its irregular buildings stretch across the hill-crest. She saw the +stacks roped strangely in nets with heavy stones to secure them against +winter gales; she observed the various familiar objects of Drift repeated +on a greater scale; then, going down hill yet again, Joan struck up the +course of another stream and passed steadily over broad, granite-dotted +tangles of whin, heather and rank grasses to her destination. Here the +heath was blasted and scarred with summer fires. Great patches of the waste +had been eaten naked by past flames, and Mên-an-tol--the +"crick-stone"--past which she progressed, stood with its lesser granite +pillars in a dark bed of scorched earth and blackened furze-stems stripped +bare by the fire. She stood in a wide, desolate cup of the Cornish moor. To +the south Ding-Dong Mine reared its shattered chimney-stack, toward the +northwest Carn Galvas--that rock-piled fastness of dead giants--reared a +gray head against the blue. A curlew piped; a lizard rustled into a tussock +of grass where pink bog-heather and seeding cotton grasses splashed the +sodden ground; a dragon-fly from the marsh stayed a moment upon Mên-an-tol, +and the jewel of his eyes was a little world holding all the colors of the +larger. + +Joan, keeping her way to where Carn Galvas rose over the next ridge, walked +another few hundred yards, crossed a disused road, climbed a stony bank, +and then stood in the little croft sacred to Mên Scryfa. At the center, +above a land almost barren save for stunted heath and wind-beaten fern it +rose--a tall stone of rough and irregular shape. The bare black earth, in +which shone quartz crystals, stretched at hand in squares. From these raw +spaces, peat had been cut, to be subsequently burned for manure; and it +stood hard by stacked in a row of beat-burrows or little piles of +overlapping pieces, the cut side out. Near the famous old stone itself, +surmounting a barrow-like tumulus, grew stunted bracken; and here Joan +presently sat down full of happiness in that her pilgrimage had been +achieved. The granite pillar of Mên Scryfa was crested with that fine +yellow-gray lichen which finds life on exposed stones; upon the windward +side clung a few atoms of golden growth; and its rude carved inscription +straggled down the northern face. The monument rose sheer above black +corpses of crooked furze, for fire had swept this region also, adding not a +little to the prevailing sobriety of it, and only the elemental splendor of +weather and the canopy of blue and gold beneath which spread this +desolation rendered it less than mournful. Even under these circumstances +imagination, as though rebelling against the conditions of sunshine and +summer then maintaining, leaped to picture Mên Scryfa under the black +screaming of winter storm or rising darkly upon deep snows; casting a +transitory shadow over a waste ghastly blue under flashes of lightning, or +throbbing to its deep roots when thunder roared over the moor and the levin +brand hissed unseen into quag and fen. + +The double crown of Carn Galvas fronted Joan as she presently sat with her +back resting against the stone; and a medley of the old thoughts rose not +unwelcome in her mind. Giant mythology seemed a true thing in sight of +these vast regular piles of granite; and the thought of the kind simple +monsters who had raised that earn led to musings on the "little people." +Her mind brooded over the fairies and their strange ways with young human +mothers. She remembered the stories of changelings, and vowed to herself +that her own babe should never be out of sight. These reflections found no +adverse criticism in faith. The Bible was full of giants; and if no fairies +were mentioned therein, she had read nothing aimed against them. Presently +she prayed for the coming child. Her soul went with the words; and they +were addressed with vagueness as became her vague thoughts, half to Mên +Scryfa, half to God, all in the name of Christ. + +Going home again, after noon, Joan found a glen-ader, [Footnote: +_Glen-ader_--The cast skin of an adder. Once accounted a powerful +amulet, and still sometimes secretly preserved by the ignorant, as sailors +treasure a caul.] which circumstance is here mentioned to illustrate the +conflicting nature of those many forces still active in her mind. That they +should have coexisted and not destroyed each other is the point of most +peculiarity. But it seemed for a moment as though the girl had +intellectually passed at least that form of superstition embraced by +coveted possession of a glen-ader; for, upon finding the thing lying +extended like a snake's ghost, she hesitated before picking it up. The old +tradition, however, sucked in from a credulous parent with much similar +folly at a time when the mind accepts impressions most readily, was too +strong for Joan. Qualms she had, and some whisper at the bottom of her mind +was heard with a clearness sufficient to make her uncomfortable, but reason +held a feeble citadel at best in Joan's mind. The whisper died, memory +spoke of the notable value which wise men through long past years had +placed upon this charm, and in the face of the future it seemed wicked to +reject a thing of such proven efficacy. So she picked up the adder's +slough, designing to sew it upon a piece of flannel and henceforth wear it +against her skin until her baby should be born. But she determined to tell +neither Mary nor her uncle, though she did not stop to ask why secrecy thus +commended itself to her. + +That evening Mary came primed from church-going with grave admonition, Mr. +Chirgwin was tearful, and hinted at his own sorrow arising from Joan's +backsliding, but Mary did not mince language and spoke what she thought. + +"You'm wrong, an' you knaw you'm wrong," she said. "The crosses be very +well, an' coorious, butivul things to see 'pon the land tu, but they'm poor +food to a body's sawl. They caan't shaw wheer you'm out; they caan't lead +'e right." + +"Iss they can, then, an' they do," declared Joan. "The more I bide along +wi' 'em the better I feel an' the nearer to God A'mighty, so theer! They'm +allus the same, an' they puts thots in my head that's good to think; an' I +must go my ways, Polly, same as you go yours." + +When night came Joan slept within the mystic circumference of the +glen-ader; and that she derived a growing measure of mental satisfaction +from its embrace is unquestionable. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +"COME TO ME!" + + +A space of time six weeks in duration may be hastily dismissed as producing +no alteration in Joan's method of thought and life. It swept her swiftly +through shortening days and the last of the summer weather to the climax of +her fortunes. As the season waned she kept nearer home, going not much +further than Tremathick Cross on the St. Just road or to that relic already +mentioned as lying outside Sancreed churchyard. These, in time, she +associated as much with her child as with herself. The baby had now taken +its natural place in her mind, and she prayed every day that it might +presently forgive her for bringing it into the world at all. Misty-eyed, +not unhappy, with her beauty still a startling fact, Joan mused away long +hours at the feet of her granite friends through the waning splendors of +many an autumn noon. Then, within the brief space of two weeks, a period of +weather almost unexampled in the memory of the oldest agriculturists drew +to its close. + +That mighty rains must surely come all knew, but none foretold their +tremendous volume or foresaw the havoc, ruin and destruction to follow upon +their outpouring. Meantime, with late September, the leaves began to hustle +early to earth under great winds. Rain fell at times, but not heavily at +first, and a thirsty world drank open-mouthed through deep sun-cracks in +field and moor and dried-up marsh. But bedraggled autumn's robes were soon +washed colorless; the heath turned pallid before it faded to sere brown; +rotten banks of decaying leaves rose high under the hedges. There was no +dry, crisp whirl of gold on the wind, but a sodden condition gradually +overspread the land. The earth grew drunken with the later rains and could +hold no more. October saw the last of the purple and crimson, the tawny +browns and royal yellows. Only beeches, their wet leaves by many shades a +darker auburn than is customary, still retained lower foliage. The trees +put on their winter shapes unduly early. The world was dark and sweated +fungus. Uncouth children of the earth, whose hour is that which sees the +leaf fall, sprang into short-lived being. Black goblins and gray, white +goblins and brown, spread weird life abroad. With fleshy gills, squat and +lean, fat and thin, bursting through the grass in companies and circles, +lurking livid, gigantic and alone on the trunks of forest trees, gemming +the rotten bough with crimson, twinkling like topaz on the crooked stems of +the furze, battening upon death, rising into transitory vigor from the rack +and rot of a festering earth, they flourished. Heavy mists now stretched +their draperies over the high lands; and exhalations from the corpse of the +summer hung bluish under the rain in the valleys. One night a full moon +shone clearly, and through the ambient light ominous sheets and splashes of +silver glimmered in the low fields. Here they had slowly and silently +spread into existence, their birth hidden under the mists, their +significance marked by none but anxious farmers. All men hoped that the +full moon would bring cessation of this rainfall; but another gray dawn +faced them on the morrow and a thousand busy rills murmured and babbled +down the lanes round Drift. Here and there unsuspected springs burst their +hidden chambers and swept by steep courses over the green grass to join +these main waters which now raced through the valley. The light of day was +heavy and pressed upon the sight. It acted like a telescope in the +intervals of no rain and brought distant objects into strange distinctness. +The weather was much too warm even for "Western Cornwall. A few leaves +still hung on the crown of the apple trees, and such scanty peach and +nectarine foliage as yet remained was green. The red currants flaunted a +gold leaf or two and the remaining leaves of the black currant were purple +after his fashion. Joan marveled to see sundry of her favorites thrusting +forth tokens of spring almost before autumn was ended. Lilac buds swelled +to bursting; a peony pushed many pink points upward through the brown ruins +of the past; bulbs were growing rapidly; Nature had forgotten winter for +once, thought Joan. Thus the sodden, sunless, steaming days followed each +on the last until farming folk began to grow grave before a steady increase +of water on the land. Much hay stood in danger and some ricks had been +already ruined. Many theories were rife, Uncle Chirgwin's being, upon the +whole, the most fatuous. + +"Tis a thunder-planet," he told his nieces, "an' till us get a rousin' +storm o' crooked forks an' heavy thunder this rain'll go on fallin'. But +not so much as a flap o' the collybran [Footnote: _Collybran_--Sheet +lightning.] do us get for all the heat o' the air. I should knaw, if any, +for I be out turnin' night into day an' markin' the water in the valley +every evenin' long after dark now. I'm fearin' graave for the big stack; +an' theer's three paarts o' last year's hay beside, an' two tidy lil mows +of the aftermath. So sure's the waters do rise another foot and a half, +'tis 'good-by' to the whole boilin'. Not but 'twill be a miracle for the +stream to get much higher. The moor's burstin' wi' rain, but the coffins +[Footnote: _Coffins_--Ancient mining excavations.] do hold it up, I s'pose, +an' keep it aloft. A penn'orth o' frost now would save a pound of +produce from wan end o' Carnwall to t'other." + +Joan spent many long days in the house at this time and practiced an +unskillful needle, while her thoughts wandered far and near through the +sullen weather to this old cross and that. Then came a night of rainless +darkness through which past augmentations of water still thundered. Nature +rested for some hours before her final, shattering deluge, but the brief +peace was more tremendous than rain or wind, for a mighty foreboding +permeated it, and all men felt the end was not yet, though none could say +why they feared the silence more than storm. + +It happened upon this black night that Joan was alone in the kitchen. +Supper had been but a scrambling meal and her uncle with Amos Bartlett and +all the men on the farm were now somewhere in the valley under the darkness +fighting for the hay with rising water. Where Mary was just then, Joan did +not know. Her thoughts were occupied with her own affairs, and in the +oppressive silence she sat watching some little moving threadlike concerns +which hung in a row through a crack below the mantelpiece above the open +fire. They were the tails of mice which often here congregated nigh the +warmth and sat in a row, themselves invisible. The tails moved, and Joan +noted some shorter tails beside long ones, telling of infant vermin at +their mothers' sides. In the silence she could hear the squeaking of them, +and now and then she talked to them very softly. + +"Thank God, you lil mice, as you abbun got no brains in your heads an' no +call to look far in the future. I lay you'm happier than us, wi' nort to +fear 'bout 'cept crumbs an' a lew snug spot to live in." + +Thus she stumbled on the lowest note of pessimism: that conscious +intelligence is a supreme mistake. But the significance of her idea she +knew not. + +Then Joan rose up, shivered with a sudden sense of chill, stamped her feet, +and caused the row of tails below the mantel to vanish. + +"Goose-flaish down the spine do mean as theer's feet walkin' 'pon my +graave, I s'pose," she thought, as a heavy knock at the front door +interrupted her reflections. Hastening to open it, Joan found the +postman--a rare visitor at Drift. He handed her a letter and prepared to +depart immediately. + +"I'm grievous afeared o' Buryas Bridge tonight," he said; "when I comed +over, two hour back, the water was above the arches, an', so like's not, I +won't get 'cross 'tall if it's riz higher. An' somethin' cruel's comin', +I'll lay my life, 'fore marnin'. This pitch-black silence be worse than the +noise o' the rain." + +He vanished down the hill, and, returning to the kitchen, Joan lighted a +candle and examined the letter. A fit of trembling shook the girl to the +hidden seat of her soul as she did so, for her own name greeted her, in +neat printed letters akin to those on the superscription of another letter +she had received in the past. From John Barron it was that this +communication came, and the reception of it begot a wild chaos of mind +which now carried Joan headlong backward. Images swept through her brain +with the bewildering rapidity and brilliance of lightning flashes; she was +whirled and tossed on a flood of thoughts; a single sad-eyed figure +retained permanency and rose clear and separated itself from the +phantasmagorial procession of personages and events wending through her +mind, dissolving each into the other, stretching the circumstances of eight +short months into an eternity, crowding the solemn aisles of time past with +shadows of those emotions which had reigned over the dead spring time of +the year and were themselves long dead. Thus she stood for a space of vast +apparent duration, but in reality most brief. That trifling standpoint in +time needed for a dream or for the brain-picture of his past which +dominates the mind of the drowning was all that had sped with Joan. Then, +shaking herself clear of thought, she found her candle, which burned dim +when first lighted, was only now melting the wax and rising to its full +flame. A mist of damp had long hung on the inner walls of the kitchen at +Drift, begotten not of faulty building but by the peculiar condition of the +atmosphere; and as the candle flickered up in a chamber dark save for its +light and the subdued glow of a low fire, Joan noticed how the gathering +moisture on the walls had coalesced, run into drops and fallen, streaking +the misty gray with bright bars and networks, silvery' as the slime of +snails. + +With shaking hand, she set the candle upon a table, dropped into a chair +beside it and opened her letter. For a moment the page with its large +printed characters danced before her eyes, then they steadied and she was +able to read. Like a message from one long dead came the words; and in +truth, though the writer lived, he wrote upon the threshold of the grave. +John Barren had put into force his project, which was, as may be +remembered, to write to Joan when the end of his journey came in sight. The +words were carefully chosen, for he remembered her sympathy with suffering +and her extensive ignorance. He wrote in simple language, therefore, and +dwelt on his own helpless condition, exaggerating it to some extent. + +"No. 6 Melbury Gardens, London. + +"My own dear love--What can I say to make you know what has kept me away +from you? There is but one word and that is my poor sick and suffering +body. I wrote to you and tore up what I wrote, for I loved you too much to +ask you to come and share my sad life. It was very, very awful to be away +and know you were waiting and waiting for Jan; yet I could not come, +because Mother Nature was so hard. Then I went far away and hoped you had +forgotten me. Doctors made me go to a place over the sea where tall palm +trees grew up out of a dry yellow desert; but my poor lungs were too sick +to get well again and I came home to die. Yes, sweetheart, you will forgive +me for all when you know poor lonely Jan will soon be gone. He cannot live +much longer, and he is so weak now that he has no more power to fight +against the love of Joan. + +"For your own good, dear one, I made myself keep away and hid myself from +you. Now the little life left to me cries out by night and by day for you. +Joan, my own true love, I cannot die until I have seen you again. Come to +me, Joan, love, if you do not hate me. Come to me; come; and close my eyes +and let poor Jan have the one face that he loves quite near him at the end. +Even your picture has gone, for they came when I was away and took it and +put it in a place with many others for people to see. And all men and women +say it is the best picture. I shall be dead before they send it back to me. +So now I have nothing but the thoughts of my Joan. Oh, come to me, my love, +if you can. It will not be for long, and when Jan lies under the ground all +that he has is yours. I have fought so hard to keep from you and from +praying you to come to me, but I can fight no more. My home is named at the +top of this letter. You have but to enter the train for London and stop in +it until it gets to the end of its journey. My servant shall wait each day +for your coming. I can write no more, I can only pray to the God we both +love to bring you to me. And if you come or do not I shall have the same +great true love for you. I will die alone rather than trouble you to come +if you have forgotten me and not forgiven me for keeping silence. God bless +you, my only love. JAN." + +This feeble stuff rang like a clarion on the ear of the reader, for he who +had written it knew how best to strike, how best to appeal with +overwhelming force to Joan Tregenza. Her mind plunged straight into the +struggle and the billows of the storm, sweeping aside lesser obstructions, +were soon beating against the new-built ramparts of faith. The rush of +thought which had coursed through her brains before reading the letter now +made the task of deciding upon it easier. Indeed it can hardly be said that +any real doubt from first to last assailed Joan's decision. Faith did not +crumble, but, at a second glance, appeared to her wholly compatible with +obedience to this demand. There was an electric force in every word of the +letter. It proved Mister Jan's wondrous nobility of character, his +unselfishness, his love. He had suffered, too, had longed eternally for +her, had denied himself out of consideration for her future happiness, had +struggled with his love, and only broken down and given way to it in the +shadow of death. Grief shook Joan upon this thought, but joy was uppermost. +The long months of weary suffering faded from her recollection as nocturnal +mists vanish at the touch of the sun's first fire. She had no power to +analyze the position or reflect upon the various courses of action the man +might have taken to spare her so much agony. She accepted his bald +utterance word for word, as he knew she would. Every inclination and desire +swept her toward him now. His cry of suffering, his love, his loneliness, +her duty, as it stood blazoned upon her mind ten minutes after reading his +letter; the child to be born within two months--all these considerations +united to establish Joan's mind at this juncture. "Come to me!" Those were +the words echoing within her heart, and her soul cried upon Christ to +shorten time that she might reach him the sooner. Before the world was next +awake, she would be upon her way; before another night fell, Mister Jan's +arms would be round her. The long, dreary nightmare had ended for her at +last. Then came tears of bitter remorse, for she saw how his love had +never left her, how he had been true as steel, while she, misled by +appearances, had lost faith and lapsed into forgetfulness. A wild, +unreasoning yearning superior to time and space and the service of railways +got hold upon her. "Come to me," "Come to me," sounded in Joan's ears in +the live voice she had loved and lost and found again. An hour's delay, a +minute's, a moment's seemed a crime. Yet delay there must be, but the +tension and terrific excitement of her whole being at this period demanded +some immediate outlet in action. She wanted to talk to Uncle Chirgwin, and +she desired instant information upon the subject of her journey. First she +thought of seeking the farmer in the valley; then it struck her, the hour +being not later than eight o'clock, that by going into Penzance she might +learn at what time the morning train departed to London. + +Out of doors it was inky black, very silent, very oppressive. Joan called +Mary twice before departing, but received no answer. Indeed the house was +empty, though she did not know it. Finally, thrusting the letter into her +bosom, taking her hat and cloak from a nail in the kitchen and putting on a +pair of walking shoes, the girl went abroad. Her present medley of thoughts +begot a state of exceeding nervous excitation. For the letter touched the +two poles of extreme happiness and utmost possible sorrow. "Mister Jan" was +calling her to him indeed, but only calling her that she might see him die. +Careless of her steps, soothed unconsciously by rapid motion, she walked +from the farm, her mind full of joy and grief; and the night, silent no +longer for her, was full of a voice crying "Come to me, Joan, love, come!" + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +THE FLOOD + + +In the coomb beneath Drift, flashing as though red-hot from a theater of +Cimmerian blackness, certain figures, flame-lighted, flickered hurriedly +this way and that about a dark and monstrous pile which rose in their +midst. From the adjacent hill, superstitious watchers might have supposed +that they beheld some demoniac throng newly burst oat of the bowels of +earth and to be presently re-engulfed; but seen nearer, the toiling +creatures, fighting with all their hearts and souls to save a haystack from +flood, had merely excited human interest and commiseration. Farmer Chirgwin +and his men were girt as to the legs in old-fashioned hay-bands; some held +torches while others toiled with ropes to anchor the giant rick against the +gathering waters. There was no immediate fear, for the pile still stood a +clear foot above the stream on a gentle undulation distant nearly two yards +from the present boundary of the swollen river. But, on the landward side, +another danger threatened, because in that quarter the meadow sank in a +slight hollow which had now changed to a lake fed by a brisk rivulet from +the main river. The great rick thus stood almost insulated, and much +further uprising of the flood would place it in a position not to be +approached by man without danger. Above the stack, distant about +five-and-twenty yards, stood a couple of stout pollarded willows, and by +these Uncle Chirgwin had decided to moor his hay, trusting that they might +hold the great mass of it secure even though the threatened flood swept +away its foundations. Nine figures worked amain, and to them approached a +tenth, appearing from the darkness, skirting the lake and splashing through +the streamlet which fed it. Mary Chirgwin it was who now arrived--a +grotesque figure with her gown and petticoats fastened high and wearing on +her legs a pair of her uncle's leather gaiters. Mary had been up to the +farm for more rope, but the clothesline was all that she could find, and +this she now returned with. Already three ropes had been passed round the +rick and made fast to the willows, but none among them was of great +stoutness, nor had they been tied at an elevation best calculated to resist +a possible strain. Amos Bartlett took the line from Mary and set to work +with many assistants; while the farmer himself, waving a torch and stumping +hither and thither, now directed Bartlett, now encouraged two men who +worked with all their might at the cutting of a trench from the lake in +order that this dangerous body of water might be drained back to the main +stream. The flame-light danced in many a flash and splash over the smooth +surface of the face of the inland pond. Indeed it reflected like a glass at +present, for no wind fretted it, neither did a drop of rain fall. Intense, +watchful silence held that hour. The squash of men's feet in the mud, the +soft swirl of the water, the cry of voices alone disturbed the night. + +"God be praised! I do think 'tis 'bating," cried the farmer presently. He +ran every few minutes to the water and examined a stake hammered into it a +foot from the edge. It seemed, as far as might be judged by such fitful +light and rough measurement, that the river had sunk an inch or two, but it +was running in undulations, and what its muddy mass had lost in volume was +gained in speed. The water chattered and hissed; and Amos Bartlett, who +next made a survey, declared that the flood had by no means waned, but +rather risen. Then, the last ropes being disposed to the best advantage, +all joined the laborers who were digging. Twenty minutes later, however, +and before the trench was more than three parts finished, there came a +tremendous change. Turning hastily to the river, Bartlett uttered a shout +of alarm and called for light. He had approached the telltale stake, and +suddenly, before he reached it, found his feet in the water. The river was +rising with fierce rapidity at last, and five minutes later began to lick +at the edge of the hay-rick, and churn along with a strange hidden force +and devil in it. The pace increased with the volume, and told of some +prodigious outburst on the moor. The uncanny silence of the swelling water +as it slipped downward was a curious feature of it in this phase. Chirgwin +and his men huddled together at the side of the rick; then Bartlett held up +his hand and spoke. + +"Hark 'e all! 'Tis comin' now, by God!" + +They kept silence and listened with straining ears and frightened eyes, +fire-rimmed by the flickering torchlight. A sound came from afar--a sound +not unmelodious but singular beyond power of language to express--a whisper +of sinister significance to him who knew its meaning, of sheer mystery to +all others. A murmur filled the air, a murmur of undefined noises still far +distant. They might have been human, they might have arisen from the flight +and terror of beasts, from the movement of vast bodies, from the +reverberations of remote music; Earth or Heaven might have bred them, or +the upper chambers of the air midway between. They spoke of terrific +energies, of outpourings of force, of elemental chaos come again, of a +crown of unimagined horror set upon the night. + +All listened fearfully while the solemn cadences crept on their ears, +fascinated them like a siren song, wakened wild dread of tribulations and +terrors unknown till now. It was indeed a sound but seldom heard and wholly +unfamiliar to those beside the stack save one. + +"'Tis the callin' o' the cleeves," said Uncle Chirgwin. + +"Nay, man, 'tis a live, ragin' storm comed off the sea an' tearin' ower the +airth like a legion out o' hell! 'Tis the floodgates o' God opened you'm +hearin'! Ay, an' the four winds at each other's throats, an' a outburst o' +all the springs 'pon the hills! 'Tis death and ruin for the whole +country-side as be yelling up-long now. An' 'tis comin' faster'n thot." + +As Bartlett spoke, the voice of the tempest grew rapidly nearer, all +mystery faded out of it and its murmuring changed to a hoarse rattle. +Thunder growled a bass to the shriek of coming winds and a flash of distant +lightning bridged the head of the coomb with a crooked snake of fire. + +"Us'd best to get 'pon high land out o' this," shouted Bartlett. "All as +men can do us have done. The hay's in the hand o' Providence, but I +wouldn't be perched on top o' that stack not for diamonds all the same." + +A cry cut him short. Mary had turned and found the way to higher ground +already cut off. The lake was rising under their eyes, and that in spite of +the fact that the waters had already reached the trench cut for them, and +now tumbled in a torrent back to the parent stream. Escape in this +direction was clearly impossible. It only remained to wade through the head +of the lake, and that without a moment's delay. Mary herself, holding a +torch, went first through water above her knees and the men hastily +followed, Uncle Chirgwin coming last and being nearly carried off his short +legs as he turned to view the rick. Once through the water, all were in +safety, for the meadow sloped steeply upward. An increasing play of +lightning made the torches useless, and they were dropped, while the party +pressed close beneath an overhanging hedge which ran along the upper +boundary of the meadow. From this vantage-ground they beheld a spectacle +unexampled in the memory of any among them. + +Screaming like some incarnate and mad manifestation of all the elements +massed in one, the hurricane launched itself upon that valley. As a wall +the wind heralded the water, while forked lightnings, flaming above both, +tore the black darkness into jagged rags and lighted a chaos of yellow +foaming torrent which battled with livid front straight down the heart of +the coomb. The swollen river was lost in the torrent of it; and the hiss of +the rain was drowned by its sound. + +So Nature's full, hollowed hand ran over lightning-lighted to the organ +music of the thunder; but for these horror-stricken watchers the majestic +phenomena sweeping before them held no splendor and prompted no admiration. +They only saw ruin tearing at the roots of the land; they only imagined +drowned beasts floating before them belly upward, scattered hay hurried to +the sea, wasted crops, a million tons of precious soil torn off the fields, +orchards desolated, bridges and roads destroyed. For them misery stared out +of the lightning and starvation rode upon the flood. The roar of water +answering the thunder above it was to their ears Earth groaning against the +rod, and right well they knew that the pale torrent was drowning those +summer labors which represented money and food for the on-coming of the +long winter months. They stared, silent and dumb, under the ram; they knew +that the kernel of near a year's toil was riding away upon the livid +torrent; that the higher meadows, held absolutely safe, were half under +water now; that the flood tumbling under the blue fire most surely held +sheep and cattle in its depths; that tons of upland hay swam upon it; that, +like enough, dead men also turned and twisted there in a last mad journey +to the sea. + +A passing belief that their labors might save the stack sprung up in the +breast of one alone. Uncle Chirgwin trusted Providence and his hempen ropes +and clothesline; but it was a childish hope, and, gazing open-mouthed upon +that swelling, hurtling cataract of roaring water, none shared it. An +almost continuous mist of livid light crossed and recrossed, festooned and +cut by its own crinkled sources, revealed the progress of the flood, and, +heedless of themselves, Uncle Chirgwin and his men watched the fate of the +stack, now rising very pale of hue above the water, seen through shining +curtains of rain. First the torrent tumbled and rose about it, and then a +sudden tremor and turning of the mass told that the rick floated. As it +twisted the weak ropes, receiving the strain in turn, snapped one after +another; then the great stack moved solemnly forward, stuck fast, moved +again, lost its center of gravity and foundered like a ship. Under the +lightning they saw it heave upward upon one side, plunge forward against +the torrent which had swept its base from beneath it, and vanish. The +farmer heaved a bitter groan. + +"Dear God, that sich things can be in a Christian land," he cried. "All +gone, this year, an' last, an' the aftermath; an' Lard He knaws what be +doin' in the valley bottom. I wish the light may strike me dead wheer I +stand, for I be a blot afore Him, else I'd never be made to suffer like +this here. Awnly if any man among 'e will up an' tell me what I've done +I'll thank en." + +"'Tis the land as have sinned, not you," said Mary. "This reaches more'n us +o' Drift. Come your ways an' get out o' these clothes, else you'll catch +your death. Come to the house, all of 'e," she cried to the rest. "Theer +ban't no more for us to do till marnin' light." + +"If ever it do come," groaned the man Bartlett. "So like's not the end o' +the world be here; an' I'd be fust to hollo it, awnly theer's more water +than fire here when all's said, an' the airth's to be burned, not drowned." + +"Let a come when a will now," gasped an aged man as the drenched party +moved slowly away upward to the farm; "our ears be tuned to the trump o' +God, for nort--no, not the screech o' horns blawed by all the angels in +heaven--could sound awfuler than the tantarra o' this gert tempest. I, +Gaffer Polglaze, be the auldest piece up Drift, but I never heard tell o' +no sich noise, let alone havin' my awn ears flattened wi' it." + +They climbed the steep lane to the farm, and the wind began to drown the +more distant roar of the water. Rain fell more heavily than before, and the +full heart of the storm crashed and flamed over their heads as Drift was +reached. + +Dawn trembled out upon a tremendous chapter of disasters, still fresh in +the memory of many who witnessed it. A gray, sullen morning, with +sky-glimpses of blue, hastily shown and greedily hidden, broke over Western +Cornwall and uncovered the handiwork of a flood more savage in its fury and +far-reaching in its effects than man's memory could parallel--a flood which +already shrunk fast backward from its own havoc. To describe a single one +of those valleys through which small rivers usually ran to the sea is to +describe them all. Thus the torrent which raved down the coomb beneath +Drift, and carried Uncle Chirgwin's massive hayrick with it like a child's +toy-boat, had also uprooted acres of gooseberry bushes and raspberry canes, +torn apple trees from the ground, laid waste extensive tracts of ripe +produce and carried ripening roots by thousands into the sea. Beneath the +orchards, as the flood subsided, there appeared great tracts of nakedness +where banks of stone had been torn out of the land and scattered upon it; +dead beasts stuck jammed in the low forks of trees; swine, sheep and calves +appeared, cast up in fantastic places, strangled by the water; sandy +wastes, stripped of every living leaf and blade, ran like banks where no +banks formerly existed, and here and there from their midst stuck out naked +boughs of upturned trees, fragments of man's contrivances, or the legs of +dead beasts. Looking up the coomb, desolation was writ large and the utmost +margins of the flood clearly recorded on branch and bough, where rubbish +which had floated to the fringe of the flood was caught and hung aloft. +Below, as the waters gained volume and force, Buryas Bridge, an ancient +structure of three arches beneath which the trout-stream peacefully babbled +under ordinary conditions, was swept headlong away and the houses hard by +flooded; while the greatest desolation had fallen on those orchards lying +lowest in the valley. Indeed the nearer the flood approached Newlyn the +more tremendous had been the ravage wrought by it. The orchards of Talcarne +valley were ruined as though artillery had swept them, and of the lesser +crops scarce any at all remained. Then, bursting down Street-an-nowan, as +that lane is called, the waters running high where their courses narrowed, +swamped sundry cottages and leaped like a wolf on the low-lying portion of +Newlyn. Here it burst through the alleys and narrow passages, drowned the +basements of many tenements, isolated cottages, stores and granaries, +threatened nearly a hundred lives startled from sleep by its sudden +assault. Then, under the raging weather and in that babel of angry waters, +brave deeds were done by the fisher folk, who chanced to be ashore. Grave +personal risks were hazarded by many a man in that turbid flood, and not a +few women and children were rescued with utmost danger to their saviors' +lives. Yet the petty rivalry of split and riven creeds actuated not a few +even at that time of peril, and while life was allowed sacred and no man +turned a deaf ear to the cry of woman or child, with property the case was +altered and sects lifted not a finger each to help the other in the saving +of furniture and effects. + +Newlyn furnished but one theater of a desolation which covered wide +regions. At Penzance, the Laregan River flooded all the lowlands as it +swept with prodigious cataracts to the sea; mighty lakes stretched between +Penzance and Gulval; the brooklets of Ponsandine and Coombe, swollen to +torrents, bore crushing destruction upon the valleys through which they +fell. Bleu Bridge with its ancient inscribed "long stone" was swept into +the bed of the Ponsandine, and here, as in other low-lying lands, many tons +of hay were torn from their foundations and set adrift. At Churchtown the +rainfall precipitated off the slopes of Castle-an-dinas begot vast torrents +which, upon their roaring way, tore the very heart out of steep and stony +lanes, flooded farmyards, plowed up miles of hillside, leaped the wall of +the cemetery below and spread twining yellow fingers among the graves. + +Three hundred tons of rain fell to the acre in the immediate tract of that +terrific storm, and the world of misery, loss and suffering poured forth on +the humble dwellers of the land only came to be estimated in its bitter +magnitude during the course of the winter which followed. + +Ashore it was not immediately known whether any loss of human life had +added crowning horror to the catastrophe, but evil news came quickly off +the sea. Mourning fell upon Mousehole for the crews of two among its fisher +fleet who were lost that night upon the way toward Plymouth waters to join +the herring fishery; and Newlyn heard the wail of a robbed mother. + +At Drift the farmhouse was found to hold a mystery soon after the day had +broken. Joan Tregenza, whose condition rendered it impossible for her to +actively assist at the struggle in the coomb, did not retire early on the +previous night, as her family supposed, and Mary, entering her room at +breakfast-time, found it empty. There was no sign of the girl and no +indication of anything which could explain her absence. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +OUT OF THE DEEP + + +At the dawn of the day which followed upon the great storm, while yet the +sea ran high and the gale died hard, many tumbling luggers, some maimed, +began to dot the wind-torn waters of Mounts Bay. The tide was out, but +within the shelter of the shore which rose between Newlyn and the course of +the wind, the returning boats found safety at their accustomed anchorage; +and as one by one they made the little roads, as boat after boat came +ashore from the fleet, tears, hysteric screams and deep-voiced thanks to +the Almighty arose from the crowd of men and women massed at the extremity +of Newlyn pier beneath the lighthouse. Cheers and many a shake of hand +greeted every party as, weary-eyed and worn, it landed and climbed the +slippery steps. From such moments even those still in the shadow of +terrible fear plucked a little courage and brightened hopes. Then each of +the returned fishermen, with his own clinging to him, set face homeward--a +rejoicing stream of little separate processions, every one heralding a +saved life. There crept thus inland wives smiling through the mist of dead +tears, old mothers hobbling beside their bearded sons, young mothers +pouring blessing on proud sailor boys, sweethearts, withered ancients, +daughters, sons, little children. Sad beyond power of thought were the +hearts of all as they had hastened to the pierhead at early morning light; +now the sorrowful still remained there, but those who came away rejoiced, +for none returned without their treasures. + +Thomasin stood with many another care-stricken soul, but her fears grew +greater as the delay increased; for the Tregenza lugger was big and fast, +yet many boats of less fame had already come home. All the fishermen told +the same story. Bursting out of an ominous peace the storm had fallen +suddenly upon them when westward of the Scilly Islands. One or two were +believed to have made neighboring ports in the isles, but the fleet was +driven before the gale and had experienced those grave hazards reserved for +small vessels in a heavy sea. That all had weathered the night seemed a +circumstance too happy to hope for, but Newlyn hearts rose high as boat +after boat came back in safety. Then a dozen men hastened to Mrs. Tregenza +with the good news that her husband's vessel was in sight. + +"She've lost her mizzen by the looks on it," said a fisherman, "an' that's +more'n good reason for her bein' 'mong the last to make home." + +But Thomasin's hysterical joy was cut short by the most unexpected +appearance of Mary Chirgwin on the pier. She had visited the white cottage +to find it locked up and empty; she had then joined the concourse at the +pierhead, feeling certain that the Tregenza boat must still be at sea; and +she now added her congratulations to the rest, then told Mrs. Tregenza her +news. + +"I be comed to knaw if you've heard or seen anything o' Joan. 'Tis 'mazin' +straange, but her've gone, like a dream, an' us caan't find a sign of her. +What wi' she an' terrible doin's 'pon the land last night, uncle's 'bout +beside hisself. Us left her in the kitchen, an' when we comed back from +tryin' to save the hay she was nowheer. Of coorse, us thot she'd gone to +her bed. But she weern't, an' this mornin' we doan't see a atom of her, but +finds a envelope empty 'pon the kitchen floor. 'Twas addressed to Joan an' +comed from Lunnon." + +"Aw jimmery! She've gone to en arter all, then--an' in her state." + +"The floods was out, you see. Her might have marched off to Penzance to +larn 'bout the manner o' gwaine to Lunnon an' bin stopped in home-comin'; +or her might have slept in Penzance to catch a early train away." + +"Iss, or her might a got in the water, poor lamb," said Thomasin, who never +left the dark side of a position unconsidered. Mary's face showed that the +same idea had struck her. + +"God grant 'tedn' nothin' like that, though maybe 'twould be better than +t'other. Us caan't say she've run away, but I thot I'd tell 'e how things +is so's you could spread it abroad that she'm lost. Maybe us'll hear +somethin' 'fore the day's much aulder. I be gwaine to Penzance now an' I'll +let 'e knaw if theer's anything to tell. Good-by, an' I be right glad all's +well wi' your husband, though I don't hold wi' his 'pinions." + +But Mrs. Tregenza did not answer. Her eyes were fixed on the lugger which +had now got to its anchorage and looked strange and unnatural shorn of its +lesser mast. She saw the moorings dragged up; and a few minutes later the +boat, which had rolled and tumbled at them all night, was baled. Thereupon +men took their seats in her and began to row toward the harbor. It seemed +that Gray Michael was steering, and his crew clearly pulled very weak and +short, for their strength was spent. + +Then, as they came between the arms of the harbor, as they shipped oars and +glided to the steps, Tregenza's hybrid yellow dog, who accompanied the +fisherman in all his goings, jumped ashore barking and galloped up the +slippery steps with joy; while, at the same moment, a woman's sharp cry cut +the air like a knife and two wild eyes looked down into the boat. + +"Wheer'm the bwoy, Michael? Oh, my good God, wheer'm Tom?" + +Everybody strained silently to hear the answer, but though the fisherman +looked up, he made no reply. The boat steadied and one after another the +men in her went ashore, Tregenza mounting the steps last. His wife broke +the silence. Only a murmur of thankfulness had greeted the other men, for +their faces showed a tragedy. They regarded their leader fearfully, and +there was something more than death in their eyes. + +"Wheer'm the bwoy--Tom? For the love of God, speak, caan't 'e? Why be you +all dumb an' glazin' that awful!" cried the woman, knowing the truth before +she heard it. Then she listened to the elder Pritchard, who whispered his +wife, and so fell into a great convulsion of raving, dry-eyed sorrow. + +"Oh, my bwoy! Drownded--my awn lil precious Tom! God a mercy! Dead! Then +let me die tu!" + +She gave vent to extravagant and savage grief after the manner of her kind. +She would have torn her hair and thrown herself off the quay but for kindly +hands which restrained. + +"God rot you, an' blast you, an' burn you up!" she screamed, shaking her +fists at the sea. "I knawed this would be the end. I dreamed it 'fore 'e +was born. Doan't 'e hold me back, you poor fools. Let me gaw an' bury +myself in the same graave along wi' en. My Tom, my Tom! I awnly had but +wan--awnly wan, an' now--" + +She wailed and wrung her hands, while rough voices filled her ears with +such comfort as words could bring to her. + +"Rest easy, bide at peace, dear sawl." "'Tis the Lard's doin', mother; an' +the lil bwoy's better off now." "Take it calm, my poor good creature." "Try +an' bring tears to your eyes, theer's a dear wummon." + +Tears finally came to her relief, and she wept and moaned while friends +supported her, looking with wonder upon Michael, her husband. He stood +aloof with the men about him. But never a word he spoke to his wife or any +other. His eyes dilated and had lost their steady forward glance, though a +mad misery lighted them with flashes that came and went; his face was a +very burrow of time, seared and trenched with pits and wrinkles. His hat +was gone, his hair blew wild, the strong set of his mouth had vanished; his +head, usually held so high, hung forward on a shrunken neck. + +The brothers Pritchard told their story as a party conducted Thomasin back +to her home. For the moment Gray Michael stood irresolute and alone, save +for his dog, which ran round him. + +"Us was tackin' when it fust began to blaw, an' all bustlin' 'bout in the +dark, when the mainsail went lerrickin' 'cross an' knocked the poor dam +bwoy owerboard into as ugly a rage o' water as ever I seed. Tom had his +sea-boots on, an' every sawl 'pon the bwoat knawed 'twas all up as soon as +we lost en. We shawed a light an' tumbled 'bout for quarter o' an hour wi' +the weather gettin' wicked. Then comed a scat as mighty near thrawed us +'pon our beam-ends, an' took the mizzen 'long wi' it. 'Tis terrible bad +luck, sure 'nough, for never a tidier bwoy went feeshin'; but theer's worse +to tell 'e. Look at that gert, good man, Tregenza. Oh, my God, my blood do +creem when I think on't!" + +The man stopped and his brother took up the story. + +"'Twas arterwards, when us had weathered the worst an' was tryin' to fetch +home, Michael failed forward on's faace arter the bwoy was drownded; an' us +had to do all for the bwoat wi'out en. But he comed to bimebye an' didn't +take on much, awnly kept so dumb as a adder. Not a word did er say till +marnin' light; then a 'orrible thing fell 'pon en. You knaw that yaller dog +as sails wi' us most times? He turned 'pon en sudden an' sez: 'Praise God, +praise the Lard o' Hosts, my sons, here's Tom, here's my lad as us thot +weer drownded!' Then he kissed that beast, an' it licked his faace, an' he +cried--that iron sawl cried like a wummon! Then he thundered out as the +crew was to give God the praise, an' said the man as weern't on's knees in +a twinklin' should be thrawed out the bwoat to Jonah's whale. God's truth! +I never seed nothin' so awful as skipper's eyes 'pon airth! Then er calmed +down, an' the back of en grawed humpetty an' his head failed a bit forrard +an' he sat strokin' of the dog. Arter that, when us seed Newlyn, it 'peared +to bring en to his senses a bit, an' he knawed Tom was drownded. He rambled +in his speech a while; then went mute again, wi' a new look in his eyes as +though he'd grawed so auld as history in a single night. Theer he do stand +bedoled wi' all manner o' airthly sufferin', poor creature. Him wi' all his +righteousness behind en tu! But the thinkin' paarts of en be drownded wheer +his bwoy was, an' I lay theer ban't no druggister, nor doctor neither, +as'll bring 'em back to en." + +"Look at that now!" exclaimed another man. "See who's a talkin' to +Tregenza! If that ban't terrible coorious! 'Tis Billy Jago, the softy!" + +Billy was indeed addressing Gray Michael and getting an answer to his +remarks. The laborer's brains might be addled, but they still contained +sane patches. He had heard of the fisherman's loss and now touched his hat +and expressed regret. + +"Ay, the young be snatched, same as a build-in' craw will pick sprigs o' +green wood for her nest an' leave the dead twig to rot. Here I be, rotten +an' coffin-ripe any time this two year, yet I'm passed awver for that +braave young youth. An' how is it wi' you, Mr. Tregenza? I s'pose the Lard +do look to His awn in such a pass?" + +Gray Michael regarded the speaker a moment and then made answer. + +"I be that sleepy, my son, an' hungry wi' it. Iss fay, I could eat a bloody +raw dog-fish an' think it no sin. See to this, but doan't say nothin' 'bout +it. The bwoat went down wi' all hands, but us flinged a bottle to Bucca for +en to wash ashore wi' the news. But it never comed, for why? 'Cause that +damnation devil bringed the bottle 'gainst granite rocks, an' the message +was washed away for mermaids to read an' laugh at; an' the grass-green +splinters o' glass as held the last cry o' drownin' men--why, lil childern +plays wi' 'em now 'pon the sand. 'Sing to the Lard, ye that gaw down to the +sea.' An' I'll sing--trust me for that, but I must eat fust. I speaks to +you, Billy, 'cause you be wan o' God's chosen fools." + +He stopped abruptly, pressed his hand over his forehead, said something +about breaking the news to his wife, and then walked slowly down the quay. +The manner of his locomotion had wholly changed, and he moved like one +whose life was a failure. + +Meantime Jago, full of the great discovery, hastened to the Pritchards and +other men who were now following Gray Michael at a distance. Them he told +that the fisherman had taken leave of his senses, that he had actually +called Billy himself one of God's chosen fools. + +Several more boats had come in, and as it was certainly known that some had +taken refuge at Scilly, those vitally interested in the few remaining +vessels withdrew from the quay comforting each other and putting a hopeful +face on the position. Gray Michael followed his wife home. As yet she had +not learned of his state; but, although his conduct on returning was +somewhat singular, no word which fell now from him spoke clearly of a +disordered mind. He clamored first for food, and, while he ate, gave a +clear if callous account of his son's death and the lugger's danger. Having +eaten, he went to his bedroom, dragged off his boots, flung himself down +and was soon sleeping heavily; while Thomasin, marveling at his stolidity +and resenting it not a little, gave way to utter grief. During an interval +between storms of tears the woman put on a black gown, then went to her +work. The day had now advanced. On seeing her again downstairs, two or +three friends, including the Pritchards, entered the house and asked +anxiously after Michael, without, however, stating the nature of their +fears. She answered querulously that the man was asleep and showed no more +sorrow than a brute beast. She was very red-eyed and bedraggled. Every +utterance was an excuse for a fresh outburst of weeping, her breast heaved, +her hands moved spasmodically, her nerves were at extreme tension and she +could not stay long in one place. Seeing that she was nearly lightheaded +with much grief, and hoping that her husband's disorder would vanish after +his slumber was ended, her friends forbore to hint at what had happened to +him. They comforted her to the best of their power; then, knowing that long +hours of bitter sorrow must surely pass over the mother's head before such +grief could grow less, departed one by one, leaving her at last alone. She +moved restlessly about from room to room, carrying in one hand a photograph +of Tom, in the other a handkerchief. Now and then she sat down, looked at +the picture and wept anew. She tried to eat some supper presently but could +not. It is seldom a sudden loss strikes home so speedily as had her +tribulation sunk into Thomasin Tregenza's soul. She drank some brandy and +water which a friend had poured out for her and left standing on the +mantel--shelf. Then she went up to bed--a stricken ruin of the woman who +had risen from it in the morning. Her husband still slept, and Thomasin, +her grief being of a nature which required spectators for its fullest and +most soothing expression, felt irritated alike with him and with those +friends who had all departed, and, from the best motives, left her thus. +She flung herself into bed and anger obscured her misery--anger with her +husband. His heavy breathing worked her to a frenzy at last, and she sat +up, took him by the shoulder and tried to shake him. + +"Wake up, for God's sake, an' speak to me, caan't 'e? You eat an' drink an' +sleep like a gert hog--you new--come from your awnly son's drownin'! Oh, +Christ, caan't 'e think o' me, as have lived a hunderd cruel years since +you went to sleep? Ain't you got a word for me? An' you, as had your sawl +centered 'pon en--how comes it you can--" + +She stopped abruptly, for he lay motionless and made no sort of response to +her shrill complaining. She had yet to learn the cause; she had yet to know +that Michael had drifted beyond the reach of all further mental suffering +whatsoever. No religious anxieties, no mundane trials, none of the million +lesser carking troubles that fret the sane brain and stamp care on the face +of conscious intelligence would plague him more. Henceforth he was dead to +the changes and chances of human life. + +At midnight there came the awful waking. Thomasin slept at last and +slumbered dream-tossed in a shadow-world of fantastic troubles. Then a +sound roused her--the sound of a voice speaking loudly, breaking off to +laugh, and speaking again. The voice she knew, but the laugh she had never +heard. She started up and listened. It was her husband who had wakened her. + +"How do it go then? Lard! my memory be like a fishin' net, as holds the +gert things an' lets the little 'uns creep through. 'Twas a braave song as +faither singed, though maybe for God fearers it ban't a likely song." + +Then the bed trembled and the man reared up violently and roared out an +order in such words as he had never used till then. + +"Port! Port your God-damned helm if you don't want 'em to sink us." + +Thomasin, of whose presence her husband appeared unconscious, crept +trembling from the bed. Then his voice changed and he whispered: + +"Port, my son, 'cause of that 'pon the waters. Caan't 'e see--they bubbles +a glimmerin' on the foam? That's the last life of my lil Tom; an' the +foam-wreath's put theer by God's awn right hand. He'm saved, if 'twasn't +that down at the bottom o' the sea a man be twenty fathom nearer hell than +them as lies in graaves ashore. But let en wait for the last trump as'll +rip the deep oceans. An' the feesh--damn 'em--if I thot they'd nose Tom, by +God I'd catch every feesh as ever swum. But shall feesh be 'lowed to eat +what's had a everlasting sawl in it? God forbid. He'm theer, I doubt, wi' +seaweed round en an' sea-maids a cryin' awver his lil white faace an' +keepin' the crabs away. Hell take crabs--they'd a ate Christ 'isself if so +be He'd falled in the water. Pearls--pearls--pearls is on Tom, an' the sea +creatures gives what they can, 'cause they knaw as he'd a grawed to be a +man an' theer master. God bless 'em, they gives the best they can, 'cause +they knawed how us loved en. 'The awnly son o' his mother.' Well, well, +sleep's better'n medicine; but no sleepin' this weather if us wants to make +home again. Steady! 'Tis freshenin' fast!" + +He was busy about some matter and she heard him breathing in the darkness +and stirring himself. Thomasin, her heart near standing still before this +awful discovery, hesitated between stopping and flying from the room before +he should discover her. But she felt no fear of the man himself, and +bracing her nerves, struck a light. It showed Gray Michael sitting up and +evidently under the impression he was at sea. He grasped the bed-head as a +tiller and peered anxiously ahead. + +"Theer's light shawin' forrard!" he cried. Then he laughed, and Thomasin +saw his face was but the caricature of what it had been, with all the iron +lines blotted out and a strange, feeble expression about eyes and mouth. He +nodded his head, looked up at the ceiling from time to time, and presently +began to sing. + +It was the old rhyme he had been trying to recollect, and it now came, +tossed uppermost in the mind-quake which had shattered his intellect, +buried matters of moment, and flung to the surface long hidden events and +words of his youth. + + "'Bucca's a churnin' the waves of the sea, + Bucca's a darkenin' the sky wi' his frown, + His voice is the roll o' the thunder. + The lightnin' do shaw us the land on our lee, + An' do point to the plaace wheer our bodies shall drown + When the bwoat gaws down from under.' + +"Ha, ha, ha, missis! So you'm aboard, eh? Well, 'tis a funny picksher you +makes, an' if tweern't murder an' hell-fire to do it, blamed if I wouldn't +thraw 'e out the ship. 'Thou mad'st him lower than the angels,' but not +much lower, I'm thinkin'. 'Tis all play an' no work wi' them. They ought to +take a back seat 'fore the likes o' us. They abbun no devil at theer tails +all times. + + "'But I'll tame the wild devil afore very long. + If I caan't wi' my feests, I will wi' my tongue!'" + +Thomasin Tregenza scuffled into her clothes while he babbled, and now, +bidding him sleep in a shaking voice, putting out the candle and taking the +matches with her, she fled into the night to rouse her neighbors and summon +a doctor. She forgot all her other troubles before this overwhelming +tragedy. And the man driveled on in the dark, concerning himself for the +most part with those interests which had occupied his life when he was a +boy. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +THE DESTINATION OF JOAN + + +Mary Chirgwin did not return to Newlyn after making inquiries at Penzance. +There indeed she learned one fact which might prove important, but the +possibilities to be read from it were various. Joan had been at the +Penzance railway station, and chance made Mary question the identical +porter who had studied the timetable for her cousin. + +"She was anxious 'bout the Lunnon trains an' tawld me she was travelin' up +to town to-morrow," explained the man. "I weer 'pon the lookout this +marnin', but she dedn' come again." + +"What time did you see her last night?" + +"'Bout nine or earlier. I mind the time 'cause the storm burst not so very +long arter, an' I wondered if the gal had got to her home." + +"No, she didn't. Might she have gone by any other train?" + +"She might, but I'm everywheers, an' 'tedn' likely as I shouldn't have seed +her." + +This much Mary heard, and then went home. Her news made Mr. Chirgwin very +anxious, for supposing that Joan had returned from Penzance on the previous +evening, or attempted to do so, it was probable that she had been in the +lowest part of the valley, at or near Buryas Bridge, about the time of the +flood. The waters still ran high, but Uncle Thomas sent out search parties +through the afternoon of that day, and himself plodded not a few miles in +the lower part of the coomb. + +Meantime the truth must be stated. On the night of the storm Joan had gone +to Penzance, ascertained the first train which she could catch next day, +and then returned as quickly as she could toward Drift. But at Buryas +Bridge she remembered that her uncle was in the coomb with the farm hands, +and might be there all night. It was necessary that he should know her +intentions and direct her in several particulars. A farm vehicle must also +be ordered, for Joan would have to leave the farm at a very early hour. +Strung to a tension of nerves above all power of fatigue, in a whirl of +excitement and wholly heedless of the mysterious nocturnal conditions +around her, Joan determined to seek Uncle Thomas directly, and with that +intention, instead of climbing the hill to Drift and so placing herself in +a position of safety, passed the smithy and cots which lie by Buryas Bridge +and prepared to ascend the coomb in this fashion and so reach her friends +the quicker. She knew her road blindfold, but was quite ignorant of the +altered character of the stream. Joan had not, however, traveled above a +quarter of a mile through the orchard lands when she began to realize the +difficulties. Once well out of the orchards, she believed that the meadows +would offer an easier path, and thus, buried in her own thoughts, proceeded +with many stumblings and splashings over the wet grasses and earth, under a +darkness that made progress very slow despite her familiarity with the way. + +Then it was that, deep hidden in the night and all alone, where the stream +ran into a pool above big bowlders which banked it--at the spot, indeed, +where she had reigned over the milky meadowsweets seated on a granite +throne--the vibrating thread of Joan Tregenza's little life was sharply +severed and she died with none to see or hear, in that tumult of rising +waters which splashed and gurgled and rose on the skirts of the coming +storm. A pathway ran here at the edge of the river, and the girl stepped +upon it to find the swollen current suddenly up to her knees. Bewildered +she turned, slipped, turned again, and then, under the impression that she +faced toward the meadow-bank, put up her hands to grapple safety, set her +foot forward and, in a moment, was drowning. Distant not half a mile, +laboring like giants to save a thing far less precious than this life, +toiled Uncle Thomas and his men. Had silence prevailed among them the +single cry which echoed up the valley might well have reached their ears; +but all were laboring amain, and Joan was at that moment the last thought +in the minds of any among them. + +So she died; for the gathering waters soon beat out her life and silenced +her feeble struggle to save it. A short agony ended the nine months of +experience through which Joan's life has been followed; her fires were +quenched, and that most roughly; her fears, hopes, sorrows, joys were all +swept away; and Nature stood defeated by herself, to see a young life +strangled on the threshold of motherhood, and an infant being drowned so +near to birth that its small heart had already begun to beat. + +Two men, tramping through the desolation of the ruined valley at Uncle +Chirgwin's command, discovered Joan's body. The elder was Amos Bartlett, +and he fell back a step at the spectacle with a sorrowful oath on his lip; +the younger searcher turned white and showed fear. The dead girl lay on her +back, so left by the water. Her dress had been caught between two great +bowlders near the pool of her drowning and the flood had thus caused her no +injury. + +"God's goodness! how comed she here!" cried out Bartlett. "Oh, but this'll +be black news--black news; an' her brother drowned at sea likewise! Theer's +a hidden meanin' in it, I lay, if us awnly knawed." The lad who accompanied +Bartlett was shaking, and did not dare to look at the still figure which +lay so stiff and straight at their feet. Amos therefore bid him use his +legs, hasten to the farm, break the news, and dispatch a couple of men to +the coomb. + +"I can pull up a hurdle an' wattle it with withys meantime," he said; "for +'tis allus well to have work for the hand in such a pass as this. Ban't no +good for me to sit an' look at her, poor fond wummon." + +He busied himself with the hurdle accordingly, and when two of the hands +presently came down from Drift they found their burden ready for them. + +The old, silent man called Gaffer Polglaze found sufficient excitement in +the tragedy to loosen a tongue which seldom wagged. He spat on his hands +and rubbed them together before seizing his end of the hurdle. Then he +spoke: + +"My stars! to see maaster when he heard! He rolled all about as if he was +drunk. An' yet 'tis the bestest thing as could fall 'pon the gal. 'Er was +lookin' for the cheel in a month or so, they do say. Poor sawl--so cold as +a quilkin [Footnote: _Quilkin_--A frog.] now, and the unborn baaby +tu." Then Mr. Bartlett answered: + +"The unhappy creature was fine an' emperent to me 'bout a matter o' +drownin' chets in the spring. Yet here she'm drowned herself sure 'nough. +Well, well, God's will be done." + +"'Tis coorious, to be sure, how bazzomy [Footnote: _Bazzomy_--Blue or +livid.] a corpse do get 'bout the faace arter a water death," said the +first speaker, regarding the dead with frank interest. + +"Her eyes do make me wimbly-wambly in the stomach," declared the second +laborer; "when you've done talkin', Gaffer Polglaze, us'll go up-long, an' +the sooner the better." + +"Butivul eyes, tu, they was--wance. Sky-color an' no less. What I'm +wonderin' is as to however she comed here 'tall." + +"Piskey-led, I'll warrant 'e," said the ancient. + +"Nay, man-led, which is worse. You mind that printed envelope us found in +the kitchen. 'Twas some dark doin' of that anointed vellun as brot her in +trouble. Ay, an' if I could do en a graave hurt I would, Methodist or no +Methodist." + +"He'm away," answered Bartlett. "'Tedn' no call for you nor yet me to +meddle wi' the devil's awn business. The man'll roast for't when his time +do come. You'd best to take your coats off an' cover this poor clay, lest +the wummen should catch a sight an' go soundin'." + +They did as he bid them, and Mr. Bartlett laid his own coat upon the body +likewise. Then slowly up the hill they passed, and rested now and again +above the steep places. + +"A wisht home-comin' as ever a body heard tell on," commented Gaffer +Polglaze; "an' yet the Lard's good pleasure's allus right if you lives long +enough to look back an' see how things was from His bird's-eye view of 'em. +A tidy skuat [Footnote: Windfall, legacy.] o' money tu they tells me. Who +Be gwaine to come by that?" + +"Her give it under hand an' seal to her brother." + +"Theer's another 'mazin' thing for 'e! Him drownded in salt an' her in +fraish! We lives in coorious times to be sure, an' theer's more in such +happenings than meets the eye." + +"Bear yourself more sorrow-stricken, Gaffer. Us be in sight of the house." + +Mary Chirgwin met the mournful train, directed them to bring the body of +Joan into the parlor where a place was prepared for it, and then turned to +Bartlett. She was trembling and very pale for one of her complexion, but +the woman's self-command had not left her. + +"The auld man's like wan daft," she said hurriedly. "He must be doin', so +he rushed away to Newlyn to tell 'em theer. He ban't himself 'tall. You'd +best to go arter en now this minute. An' theer's things to be done in +Penzance--the doctor an' the crowner an'--an' the coffin-maker. Do what you +can to take trouble off the auld man." + +"Get me my coat an' I'll go straight 'way. 'Tis thrawed awver the poor +faace of her." + +Two minutes later Mr. Bartlett followed his master, but Uncle Chirgwin had +taken a considerable start of him. The old man was terribly shocked to hear +the news, for he had clung to a theory that Joan was long since in London. +Dread and fear came over him. The thought of facing this particular corpse +was more than he could contemplate with self-control. A great nervous +terror mingled with his grief. He wished to avoid the return from the +valley, and the first excuse for so doing which came to his mind he +hurriedly acted upon. He declared it essential that the Tregenzas should be +told instantly, and hastened away before Mary could argue with him. Only +that morning they had heard of Gray Michael's condition, but Uncle Chirgwin +forgot it when the blasting news of his niece's death fell upon him. He +hurried snuffling and weeping along as fast as his legs would bear him, and +not until he stood at their cottage door did he recollect the calamities +which had overtaken the fisherman and those of his household. + +Uncle Chirgwin began to speak hastily the moment Mrs. Tregenza opened the +door. He choked and gurgled over his news. + +"She'm dead--Joan. They've found her in the brook as the waters went down. +Drownded theer--the awnly sunshine as ever smiled at Drift. Oh, my good +God!--'tis a miz-maze to drive us all out of our senses. An' you, +mother--my dear, dear sawl, my heart bleeds for 'e." + +"I caan't cry for her--my tears be dried at the roots o' my eyes. I be +down-danted to the edge o' my awn graave. If my man wasn't gone daft +hisself, I reckon I should a gone. Come in--come in. Joan an' Tom dead in a +night, an' the faither of 'em worse than dead. I shall knaw it is so +bimebye. 'Tis awnly vain words yet. Iss, you'd best to see en now you'm +here. He may knaw 'e or he may not. He sits craakin' beside the fire, full +o' wild, mad, awful words. Doctor sez theer ban't no bettering of it. But +he may live years an' years, though 'tedn' likely. Tell en as Joan's dead. +Theer edn' no call to be afeared. He's grawed quite calm--a poor droolin' +gaby." + +Uncle Chirgwin approached Gray Michael and the fisherman held out his hand +and smiled. + +"'Tis farmer Chirgwin, to be sure. An' how is it with 'e, uncle?" + +"Bad, bad, Tregenza. Your lil darter, your Joan, be dead--drownded in the +flood, poor sweet lamb." + +"You'm wrong, my son. Joan's bin dead these years 'pon years. She was +damned afore 'er mother conceived her. Hell-meat in the womb. But the 'Lard +is King,' you mind. Joan--iss fay, her mother was a Hittite--a lioness o' +the Hittites, an' the mother's sins be visited 'pon the childern, 'cordin' +to the dark ways o' the livin' God." + +"Doan't 'e say it, Michael! She died lovin' Christ. Be sure o' that." + +The other laughed loudly, and burst into mindless profanity and obscenity. +So the purest liver and most cleanly thinker has often cursed and uttered +horrible imprecations and profanations under the knife, being chloroformed +and unconscious the while. Uncle Chirgwin gazed and listened open mouthed. +This spectacle of a shattered intellect came upon him as an absolutely new +manifestation. Any novel experience is rare when a man has passed the age +of seventy, and the farmer was profoundly agitated. Then a solemn fit fell +upon Gray Michael, and as his visitor rose to depart he quoted from words +long familiar to the speaker--weird utterances, and doubly weird from a +madman's mouth in Uncle Chirgwin's opinion. Out of the wreck and ruin of +quite youthful memories, Michael's maimed mind had now passed to these +later, strenuous days of his early religious existence, when he fought for +his soul, and lived with the Bible in his hand. + +"Hark to me, will 'e? Hark to the word o' God echoed by His worm. 'He that +heareth let en hear, an' he that forbeareth let en forbear, for they are a +rebellious house.' An' what shall us do then? Theer was a man as builded a +heydge around a guckoo, thinkin', poor fool, to catch the bird; but her +flew off. That edn' the Lard's way. 'Make a chain, for the land is full o' +bloody crimes an' the city is full o' violence!' 'An' all that handle the +oar, the mariners, an' all the pilots o' the sea, shall come down from +theer ships,' an' me amongst the rest. That's why I be here now, wi' +bitterness o' heart an' bitter wailin' for my dead bwoy. 'As for theer +rings, they was (were) so high that they was (were) dreadful; an' theer +rings were full of eyes round about.' Huntin' damned sawls, my son--a +braave sight for godly folks. That's why the rings of 'em be so full of +eyes! They need be. An' theer wings whistle like a hawk arter a pigeon. +'Because o' the mountain of Zion, which is desolate, the foxes walk upon +it.'" + +He relapsed into absolute silence and sat with his eyes on the fire. +Sometimes he shook, sometimes he nodded his head; now he frowned, then +grinned vacuously at the current of his thoughts. + +Mr. Chirgwin took his leave of Thomasin, prayed that she might be supported +in her tribulation, and so departing met Amos Bartlett who was standing +outside the cottage awaiting him. The man gave a forcible and blunt +description of his morning's work which brought many tears to Uncle +Chirgwin's eyes; then, together, they walked to Penzance, there to +chronicle the sudden death of Joan Tregenza and arrange for those necessary +formalities which must precede her burial. + +The spectacle of Tregenza's insanity, which to an educated observer had +perhaps presented features of some scientific interest and appeared +grotesque rather than tremendous, fell upon the ignorant soul of Uncle +Chirgwin in a manner far different. The mystery of madness, the sublimity +and horror of it, rise only to tragic heights in the untutored minds of +such beholders as the farmer, for no mere scientific manifestation of +mental disease is presented to their intelligence. Instead they stand face +to face with the infinitely more terrific apparition of God speaking direct +through the mouth of one among His chosen insane. In their estimation a +madman's utterance is pregnant, oracular, a subject worthy of most grave +consideration and appraisement. And after Gray Michael's mental downfall +many humble folks, incited by the remarkable religious fame of his past +life, begged permission to approach within sound of his voice at those +moments when the desire for utterance was upon him. This, indeed, came to +be a privilege not a little sought after. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +AT SANCREED + + Mary Chirgwin would allow none but herself to perform the last offices of +kindness for her cousin. In poor Joan's pocket she found a wet, crumpled +mass of paper which might have been dried and read without difficulty, but +Mary lacked curiosity to approach the matter. She debated with herself as +to how her duty stood in connection with the communication from John +Barron, then took it in her hand, not without a sensation of much loathing, +and burned it to ashes. The act produced considerable and unforeseen +consequences. Her own mundane happiness was wholly dependent on the burning +of the letter, and a man's life likewise hung upon the incident; but these +results of her conduct were only brought to the woman's understanding in +the light of subsequent events. Then, and with just if superficial cause, +she directly read God's hand in the circumstance. Another discovery +saddened Mary far more than that of the letter, which had caused her little +surprise. Around Joan's white body was a strange amulet--the glen-ader. She +had sewed it upon flannel, then fastened the ends about herself, and so +worn the snake skin at all seasons since the finding of it. The fact was +nothing, the condition of mind which it indicated brought great grief to +the discoverer. She judged that Joan was little better than heathen after +all; she greatly feared that the girl had perished but half-believing. Any +soul which could thus cherish the slough of a serpent must most surely have +been wandering afar out of the road of faith. The all-embracing credulity +of Joan was, in fact, a phenomenon beyond Mary's power to estimate or +translate; and her present discovery, therefore, caused her both pain and +consternation. But as she had burned the letter, so she likewise destroyed +all evidence of her cousin's superstitious weakness; and of neither one nor +the other did she speak when the farmer returned to his home. + +He was sadly crushed and broken; and the spectacle of his loved one, lying +silent and peaceful, brought with it deep grief for him. Not until he had +seen her and held her dead hand did he begin slowly to realize the truth. + +"Her mother do lie at Paul 'cordin' to the wish o' Michael, but I seem as +Joan had best be laid 'long wi' the Chirgwins at Sancreed. If you'll awnly +give your mind to the matter an' settle it, I'll go this evenin' to wan +plaace or t'other an' see the diggers," said Mary. + +"Sancreed for sartain. Her'll be nearer to us, an' us can see wheer she be +restin' 'pon Sundays. Sancreed's best an' fittest, for she was Chirgwin +all. They be comin' to sit 'pon her tomorrow marnin'. Please God He'll hold +me up agin it, but I feels as if I'd welcome death to be 'long-side my lil +Joan again." + +He wept an old man's scanty tears, and Mary comforted him, while she +smothered her own real sorrows entirely before his. She spoke coldly and +practically; she fetched him a stiff dose of spirits and a mutton-chop +freshly cooked. These things she made him drink and eat, and she spoke to +the old man while he did so, larding the discussion of necessary details +with expressions of hope for the dead. + +"Be strong, an' faace it, uncle. God knaws best. I lay the poor lovey was +took from gert evil to come. You knaw so well as me. You can guess wheer +her'd be now if livin'. She'm in a better home than that. I s'pose the +bury-in' might be two days off, or three. I'll step awver to Sancreed +bimebye, an' if the undertaker come, Mrs. Bartlett can be with him when he +do his work." + +"Iss, an' I've said as 'tis to be oak--braave, bold, seasoned oak, an' +polished, wi' silvered handles to it. Her should lie in gawld, my awn Joan, +if I could bring it about." + +"Ellum be more--" began Mary, then held her tongue upon that detail and +approached another. + +"Shall us ask Mrs. Tregenza? Sorrer be gripping her heart just now, but a +buryin's a soothin' circumstance to such as she. An' she could carry her +son in the mind. Poor young Tom won't get no good words said above his +dust; us can awnly think 'em for him." + +"She might like to come if her could get some o' the neighbors to bide +along wi' Michael. He'm daft for all time, but 'tis said as he'll be +childlike wi' it, thank God. I let en knaw 'bout the lass an' he rolled his +head an' dropped his jaw, like to a feesh, an' said as 'tweern't no news to +en. Which maybe it weern't, for the Lard's got His awn way wi' the idiot. +The sayin's of en! Like as not Thomasin'll be here if 'tis awnly to get the +rids of Michael for a while." + +The coroner's inquest found that Joan Tregenza had come by her death from +drowning upon the night of the flood; the tragedy filled an obscure +paragraph or two in local journals; Joan's funeral was fixed for two days +later, and Mrs. Tregenza decided that she would attend it. + +At a spot where fell the shadow of the church when the sun sank far +westerly on summer days, they dug the grave in Sancreed churchyard. Round +about it on slate slabs and upright stones appeared the names of Chirgwins +not a few. Her maternal grandparents lay there, her uncle, Mary's father, +and many others. Some of the graves dated back for a hundred and more +years. + +On the morning of the funeral, Uncle Thomas himself tied scraps of crape +around the stems of his tall geraniums, according to an ancient custom; and +Mrs. Tregenza arrived at Drift in good time to join the few who mourned. +Six men bore Joan's oaken coffin to Sancreed, while there walked behind +her, Uncle Chirgwin, Mary and Thomasin, Mr. Bartlett, his wife, Gaffer +Polglaze, and two farm maidens. A few of the Drift folk and half a dozen +young children came in the wake of the procession proper; and that was all. +The mourners and their dead proceeded along the high lanes to Sancreed, and +conversation was general. Uncle Chirgwin tugged at his black gloves and +snuffled, then snuffled and tugged again; Mary walked on one side of him; +and Mrs. Tregenza, in new and heavy black bought for another, found the +opportunity convenient for the display of varied grief, as she marched +along on the farmer's right hand. Her condition indeed became hysterical, +and Mary only soothed her with difficulty. So the party crawled within +sound of the minute bell and presently reached the church. The undertaker +buzzed here and there issuing directions, an old clergyman met the dead at +the lych-gate and walked before her up the aisle; while those who had a +right to attend the service, clustered in the pews to right and left of the +trestles. Upon them lay Joan. The words of the service sounded with +mournful reverberations through the chill echoes of an unwarmed and almost +empty church; and then the little sister, sleeping peacefully enough after +her one short year of storm, was carried to the last abode of silence. Then +followed an old man's voice, sounding strangely thin in the open air, the +straining of cords, the sweating and hard breathing and shuffling of men, +the grating of oak on a grave-bottom, the updrawing of the ropes that had +lowered the coffin. Genuine grief accompanied the obsequies of Joan +Tregenza, and her uncle's sorrow touched even men to visible grief and +sympathy; but there was no heart to break for the heart which had itself +come so near to breaking, there was no mighty wellspring of love to be +choked with tears for one who had herself loved so much. A feeling, hidden +in some minds, expressed by others, latent in all, pervaded that throng; +and there was not one among those present, save Thomas Chirgwin, but felt +that Providence, harsh till now, had dealt kindly by Joan in dealing death +to her. + +Upon the flowerless, shiny coffin-lid a staring plate of white metal +gleamed up at the world above like an eye and met the gaze of the mourners, +as each in turn, with Mrs. Tregenza first, peered down into Joan's grave +before departing. After which all went away; the children were shut out of +the churchyard; the old clergyman disappeared to the vestry; a young florid +man, with pale hair, tightened his leather belt, turned up his sleeves, +watched a grand pair of biceps roll up as he crooked his elbows, then, +taking a spade, set to work upon the wet mound he had dug from the earth +the day before to clear those few square feet of space below. As he worked, +he whistled, for his occupation held no more significance to him than an +alternative employment: the breaking of stones by the highway side. He +could see the black heads of the mourners bobbing away upon the road to +Drift, and stopped to watch them for a moment. But soon he returned to his +labor; the earth rose foot by foot, and the strong young man stamped it +down. Then it bulged and overflowed the full hole; whereupon he patted and +hammered it into the customary mound and slapped upon it sundry pieces of +sodden turf with gaping gashes between their edges. The surplus soil he +removed in a wheelbarrow, the boards he also took away, then raked over the +earth-smeared, bruised grass about the grave and so made an end of his +work. + +"Blamed if I ever filled wan quicker'n that," he thought, with some +satisfaction; "I reckoned the rain must fall afore I'd done, but it do hold +off yet seemin'ly." + +The man departed, gray twilight fell, and out from the gathering darkness, +like a wound on the hand of Time, that new-made grave and its fringe of +muddy grass stood forth, crude of color, raw, unsightly in the deepening +monochrome of the gloaming. + +At Drift the important meal which follows a funeral was enjoyed with sober +satisfaction by about fifteen persons. Cold fowls and a round of cold beef +formed the main features of the repast; Mary poured out tea for the women +at her end of the table, while the men drank two or three bottles of +grocer's sherry among them. The undertaker and his assistants followed when +the funeral assembly dispersed. Mrs. Tregenza was about to depart in the +fly specially ordered to take her home when a lawyer, who was of the +company, begged she would stay a little longer. + +"I learn that you are the deceased's stepmother, madam, and as you stand +related to the parties both now unhappily swept away by Providence--I mean +Thomas Tregenza and Joan--it is sufficiently clear that you inherit +directly the bequest left by the poor girl to her brother. I framed her +little will myself; failing her own child, her property went to Thomas +Tregenza, his heirs and assigns--those were the words. The paper is here; +the sum mentioned lies at interest of three per cent. Let me know when +convenient what you would wish to be done." + +So the pile of money, at a cost terrible enough, had reached Mrs. Tregenza +after all. She had been drinking brown sherry as well as tea, and was in a +condition of renewed tears approaching to maudlin, when the announcement +reached her. It steadied the woman. Then the thought that this wealth would +have been her son's made her weep again, until the fact that it was now her +own became grasped in her mind. There is a sort of people who find money a +reasonably good support in all human misfortune, and if Mrs. Tregenza did +not entirely belong to that callous company, yet it is certain that this +sudden afflux of gold was more likely to assuage her grief than most +things. She presently retired, all tears and care; but at intervals, when +sorrow rested to regain its strength, the lawyer's information recurred and +the distractions of mind caused by the contemplation of a future brightened +by this wealth soothed Thomasin's nerves to an extent beyond the power of +religion or any other force which could possibly have been brought to bear +upon them. She felt that her own position must henceforth be exalted in +Newlyn, for the effects of the combination of catastrophes led to that end. +Her husband was the sole care she had left, and physicians foretold no +great length of days for him. The lugger would be put up to auction, with +the drift nets and all pertaining thereto. The cottage was already Tregenza +property. Thomasin therefore looked through the overwhelming misery of the +time, counted her moneys and felt comforted without knowing it. As for her +insane husband, his very sufferings magnified him into a man of importance, +and she enjoyed the reflected glory of being his keeper. People came from +remote villages to listen to him, and it was held a privilege among the +humbler sort to view the ruin of Michael Tregenza and hark to the chaotic +ravings of a mind overthrown. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +THE HOME-COMING OF JOE + + +A fortnight and four days after the funeral of Joan Tregenza there blew a +southwest wind over Newlyn, from out a gray sky, dotted with watery blots +of darker gray. No added light marked the western horizon at sunset, but +the short, dull day simply fell headlong into night; and with darkness came +the rain. + +About five o'clock in the afternoon, when the flicker and shine of many +lamps in little shop windows brightened the tortuous streets, a man clad in +tarpaulins, and carrying a big canvas bag on his back, passed rapidly +through the village. He had come that day from London upon the paying off +of his vessel; and while he left his two chests at the railway station, he +made shift to bring his sea-bag along himself; and that because he was +bound for the white cottage on the cliff, and the bag held many precious +foreign concerns for Joan Tregenza. It had been impossible to communicate +with the sailor; and he did not write from London to tell any of his +return, that their pleasure and surprise on his appearance might be the +more complete. Now a greater shock than that in his power to give waited +the man himself. The sailor's parents lived at Mousehole, but Michael's +cottage lay upon the way, and there he first designed to appear. + +Joe Noy was a very big man, loosely but strongly set together, a Celt to +the backbone, hard, narrow of mind, but possessing rare determination. His +tanned, clean-shaven face was broader at the jaw than the eyes, and a +lowering heaviness of aspect, almost ape-like, resulted when his features +remained in repose. The effect, however, vanished when he spoke or listened +to the speech of another. That such a man had proved fickle in love was a +thing difficult to credit to the mind familiar with his character. Solid, +sober, simple, fearing God and lacking humor, the jilting of a woman was an +offense of all others least likely to have been associated with him. Yet +circumstances and some unsuspected secrets of disposition had brought about +that event; and now, as he hastened along, the vision of the dark woman he +once loved at Drift did not for an instant cross his thoughts, for they +were full of the fair girl he meant to marry at Newlyn. To her, at least, +he had kept faithful enough; she had been the guiding-star of his life for +hard upon a year of absence; not one morning, not one night, in fair +weather or foul, had he omitted to pray God's blessing upon her. A +fatalism, which his Luke Gospel tenets did not modify, was strong in the +sailor. He had seen death often enough in his business; and his instincts +told him, apart from all religious teaching, that those who died ripe for +salvation were but few. Every man appeared to be an instrument in God's +hand, and human free-will represented a condition quite beyond the scope of +his intelligence to estimate or even conceive. Had any justified in so +doing asked of him his reasons for desertion of Mary Chirgwin, Noy would +have explained that when inviting her to be his wife he took a wrong step +in darkness; that light had since suddenly shone upon him, as upon Saul, +and that Mary, choosing rather to remain outside the sure fold of Luke +Gospeldom, by so doing made it impossible for him to love her longer. He +would have added that the match was doubtless foredoomed according to the +arrangements of the Almighty. + +Now Joe came back to his own; and his heart beat faster by several pulses, +and his steps quickened and lengthened, as, through darkness and rain, he +sighted the lamp-lighted cottage window of the Tregenzas. Thereupon he +stopped a moment, brought his bag to the ground, mopped his forehead, then, +raising the latch, strode straight into the kitchen without a knock of +warning. For a moment he imagined the room, lighted only by a dull glow of +firelight, to be empty; but then, amid familiar objects, he noted one not +familiar--a tall and roomy armchair. This stood beside the fireplace, and +in it sat Gray Michael. + +"Why, so 'tis! Mr. Tregenza sure 'nough!" the traveler exclaimed, setting +down his bag and coming forward with hand outstretched. "Here I be at last +arter nine months o' salt water! An' Newlyn do smell pleasant in my nose as +I come back to it, I tell 'e!" + +The other did not take Joe's hand; he looked up vaguely, with an open mouth +and no recognition in his expression; but Noy as yet failed to note how +insanity had robbed the great face of its power, had stamped out the +strength of it, had left it a mindless vague of limp features. + +"Who be you then?" asked Mr. Tregenza. + +"Why, blamed if you abbun forgot me! I be Joe--Joe Noy comed back-along at +last. My ivers! You, as doan't forget nothin', to forget me! Yet, maybe, +'tis the low light of the fire as hides me from 'e." + +"You'm a mariner, I reckon?" + +"I reckon so, if ever theer was wan. An' I'll be the richer by a mate's +ticket 'fore the year's dead. But never mind me. How be you all--all well? +I thot I'd pop in an' surprise 'e." + +"Cruel fashion weather for pilchur fishin' us have had--cruel fashion +weather. I knawed 'tweer comin', same as Noah knawed 'fore the flood, +'cause the Lard tawld me. 'Forty years long was I grieved wi' this +generation.' But man tries the patience o' God these days. We'm like the +Ruan Vean men: 'doan't knaw an' won't larn.'" + +"Iss fay, mister, true 'nough; but tell me 'bout 'e all an'--an' my Joan. +She've been the cherub aloft for me ever since I strained my eyes glazin' +for the last peep o' Carnwall when us sailed. How be my lil Joan?" + +The other started, sat up in his chair and gripped the left arm of it, +while his right hand extended before him and he jolted it curiously with +all the fingers pointing down. + +"Joan--Joan? In hell--ragin', roastin' hell--screechin', I lay, like a cat +in a bonfire. 'Tis lies they'll tell 'e 'bout her. She weern't +drownded--never. The devil set sail 'pon auld Chirgwin's hayrick, so they +sez, an' her sailed 'long wi' en. But 'theer rings, they was so high that +they was dreadful, an' theer rings weer full o' eyes round about.' She'm +damned, my son--called, not chosen. 'The crop o' the bunch' they called +her--the crop o' the devil's bunch she was--no cheel o' my gettin'. Her'll +burn for a million years or better--all along o' free-traadin'. +Free-traadin'! curse 'em--why doan't they call it smugglin' an' have done?" + +Joe Noy had fallen back. He forgot to breathe, then Nature performed the +necessary act, and in a moment of the madman's silence his listener sucked +a long loud breath. + +"Oh, my gracious Powers, what's fallen 'pon en?" he groaned aloud. + +"God's strong, but the devil's stronger, you mind. Us must pray to the pit +now. 'Our devil which art in hell'--Ha! ha! ha! He hears fast enough, an' +pokes up the black horns of en at the first smell o' prayer. Not but what +my Tom's aloft, in the main-top o' paradise. I seed en pass 'pon a black +wave wi' a gray foamin' crest. An' the white sawl o' my bwoy went mountin' +and mountin' in shape o' a seabird. Men dies hard in salt water, you mind. +It plays wi' 'em like a cat wi' a mouse. But 'tis all wan: 'The Lard is +King an' sitteth 'tween the cherubims,' though the airth's twitchin', same +as a crab bein' boiled alive, all the time." + +Noy looked round him wildly and was about to leave the cottage. Then it +struck him that the man's wife and daughter could not be far off. What +blasting catastrophe had robbed him of his mind the sailor knew not; but +once assured of the fact that Michael Tregenza was hopelessly insane, Noy +lent no credit to any of his utterances, and of course failed to dimly +guess at those facts upon which his ravings were based. Indeed he heard +little after the first rambling outburst, for his own thoughts were busy +with the problems of Tregenza's fate. + +"Sit down, mariner. I shan't sail till marnin' an' you'm welcome. Theer be +thots in me so deep as Levant mine, but I doan't speak 'em for anybody's +hearin'. Joan weern't none o' mine, an' I knawed it, thanks be to God, +'fore ever she played loose. What do 'e think o' a thousand pound for a +sawl? Cheap as dirt--eh? 'Thou hast covered thyself with a cloud that our +prayer should not pass through.' Not as prayers can save what's lost for +all eternity 'fore 'tis born into time. He ruined her; he left her wi' +cheel; but ban't likely the unborn clay counts. God Hisself edn' gwaine to +damn a thing as never drawed breath. Who'd a thot the like o' her had got a +whore's forehead? An' tokened at that--tokened to a sailor-man by name o' +Noy. Let'n come home, let'n come home an' call the devil as did it to his +account. Let the Lard see to't so that man edn' 'lowed to flourish no more. +I be tu auld an' broken for any sich task. 'For the hurt o' the darter o' +my people I am hurt.'" + +He spoke no more upon that head, though Noy, now awake to fear and horridly +conscious that he stood in the shadow of some tremendous ill, reaching far +beyond the madman, asked him frantically what he meant. But Michael's mind +had wandered off the subject again. + +"I seed en cast forth a net, same as us does for macker'l, but 'twas sawls, +not feesh, they dragged in the bwoat; but braave an' few of 'em. The +devil's nets was the full wans, 'cause--" + +At this moment Thomasin came in, saw a man by Mr. Tregenza, but did not +realize who had returned until she struck a light. Then, approaching, she +gasped her surprise and stood for a moment dumb, looking from her husband +to the sailor, from the sailor back to her husband. The horror on Noy's +face frightened her; indeed he was now strung to a pitch of frantic +excitement. He saw that the woman was altogether clad in black, that her +garments were new, that even her bonnet had a black flower in it; and, +despite his concern, he observed an appearance of prosperity about her, +though her face belied it, for Mrs. Tregenza was very thin, and far grayer +and older too than when he saw her last. He took the hand she stretched +shaking toward him; then a question burst from his lips. + +"For God's sake speak an' tell me the worst on it. What terrible evil be +here? He'm--he'm daft seemin'ly; he's spawk the awfulest mad words as ever +comed from lips. An' Joan--doan't 'e say it--doan't 'e say 'tis true she'm +dead--not my lil treasure gone dead; an' me, ever since I went, countin' +the days an' hours 'gainst when I should come back?" + +"Ay, my poor lad, 'tis true--all true. An' worse behind, Joe. Hip an' thigh +us be smitten--all gone from us; my awnly wan drownded--my awn bwoy; an' +Michael's brain brawk down along o' it. An' the bwoat an' nets be all sold; +though, thanks to God, they fetched good money. An' poor Joan tu--'pon the +same night as my Tom--drownded--in the gert land-flood up-long." + +Gray Michael had been nodding his head and smiling as each item of the +mournful category was named. At Thomasin's last words he interrupted +angrily, and something of the old, deep tones of his voice echoed again. + +"'Tis a lie! Dedn' I tell 'e, wummon, 'tweern't so? The devil took +her--body an' bones an' unborn baaby. They say she was found by the +meadowsweets; an' I say 'tis false. You may groan an' you may weep blood, +but you caan't chaange the things that have happened in time past--no; nor +more can God A'mighty." + +His wife looked to see how Joe viewed this statement. A great local +superstition was growing up round Gray Michael, and his wild utterances +(sometimes profanely fearful beyond the possibility of setting down) were +listened to greedily as inspirations and oracles. Mrs. Tregenza herself +became presently imbued with something of this morbid and ignorant opinion. +Her deep wounds time promised to heal at the first intention, and the +significance now attributed to her insane husband grew to be a source of +real satisfaction to her. She dispensed the honor of interviews with +Michael as one distributes great gifts. + +The force of circumstances and the futility of fighting against fate +impressed Thomasin mightily now, as Noy's wild eyes asked the question his +lips could not force themselves to frame. She sighed and bent her head and +turned her eyes away from him, then spoke hurriedly: + +"I doan't knaw how to tell 'e, an' us reckoned theer weern't no call to, +an' us weern't gwaine to tell; but these things be in the Lard's hand an' +theer edn' no hidin' what He means to let out. A sorry, cruel home-comin' +for 'e, Joe. Poor lass, her's done wi' all her troubles now, an' the unborn +cheel tu. 'Tis very hard to stand up 'gainst, but the longest life's awnly +short, an' us ban't called 'pon to live it more'n wance, thank God." + +Here she gave way to tears, and dried the same on a white +pocket-handkerchief with a black border. + +"'Tis all so true as gospel," declared Gray Michael, rolling his head round +on his neck and laughing. "An' my auld wummon's fine an' braave, edn' her? +That's cause I cleared a thousan' pound in wan trip. Christ was aboard, an' +He bid me shoot the nets by munelight off the islands. He do look arter His +awn somethin' butivul, as I tawld En. An' now I be a feesher o' men, which +is better, an' high 'mong the salt o' the airth, bein' called to walk along +wi' James an' John an' the rest." + +"He sits theer chitterin', ding dong, ding dong, all the wisht day. Tom's +death drove en cracked, but 'e ban't no trouble, 'cept at feedin' times. +Besides, I keeps a paid servant girl now," said Mrs. Tregenza. + +Joe Noy had heard neither the man nor the woman. From the moment that he +knew the truth concerning Joan his own thoughts barred his ears to all +utterances. + +"Who weer it? Tell me the name. I want no more'n that," he said. + +"'Tis Anne Bundle's darter," answered Mrs. Tregenza, her mind on her maid. + +"The man!" thundered Noy, "the man who brot the thing about--the man what +ruined--O God o' Hosts, be on my side now! Who weer 'e? Give me the name of +en. That's all as I wants." + +"Us doan't knaw. You see, Joan was away up Drift wi' the Chirgwins, an' +theer she was took when they found her arter the drownin'. She never knawed +the true name of en herself, poor dear. But 'twas a paintin' man--a artist. +It comed out arter as he'd made a picksher of her, an' promised to marry +her, an' stawl all she'd got to give 'pon the strength of the lie. Then +theer was a letter--" + +"From the man?" + +Mrs. Tregenza grew frightened at the thought of mentioning the money, and +now adroitly changed the first letter from Barron, which was in her mind +when she spoke, to the second, which Joan had received from him on the +night of her death. + +"Iss, from him; an' Mary Chirgwin found it 'pon the dead frame o' the poor +gal, but 'twas partly pulp, along o' the water; an' Mary burned it wi'out +readin' a word--so she said, at least, though that's difficult to credit, +human nature bein' as 'tis." + +"Then my work's the harder; but I'll find en, s'elp me God, even if us be +grawed gray afore we meet." + +"Think twice, Joe; you caan't bring back your lass, nor wash her sins +white. 'Tis tu late." + +"No, not that, but I can--I'm in God's hand for this. Us be tools, an' He +uses all for His awn ends. I sees whereto I was born now, an' the future be +writ clear afore my eyes. Thicky madman theer said the word; an' I lay the +Lard put it in en for my better light. Er said 'Let'n come home an' call +the devil as did it to account.' He was thinkin' o' me when he said it, +though he dedn' knaw me." + +"Iss fay, 'tis generally allowed he be the lips o' God A'mighty now. But +you, Joe--doan't 'e waste life an' hard-won money huntin' down a damned +man. Leave en to his deserts." + +"'Tis I that be his deserts, wummon--'tis I, in the hand o' the God o' +Vengeance. That's my duty now standin' stark ahead o' me. The Lard's +pleased to pay all my prayers an' good livin' like this here. His will be +done, an' so it shall to the dregs of it; an' if I be for the pit arter +all, theer's wan livin' as gaws along wi' me." + +"That's worse than a fool's thot. Bide till you'm grawed cool anyways. 'Tis +very hard this fallin' 'pon a virtuous member like what you be; but 'tedn' +a straange tale 'tall. The man was like other men, I doubt; the maid was +like other maids. You thot differ'nt. You was wrong; an' you'll be wrong +again to break your heart now. Let en go--'tis best." + +"Let en go! Blast en--I'll let heaven go fust! Us'll see what a wronged +sawl's patience can do now. Us'll see what the end of the road'll shaw! O +God o' the Righteous, fester this here man's bones in his body, an' eat his +life out of en wi' fiery worms! Tear his heartstrings, God o' Hosts, rob en +of all he loves, stamp his foul mind wi' memories till he shrieks for death +an' judgment; punish his seed forever; turn his prayers into swearin'; +torture en, rot en sawl an' body till you brings me to en. Shaw no mercy, +God o' Heaven, but pile agony 'pon agony mountains high for en; an' let +mine be the hand to send his cussed sawl to hell, for Christ's sake, Amen!" + +"Oh, my Guy Faux! theer's cussin'! An' yet 'tedn' gwaine to do a happard +[Footnote: _Happard_--Halfpennyworth.] o' good; an' you wouldn' be no +happier for knawin' sich a prayer was granted," said Thomasin; but Gray +Michael applauded the outburst, and his words ended that strange spectacle +of two men, for the time both mad. + +"Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Braave prayin'! Braave savor for the Lard's +nose--sweeter than the blood o' beasts. You'm a shinin' light, cap'n--a +trumpet in the battle, like the sound o' the sea-wind when it begins to +sting afore heavy weather, an' the waters roll to the top o' the bulwarks +an' awver. 'The snorting of his horses was heard from Dan'--sea-horses us +calls 'em nowadays. Mount an' ride, mount an' ride! 'Cursed be the man that +trusteth in man,' saith the Lard; but the beasts be truer, thanks to the +wickedness o' God, who's spared 'em the curse o' brain paarts, but stricken +man wi' a mighty intelligence. 'Twas a fine an' cruel act, for the more +mind the more misery. 'Twas a damned act sure 'nough! Doan't 'e let on +'bout it, mate, but theer'll be clever surprises at Judgment, an' the fust +to be damned'll be the God o' the Hebrews Hisself for givin' o' brains to +weak heads. Then the thrawn o' heaven'll stand empty--empty--the plaace +'tween the cherubims empty; an' they'll call 'pon me to fill it so like's +not. Tarraway, I shall be named, same as the devil in the droll--a purty +word enough tu." + +He broke into laughter, and Joe Noy, saying a few hasty words to Thomasin, +departed. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +A NIGHT VISIT + + +He who less than an hour before had hastened hot-footed through the Newlyn +streets, whose habitual stern expression had softened before the well-known +sights and smells of the gray village, whose earnest soul was full of +happiness under the rain of the night, now turned back upon his way and +skulked through the darkness with a murderer's heart in him. The clear +spectacle of his revenge blinded lesser presentations and even distracted +his sorrow. There was no space now vacant in Noy's brain to hold the full +extent of his loss; and the fabric of happiness which for weary months on +various seas he had been building up in imagination, and which a madman's +word had now sent spinning to chaos, yet remained curiously with him, as an +impression stamped by steadfast gazing remains upon the eye. It recurred as +of old: a joy; and not till the former emotion of happiness had again and +again reappeared to be blunted, as a dream, at waking, by the new +knowledge, did truth sink into this man's mind and become part of memory. +Now he was dazed, as one who has run hard and well to a goal, and who, +reaching it, finds his prize stolen. Under these circumstances, Joe Noy's +natural fatalism--an instinct beyond the power of any religion to +destroy--appeared instant and strong. Chance had now fed these +characteristics, and they grew gigantic in an hour. But the religious habit +made him turn to his Maker in this pass, and the merely primitive passions, +which were now breaking loose within him, he regarded as the direct voices +of God. They proclaimed that solitary duty the world still held for him; +they marked out his road to the lurid end of it. + +Thus Noy's own furious lust for revenge was easily and naturally elevated +into a mandate from the Highest--into a message echoed and reiterated upon +his ear by the multitudinous voices of that wild night. The rain whispered +it on the roof-trees, the wind and sea thundered it; out of elemental chaos +the awful command came, as from primal lips which had spoken since creation +to find at last the ultimate destination of their message within a human +ear. To Noy, his purpose, not yet an hour old, seemed ancient as eternity, +a fixed and deliberate impression which had been stamped upon his mind at a +period far earlier than his life in time. For one end had he been created; +that by some sudden short cut he should hurry to its close a vile life, +fill up God's bitter curse upon this man, destroy the destroyer, and speed +a black soul into the torment awaiting it. + +Irresolute and deep in thought as to his future actions, Joe Noy walked +unconsciously forward. He felt unequal to returning to his home in +Mousehole after what he had learned at Newlyn; and he wandered back, +therefore, toward Penzance. A glare of gas lamps splashed the wet surface +of the parade with fire; while below him, against the sea wall, a high tide +spouted and roared. Now and again, after a heavy muffled thud of sea +against stone, columns of glimmering, gray foam shot upward, like gigantic +ghosts out of the water. For a moment they towered in the air, then, +wind-driven, swept hissing across the black and shining surfaces of the +deserted parade. + +Noy stood here a moment, and the cold wind cooled him, and the riot and +agony of the sea boiling against the granite face of the breakwater chimed +with the riot and agony of his mind, whose hopes were now rent in tatters, +riven, splintered and disannulled by chance. He turned a moment where the +Newlyn harbor light flashed across the darkness to him. From his standpoint +he knew that a line drawn through that light must fall upon the cottage of +the Tregenzas beyond it on the shore, and, fixing his eyes where the +building lay hidden, he stretched out his hand and spoke aloud. + +"May God strike me blind and daft if ever I looks 'pon yon light an' yonder +cot again till the man be dead." + +Then he turned, and was about to seek the station, with a vague purpose to +go straight to London at the earliest opportunity, when a wiser thought +arrested this determination. He must learn all that it was possible to +learn concerning the last days of Joan. Mrs. Tregenza had explained her +stepdaughter's life at Drift. To Drift, therefore, the sailor determined to +go; and the stress upon his mind was such that even the prospect of +conversation with Mary Chirgwin--a thing he had certainly shrunk from under +other circumstances--caused him no uneasiness. + +Over the last road that Joan had ever walked, and under similar conditions +of night and storm, he tramped up to Drift, entered through the side gate, +and surprised Mr. Chirgwin and his niece at their supper. As before with +the Tregenzas, so now again in company of Uncle Thomas and Mary, Joe Noy +formed the third in a trio of curious significance. Though aware that the +sailor was due from his voyage, this sudden apparition of him at such a +time startled his former friends not a little. Mary indeed was unnerved in +a manner foreign to her nature, and the candle-lighted kitchen whirled in +her eyes as she felt her hand in his. Save for an ejaculation from the old +man, which conveyed nothing beyond his astonishment, Noy was the first to +speak; and his earliest words relieved the minds of his listeners in one +great particular; he already knew the worst that had happened. + +"I be come from Newlyn, from the Tregenzas. Thomasin have tawld me of all +that's falled out; but I couldn't bide in my awful trouble wi'out comin' +up-long. I reckon you'll let the past be forgot now. I'm punished ugly +enough. You seed her last, dead an' alive; you heard the last words ever +she spoke to any of her awn folks. That drawed me. If I must ax pardon for +comin', then I will." + +"Nay, nay, my poor sawl; sit you down an' eat, Joe, an' take they wet boots +off a while. Our hearts have bled for 'e this many days, Joe Noy, an' never +more'n now." + +"I thank you, uncle; an' you, Mary Chirgwin--will 'e say as much? 'Tis you +I wants to speak with, 'cause you--you seed Joan arter 'twas awver." + +"I wish you well, Joe Noy, an' if I ever done differ'nt 'tis past an' +forgot. What I can tell 'e 'bout our poor lass, as lived the end of her +days along wi' me an' uncle, you've a right to knaw." + +"An' God bless 'e for sayin' so. I comed rough an' ready, an' thrust in +'pon you; but this news be but two hour auld in my heart, you see, an' +'tedn' easy for such as me to make choice o' words at a time like this." + +"Eat, my son, an' doan't 'e fancy theer's any here but them as be friends. +Polly an' me seed more o' Joan through her last days than any; an' I do say +as she was a lamb o' God's foldin', beyond all manner o' doubt; an' Polly, +as feared it mightn't 'sactly be so, be of my 'pinion now. Them as suffered +for the sins o' other folk, like what she done, has theer hell-fire 'pon +this side o' the graave, not t'other." + +"I lay that's a true sayin'," declared Noy shortly. "I won't keep 'e +ower-long from your beds," he added. "If you got a drink o' spirits I'll +thank you for it; then I'll put a question or two to she--to Mary Chirgwin, +if she'll allow; an' then I'll get going." + +The woman was self-possessed again now, although Joe's voice and +well-remembered gestures moved her powerfully and made it difficult to keep +her voice within absolute control. + +"All you can ax that I knaw, I'll tell 'e, though Joan shut her thots purty +close most times. Us awnly got side views of her mind, and them not often." + +"The man," he said. "Tell me all--every-thin' you can call home--all what +her said of him." + +"Fust she thot a 'mazin' deal 'bout en," explained the farmer; "then time +made her mind get stale of en, an' she begin to see us was right. He sent +money--a thousand pound, an' I--poor fool--thot Joan weern't mistook at +fust. But 'twas awnly conscience money; an' now Thomasin's the better for't +by will." + +But this sensational statement was not appreciated, Joe's mind being +elsewhere. + +"You never heard the name of en?" + +"Awnly the christening name, as was 'Jan.' You may have heard tell she got +a letter the night she passed. Us found the coverin' under the table next +day, an' Mary comed across the letter itself in her pocket at the last." + +"'Tis that I be comed for. If you could tell so much as a word or two out +of it, Mary? They said you burned it an' the crowner was mighty angry, but +I thot as p'raps you'd looked at it all the same, awnly weern't pleased to +say so." + +"No," she answered. "Tis true I found a letter, an' I might a read some of +it if I would, but I judged better not. 'Tweern't fair to her like." + +"Was theer anything else as shawed anything 'bout en?" + +"No--awnly a picksher of a ship he painted for her. I burned that tu; an' +I'd a burned his money if I could. He painted her--I knaw that much. She +tawld us wan night--a gert picksher near as large as life. He took it to +Lunnon--for a shaw, I s'pose." + +"I'd think of en no more if I was you, Joe," said Uncle Chirgwin. "Leave +the likes of en to the God of en. Brace yourself agin this sore onset an' +pray to Heaven to forgive all sinners." + +Noy looked at the old man and his great jaw seemed to spread laterally with +his thought. + +"God have gived the man to me! that's why I be here: to knaw all any can +teach me. I've got to be the undoin' o' that devil--the undoin' an' death +of en. I'll be upsides wi' the man if it takes me fifty year to do it. +Awnly 'more haste, more let.' I shall go slow an' sure. That's why I comed +here fust thing." + +Mr. Chirgwin looked extremely alarmed, and Mary spoke. + +"This be wild, wicked talkin', Joe Noy, an' no mort o' sorrer as ever was +can excuse sich words as them. 'Tedn' no task o' yourn to take the Lard's +work out His hand that way. He'll pay the evil-doer his just dues wi'out no +help from you." + +"I've got a voice in my ear, Mary--a voice louder'n any human voice; an' it +bids me be doin' as the instrument of God A'mighty's just rage. If you can +help me, then I bid you do it, if not, let me be away. Did you read any o' +that theer letter--so much as a word, or did 'e larn wheer 'twas writ +from?" + +"If I knawed, I shouldn't tell 'e, not now. I'd sooner cut my tongue out +than aid 'e 'pon the road you'm set. An' you a righteous thinkin' man +wance!" + +He looked at her and there was that in his face which showed a mind busy +with time past. His voice had changed and his eyes softened. + +"I be punished for much, Mary Chirgwin. I be punished wi' loss an' wi' sich +work put on me as may lead to a terrible ugly plaace at the end. But theer +'tis. Like the chisel in the hand o' the carpenter, so I be a sharp tool in +the Lard's grip." + +"Never! You be a poor, dazed worm in the grip o' your awn evil thots! You'm +foxing [Footnote: _Foxing_--Deceiving.] yourself, Joe; you'm listenin' +to the devil an' tellin' yourself 'tis God--knawin' 'tedn' so all the +while. Theer's no religion as would put you in the right wi' sich notions +as them. Listen to your awn small guidin' voice, Joe Noy; listen to me, or +to Luke Gosp'lers or any sober-thinkin', God-fearin' sawl. All the world +would tell 'e you was wrong--all the wisdom o' the airth be agin you, let +alone heaven." + +"If 'twas any smaller thing I'd listen to 'e, Mary, for I knaw you to be a +wise, strong wummon; but theer ban't no mistakin' the message I got +down-long when they told me what's fallen 'pon Joan Tregenza. No fay; my +way be clear afore me; an' the angel o' God will lead my footsteps nearer +an' nearer till I faace the man. Windin' ways or short 'tis all wan in the +end, 'tis all set down in the Book o' the Lard." + +"How can the likes o' you dare to up an' say what be in the Book o' the +Lard, Joe?" asked Uncle Chirgwin, roused to words by the other's +sentiments. "You've got a gashly, bloody-minded fit on you along of all +your troubles. But doan't 'e let it fasten into your heart. Pray to God to +wipe away these here awful opinions. Else they'll be the ruin of 'e, body +an' sawl. If Luke Gosp'ling brot 'e to this pass in time o' darkness an' +tribulation, 'tis a cruel pity you didn't bide a church member." + +"I wish I thot you was in the right, uncle," said the sailor calmly, "but I +knaws you ban't. All the hidden powers of the airth an' the sea edn' gwaine +to keep me from that man. Now I'll leave 'e; an' I'm sorry, Mary Chirgwin, +as you caan't find it in your heart to help me, but so the Lard wills it. I +won't ax 'e to shake my hand, for theer'll be blood on it sooner or +later--the damnedest blood as ever a angry God called 'pon wan o' His +creatures to spill out." + +"Joe, Joe, stay an' listen to me! For the sake of the past, listen!" + +But Noy rose as Mary cried these words, and before she had finished +speaking he was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +THE SEEKING OF THE MAN + + +Thus the sailor, Noy, wholly imbued with one idea, absolutely convinced +that to this end it had pleased Providence to give him life, went forth +into the world that he might seek and slay the seducer of Joan. After +leaving Drift he returned to Penzance, lay there that night, and upon the +following morning began a methodical visitation of the Newlyn studios. Five +he called at and to five artists he stated something of his case in general +terms; but none of those who heard him were familiar with any of the facts, +and none could offer him either information or assistance. Edmund Murdoch +was not in Newlyn, Brady had gone to Brittany; but at the seventh studio +which he visited, Joe Noy substantiated some of his facts. Paul Tarrant +chanced to be at home and at work when he called; and the artist would have +told Joe everything which he wished to learn, but that Noy was cautious and +reserved, not guessing that he stood before one who knew his enemy and +entertained no admiration for him. + +"Axing pardon for taking up any of your time, sir," he began, "but theer'm +a matter concerning a party in your business as painted a maiden here, by +name o' Joan Tregenza. She weern't nobody--awnly a fisherman's darter, but +the picksher was said to be done in these paarts, an' I thot, maybe, you'd +knaw who drawed it." + +Tarrant had not heard of Joan's death, and, indeed, possessed no +information concerning her, save that Barron had prevailed upon the girl to +sit for a portrait. The question, therefore, struck him as curious; and one +which he put in return, merely to satisfy his own curiosity, impressed Joe +in a similar way. His suspicious nature took fright and Tarrant's dark, +bright eyes seemed to read his secret and search his soul. + +"Yes, a portrait of Joan Tregenza was painted here last spring, but not by +a Newlyn man. How does that interest you?" + +"Awnly sideways. 'Tedn' nothin' to me. I knaws the parties an' wanted to +see the picksher if theer weern't no objection." + +"That's impossible, I fear, unless you go to London. I cannot help you +further than to say the artist lives there and his picture is being +exhibited at an art gallery. Somebody told me that much; but which it is I +don't know." + +This was enough for Noy. Ignorant of the metropolis or the vague import of +the words "a picture gallery," he deemed these directions amply sufficient, +and, being anxious to escape further questioning, now thanked Tarrant and +speedily departed. Not until half way back again to Penzance did he realize +how slight was the nature of this information and how ill-calculated to +bring him to his object; the man he wanted lived in London and had a +painting of Joan Tregenza in a picture gallery there. + +Yet upon these directions Joe Noy resolved to begin his search, and as the +train anon bore him away to the field of the great quest he weighed the +chances and considered a course of action. Allowing the ample margin of ten +picture galleries to London, and assuming that the portrait of Joan once +found would be easily recognized by him, the sailor considered that a +fortnight of work should bring him face to face with the picture. That +done, he imagined that it would not be difficult to learn the name and +address of the painter. He had indeed asked Tarrant this question +pointblank, but the artist's accidental curiosity and Joe's own caution +combined to prevent any extension of the interview, or a repetition of the +question. A word had at least placed him in possession of John Barron's +name, but Chance prevented it from being spoken, as Chance had burned +Barron's letter and prevented his name appearing at the inquest. Now Noy +viewed the task before him with equanimity. The end was already assured, +for, in his own opinion, he walked God-guided; but the means lay with him, +and he felt that it was his duty to spare no pains or labors and not to +hesitate from the terrible action marked for him when he should reach the +end of his journey. Mary's last words came to his ear like a whisper which +mingled with the jolt and rattle of the railway train; but they held no +power to upset his purpose or force to modify his rooted determination. Her +image occupied his thoughts, however, for a lengthy period. Then, with some +effort, he banished it and entered upon a calculation of ways and means, +estimating the capabilities of his money. + +Entering the great hive to accomplish that assassination as he supposed +both planned and predestined for him before God made the sun, Noy set about +his business in a deliberate and careful manner. He hired a bedroom in a +mean street near Paddington, and, on the day after his arrival in London, +purchased a large map and index of the city which gave ample particulars of +public buildings and mentioned the names and positions of the great +permanent homes of art. By the help of newspaper advertisements he also +ascertained where to find some of the numerous private dealers' galleries +and likewise learned what public annual exhibitions chanced to be at that +time open. Whereupon, though the circumstance failed to quicken his pulse, +he discovered that the extent of his labors would prove far greater than he +at first imagined. He made careful lists of the places where pictures were +to be seen, and the number quickly ran up to fifty, sixty, seventy +exhibitions. That he would be able to visit all these Joe knew was +impossible, but the fact caused him no disquiet. The picture he sought and +the name of the man who painted it must be presented to him in due season. +For him it only remained to toil systematically at the search and allow no +clew to escape him. As for the issue, it was with the Lord. + +London swept and surged about Joe Noy unheeded. He cared for nothing but +canvases and the places where they might be seen. Day by day he worked and +went early to rest, weary and worn by occupation of a nature so foreign to +his experience. Nightly his last act was to delete one or sometimes two of +the exhibitions figured upon his lists. Thus a week passed by and he had +visited ten galleries and seen upward of five thousand pictures. Not one +painting or drawing of them all was missed or hurried over; he compared +each with its number in the catalogue, then studied it carefully to see if +any hint or suggestion of Joan appeared in it. Her Christian name often met +his scrutiny in titles, and those works thus designated he regarded with +greater attention than any others; but the week passed fruitlessly, and +Joe, making a calculation at the termination of it, discovered that, at his +present rate of progression, it would be possible to inspect no more than +half of the galleries set down before his funds were exhausted. The +knowledge quickened his ingenuity and he discovered a means by which future +labors might be vastly modified and much time saved. He already knew that +the man responsible for Joan's destruction was called John; his mind now +quickened with the recollection of this important fact, and henceforth he +did a thing which any man less unintelligent had done from the first: he +scanned his catalogues without troubling about the pictures, and only +concerned himself with those canvases whose painters had "John" for their +Christian names. He thanked God on his knees that the idea should have +entered his mind, for his labors were thereby enormously lightened. +Notwithstanding, through ignorance of his subject, Joe wasted a great deal +of time and money. Thus he visited the National Gallery, the Old Masters at +the Academy and various dealers' exhibitions where collections of the +pictures of foreign men were at that season being displayed. + +The brown sailor created some interest viewed in an environment so +peculiar. His picturesque face might well have graced a frame and looked +down upon the artistic throngs who swept among the pictures, but the living +man, full of almost tragic interest in what he saw, laboring along +catalogue in hand, dead to everything but the art around him, seemed wholly +out of place. He looked what he was: the detached thread of some story from +which the spectator only saw this chapter broken away and standing without +its context. Nine persons out of ten dismissed him with a smile; but +occasionally a thoughtful mind would view the man and occupy itself with +the problem of his affairs. Such built up imaginary histories of him and +his actions, which only resembled each other in the quality of remoteness +from truth. + +Once it happened that at a small gallery, off Bond Street, the sudden sight +of precious things brought new emotions to Joe Noy--sentiments and +sensations of a sort more human and more natural than those under which he +was at present pursuing his purpose. Before this spectacle, suddenly +presented in the quietness and loneliness of the little exhibition, that +stern spirit of revenge which had actuated him since the knowledge of his +loss, and which, gripping his mind like a frost from the outset, had +congested the gentler emotions of sorrow for poor Joan and for +himself--before this display of a familiar scene, hallowed beyond all +others in memory, the man's relentless mood rose off his mind for a brief +moment like a cloud, and he stood, with aching heartstrings, gazing at a +great canvas. Sweet to him it was as the unexpected face of one dearly +loved to the wanderer; and startling in a measure also, for, remembering +his oath, to see Newlyn no more until his enemy was dead, it seemed as +though the vow was broken by some miracle and that from the heart of the +roaring city he had magically plunged through space to the threshold of the +home of Joan. + +Before him loomed a picture like a window opening upon Newlyn. The village +lay there in all the flame and glory of sunset lights. The gray and black +roofs clustered up the great dark hill and the gloaming fell out of a +primrose sky over sea and land. The waters twinkled full of light to the +very foreground of the canvas, and between the piers of the harbor a +fisher-boy was sculling his boat. Between the masts of stone-schooners at +the quay, Joe saw the white cottage of the Tregenzas, and there his survey +stopped, for at this spectacle thought broke loose. No man ever paid a +nobler tribute to a good picture. Very long he gazed motionless, then, with +a great sigh, moved slowly forward, his eyes still turning back. + +The day and the experience which it brought him marked a considerable flux +of new impressions in Joe's mind--impressions which, without softening the +rugged aspect of his determination, yet added other lines of reflection. +Sorrow for what was lost fastened upon him, and an indignation burned his +soul that such things could be in a world designed and ordered by the +Almighty. Revenge, however, grew no less desirable in the light of sorrow. +He looked to it more and more eagerly as the only food which could lead to +peace of mind. His road probably embraced the circumstances of an +ignominious death; but none the less peace would follow--a peace beyond the +power of future life on earth to supply. Thus, at least, did his project +then present itself to him. Thought of the meeting with his enemy grew to +be a luxury which he feasted upon in the night watches after fruitless days +and the investigation of endless miles of pictures. Then he would lie awake +and imagine the inevitable climax. He saw himself standing before the man +who had ruined two lives; he felt his hand close over a knife or a pistol, +and wondered which it should be; he heard his own voice, slow and steady, +pronounce sentence of death, and he saw terror light that other man's face +as the blood fled from it. He rehearsed the words he should utter at that +great juncture and speculated as to what manner of answer would come; then +the last scene of all represented his enemy stretched dead at his feet and +himself with his hands linked in iron. There yet remained the end of the +tragedy for him--a spectacle horrible enough in the eyes of those still +left to love him, but for himself empty of terror, innocent of power to +alarm. Clean-living men would pity him, religious men would see in him an +instrument used by God to strike at a sinner. His death would probably +bring some wanderers to the fold; it must of a surety be long remembered as +the greatest sermon lived and preached by a Luke Gospeler. Lulled by the +humming woof and warp of such reflections, his mind nightly passed into the +unconsciousness of sleep; and quickened by subsequent visions, the brain +enacted these imaginings with an added gloom and that tremendous appearance +of reality proper to the domain of dreams. + +Thus the days sped and grew shorter as December waned. Then, at the end of +the second week of his work, Noy chanced to read that an Exhibition at the +Institute of Painters in Oils was about to close; and not yet having +visited that collection he set out on the morning of the following day to +do so. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +"JOE'S SHIP" + + +According to his custom, Noy worked through the exhibition catalogue for +each room before entering it. The hour was an early one, and but few +persons had as yet penetrated to the central part of the gallery. For +these, however, an experience of a singular character was now in store. +Wandering hither and thither in groups and talking in subdued voices after +the manner of persons in such a place, all were suddenly conscious of a +loud inarticulate cry. The sudden volume of sound denoted mixed emotions, +but amazement and grief were throned upon it, and the exclamation came from +a man standing now stiff and spellbound before "Joe's Ship," the famous +masterpiece of John Barron. The beholders viewed an amazed figure which +seemed petrified even to an expression on his face. There are countenances +which display the ordinary emotions of humanity in a fashion unusual and +peculiar to themselves. Thus, while the customary and conventional signs of +sorrow are a down-drawing slant to the corners of mouth and eye, yet it +sometimes happens that the lines more usually associated with gratification +are donned in grief. Of this freakish character was the face of Joe Noy. +His muscles seemed to follow the bones underneath them; and now beholding +him, the surprised spectators saw a man of gigantic proportions +gigantically moved. Yet, while sorrow was discernible in his voice, the +corners of his mouth were dragged up till his lips resembled a half-moon on +its back, and the lids and corners of his eyes were full of laughter +wrinkles, while the eyes themselves were starting and agonized. The man's +catalogue had fallen to the ground; his hands were clinched; now, as others +watched him, he came step by step nearer to the picture. + +To estimate the force of the thing upon Noy's hungry heart, to present the +chaos of emotions which now gripped him at the goal of his pilgrimage, is +impossible. Here, restored to him by art, was his dead sweetheart, the sum +and total of all the beauty he had worshiped and which for nearly a year of +absence had been his guiding star. He knew that she was in her grave, yet +she stood before him sweet and fresh, with the moisture of life in her eyes +and on her lips. He recognized everything, to the windy spot where the +gorse flourished on the crown of the cliff. The clean sky told him from +whence the wind blew; the gray gull above was flying with it upon slanting +wings. And Joan stood below in a blaze of sunshine and yellow blossom. A +reflection from the corner of her sunbonnet brightened her face, though it +was shaded from direct sunlight by her hand; her blue eyes mirrored the sea +and the sky; and they met Joe's, like a question. She was looking away to +the edge of the world; and he knew from the name of the picture, which he +had read before he saw it, the object regarded. He glared on, and his +breath came quicker. The brown petticoat with the black patch was familiar +to him; but he had never seen the gleam of her white neck below the collar +where it was hidden from the sun. In the picture an unfastened button +showed this. The rest he knew: her hair, turning at the flapping edge of +the sunbonnet; her slight figure, round waist, and the shoes, whose strings +he had been privileged to tie more than once. Then he remembered her last +promise: to see his ship go down Channel from their old meeting-place upon +Gorse Point; and the memory, thus revived by the actual spectacle of Joan +Tregenza looking her last at his vanishing vessel, brought the wild cry to +Noy's lip with the wringing of his heart. He was absolutely dead to his +environment, and his long days of silence suddenly ended in a futile +outpouring of words addressed to any who might care to listen. Passion +surged to the top of his mind--rage for his loss, indignation that the +unutterably fair thing before them had been blotted out of the world while +he was far away, without power to protect her. For a few moments only was +the man beyond his own self-control, but in that brief time he spoke; and +his listeners enjoyed a sensation of a nature outside their widest +experiences. + +"Oh, Christ Jesus! 'tis Joan--my awn lil Joan, as I left her, as I seed her +alive!" + +He had reached the rail separating the pictures from the public. Here he +stood and spoke again, now conscious that there were people round about +him. + +"She'm dead--dead an' buried--my Joan--killed by the devil as drawed her +theer in that picksher. As large as life; an' yet she'm under ground wi' a +brawken heart. An' me, new-comed off the sea, hears of it fust thing." + +"It's 'Joe's Ship' he means," whispered somebody, and Noy heard him. + +"Iss fay, so 'tis, an' I be Joe--I talkin' to 'e; an' she'm shadin' her +eyes theer to see my vessel a-sailin' away to furrin paarts! 'Tis a story +that's true, an' the God-blasted limb what drawed this knawed I was gone to +the ends o' the airth outward bound." + +A man from the turnstile came up here and inquired what was the matter. His +voice and tone of authority brought the sailor back to the position he +occupied; he restrained himself, therefore, and spoke no more. Already Noy +feared that his passion might have raised suspicions, and now, turning and +picking up his catalogue, he made hasty departure before those present had +opportunity to take much further notice of him. The man hurried off into +the rattle of the busy thoroughfare, and in a moment he and his sorrows and +his deadly purpose had vanished away. + +Meantime the curator of the gallery, a man of intelligence, improved the +moment and addressed some apposite reflections to those spectators who +still clustered around John Barron's picture. + +"It isn't often we get such a sight as that. Many people have wondered why +this great work was called as it is. The man who has gone explains it, and +you have had a glimpse of the picture's history--the inner history of it. +The painting has made a great sensation ever since it was first exhibited, +but never such a sensation as it made to-day." + +"The beggar looked as though he meant mischief," said somebody. + +"He knows the model is dead apparently, but there's another mystery there +too, for Mr. Barron himself isn't aware of the fact. He was here only the +day before yesterday--a little pale shadow of a man, like a ghost in a fur +coat. He came to see his picture and stopped ten minutes. Two gentlemen +were with him, and I heard him say, in answer to one of them as he left the +gallery, that he had quite recently endeavored to learn some particulars of +Joan Tregenza, his model, but had failed to do so as yet." + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +THE FINDING OF THE MAN + + +The gratification of his desire and the fulfillment of his revenge, though +steadfastly foreseen by Joe Noy from the moment when first he set foot in +London and began his search, now for a moment overwhelmed him at the +prospect of their extreme propinquity. Had anything been needed to +strengthen his determination on the threshold of a meeting with Joan's +destroyer, it was the startling vision of Joan herself from which he had +just departed. No event had brought the magnitude of his loss more cruelly +to the core of his heart than the sudden splendid representation of what he +had left behind him in her innocence and beauty; and, for the same reason, +nothing could have more thoroughly fortified his mind to the deed now lying +in his immediate future. + +Noy's first act was to turn again to the gallery with a purpose to inquire +where John Barron might be found; but he recollected that many picture +catalogues contained the private addresses of the exhibitors, and +accordingly consulted the list he had brought with him. There he found the +name and also the house in which the owner of it dwelt-- + +JOHN BARRON, No. 6 Melbury Gardens, S. W. + +Only hours now separated him from his goal, and it seemed strange to Noy +that he should have thus come in sight of it so suddenly. But his wits +cooled and with steady system he followed the path long marked out. He +stood and looked in at a gunsmith's window for ten minutes, then moved +forward to another. At the shop-fronts of cutlers he also dawdled, but +finally returned to the first establishment which had attracted him, +entered, and, for the sum of two pounds, purchased a small, five-chambered +revolver with a box of cartridges. He then went back to his lodging, and +set to work to find the position of Melbury Gardens upon his map. This done +the man marked his road to that region, outlining with a red chalk pencil +the streets through which he would have to walk before reaching it. +Throughout the afternoon he continued his preparations, acting very +methodically, and setting his house in order with the deliberation of one +who knows that he is going to die, but not immediately. Sometimes he rested +from the labor of letter-writing to think and rehearse again the scene +which was to close that day. A thousand times he had already done so; a +thousand times the imaginary interview had been the last thought in his +waking brain; but now the approach of reality swept away those unreal +dialogues, dramatic entrances, exits and events of the great scene as he +had pictured it. The present moment found Noy's brain blank as to +everything but the issue; and he surprised himself by discovering that his +mind now continually recurred to those events which would follow the +climax, while yet the death of John Barron was unaccomplished. His active +thoughts, under conditions of such excitation as the day had brought upon +the top of his discovery, traveled with astounding speed, and it was not +John Barron's end but his own which filled the imagination of the sailor as +he wrote. The shadow of the gallows was on the paper, though the event +which was to bring this consummation still lay some hours deep in +unrecorded time. But, for Noy, John Barron was as good as dead, and himself +as good as under sentence of death. + +Grown quite calm, fixed in mind, and immovable as the black sea cliffs of +his mother-land, he wrote steadily on until thought sped whirling forward +to a new aspect of his future: the last. He saw himself in eternity, tossed +to everlasting flames by his Maker, as a man tosses an empty match-box, +after it has done its work, into the fire. He put down his pen and pictured +it. The terrific force of that conviction cannot fairly be set before the +intelligence of average cultured people, because, whatever they profess to +believe in their hearts, the truth is that, even with forty-nine Christians +out of fifty, hell appears a mere vague conceit meaning nothing. They +affirm that they believe in eternal torment; they confess all humanity is +ripe for it; but their pulses are unquickened by the assertion or +admission; they do _not_ believe in it. Nor can educated man so +believe, for that way madness lies, and he who dwells long and closely upon +this unutterable dogma, anon himself feels the first flickering of the +undying flame. It scorches, not his body, but his brain, and a lunatic +asylum presently shuts him from a sane world unless medical aid quickly +brings healthy relief. + +But with primitive opinions, narrow beliefs and narrow intelligences, hell +can be a live conceit enough. Among Luke Gospelers and kindred sects there +shall be found such genuine fear and such trembling as the church called +orthodox never knows; and to Noy the tremendous spectacle of his +everlasting punishment now made itself actively felt. A life beyond +death--a life to be spent in one of two places and to endure eternally was +to Joe as certain as the knowledge that he lived; and that his destination +must be determined by the work yet lying between him and death appeared +equally sure. Further, that work must be performed. There was no loophole +of escape from it, and had there been such he would have blocked it against +himself resolutely. Moreover, as the will and desire to do the deed was an +action as definite in the eye of Heaven as the accomplishment of the deed +itself, he reckoned himself already damned. He had long since counted the +whole cost, and now it only seemed more vast and awful than upon past +surveys by reason of its nearer approach. Now he speculated curiously upon +the meetings which must follow upon the world's dissolution; and wondered +if those who kill do ever meet and hold converse in hell-fire with their +victims. Then again he fell to writing, and presently completed letters to +his father, his mother, to Mrs. Tregenza and to Mary Chirgwin. These he +left in his apartment, and presently going out into the air, walked, with +no particular aim, until darkness fell. Hunger now prompted him, and he ate +a big meal at a restaurant and drank with his food a pint of ale. +Physically fortified, he returned to his lodging, left upon the table in +his solitary room the sum he would that night owe for the hire of the +chamber, and, then, taking his letters, went out to return no more. A few +clothes, a brush and comb and a small wooden trunk was all he left behind +him. Joe Noy purchased four stamps for his letters and posted them. They +were written as though the murder of John Barron had been already +accomplished, and he thus completed and dispatched them before the event, +because he imagined that, afterward, the power of communicating with his +parents or friends would be denied him. That they might be spared the +horror of learning the news through a public source he wrote it thus, and +knew, as he did so, that to two of his correspondents the intelligence +would come without the full force of a novelty. Thomasin Tregenza and Mary +Chirgwin alike were familiar with his intention at the time of his +departure, and to them he therefore wrote but briefly; his parents, on the +other hand, for all Joe knew to the contrary, might still be ignorant of +the fact that he had come off his cruise. His letters to them were +accordingly of great length; and he set forth therein with the nervous +lucidity of a meager vocabulary the nature of his wrongs and the action +which he had taken under Heaven's guidance to revenge them. He stated +plainly in all four of his missives to Newlyn, Drift and Mousehole that the +artist, John Barron, was shot dead by his hand and that he himself intended +suffering the consequent punishment as became a brave man and the weapon of +the Lord. These notes then he posted, and so went upon his way that he +might fulfill to the letter his written words. + +Following the roads he had studied upon his map and committed to memory, +Noy soon reached Melbury Gardens and presently stood opposite No, 6 and +scanned it. The hour was then ten o'clock and lights were in some of the +windows, but not many. Looking over the area railings, the sailor saw four +servants--two men and two women--eating their supper. He noted, as a +singular circumstance, that there were wineglasses upon the kitchen table +and that they held red liquor and white. + +Noy's design was simple enough. He meant to stand face to face with John +Barron, to explain the nature of the events which had occurred, to tell +him, what it was possible he might not know: that Joan was dead; and then +to inform him that his own days were numbered. Upon these words Joe +designed to shoot the other down like a dog, and to make absolutely certain +of his death by firing the entire contents of the revolver. He expected +that a private interview would be vouchsafed to him if he desired it; and +his intention, after his victim should fall, was to blow the man's brains +out at close quarters before even those nearest at hand could prevent it. +At half-past ten Noy felt that his weapon was in the left breast pocket of +his coat ready for the drawing; then ascended the steps which rose to the +front door of John Barron's dwelling and rang the bell. + +The man-servant whom he had seen through the area railings in the kitchen +came to the door, and, much to Noy's astonishment, accosted him before he +had time to say that he wished to see the master of the house. + +"You've come at last, then," said the man. + +Joe regarded him with surprise, then spoke. + +"I want to see Mr. John Barron, please." + +The other laughed, as if this was an admirable jest. + +"I suppose you do, though that's a queer way to put it. You talk as though +you had come to smoke a cigar along with him." + +In growing amazement and suspicion, Noy listened to this most curious +statement. Fears suddenly awoke that, by some mysterious circumstance, +Barron had learned of his contemplated action and was prepared for it. He +stopped, therefore, looked about him sharply to avoid any sudden surprise, +and put a question to the footman. + +"You spoke as though I was wanted," he said. "What do you mean by that?" + +"Blessed if you're not a rum 'un!" answered the man. "Of course you was +wanted, else you wouldn't be here, would you? You're not a party as calls +promiscuous, I should hope. Else it would be rather trying to delicate +nerves. You're the gentleman as everybody requires some time, though nobody +ever sends for himself." + +Failing to gather the other's meaning, Noy only realized that John Barron +expected some visitor and felt, therefore, the more determined to hasten +his own actions. He saw the footman was endeavoring to be jocose, and +therefore humored him, pretending at the same time to be the individual who +was expected. + +"You're a funny fellow and must often make your master laugh, I should +reckon, Iss, I be the chap what you thought I was. An' I should like to see +him--the guv'nor--at once if he'll see me." + +The footman chuckled again. + +"He'll see you all right. He's been wantin' of you all day, and he'd have +been that dreadful disapp'inted if you 'adn't come. Always awful particular +about his clothes, you know, so mind you're jolly careful about the +measuring 'cause this overcoat will have to last him a long time." + +Taking his cue from these words Noy, still ignorant of the truth, made +answer: "Iss, I'll measure en all right. Wheer is he to?" + +"In the studio--there you are, right ahead. Knock at that baize door and +then walk straight in, 'cause he'll very likely be too much occupied to +answer you. He's quite alone--leastways I believe so. I'll come back in +quarter'n hour; and mind you don't talk no secrets or tell him how I +laughed at him behind his back, else he'd give me the sack for certain." + +The man withdrew, sniggering at his own humor, and Noy, quite unable to see +rhyme or reason in his remarks, stood with an expression of bewilderment +upon his broad face and watched the servant disappear. Then his countenance +changed, and he approached a door covered with red baize at which the +passage terminated. He knocked, waited, and knocked again, straining his +ear to hear the voice he had labored so long to silence. Then he put his +revolver into the side pocket of his coat, and, afterward, following the +footman's directions, pushed open the swing door, which yielded to his +hand. A curtain hung inside it, and, pulling this aside, he entered a +spacious apartment with a glass roof. But scanty light illuminated the +studio from one oil lamp which hung by a chain from a bracket in the wall, +and the rays of which were much dimmed by a red glass shade. Some easels, +mostly empty, stood about the sides of the great chamber; here and there on +the white walls were sketches in charcoal and daubs of paint. A German +stove appeared in the middle of the room, but it was not burning; skins of +beasts scattered the floor; upon one wall hung the "Negresses Bathing at +Tobago." For the rest the room appeared empty. Then, growing accustomed to +the dim red light, Noy made a closer examination until he caught sight of +an object which made him catch his breath violently and hurry forward. +Under the lofty open windows which rose on the northern side of the studio, +remote from all other objects, was a couch, and upon it lay a small, +straight figure shrouded in white sheets save for its face. + +John Barron had been dead twenty-four hours, and he had hastened his own +end, by a space of time impossible to determine, through leaving his +sick-room two days previously, that he might visit the picture gallery +wherein hung "Joe's Ship." It was a step taken in absolute defiance of his +medical men. The day of that excursion had chanced to be a very cold one, +and during the night which followed it John Barron broke a blood vessel and +precipitated his death. Now, in the hands of hirelings, without a friend to +put one flower on his breast or close his dim eyes, the man lay waiting for +an undertaker; and while Joe Noy glared at him, unconsciously gripping the +weapon he had brought, it seemed as though the dead smiled under the red +flicker of the lamp--as though he smiled and prepared to come back into +life to answer this supreme accuser. + +As by an educated mind Joe Noy's estimate and assurance of the eternal +tortures of hell cannot be adequately grasped in its full force, so now it +is hard to set forth with a power sufficiently luminous and terrific the +effect of this discovery upon him. He, the weapon of the Almighty, found +his work finished and the fruits of his labors snatched from his hand. His +enemy had escaped, and the fact that he was dead only made the case harder. +Had Barron hastened from him and avoided his revolver, he could have +suffered it, knowing that the end lay in the future at the determination of +God; but now the end appeared before him accomplished; and it had been +attained without his assistance. His labor was lost and his longed-for, +prayed-for achievement rendered impossible. He stood and scanned the small, +marble-white face, then drew a box of matches from his pocket, lighted one +and looked closer. Worn by disease to mere skin and skull, there was +nothing left to suggest the dead man's wasted powers; and generation of +their own destroyers was the only task now left for his brains. The end of +Noy's match fell red-hot on John Barron's face. Then he turned as footsteps +sounded; the curtains were moved aside and the footman reappeared, followed +by another person. + +"Why, you wasn't the undertaker after all!" he explained. "Did you think +the man was alive? Good Lord! But you've found him anyway." + +"Iss, I thot he was alive. I wanted to see en livin' an' leave en--" he +stopped. Common sense for once had a word with him and convinced him of the +folly of saying anything now concerning his frustrated projects. + +"He died night 'fore last--consumption--and he's left money enough to build +a brace of ironclads, they say, and never no will, and not a soul on God's +earth is there with any legal claim upon him. To tell the truth, we none of +us never liked him." + +"If you'll shaw me the way out into the street, I'll thank 'e," said Noy. +The undertaker was already busy making measurements. Then, a minute later, +Joe found himself standing under the sky again; and the darkness was full +of laughter and of voices, of gibing, jeering noises in unseen throats, of +rapid utterances on invisible tongues. The supernatural things screamed +into his ears that he was damned for a wish and for an intention; then they +shrieked and yelled their derision, and he understood well enough, for the +point of view was not a new one. Given the accomplishment of his desire, he +was prepared to suffer eternally; now eternal suffering must follow on a +wish barren of fruit, and hell for him would be hell indeed, with no +accomplished revenge in memory to lessen the torment. When the voices at +length died and a clock struck one, Noy came to himself, and realized that, +in so far as the present affected him, Fate had brought him back to life +and liberty by a short cut. Then, seeing his position, he asked himself +whether life was long enough to make atonement and even allow of ultimate +escape after death. But the fierce disappointment which beat upon his soul +like a recurring wave, as thought drifted back and back, told him that he +had fairly won hell-fire and must abide by it. + +So thinking, he returned to his lodging, entered unobserved and prowled the +small chamber till dawn. By morning light all his life appeared +transfigured and a ghastly anti-climax faced the man. Presently he +remembered the letters he had posted overnight, and the recollection of +them brought with it sudden resolves and a course of action. + +Half an hour later he had reached Paddington Station, and was soon on his +way back to Cornwall. + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +STARLIGHT AND FROST + + +Born of the sunshine, on a morning in late December, gray ephemerae danced +and dipped and fashioned vanishing patterns against the green of the great +laurel at the corner of Drift farmyard. The mildness of the day had wakened +them into brief life, but even as they twinkled their wings of gauze death +was abroad. A sky of unusual clearness crowned the Cornish moorland, and +Uncle Chirgwin, standing at his kitchen door, already foretold frost, +though the morning was still young. + +"The air's like milk just now, sure 'nough, an' 'twill bide so till noon; +then, when the sun begins to slope, the cold will graw an' graw to frost. +An' no harm done, thank God." + +He spoke to his niece, who was in the room behind him; and as he did so a +circumstance of very unusual nature happened. Two persons reached the front +door of the farm simultaneously, and a maid, answering the double knock, +returned a moment later with two communications, both for Mary Chirgwin. + +"Postman, he brot this here, miss, an' a bwoy from Mouzle brot t'other." + +The first letter came from London, the second, directed in a similar hand, +reached Mary from the adjacent fishing hamlet. She knew the big writing +well enough, but showed no emotion before the maid. In fact her self +command was remarkable, for she put both letters into her pocket and made +some show of continuing her labors for another five minutes before +departing to her room that she might read the news from Joe Noy. + +He, it may be said, had reached Penzance by the same train which conveyed +his various missives, all posted too late for the mail upon the previous +night. Thus he reached the white cottage on the cliff in time to see Mrs. +Tregenza and bid her destroy unread the letter she would presently receive; +and, on returning to his parents, himself took from the letter-carrier his +own communications to them and burned both immediately. He had also +dispatched a boy to Drift that Mary might be warned as to the letter she +would receive by the morning post, but the lad, though ample time was given +him to reach Drift before the postman, loitered by the way. Thus the +letters had arrived simultaneously, and it was quite an open question which +the receiver of them would open first. + +Chance decided: Mary's hand, thrust haphazard into her pocket, came forth +with Hoy's epistle recently dispatched from Mousehole; and that she read, +the accident saving her at least some moments of bitter suffering. + +"Dear Mary," wrote Noy, "you will get this by hand afore the coming in of +the penny post. When that comes in, there will be another letter for you +from me, sent off from London. It is all wrong, so burn it, and don't you +read it on no account. Burn it to ashes, for theer's a many reasons why you +should. I be coming up-long to see you arter dinner, and if you can walk +out in the air with me for a bit I'll thank you so to do. Your friend, J. +Noy. Burn the letter to dust 'fore anything else. Don't let it bide a +minute and doan't tell none you had it." + +Curiosity was no part of Mary Chirgwin's nature. Now she merely thanked +Heaven which had led to the right letter and so enabled her unconsciously +to obey Joe's urgent command. Then she returned to the kitchen, placed his +earlier communication in the heart of the fire and watched while it +blackened, curled, blazed, and finally shuddered down into a red-hot ash. +She determined to see him and walk with him, as he asked, if he returned +with clean hands. While the letter which she had read neither proved nor +disproved such a supposition, the woman yet felt a secret and sure +conviction in her heart that Noy was coming back innocent at least of any +desperate action. That he was in Cornwall again and a free man appeared to +her proof sufficient that he had not committed violence. + +Mary allowed her anxiety to interfere with no duty. By three o'clock she +was ready to set out, and, looking from her bedroom window as she tied on +her hat, she saw Joe Noy approaching up the hill. A minute later she was at +the door, and stood there waiting with her eyes upon him as he came up the +path. Then she looked down, and to the man it seemed as though she was +gazing at his right hand which held a stick. + +"'Tis as it was, Mary Chirgwin--my hands be white," he said. "You needn't +fear, though I promised if you ever seed 'em agin as they'd be red. 'Tedn' +so. I was robbed of my hope, Mary. The Lard took Joan fust; then he took my +revenge from me. His will be done. The man died four-an'-twenty hours 'fore +I found en--just four-an'-twenty lil hours--that was all." + +"Thank the Almighty God for it, Joe, as I shall till the day of my death. +Never was no prayer answered so surely as mine for you." + +"Why, maybe I'll graw to thank God tu when 'tis farther to look back 'pon. +I caan't feel 'tis so yet. I caan't feel as he'm truly dead. An' yet 'twas +no lie, for I seed en, an' stood 'longside of en." + +"God's Hand be everywheer in it. Think if I'd read poor Joan's letter an' +tawld 'e wheer the man's plaace of livin' was!" + +"Iss, then I'd have slain en. 'Tis such lil things do mark out our paths. A +gert pichsher o' Joan he drawed--all done out so large as life; an' I found +it, an' it 'peared as if the dead was riz up again an' staring at me. If +'tis all the saame to you, Mary, us'll go an' look 'pon her graave now, for +I abbun seen it yet." + +They walked in silence for some hundred yards along the lanes to Sancreed. +Then Noy spoke again. + +"How be uncle?" + +"Betwix' an' between. The trouble an' loss o' Joan aged en cruel, an' the +floods has brot things to a close pass. 'Twas the harder for en 'cause all +looked so more'n common healthy an' promisin' right up to the rain. But +he's got the faith as moves mountains; he do knaw that sorrer ban't sent +for nort." + +"An' you? I wonder I'm bowldacious 'nough to look 'e in the faace, but +sorrer's not forgot me neither." + +"'Tis a thing what awver-passes none. I've forgived 'e, Joe Noy, many a +long month past, an' I've prayed to God to lead 'e through this strait, an' +He have." + +"'Tis main hard to knaw what road's the right wan, Mary." + +"Iss fay, an' it is; an' harder yet to follow 'pon it when found." + +"I judged as God was leadin' me against this here evil-doer to destroy en." + +"'Twas the devil misleadin' 'e an' takin' 'e along on his awn dance, till +God saw, an' sent death." + +"Thanks to your prayin', I'll lay." + +"Thanks to the mightiness of His mercy, Joe. 'Twas the God us worships, you +mind, not Him of the Luke Gosp'lers nor any other 'tall. Theer's awnly wan +real, livin' God; an' you left Him for a sham." + +"An' I'm punished for't. Wheer should I turn now? I've thrawed awver your +manner o' worship an' I'm sick o' the Gosp'lers, for 'twas theer God as led +me to this an' brot all my trouble 'pon me. He caan't be no God worth +namin', else how should He a treated that poor limb, Michael Tregenza, same +as He has. That man had sweated for his God day an' night for fifty years. +An' see his reward." + +"Come back, come back to the auld road again, Joe, an' leave the ways o' +God to God. The butivul, braave thing 'bout our road be that wance lost +'tedn' allus lost. You may get night-foundered by the way, yet wi' the +comin' o' light, theer's allus a chance to make up lost ground agin an' +keep gwaine on." + +"A body must b'lieve in somethin', else he'm a rudderless vessel seemin'ly, +but wi' sich a flood of 'pinions 'bout the airth, how's wan sailorman to +knaw what be safe anchorage and what ban't?" + +Mary argued with him in strenuous fashion and increased her vehemence as he +showed signs of yielding. She knew well enough that religion was as +necessary to him in some shape as to herself. + +Already a pageant of winter sunset began to unfold fantastic sheaves of +splendor, and over the horizon line of the western moors the air was +wondrously clear. It faded to intense white light where the uplands cut it, +while, above, the background of the sky was a pure beryl gradually burning +aloft into orange. Here waves of fire beat over golden shores and red +clouds extended as an army in regular column upon column. At the zenith, +billows of scarlet leaped in feathery foam against a purple continent and +the flaming tide extended from reef to reef among a thousand aerial bays +and estuaries of alternating gloom and glow until shrouded and dimmed in an +orange tawny haze of infinite distance. In the immediate foreground of this +majestic display, like a handful of rose-leaves fallen out of heaven, small +clouds floated directly downward, withering to blackness as they neared the +earth and lost the dying fires. Beneath the splendor of the sky the land +likewise flamed, the winding roadways glimmered, and many pools and ditches +reflected back the circumambient glory of the air. + +In a few more minutes, Mary and Joe reached Sancreed churchyard and soon +stood beside the grave of Joan Tregenza. + +"The grass won't close proper till the spring come," said Mary; "then the +turf will grow an' make it vitty; an' uncle's gwaine to set up a good slate +stone wi' the name an' date an' some verses. I planted them primroses 'long +the top myself. If wan abbun gone an' blossomed tu!" + +She stooped to pick a primrose and an opening bud; but Joe stopped her. + +"Doan't 'e pluck 'em. Never take no flowers off of a graave. They'm all the +dead have got." + +"But they'll die, Joe. Theer's frost bitin' in the air already. They'll be +withered come marnin'." + +"No matter for that," he said; "let 'em bide wheer they be." + +The man was silent a while as he looked at the mound. Then he spoke again. + +"Tell me about her. Talk 'bout her doin's an' sayin's. Did she forgive that +man afore she died or dedn' she?" + +"Iss, I reckon so." + +Mary mentioned those things best calculated in her opinion to lighten the +other's sorrow. He nodded from time to time as she spoke, and walked up and +down with his hands behind, him. When she stopped, he asked her to tell him +further facts. Then the light waned under the sycamore trees and only a red +fire still touched their topmost boughs. + +"We'll go now," Noy said. "An' she died believin' just the same as what you +do--eh, Mary?" + +"Uncle's sure of it--positive sartain 'twas so." + +"An' you?" + +"I pray that he was right. Iss fay, I've grawed to b'lieve truly our Joan +was saved, spite of all. I never 'sactly understood her thots, nor she +mine; but she'm in heaven now I do think." + +"If bitterness an' sorrer counts she should be. An' you may take it from me +she is. An' I'll come back, tu, if I may hope for awnly the lowest plaace. +I'll come back an' walk along to church wance agin wi' you, wance 'fore I +goes back to sea. Will 'e let me do that, Mary Chirgwin?" + +"I thank God to hear you say so. You'm welcome to come along wi' me next +Sunday if you mind to." + +"An' now us'll go up the Carn an' look out 'pon the land and see the sun +sink." + +They left the churchyard together, climbed the neighboring eminence and +stood silently at the top, their faces to the West. + +A great pervasive calm and stillness in the air heralded frost. The sky had +grown strangely clear, and only the rack and ruin of the recent imposing +display now huddled into the arms of night on the eastern horizon. The sun, +quickly dropping, loomed mighty and fiery red. Presently it touched the +horizon, and its progress, unappreciated in the sky, became accentuated by +the rim of the world. A semi-circle of fire, a narrowing segment, a splash, +throbbing like a flame--then it had vanished, and light waned until there +trembled out the radiance of a brief after-glow. Already the voices of the +frost began to break the earth's silence. In the darkness of woods it was +busy casing the damp mosses in ice, binding the dripping outlets of hidden +water, whispering with infinitely delicate sound as it flung forth its +needles, the mother of ice, and suffered them to spread like tiny sudden +fingers on the face of freezing water. From the horizon the brightness of +the zodiacal light streamed mysteriously upward into the depth of heaven, +dimming the stars. But the brightness of them grew in splendor and +brilliancy as increasing cold gripped the world; and while the stealthy +feet of the frost raced and tinkled like a fairy tune, the starlight +flashed upon its magic silver, powdered its fabrics with light and pointed +its crystal triumphs with fire. Thus starlight and frost fell upon the +forest and the Cornish moor, beneath the long avenues of silence, and over +all the unutterable blackness of granite and dead heather. The earth slept +and dreamed dreams, as the chain of the cold tightened; all the earth +dreamed fair dreams, in night and nakedness; dreams such as forest trees +and lone elms, meadows and hills, moors and valleys, great heaths and the +waste, secret habitations of Nature, one and all do dream: of the passing +of another winter and the on-coming of another spring. + + + + +THE END. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lying Prophets, by Eden Phillpotts + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYING PROPHETS *** + +***** This file should be named 7968-8.txt or 7968-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/6/7968/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Eric +Casteleijn and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Lying Prophets + +Author: Eden Phillpotts + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7968] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on June 7, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYING PROPHETS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Eric Casteleijn +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +LYING PROPHETS + +_A NOVEL_ + +BY EDEN PHILLPOTTS + +_Author of "Down Dartmoor Way," "Some Everyday Folks" "The End of a +Life," etc. + +"'Tis like this: your man did take plain Nature for God, an' he did talk +fulishness 'bout finding Him in the scent o' flowers, the hum o' bees an' +sichlike. Mayhap Nature's a gude working God for a selfish man but she ed'n +wan for a maid, as you knaws by now. Then your faither--his God do sit +everlastingly alongside hell-mouth, an' do laugh an' girn to see all the +world a walkin' in, same as the beasts walked in the Ark. Theer's another +picksher of a God for 'e; but mark this, gal, they be lying prophets--lying +prophets both!"--Book II., Chapter XI._ + + + + + + +BOOK ONE + +_ART_ + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +NEWLYN + + +Away beyond the village stands a white cottage with the sea lapping at low +cliffs beneath it. Plum and apple orchards slope upward behind this +building, and already, upon the former trees, there trembles a snowy gauze +where blossom buds are breaking. Higher yet, dark plowed fields, with +hedges whereon grow straight elms, cover the undulations of a great hill +even to its windy crest, and below, at the water line, lies Newlyn--a +village of gray stone and blue, with slate roofs now shining silver-bright +under morning sunlight and easterly wind. Smoke softens every outline; +red-brick walls and tanned sails bring warmth and color through the blue +vapor of many chimneys; a sun-flash glitters at this point and that, +denoting here a conservatory, there a studio. Enter this hive and you shall +find a network of narrow stone streets; a flutter of flannel underwear, or +blue stockings, and tawny garments drying upon lines; little windows, some +with rows of oranges and ginger-beer bottles in them; little shops; little +doors, at which cluster little children and many cats, the latter mostly +tortoise-shell and white. Infants watch their elders playing marbles in the +roadway, and the cats stretch lazy bodies on the mats, made of old +fishing-net, which lie at every cottage door. Newlyn stands on slight +elevations above the sea level, and at one point the road bends downward, +breaks and fringes the tide, leading among broken iron, rusty anchors, and +dismantled fishing-boats, past an ancient buoy whose sides now serve the +purposes of advertisement and tell of prayer-meetings, cheap tea, and so +forth. Hard by, the mighty blocks of the old breakwater stand, their fabric +dating from the reign of James I., and taking the place of one still older. +But the old breakwater is no more than a rialto for ancient gossips now; +and far beyond it new piers stretch encircling arms of granite round a new +harbor, southward of which the lighthouse stands and winks his sleepless +golden eye from dusk to dawn. Within this harbor, when the fishing fleet is +at home, lie jungles of stout masts, row upon row, with here and there a +sail, carrying on the color of the plowed fields above the village, and +elsewhere, scraps of flaming bunting flashing like flowers in a reed bed. +Behind the masts, along the barbican, the cottages stand close and thick, +then clamber and straggle up the acclivities behind, decreasing in their +numbers as they ascend. Smoke trails inland on the wind--black as a thin +crepe veil, from the funnel of a coal "tramp" about to leave the harbor, +blue from the dry wood burning on a hundred cottage hearths. A smell of +fish--where great split pollocks hang drying in the sun--of tar and tan and +twine--where nets and cordage lie spread upon low walls and open +spaces--gives to Newlyn an odor all its own; but aloft, above the village +air, spring is dancing, sweet-scented, light-footed in the hedgerows, +through the woods and on the wild moors which stretch inland away. There +the gold of the gorse flames in many a sudden sheet and splash over the +wastes whereon last year's ling-bloom, all sere and gray, makes a +sad-colored world. But the season's change is coming fast. Celandines +twinkle everywhere, and primroses, more tardy and more coy, already open +wondering eyes. The sea lies smooth with a surface just wind-kissed and +strewed with a glory of sun-stars. Away to the east, at a point from which +brown hills, dotted with white dwellings, tend in long undulations to the +cliffs of the Lizard, under fair clouds all banked and sunny white against +the blue, rises St. Michael's Mount, with a man's little castle capping +Nature's gaunt escarpments and rugged walls. Between Marazion and Newlyn +stretches Mount's Bay; while a mile or two of flat sea-front, over which, +like a string of pearls, roll steam clouds, from a train, bring us to +Penzance. Then--noting centers of industry where freezing works rise and +smelting of ore occupies many men (for Newlyn labors at the two extremes of +fire and ice)--we are back in the fishing village again and upon the +winding road which leads therefrom, first to Penlee Point and the +blue-stone quarry, anon to the little hamlet of Mousehole beyond. + +Beside this road lay our white cottage, with the sunshine lighting up a +piece of new golden thatch let into the old gray, and the plum-trees behind +it bursting into new-born foam of flowers. Just outside it, above the low +cliff, stood two men looking down into the water, seen dark green below +through a tangle of brier and blackthorn and emerald foliage of budding +elder. The sea served base uses here, for the dust and dirt of many a +cottage was daily cast into the lap of the great scavenger who carried all +away. The low cliffs were indeed spattered with filth, and the coltsfoot, +already opening yellow blossoms below, found itself rudely saluted with +cinders and potato-peelings, fishes' entrails, and suchlike unlovely +matter. + +The men were watching a white fleet of bird boats paddling on the sea, +hurrying this way and that, struggling--with many a plunge and flutter and +plaintive cry--for the food a retreating tide was bearing from the shore. + +"'White spirits and gray,' I call them," said the younger of the two +spectators. "The gulls fascinate me always. They are beautiful to see and +hear and paint. Swimming there, and wheeling between the seas in rough +weather, or hanging almost motionless in midair with their heads turning +first this way, then that, and their breasts pressed against the wind-- +why, they are perfect always, the little winged gods of the sea." + +"Gods kissing carrion," sneered the other. "Beautiful enough, no doubt, but +their music holds no charm for me. Nothing is quite beautiful which has for +its cause something ugly. Those echoing cries down there are the expression +of a greedy struggle, no more. I hate your Newlyn gulls. They are ruined, +like a thousand other wild things, by civilization. I see them scouring the +fields and hopping after the plowman like upland crows. A Cornish seabird +should fight its battle with the sea and find its home in the heart of the +dizzy cliffs, sharing them with the samphire. But your 'white spirits and +gray' behave like gutter-fed ducks." + +The first speaker laughed and both strolled upon their way. They were +artists, but while Edmund Murdoch dwelt at Newlyn and lived by his +profession, the older man, John Barron, was merely on a visit to the place. +He had come down for change and with no particular intention to work. +Barron was wealthy and wasted rare talents. He did not paint much, and the +few who knew his pictures deplored the fact that no temporal inducement +called upon him to handle his brush oftener. A few excused him on the plea +of his health, which was at all times indifferent, but he never excused +himself. It needed something far from the beaten track to inspire him, and +inspiration was rare. But let a subject once grip him and the artist's life +centered and fastened upon it until his work was done. He sacrificed +everything at such a time; he slaved; labor was to him as a debauch to the +drunkard, and he wearied body and mind and counted his health nothing while +the frenzy held him. Then, his picture finished, at the cost of the man's +whole store of nervous energy and skill, he would probably paint no more +for many months. His subject was always some transcript from nature, +wrought out with almost brutal vigor and disregard of everything but truth. +His looks belied his work curiously. A small, slight man he was, with +sloping shoulders and the consumptive build. But the breadth of his head +above the ears showed brain, and his gray eyes spoke a strength of purpose +upon which a hard, finely-modeled mouth set the seal. Once he had painted +in the West Indies: a picture of two negresses bathing at Tobago. Behind +them hung low tangles of cactus, melo-cactus and white-blossomed orchid; +while on the tawny rocks glimmered snowy cotton splashed with a crimson +turban; but the marvel of the work lay in the figures and the refraction of +their brown limbs seen through crystal-clear water. The picture brought +reputation to a man who cared nothing for it; and Barron's "Bathing +Negresses" are only quoted here because they illustrate his method of work. +He had painted from the sea in a boat moored fore and aft; he had kept the +two women shivering and whining in the water for two hours at a time. They +could not indeed refuse the gold he offered for their services, but one +never lived to enjoy the money, for her prolonged ablutions in the cause of +art killed her a week after her work was done. + +John Barren was a lonely sybarite with a real love for Nature and +absolutely primitive instincts with regard to his fellow-creatures. The +Land's End had disappointed him; he had found Nature neither grand nor +terrific there, but sleepy and tame as a cat after a full meal. Nor did he +derive any pleasure from the society of his craft at Newlyn. He hated the +clatter of art jargon, he flouted all schools, and pointed out what nobody +doubts now: that the artists of the Cornish village in reality represented +nothing but a community of fellow-workers, all actuated indeed by love of +art, but each developing his own bent without thought for his neighbor's +theory. Barron indeed made some enemies before he had been in the place a +week, and the greater lights liked him none the better for vehemently +disclaiming the honor when they told him he was one of themselves. "The +shape of a brush does not make men paint alike," he said, "else we were all +equal and should only differ in color. Some of you can no more paint with a +square brush than you can with a knife. Some of you could not paint though +your palettes were set with Nature's own sunset colors. And others of you, +if you had a rabbit's scut at the end of a hop-pole and the gray mud from a +rain puddle, would produce work worth considering. You are a community of +painters--some clever, some hopeless--but you are not a school, and you may +thank God for it." + +John Barron was rough tonic, but the fearless little man generally found an +audience at the end of the day in this studio or that. The truth of much +that he said appealed to the lofty-minded and serious; his dry cynicism, +savage dislike of civilization, and frank affection for Nature, attracted +others. He hit hard, but he never resented rough knocks in return, and no +man had seen him out of temper with anything but mysticism and the art bred +therefrom. Upon the whole, however, his materialism annoyed more than his +wit amused. + +Upon the evening which followed his insult to the Newlyn gulls, Barron, +with Edmund Murdoch and some other men, was talking in the studio of one +Brady, known to fame as the "Wrecker," from his love for the artistic +representation of maritime disaster. Barron liked this man, for he was +outspoken and held vigorous views, but the two quarreled freely. + +"Fate was a fool when she chucked her presents into the lap of a lazy +beggar like you," said Brady, addressing the visitor. "And thrice a fool," +he added, "to assort her gifts so ill." + +"Fate is a knave, a mad thing playing at cat's cradle with the threads of +our wretched little lives," answered John Barron, "she is a coward--a +bully. She hits the hungry below the belt; she heaps gold into the lap of +the old man, but not till he has already dug his own grave to come at it; +she gives health to those who must needs waste all their splendid strength +on work; and wealth to worthless beings like myself who are always ailing +and who never spend a pound with wisdom. Make no dark cryptic mystery of +Fate when you paint her. She looks to me like a mischievous monkey poking +sticks into an ant-hill." + +"She's a woman," said Murdoch. + +"She's three," corrected Brady; "what can you expect from three women +rolled into one?" + +"Away with her! Waste no incense at her shrine. She'll cut the thread no +sooner because you turn your back on her." Fling overboard your +mythologies, dead and alive, and kneel to Nature. A budding spike of wild +hyacinth is worth all the gods put together. Go hand in hand with Nature, I +say. Ask nothing from her; walk humbly; be well content if she lets you but +turn the corner of one page none else have read. That's how I live. My life +is not a prayer exactly--" + +"I should say not," interrupted Brady. + +"But a hymn of praise--a purely impersonal existence, lived all alone, like +a man at a prison window. This carcass, with its shaky machinery and +defective breathing apparatus, is the prison. I look out of the window till +the walls crumble away--" + +"And then?" asked one Paul Tarrant, a painter who prided himself on being a +Christian as well. + +"Then, the spark which I call myself, goes back to Nature, as the cloud +gives the raindrop back to the sea from whence the sun drew it." + +"A lie, man!" answered the other hotly. + +"Perhaps. It matters nothing. God--if there be a God--will not blame me for +making a mistake. Meantime I live like the rook and the thrush. They never +pray, they praise, they sing 'grace before meat' and after it, as Nature +taught them." + +"A simple child of Nature--beautiful spectacle," said Brady. "But I'm sorry +all the same," he continued, "that you've found nothing in Cornwall to keep +you here and make you do some work. You talk an awful deal of rot, but we +want to see you paint. Isn't there anything or anybody worthy of you here?" + +"As a matter of face, I've found a girl," said Barron. + +There was a clamor of excitement at this news, above which Brady's bull +voice roared approval. + +"Proud girl, proud parents, proud Newlyn!" he bellowed. + +"The mood ripens too," continued Barren quietly. "'Sacrifice all the world +to mood' is my motto. So I shall stop and paint." + +A moment later derisive laughter greeted Barron's decision, for Murdoch, in +answer to a hail of questions, announced the subject of his friend's +inspiration. + +"We strolled round this morning and saw Joan Tregenza in an iron hoop with +a pail of water slung at either hand." + +"So your picture begins and ends where it is, Barron, my friend; in your +imagination. Did it strike you when you first saw that vision of loveliness +in dirty drab that she was hardly the girl to have gone unpainted till +now?" asked Brady. + +"The possibility of previous pictures is hardly likely to weigh with me. +Why, I would paint a drowned sailor if the subject attracted me, and that +though you have done it," answered the other, nodding toward a big canvas +in the corner, where Brady's picture for the year approached completion. + +"My dear chap, we all worship Joan--at a distance. She is not to be +painted. Tears and prayers are useless. She has a flinty father--a +fisherman, who looks upon painting as a snare of the devil and sees every +artist already wriggling on the trident in his mind's eye. Joan has also a +lover, who would rather behold her dead than on canvas." + +"In fact these Methodist folk take us to be what you really are," said +Brady bluntly. "Old Tregenza tars us every one with the same brush. We are +lost sinners all." + +"Well, why trouble him? A fisherman would have his business on the sea. +Candidly, I must paint her. The wish grows upon me." + +"Even money you don't get as much as a, sketch," said Murdoch. + +"Have any of you tried approaching her directly, instead of her relations?" + +"She's as shy as a hawk, man." + +"That makes me the more hopeful. You fellows, with your Tam o' Shanters and +aggressive neckties and knickerbockers and calves, would frighten the +devil. I'm shy myself. If she's natural, then we shall possibly understand +each other." + +"I'll bet you ten to one in pounds you won't have your wish," said Brady. + +"No, shan't bet. You're all so certain. Probably I shall find myself beaten +like the rest of you. But it's worth trying. She's a pretty thing." + +"How will you paint her if you get the chance?" + +"Don't know yet. I should like to paint her in a wolf-skin with a thread of +wolf's teeth round her neck and a celt-headed spear in her hand." + +"Art will be a loser by the pending repulse," declared Brady. "And now, as +my whisky-bottle's empty and my lamp going out, you chaps can follow its +example whenever you please." + +So the men scattered into a starry night, and went, each his way, through +the streets of the sleeping village. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +IN A HALO OF GOLD + + +Edmund Murdoch's studio stood high on Newlyn hill, and Barron had taken +comfortable rooms in a little lodging-house close beside it. The men often +enjoyed breakfast in each other's company, but on the following morning, +when Murdoch strolled over to see his friend, he found that his rooms were +empty. + +Barron, in fact, was already nearly a mile from Newlyn, and, at the moment +when the younger artist sought him, he stood upon a footpath which ran +through plowed fields to the village of Paul. In the bottom of his mind ran +a current of thought occupied with the problem of Joan Tregenza, but, +superficially, he was concerned with the spring world in which he walked. +He stood where Nature, like Artemis, appeared as a mother of many breasts. +Brown and solemn in their undulations, they rose about and around him to +the sky-line, where the land cut sharply against a pale blue heaven from +which tinkled the music of larks. He watched a bird wind upward in a spiral +to its song throne; he noted the young wheat brushing the earth with a veil +of green; he dawdled where elms stood, their high tops thick with blossom; +and he delayed for full fifteen minutes to see the felling of one giant +tree. A wedge-shaped cut had been made upon the side where the great elm +was to fall, and, upon the other side, two men were sawing through the +trunk. There was no sound but the steady hiss of steel teeth gnawing inch +by inch to the wine-red heart of the tree. Sunshine glimmered on its leafy +crown, and as yet distant branch and bough knew nothing of the midgets and +Death below. + +Barron took pleasure in seeing the great god Change at work, but he mourned +in that a masterpiece, on which Nature had bestowed half a century and more +of love, must now vanish. + +"A pity," he said, while the executioners rested a few moments from their +labors, "a pity to cut down such a noble tree." + +One woodman laughed, and the other--an old rustic, brown and bent--made +answer: + +"I sez 'dang the tree!' Us doan't take no joy in thrawin' en, mister. I be +bedoled wi' pain, an' this 'ere sawin's just food for rheumatiz. My back's +that bad. But Squire must 'ave money, an' theer's five hundred pounds' +value o' ellum comin' down 'fore us done wi' it." + +The saw won its way; and between each spell of labor, the ancient man held +his back and grumbled. + +"Er's Billy Jago," confided the second laborer to Barron, when his +companion had turned aside to get some steel wedges and a sledge-hammer. +"Er's well-knawn in these paarts--a reg'lar cure. Er used tu work up Drift +wi' Mister Chirgwin." + +Billy added two wedges to those already hammered into the saw-cut, then, +with the sledge, he drove them home and finished his task. The sorrowful +strokes rang hollow and mournful over the land, sadder to Barron's ear than +fall of earth-clod on coffin-lid. And, upon the sound, a responsive shiver +and uneasy tremor ran through trunk and bough to topmost twig of the elm--a +sudden sense, as it seemed, of awful evil and ruin undreamed of, but now +imminent. Then the monster staggered and the midget struck his last blow +and removed himself and his rheumatism. Whereupon began that magnificent +descent. Slowly, with infinitely solemn sweep, the elm's vast height swung +away from its place, described a wide aerial arc, and so, with the jolting +crash and rattle of close thunder, roared headlong to the earth, casting up +a cloud of dust, plowing the grass with splintered limbs, then lying very +still. From glorious tree to battered log it sank. No man ever saw more +instant wreck and ruin fall lightning-like on a fair thing. The mass was +crushed flat and shapeless by its own vast weight, and the larger boughs, +which did not touch the earth, were snapped short off by the concussion of +their fall. + +Billy Jago held his back and whined while Barron spoke, as much to himself +as the woodman. + +"Dear God!" he said, "to think that this glory of the hedge-row--this +kingdom of song birds--should come to the making of pauper coffins and +lodging-house furniture!" + +"Squire must have money; an' folks must have coffins," said Billy. "You can +sleep your last sleep so sound in ellum as you can in oak, for that +matter." + +Feeling the truth of the assertion, Barron admitted it, then turned his +back on the fallen king and pursued his way with thoughts reverting to the +proposed picture. There was nothing to alarm Joan Tregenza about him; which +seemed well, as he meant to approach the girl herself at the first +opportunity, and not her parents. Barron did not carry "artist" stamped +upon him. He was plainly attired in a thick tweed suit and wore a cap of +the same material. The man appeared insignificantly small. He was +clean-shaved and looked younger than his five-and-thirty years seen a short +distance off, but older when you stood beside him. He strolled now onward +toward the sea, and his cheeks took some color from the fine air. He walked +with a stick and carried a pair of field-glasses in a case slung over his +shoulder. The field-glasses had become a habit with him, but he rarely used +them, for his small slate-colored eyes were keen. + +Once and again John Barron turned to look at St. Michael's Mount, seen afar +across the bay. The magic of morning made it beautiful and the great pile +towered grandly through a sunny haze. No detail disturbed the eye under +this effect of light, and the mount stood vast, dim, golden, magnified and +glorified into a fairy palace of romance built by immortal things in a +night. Seen thus, it even challenged the beholder's admiration, of which he +was at all times sparing. Until that hour, he had found nothing but +laughter for this same mount, likening the spectacle of it, with its castle +and cottages, now to a senile monarch with moth-eaten ermine about his toes +and a lop-sided crown on his head, now to a monstrous sea-snail creeping +shoreward. + +Barron, having walked down the hill to Mouse-hole, breasted slowly the +steep acclivity which leads therefrom toward the west. Presently he turned, +where a plateau of grass sloped above the cliffs into a little theater of +banks ablaze with gorse. And here his thoughts and the image they were +concerned with perished before reality. Framed in a halo of golden furze, +her hands making a little penthouse above her brow, and in her blue eyes +the mingled hue of sea and sky, stood a girl looking out at the horizon. +The bud of a wondrous fair woman she was, and Barron saw her slim yet +vigorous figure accentuated under its drab-brown draperies by a kindly +breeze. He noted the sweet, childish freshness of her face, her plump arms +filling the sleeves of rusty black, and her feet in shoes too big for them. +Her hair was hidden under a linen sun-bonnet, but one lock had escaped, and +he noted that it was the color of wheat ripe for the reaping. He regretted +it had not been darker, but observed that it chimed well enough with the +flaming flowers behind it. And then he frankly praised Nature in his heart +for sending her servant such a splendid harmony in gold and brown. There +stood his picture in front of him. He gazed a brief second only, and then +his quick mind worked to find what human interest had brought Joan Tregenza +to this place and turned her eyes to the sea. It might be that herein +existed the possibility of the introduction he desired. He felt that +victory probably depended on the events of the next two or three minutes. +He owed a supreme effort of skill and tact to Fate, which had thus +befriended him, and he rose to the occasion. + +The girl looked up as he came suddenly upon her, but his eyes were already +away and fixed upon the horizon before she turned. Observing that he was +not regarding her, she put up her hands again and continued to scan the +remote sea-line where a thin trail of dark smoke told of a steamer, itself +apparently invisible. Barron took his glasses from their case, and seeing +that the girl made no movement of departure, acted deliberately, and +presently began to watch a fleet of brown sails and black hulls putting +forth from the little harbor below. Then, without looking at her or taking +his eyes from the glasses, he spoke. + +"Would you kindly tell me what those small vessels are below there just +setting out to sea?" he asked. + +The girl started, looked round, and, realizing that he had addressed her, +made answer: + +"They'm Mouzle [Footnote: _Mouzle_--Mousehole.] luggers, sir." + +"Luggers, are they? Thank you. And where are they sailing to? Do you know?" + +"Away down-long, south'ard o' the Scillies mostly, arter mackerl. Theer's a +power o' mackerl bein' catched just now--thousands an' thousands--but some +o' they booats be laskin'--that's just fishin' off shore." + +"Ah, a busy time for the fishermen." + +"Iss, 'tis." + +"Thank you. Good-morning." + +"Good-marnin', sir." + +He started as though to continue his walk along the cliffs beyond the +plateau and the gorse; then he stopped suddenly, actuated, as it seemed, by +a chance thought, and turned back to the girl. She was looking out to sea +again. + +"By the way," he said, unconcernedly, and with no suggestion that anything +in particular was responsible for his politeness. "I see you are on the +lookout there for something. You may have my glass a moment, if you like, +before I go on. They bring the ships very close." + +The girl flushed with shy pleasure and seemed a little uncertain what to +answer. Barron, meanwhile, showed no trace of a smile, but looked bored if +anything, and, with a serious face, handed her the glass, then walked a +little way off. He was grave and courteous, but made no attempt at +friendship. He had noticed when Joan smiled that her teeth were fine, and +that her full face, though sweet enough, was a shade too plump. + +"Thank 'e kindly, sir," she said, taking the glass. "You see theer's a gert +ship passin' down Channel, an'--an' my Joe's aboard 'er, an' they'm bound +for furrin' paarts, an' I promised as I'd come to this here horny-winky +[Footnote: _Horny-winky_--Lonely. Fit place for horny-winks.] plaace to get +a last sight o' the vessel if I could." He made no answer, and, after a +pause, she spoke again. + +"I caan't see naught, but that's my fault, p'raps, not bein' used to sich +things." + +"Let me try and find the ship," he said, taking the glass, which he had put +out of focus purposely. Then, while scanning the horizon where he had noted +the smoke-trail, he spoke, his head turned from her. + +"Who's Joe, if I may ask? Your brother, I daresay?" + +"No, sir; Joe'm my sweetheart." + +"There's a big three-masted ship being taken down the Channel by a small +steamer." + +"Ah! then I reckon that's the 'Anna,' 'cause Joe said 'twas tolerable +certain they'd be in tow of a tug." + +"You can see the smoke on the edge of the sea. Look below it." + +He handed the glasses to her again and heard a little laugh of delight +break from her lips. The surprise of the suddenly-magnified spectacle, +visible only as a shadow to the naked eye, brought laughter; and Barron, +now that the girl's attention was occupied, had leisure to look at her. She +was more than a pretty cottage maid, and possessed some distinction and +charm. There was a delicacy about her too--a sweet turn of lip, a purity of +skin, a set of limb--which gave the lie to her rough speech. She was all +Saxon to look at, with nothing of the Celt about her excepting her name and +the old Cornish words upon her lips. Those he rejoiced in, for they showed +that she still remained a free thing, primitive, innocent of School Boards, +or like frost-biting influences. + +Barron took mental notes. Joan Tregenza was a careless young woman, it +seemed. Her dress had a button or two missing in front, and a safety-pin +had taken their place. Her drab skirt was frayed a little and patched in +one corner with a square of another material. But the colors were well +enough, from the artist's point of view. He noted also that the girl's +stockings were darned and badly needed further attention, for above her +right shoe-heel a white scrap of Joan was visible. Her hands were a little +large, but well shaped; her pose was free and fine, though the +field-glasses spoiled the picture and the sun-bonnet hid the contour of her +head. + +"So you walked out from Mouzle to see the last of Joe's ship?" he asked, +quite seriously and with no light note in his voice. + +"From Newlyn. I ed'n a Mouzle maid," she answered. + +"Is the 'Anna' coming home again soon?" + +"No, sir. Her's bound for the Gulf of Californy, round t'other side the +world, Joe sez. He reckons to be back agin' come winter." + +"That's a long time." + +"Iss, 'tis." + +But there was no sentiment about the answer. Joan gazed without a shadow of +emotion at the vanishing ship, and alluded to the duration of her +sweetheart's absence in a voice that never trembled. Then she gave the +glass back to Barron with many thanks, and evidently wanted to be gone, but +stopped awkwardly, not quite knowing how to depart. + +Meanwhile, showing no further cognizance of her, Barron took the glasses +himself and looked at the distant ship. + +"A splendid vessel," he said. "I expect you have a picture of her, haven't +you?" + +"No," she answered, "but I've got a lil ship Joe cut out o' wood an' +painted butivul. Awnly that's another vessel what Joe sailed in afore." + +"I'll tell you what I'll do," he said, "because you were good enough to +explain all about the fishing-boats. I'll make a tiny picture of the 'Anna' +and paint it and give it to you." + +But the girl took fright instantly. + +"You'm a artist, then?" she said, with alarm in her face and voice. + +He shook his head. + +"No, no. Do I look like an artist? I'm only a stranger down here for a day +or two. I paint things sometimes for my own amusement, that's all." + +"Pickshers?" + +"They are not worth calling pictures. Just scraps of the sea and trees and +cliffs and sky, to while away the time and remind me of beautiful things +after I have left them." + +"You ban't a artist ezacally, then?" + +"Certainly not. Don't you like artists?" + +"Faither don't. He'm a fisherman an' caan't abear many things as happens in +the world. An' not artists. Genlemen have arsked him to let 'em take my +picksher, 'cause they've painted a good few maidens to Newlyn; an' some of +'em wanted to paint faither as well; but he up an' sez 'No!' short. +Paintin's vanity 'cordin' to faither, same as they flags an' cannels an' +moosic to Newlyn church is vanity. Most purty things is vanity, faither +reckons." + +"I'm sure he's a wise man. And I think he's right, especially about the +candles and flags in church. And now I must go on my walk. Let me see, +shall I bring you the little picture of Joe's ship here? I often walk out +this way." + +He assumed she would take the picture, and now she feared to object. +Moreover, such a sketch would be precious in her eyes. + +"Maybe 'tis troublin' of 'e, sir?" + +"I've promised you. I always keep my word. I shall be here to-morrow about +mid-afternoon, because it is lonely and quiet and beautiful. I'm going to +try and paint the gorse, all blazing so brightly against the sky." + +"Them prickly fuzz-bushes?" + +"Yes; because they are very beautiful." + +"But they'm everywheres. You might so well paint the bannel [Footnote: +_Bannel_--Broom.] or the yether on the moors, mightn't 'e?" + +"They are beautiful, too. Remember, I shall have Joe's ship for you +to-morrow." + +He nodded without smiling, and turned away until a point of the gorse had +hidden her from sight. Then he sat down, loaded his pipe, and reflected. + +"'Joe's ship,'" he said to himself, "a happy title enough." + +And meantime the girl had looked after him with wonder and some amusement +in her eyes, had rubbed her chin reflectively--a habit caught from her +father--and had then scampered off smiling to herself. + +"What a funny gent," she thought, "never laughs nor nothin'. An' I judged +he was a artist! But wonnerful kind, an' wonnerful queer, wi' it, sure +'nough." + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +THE TREGENZAS + + +Joan Tregenza lived in a white cottage already mentioned: that standing +just beyond Newlyn upon a road above the sea. The cot was larger than it +appeared from the road and extended backward into an orchard of plum and +apple-trees. The kitchen which opened into this garden was stone-paved, +cool, comfortable, sweet at all times with the scent of wood smoke, and +frequently not innocent of varied fishy odors. But Newlyn folk suck in a +smell of fish with their mothers' milk. 'Tis part of the atmosphere of +home. + +When Joan returned from her visit to Gorse Point, she found a hard-faced +woman, thin of figure, with untidy hair, wrinkled brow and sharp features, +engaged about a pile of washing in the garden at the kitchen-door. Mrs. +Tregenza heard the girl arrive, and spoke without lifting her little gray +eyes from the clothes. Her voice was hard and high and discontented, like +that of one who has long bawled into a deaf man's ear and is weary of it. + +"Drabbit you! Wheer you bin? Allus trapsing out when you'm wanted; allus +caddlin' round doin' nothin' when you ban't. I s'pose you think breakfus' +can be kep' on the table till dinner, washing-day or no?" + +"I don't want no breakfus', then. I tuke some bread an' drippin' long with +me. Wheer's Tom to?" + +"Gone to schule this half-hour. 'Tis nine o'clock an' past. Wheer you bin, +I sez? 'Tain't much in your way to rise afore me of a marnin'." + +"Out through Mouzle to Gorse P'int to see Joe's ship pass by; an' I seen en +butivul." + +"Thank the Lard he's gone. Now, I s'pose, theer'll be a bit peace in the +house, an' you'll bide home an' work. My fingers is to the bone day an' +night." + +"He'll be gone a year purty nigh." + +"Well, the harder you works, the quicker the time'll pass by. Theer's +nuthin' to grizzle at. Sea-farin' fellers must be away most times. But he'm +a good, straight man, an' you'm tokened to en, an' that's enough. Bide +cheerful an' get the water for washin'. If they things of faither's bant +dry come to-morrer, he'll knaw the reason why." + +Joan accepted Mrs. Tregenza's comfort philosophically, though her +sweetheart's departure had not really caused her any emotion. She visited +the larder, drank a cup of milk, and then, fetching an iron hoop and +buckets, went to a sunken barrel outside the cottage door, into which, from +a pipe through the road-bank, tumbled a silver thread of spring water. + +Of the Tregenza household a word must needs be spoken. Joan's own mother +had died twelve years ago, and the anxious-natured woman who took her place +proved herself a good step-parent enough. Despite a disposition prone to +worry and to dwell upon the small tribulations of life, Thomasin Tregenza +was not unhappy, for her husband enjoyed prosperity and a reputation for +godliness unequaled in Newlyn. A great, weather-worn, gray, hairy man was +he, with a big head and a furrowed cliff of a forehead that looked as +though it had been carved by its Creator from Cornish granite. Tregenza +indeed might have stood for a typical Cornish fisher--or a Breton. Like +enough, indeed, he had old Armorican blood in his veins, for many hundreds +of Britons betook themselves to ancient Brittany when the Saxon invasion +swept the West, and many afterward returned, with foreign wives, to the +homes of their fathers. Michael Tregenza had found religion, of a sort +fiery and unlovely enough, but his convictions were definite, with +iron-hard limitations, and he looked coldly and without pity on a damned +world, himself saved. Gray Michael had no sympathy with sin and less with +sinners. He found the devil in most unexpected quarters and was always +dragging him out of surprising hiding-places and exhibiting him +triumphantly, as a boy might show a bird's egg or butterfly. His devil +dwelt at penny readings, at fairs and festivals, in the brushes of the +artists, in a walk on a Sunday afternoon undertaken without a definite +object, sometimes in a primrose given by a boy to a girl. Of all these +bitter, self-righteous, censorious little sects which raise each its own +ladder to the Throne of Grace at Newlyn, the Luke Gospelers was the most +bitter, most self-righteous, most censorious. And of all those burning +lights which reflected the primitive savagery of the Pentateuch from that +fold, Gray Michael's beacon flamed the fiercest and most bloody red. There +was not a Gospeler, including the pastor of the flock, but feared the +austere fisherman while admiring him. + +Concerning his creed, at the risk of wearying you, it must be permitted to +speak here; for only by grasping its leading features and its vast +unlikeness to the parent tree can a just estimate of Michael Tregenza be +arrived at. Luke Gospeldom had mighty little to do with the Gospel of Luke. +The sect numbered one hundred and thirty-four just persons, at war with +principalities and powers. They were saturated with the spirit of Israel in +the Wilderness, of Esau, when every man's hand was against him. At their +chapel one heard much of Jehovah, the jealous God, of the burning lakes and +the damnation reserved for mankind, as a whole. Every Luke Gospeler was a +Jehovah in his own right. They walked hand in hand with God; they realized +the dismay and indignation Newlyn must occasion in His breast; they +sympathized heartily with the Everlasting and would have called down fire +from Heaven themselves if they could. Many openly wondered that He delayed +so long, for, from a Luke Gospeler's point of view, the place with its +dozen other chapels--each held in error by the rest, and all at deadly war +among themselves--its most vile ritualistic church of St. Peter, its +public-houses, scandals, and strifes, was riper for destruction than Sodom. +However, the hundred and thirty-four served to stave off celestial +brimstone, as it seemed. + +It is pitiable, in the face of the majestic work of John Wesley in +Cornwall, to see the shattered ruins of it which remain. When the Wesleys +achieved their notable revival and swept off the dust of a dead Anglicanism +which covered religious Cornwall like a pall in the days of the Georges, +the old Celtic spirit, though these heroes found it hard enough to +rekindle, burst from its banked-up furnaces at last and blazed abroad once +more. That spirit had been bred by the saint bishops of Brito-Celtic days, +and Wesley's ultimate success was a grand repetition of history, as extant +records of the ancient use of the Church in Cornwall prove. Its principle +was that he who filled a bishop's office should, before all things, conduct +and develop missionary enterprise; and the moral and physical courage of +the Brito-Celtic bishops, having long slumbered, awoke again in John +Wesley. He built on the old foundations, he gave to the laymen a power at +that time blindly denied them by the Church--the power which Irish and +Welsh and Breton missionary saints of old had vested in them. +Wesley--himself a giant--made wise use of the strong where he found them, +and if a man--tinker or tinner, fisher or jowster--could preach and grip an +audience, that man might do so. Thus had the founders of the new creed +developed it; thus does the Church to-day; but when John Wesley filled his +empty belly with blackberries at St. Hilary, in 1743; when he thundered +what he deemed eternal truth through Cornwall, year after year for half a +century; when he faced a thousand perils by sea and land and spent his +arduous days "in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fasting often, +in cold and nakedness"; when, in fine, this stupendous man achieved the +foundations of Methodism, the harvest was overripe, at any rate, in +Cornwall. No Nonconformist was he, though few enough of his followers +to-day remember that, if they ever knew it. He worked for his church; he +was a link between it and his party; his last prayer was for church and +king--a fact which might have greatly shocked the Luke Gospelers had such +come to their ears. For John Wesley was their only saint, and they honestly +believed that they alone of all Methodist communities were following in his +footsteps. Poor souls! they lived as far from what Wesley taught as it is +easily possible to conceive. As for Gray Michael, he was under the +impression that he and his sect worthily held aloft the true light which +Wesley brought in person to Newlyn, and he talked with authority upon the +subject of his master and his master's doings. But he knew little about the +founder of Methodism in reality, and still less about the history of the +Methodist movement. Had he learned that John Wesley himself was once +accused of Popish practices; had he known that not until some years after +the great preacher's death did his party, in conference assembled, separate +itself from the Church of England, he had doubtless been much amazed. +Though saturated with religious feeling, the man was wholly ignorant of +religious history in so far as it affected his own country. To him all +saints not mentioned in Scripture were an abomination and invention of +Rome. Had he been informed that the venerable missionary saints of his +mother land were in no case Romish, another vast surprise must have awaited +him. + +Let it not for an instant be supposed that the Luke Gospelers represented +right Methodism. But they fairly exemplified a sorry side of it; those +little offshoots of which dozens have separated from the parent tree; and +they exhibited most abundantly in themselves that canker-worm of Pharisaism +which gnaws at the root of all Nonconformity. This offense, combined with +such intolerance and profound ignorance as was to be found amid the Luke +Gospelers, produced a community merely sad or comic to consider according +to the point of view. + +An instance of Michael Tregenza's attitude to the Church will illustrate +better than analysis the lines of thought on which he served his Creator. + +Once, when she was thirteen, Joan had gone to an evening service at St. +Peter's, because a friend had dared her to do so. Her father was at sea and +she believed the delinquency could by no possibility reach his ears. But a +Luke Gospeler heard the dread tidings and Michael Tregenza was quickly +informed of his daughter's lapse. He accused Joan quietly enough, and she +confessed. + +"Then you'm a damned maiden," he said, "'cause you sinned open-eyed." + +He thought the matter over for a week, and finally an idea occurred to him. + +"'Tis wi'in the power o' God to reach even you back," he declared to Joan, +"an' He's put in my mind that chastenin' might do it. A sore body's saved +many sowls 'fore now." + +Whereupon he took his daughter into the little parlor, shut the door, and +then flogged her as he would have flogged a boy--only using his hard hand +instead of a stick. "Get thee behind her, Satan! Get thee behind her, +Satan! Get thee behind her, Satan!" he groaned with every blow, while Joan +grit her teeth and bore it as long as she could, then screamed and fainted. +That was how the truth about heaven and hell came to her. She had never +felt physical pain before, and eternal torment was merely an idea. From +that day, however, she was frightened and listened to her father gladly and +wept tears of thankfulness when, a month after her flogging, he explained +that he had wrestled with the Lord for her soul and how it had been borne +in upon him that she was saved alive. She had reached the age of seventeen +now, and felt quite confident upon the subject of eternity as became a +right Luke Gospeler. Unlike other women of the sect, however, and despite +extreme ignorance on all subjects, the girl had a seed of humor in her +nature only waiting circumstances to ripen. She felt pity, too, for the +great damned world, and though religion turned life sad-colored, her own +simple, healthy, animal nature and high spirits brought ample share of +sunshine and delight. She was, in fact, her mother's child rather than her +father's. His ancestors before him had fought the devil and lived honest +lives under a cloud of fear; Michael's own brother had gone religious mad, +when still a young man, and died in a lunatic asylum; indeed the awful +difficulty of saving his soul had been in the blood of every true Tregenza +for generations. But Joan's mother came of different stock. The Chirgwins +were upland people. They dwelt at Drift and elsewhere, went to the nearest +church, held simple views, and were content with orthodox religion. Mr. +Tregenza said of them that they always wanted and expected God to do more +than His share. But he married Joan Chirgwin, nevertheless; and now he saw +her again, fair, trustful, light-hearted, in his daughter. The girl indeed +had more of her mother in her than Gray Michael liked. She was +superstitious, not after the manner of the Tregenzas, but in a direction +that must have brought her father's loudest thunders upon her head if the +matter had come to his ears. She loved the old stories of the saints and +spirits, she gloried secretly in the splendid wealth of folklore and +tradition her mother's people and those like them possessed at command. Her +dead parent had whispered and sung these matters into Joan's baby ears +until her father stopped it. She remembered how black he looked when she +lisped about the piskeys; and though to-day she half believed in demon and +fairy, goblin and giant, and quite believed in the saints and their +miracles, she kept this side of her intelligence close locked when at home, +and only nodded very gravely when her father roared against the blighting +credulity of men's minds and the follies for which fishers and miners, and +indeed the bulk of the human family in Cornwall, must some day burn. + +People outside the fold said that the Luke Gospelers killed Tregenza's +first wife. She, of course, accepted her husband's convictions, but it had +never been in her tender heart to catch the true Luke Gospel spirit. She +was too full of the milk of human kindness, too prone to forgive and +forget, too tolerant and ready to see good in all men. The fiery sustenance +of the new tenets withered her away like a scorched flower, and she died +five years after her child was born. For a space of two years the widower +remained one; then he married again, being at that time a hale man of +forty, the owner of his own fishing-boat, and at once the strongest +personality and handsomest person in Newlyn. Thomasin Strick, his second +wife, was already a Luke Gospeler and needed no conversion. People laughed +in secret at their wooing, and likened it to the rubbing of granite rocks +or a miner's pick striking fire from tin ore. A boy presently came to them; +and now he was ten and his mother forty. She passed rightly for a careful, +money-loving soul, and a good wife, with the wit to be also a good Luke +Gospeler. But her tongue was harder than her heart. Father and mother alike +thought the wide world of their boy, though the child was brought up under +an iron rod. Joan, too, loved her half-brother, Tom, very dearly, and took +a pride only second to her stepmother's in the lad's progress and +achievements. More than once, though only Joan and he knew it, she had +saved his skin from punishment, and she worshiped him with a frank +admiration which was bound to win Mrs. Tregenza's regard. Joan quite +understood the careful and troubled matron, never attached undue importance +to her sharp words, and was usually at her elbow with an ear for all +grievances and even a sympathetic word if the same seemed called for. Mrs. +Tregenza had to grumble to live, and Joan was the safety-valve, for when +her husband came off the sea he would have none of it. + +Life moved uniformly for these people, being varied only by the seasons of +the year and the different harvests from the sea which each brought with +it. Pollock, mackerel, pilchards, herrings--all had their appointed time, +and the years rolled on, marked by events connected with the secular +business of life on one hand and that greater matter of eternity upon the +other. Thus mighty catches of fish held the memory with mighty catches of +men. One year the take of mackerel had been beyond all previous +recollection; on another occasion three entire families had joined the Luke +Gospelers, and so promised to increase the scanty numbers of the chosen. +There were black memories, too, and black years, casting gloomy shadows. +Widows and orphans knew what it was to watch for brown sails that came into +the harbor's sheltering arms no more; and spiritual death had overtaken +more than one Luke Gospeler. Such turned their backs upon the light and +exchanged Truth for the benighted parody of religion displayed by Bible +Christians, by Plymouth Brethren or by the Church of England. + +Six months before the day on which she saw his ship through Barron's +glasses, Joan had been formally affianced to Joe Noy, with her father's +permission and approval. The circumstances of the event demand a word, for +Joe had already been engaged once before: to Mary Chirgwin, a young woman +who was first cousin to Joan and a good deal older. She was an orphan and +dwelt at Drift with Thomas Chirgwin, her uncle. The sailor had thereby +brightened an unutterably lonely life and brought earthly joy to one who +had never known it. Then Gray Michael got hold of the lad, who was +naturally of a solid and religious temperament, and up to that time of the +order of the Rechabites. As a result, Joe Noy joined the Luke Gospelers and +called upon his sweetheart to do likewise. But she recollected her aunt, +Joan's mother, and being made of stern stuff, stuck to the Church of +England as she knew it, counting salvation a greater thing than even a home +of her own. The struggle was sharp between them; neither would give way; +their engagement was therefore broken, and the girl's solitary golden +glimpse of happiness in this world shattered. She found it hard to forgive +the Tregenzas, and when, six months afterward, the sleepy farm life at +Drift was startled by news of Joan's love affair, Mary, in the first flush +of her reawakened agony, spoke bitterly enough; and even that most +mild-mannered of men, her uncle, said that Michael Tregenza had done an +ugly act. + +But the fisherman was at no time concerned with Mary or with Joan. The +opportunity to get a soul into the fold had offered and been accepted. Any +matter of earthly love-making counted little beside this. When Joe broke +with Mary, his mentor declared the action inevitable, as the girl would not +alter her opinions, and when, presently, young Noy fell in love with Joan, +her father saw no objection, for the sailor was honest, already a stanch +Luke Gospeler and a clean liver. + +Perhaps at that moment there was hardly another eligible youth in Newlyn +from Tregenza's point of view. He held Joan a girl to be put under stern +marital rule as soon as possible, and Joe promised to make a godly husband +with a strong will, while his convictions and view of life were altogether +satisfactory, being modeled on Michael's own. The arrangement suited Joan. +She believed she loved Joe very dearly, and she looked forward with +satisfaction to marrying him in about a year's time, when he should have +won a ship-master's certificate. But she viewed his departure without +suffering and would not have willingly foregone her remaining year of +freedom. She respected Joe very much and knew he would make a good partner +and give her a position above the everyday wives of Newlyn; moreover, he +was a fine figure of a man. But he lacked mental breadth, and that fact +sometimes tickled her dormant sense of humor. He copied her father so +exactly, and she, who lived with the real thunder, never could show +sufficient gravity or conviction in the presence of the youthful and +narrow-minded Noy's second-hand echoes. Mary Chirgwin was naturally a +thousand times more religious-minded than Joan, and sometimes Joe wished +the sober mind of his first love could be transported to the beautiful body +of his second; but he kept this notion to himself, studied to please his +future father-in-law, which he succeeded in doing handsomely, and contented +himself, in so far as his lady was concerned, by reflecting that the +necessary control over her somewhat light mind would be his in due season. + +To return from this tedious but necessary glimpse at the position and +belief of these people to Joan and the washing, it is to be noted that she +quickly made up for lost time, and, without further mentioning the +incidents of her morning's excursion, began to work. She pulled up her +sleeves, dragged her dress about her waist, then started to cleanse the +thick flannels her father wore at sea, his long-tailed shirts and woolen +stockings. The Tregenzas were well-to-do folk, and did not need to use the +open spaces of the village for drying of clothes. Joan presently set up a +line among the plum-trees, and dawdled over the hanging out of wet +garments, for it was now noon, sunny, mild, and fresh, with a cool salt +breeze off the sea. The winter repose of the bee-butts had been broken at +last, and the insects were busy with the plum-blossom and among the little +green flowerets on the gooseberry bushes. Beyond, sun-streaked and bright, +extended apple-trees with whitewashed stems and a twinkle of crimson on +their boughs, where buds grew ripe for the blowing. + +Joan yawned and blinked up at the sun to see if it was dinner time. Then +she watched a kitten hunting the bees in the gooseberry bushes. Presently +the little creature knocked one to the ground and began to pat it and +pounce upon it. Then the bee, using Nature's weapon to preserve precious +life, stung the kitten; and the kitten hopped into the air much amazed. It +shook its paw, licked it, shook it again. Joan laughed, and two pigs at the +bottom of the garden heard her and grunted and squealed as they thrust +expectant noses through the palings of their sty. They connected the laugh +with their dinner, but Joan's thoughts were all upon her own. + +A few minutes later Thomasin Tregenza called her, and, as they sat down, +Tom arrived from school. He was a brown-faced, dark-eyed, black-haired +youngster, good-looking enough, but not at that moment. + +"Aw! Jimmery! fightin' agin," said his mother, viewing two swollen lips, a +bulged ear, and an eye half closed. + +"I've downed Matthew Bent, Joan! Ten fair rounds, then he gived up." + +"Fight, fight, fight--'tis all you think of," said his parent, while Joan +poured congratulations on the conqueror. + +"'Tweer bound to come arter the football, when he played foul, an' I tawld +en so. Now, we'm friends." + +"Be he bruised same as you?" + +"A sight worse; he's a braave picksher, I tell 'e! I doubt he won't come to +schule this arternoon. That'll shaw. I be gwaine, if I got to crawl theer." + +"An' him a year older than what you be!" said Joan. + +"Iss, Mat's 'leben year old. I'll have some vinegar an' brown paper to this +here eye, mother." + +"Ait your mayte, ait your mayte fust," she answered. "Plague 'pon your +fightin'!" + +"But that Bent bwoy's bin at en for months; an' a year older too," said +Joan. + +"Iss, the bwoy's got no more'n what 'e desarved. For that matter, they +Bents be all puffed up, though they'm so poor as rats, an' wi'out 'nough +religion to save the sawl of a new-born babe 'mongst the lot of 'em." + +Tom, with his mouth full of fish and potato pie, told the story of his +victory, and the women made a big, hearty meal and listened. + +"He cockled up to me, an' us beginned fightin' right away, an' in the third +round I scat en on the mouth an' knocked wan 'is teeth out. An' in the +fifth round he dropped me a whister-cuff 'pon the eye as made me blink +proper." + +"Us doan't want to knaw no more 'bout it," declared his mother after dinner +was over. "You've laced en an' that's enough. You knaw what faither'll say. +You did ought to fight no battle but the Lard's. Now clap this here over +your eye for a bit, then be off with 'e." + +Tom marched away to school earlier than usual that afternoon, while the +women went to the door and watched him trudge off, both mightily proud of +his performance and his battered brown face. + +"He be a reg'lar lil apty-cock, [Footnote: _Apty-cock_--Brave, plucky +youngster.] sure 'nough!" said Joan. + +Mrs. Tregenza answered with a nod and looked along the road after her son. +There was a softer expression in her eyes as she watched him. Besides, she +had eaten well and was comfortable. Now she picked her teeth with a pin, +and snuffed the sea air, and gave a passing neighbor "good-afternoon" with +greater warmth of manner than usual. Presently her mood changed; she +noisily rated herself and her stepdaughter for standing idling; then both +went back to their work. + + + + CHAPTER FOUR + +BARRON BEGINS TO LEARN THE GORSE + + +Between four and five o'clock in the morning of the following day the +master of the white cottage came home. His wife expected him and was +getting breakfast when Michael tramped in--a very tall, square-built man, +clad to the eye in tanned oilskin overalls, sou'wester, and jackboots. The +fisherman returned to his family in high good temper; for the sea had +yielded silvery thousands to his drift-nets, and the catch had already been +sold in the harbor for a handsome figure. The brown sails of Tregenza's +lugger flapped in the bay among a crowd of others, and every man was in a +hurry to be off again at the earliest opportunity. Already the first boats +home were putting to sea once more, making a wide tack across the mouth of +the bay until nearly abreast of St. Michael's Mount, then tearing away like +race horses with foam flying as they sailed before the eastern wind for the +Scilly Islands and the mackerel. + +Michael kissed his wife and Joan also, as she came to the kitchen +sleepy-eyed in the soft light to welcome him. Then, while Mrs. Tregenza was +busied with breakfast and the girl cleaned some fish, he went to his own +small room off the kitchen and changed his clothes--all silvery, +scale-spotted and blood-smeared--for the clean garments which were spread +and waiting. First the man indulged in luxuries. He poured out a large tub +of fresh water and washed himself; he even cleaned his nails and +teeth--hyberbolic refinements that made the baser sort laugh at him behind +his back. + +At the meal which followed his toilet Tregenza talked to his wife and +daughter upon various subjects. He spoke slowly and from the lungs with the +deep echoing voice of one used to vocal exercise in the open air. + +"I seed the 'Anna' yesterday, Joan," he said, "a proud ship, full-rigged +wi' butivul lines. Her passed wi'in three mile of us or less off the +islands." + +Joan did not hint at her visit to Gorse Point of the previous day, but her +stepmother mentioned it, and her father felt called upon to reprimand his +daughter, though not very seriously. + +"'Twas a empty, vain thing to do," he said. + +"I promised Joe, faither." + +"Why, then you was right to go, though a fulish thing to promise en. +Wheer's Tom to?" + +Tom came down a minute later. The swelling of his lips was lessened, but +his ear had not returned to a normal size and his eye was black. + +"Fighting again?" Michael began, looking up from his saucer and fixing his +eyes on his son. + +"Please, faither, I--" + +"Doan't say naught. You'm so fond of it that I judges you'd best begin +fightin' the battle o' life right on end. 'Tain't no use keepin' you to +schule no more. 'Tis time you comed aboard." + +Tom crowed with satisfaction, and Mrs. Tregenza sighed and stopped eating. +This event had been hanging over her head for many a long day now; but she +had put the thing away, and secretly hoped that after all Tregenza would +change his mind and apprentice the boy to a shore trade. However, Tom had +made his choice, and his father meant him to abide by it. No other life +appealed to the boy; heredity marked him for the sea, and he longed for the +hard business to begin. + +"I'll larn you something besides fisticuffs, my beauty. 'Tis all +well-a-fine, this batterin' an' bruisin', but it awnly breeds the savage in +'e, same as raw meat do in a dog. No more fightin' 'cept wi' dirty weather +an' high seas an' contrary winds, an' the world, the flaish an' the devil. +I went to sea as a lugger-bwoy when I was eight year old, an' ain't bin off +the water more'n a month to wance ever since. This day two week you come +along wi' me. That'll give mother full time to see 'bout your kit." + +Joan wept, Thomasin Tregenza whined, and Tom danced a break-down and rolled +away to see some fisher-boy friends in the harbor before school began. Then +Michael, calling his daughter to him, walked with her among his plum-trees, +talked of God with some quotations, and looked at his pigs. Presently he +busied himself and made ready for sea in a little outhouse where paint and +ship's chandlery were stored; and finally, the hour then being half past +seven, he returned to his labors. Joan walked with him to the harbor and +listened while he talked of the goodness of God to the Luke Gospelers at +sea; how the mackerel had been delivered to them in thousands, and how the +Bible Christians and Primitive Methodists had fared by no means so happily. +The tide was high, and Gray Michael's skiff waited for him at the pierhead +beside the lighthouse. He soon climbed down into it, and the little boat, +rowed by two strong pairs of hands, danced away to the fleet. Already the +luggers were stretching off in a long line across the bay; and among them +appeared a number of visitors: Lowestoft yawls come down to the West after +the early mackerel. They were big, stout vessels, and many had steam-power +aboard. Joan watched her father's lugger start and saw it overhaul not a +few smaller ships before she turned from the busy harbor homeward. That +morning she designed to work with a will, for the afternoon was to be spent +on Gorse Point if all went well, and she already looked forward somewhat +curiously to her next meeting with the singular man who had lent her his +field-glass. + +Mrs. Tregenza was in sorry, snappy case all day. The blow had fallen, and +within a fort-night Tom would go to sea. This dismal fact depressed her not +a little, and she snuffled over her ironing, and her voice grated worse +than usual upon the ear. + +"He's such a hot-headed twoad of a bwoy. I knaw he'll never get on 'pon the +water. I doubt us'll hear he's bin knocked overboard or some sich thing +some day; an' them two brothers, they Pritchards, as allus sails 'long wi' +Tregenza, they'm that comical-tempered every one knaws. Oh, my God, why +couldn' he let the bwoy larn a land trade--carpenterin' or sich like?" + +"But, you see, faither's a rich man, an' some time Tom'll fill his shoes. +Faither do awn his bwoat an' the nets tu, which is more'n most Newlyn men +does." + +"Iss, I should think 'twas," said Mrs. Tregenza, forgetting her present +sorrow in the memory of such splendid circumstances. "Theer ban't wan +feller as awns all like what faither do. The Lard helps His chosen, not but +what Tregenza allus helped hisself an' set the example to Newlyn from his +boyhood." + +Mrs. Tregenza always licked her lips when she talked about money or +religion, and she did so now. + +Among Cornish drifters Gray Michael's position was undoubtedly unique, for +under the rules of the Cornish fishery he enjoyed exceptional advantages +owing to his personal possession both of boat and nets. The owner of a +drift-boat takes one-eighth part of the gross proceeds of a catch, and the +remaining seven-eighths are divided into two equal parts of which one part +is subdivided among the crew of the boat, while the other goes to the owner +or owners of the nets used on board. The number of nets to a boat is about +fifty as a rule, and a man to possess his own boat and outfit must be +unusually well-to-do. + +But it was partly for this reason that Mrs. Tregenza refused to be +comforted. She grudged every farthing spent on anything, and much disliked +the notion of tramping to Penzance to expend the greater part of a +five-pound note on Tom's sea outfit. In a better cause she would not have +thought it ill to expend money upon him. His position pointed to something +higher than a fisherman's life. He might have aspired to a shop in the +future together with a measure of worldly prosperity and importance not to +be expected for any mere seafarer. But Tom had settled the matter by +deciding for himself, and his father had approved the ambition, so there +the matter ended, save for grumbling and sighing. Joan, too, felt sore +enough at heart when she heard that the long-dreaded event lay but a +fortnight in the future. But she knew her father, and felt sure that the +certainty of Tom's going to sea at the appointed time would now only be +defeated by death or the Judgment Day. So she did not worry or fret. +Nothing served to soothe her stepmother, however, and the girl was glad to +slip off after dinner, leaving Thomasin with her troubles. + +Joan made brisk way through Mousehole and in less than an hour stood out +among the furzes in the little lonely theater above the cliffs. For a +moment she saw nothing of John Barron, then she found him sitting on a +camp-stool before a light easel which looked all legs with a mere little +square patch of a picture perched upon them. Joan walked to within a few +yards of the artist and waited for him to speak. But eye, hand, brain were +all working together on the sketch before him, and if he saw the visitor at +all, which was doubtful, he took no notice of her. Joan came a little +closer, and still John Barron ignored her presence. Then she grew +uncomfortable, and, feeling she must break the silence, spoke. + +"I be come, sir, 'cordin' to what you said." + +He added a touch and looked up with no recognition in his eyes. His +forehead frowned with doubt apparently, then he seemed to remember. "Ah, +the young woman who told me about the luggers." Suddenly he smiled at her, +the first time she had seen him do so. + +"You never mentioned your name, I think?" + +"Joan Tregenza, sir." + +"I promised you a little picture of that big ship, didn't I?" + +"You was that kind, sir." + +"Well, I haven't forgotten it. I finished the picture this morning and I +think you may like it, but I had to leave it until to-morrow, because the +paints take so long to dry." + +"I'm sure I thank you kindly, sir." + +"No need. To-morrow it will be quite ready for you, with a frame and all +complete. You see I've begun to try and paint the gorse." He invited her by +a gesture to view his work. She came closer, and as she bent he glanced up +at her with his face for a moment close to hers. Then she drew back +quickly, blushing. + +"'Tis butivul--just like them fuzzes." + +He had been working for two hours before she came, painting a small patch +of the gorse. Old gnarled stems wound upward crookedly, and beneath them +lay a dead carpet of gorse needles with a blade or two of grass shooting +through. From the roots and bases of the main stems sprouted many a shoot +of young gorse, their prickles tender as the claws of a new-born kitten, +their shape, color, and foliage of thorns quite different to the mature +plant above. There, in the main masses of the shrub, mossy brown buds in +clumps foretold future splendor. But already much gold had burst the sheath +and was ablaze, scenting the pure air, murmured over by many bees. + +"You could a'most pick thicky theer flowers," declared Joan of the picture. + +"Perhaps presently, when they are painted as I hope to paint them. This is +only a rough bit of work to occupy my hand and eye while I am learning the +gorse. Men who paint seriously have to learn trees and blossoms just as +they have to learn faces. And we are never satisfied. When I have painted +this gorse, with its thorns and buds, I shall sigh for more truth. I cannot +paint the soul of each little yellow flower that opens to the sun; I cannot +paint the sunny smell that is sweet in our nostrils now. God's gorse scents +the air; mine will only smell of fat oil. What shall I do?" + +"I dunnaw." + +"No more does anybody. It can't be helped. But I must try my best and make +it real--each spike, as I see it--the dead gray ones on the ground and the +live green ones on the tree, and the baby ones and the old gray-pointed +ones, which have seen their best days and will presently die and fall--I +must paint them all, Joan." + +She laughed. + +"Don't laugh," he said, very seriously. "Only an artist would laugh at me, +not you who love Nature. There lives a great painter, Joan, who paints +pictures that nobody else in the wide world can paint. He is growing old, +but he is not too old to take trouble still. Once, when he was a young man, +he drew a lemon-tree far away in Italy. It was only a little lemon-tree, +but the artist rose morning after morning and drew it leaf by leaf, twig by +twig, until every leaf and bud and lemon and bough had appeared. It was not +labored and false; it was grand because it was true: a joy forever; work +Old Masters had loved; full of distinction and power and patience almost +Oriental. A thing, Joan Tregenza, worth a wilderness of 'harmonies' and +'impressions,' 'nocturnes' and 'notes,' smudges and audacities. But I +suppose that is all gibberish to you?" + +"Iss, so it be," she admitted. + +"Learn to love everything that is beautiful, my good child. But I think you +do, unconsciously perhaps." + +"I don't take much 'count of things." + "Yes, unconsciously. You have a cowslip there stuck in your frock, though +where you got it from I can't imagine. The flower is a month too early." + +"Iss, 'tis, I found en in a lew, sunshiny plaace. Us have got a frame for +growin' things under glass, an' it had bin put down 'pon top this cowslip +an' drawed 'en up." + +"Will you give it to me?" + +She did so, and he smelled it. + +"D'you know that the green of the cowslip is the most beautiful green in +all Nature, Joan? Here, I have a flower, too; we will exchange if you +like." + +He took a scrap of blackthorn bloom from his coat and held it out to her, +but she shrank backward and he learned something. + +"Please not that--truly 'tis the dreadfulest wicked flower. Doan't 'e arsk +I to take en." + +"Unlucky?" + +"Iss fay! Him or her as first brings blackthorn in the house dies afore it +blows again. Truth--solemn--us all knaws it down in these paarts. 'Tis a +bewitched thing--a wicked plant, an' you can see it grawin' all +humpetty-backed an' bent an' crooked. Wance, when a man killed hisself, +they did use to bury en wheer roads met an' put a blackthorn stake through +en; an' it all us grawed arter; an' that's the worstest sort o' all." + +"Dear, dear, I'm glad you told me, Joan; I will not wear it, nor shall +you," he said, and flung it down and stamped on it very seriously. + +The girl was gratified. + +"I judge you'm a furriner, else you'd knawn 'bout the wickedness o' +blackthorn." + +"I am. Thank you very much. But for you I should have gone home wearing it. +That puts me in your debt, Joan." + +"'Tain't nothin', awnly there's a many coorious Carnish things like that. +An' coorious customs what some doan't hold with an' some does." + +She sat down near the cliff edge with her back to him, and he smiled to +himself to find how quickly his mild manners and reserve had put the girl +at her ease. She looked perfect that afternoon and he yearned to begin +painting her; but his scheme of action demanded time for its perfect +fulfillment and ultimate success. He let the little timorous chatterbox +talk. Her voice was soft and musical as the cooing of a wood-dove, and the +sweet full notes chimed in striking contrast to her uncouth speech. But +Joan's diction gave pleasure to the listener. It had freedom and wildness, +and was almost wholly innocent of any petrifying educational influences. + +Joan, for her part, felt at ease. The man was so polite and so humble. He +thanked her for her information so gratefully. Moreover, he evidently cared +so little about her or her looks. She felt perfectly safe, for it was easy +to see that he thought more of the gorse than anything. + +"My faither's agin such things an' sayin's," she babbled on, "but I dunnaw. +They seems truth to me, an' to many as is wiser than what I be. My mother +b'lieved in 'em, an' Joe did, till faither turned en away from 'em. But +when us plighted troth, I made en jine hands wi' me under a livin' spring +o' water, though he said 'twas heathenish. Awnly, somehow, I knawed 'twas a +proper thing to do." + +"I should like to hear more about these old customs some day," he said, as +though Joan and he were to meet often in the future, "and I should be +obliged to you for telling me about them, because I always delight in such +matters." + +She was quicker of mind than he thought, and rose, taking his last remark +as a hint that he wished to be alone. + +"Don't go, Joan, unless you must. I'm a very lonely man, and it is a great +pleasure to me to hear you talk. Look here." + +She approached him, and he showed her a pencil sketch now perched on the +easel--a drawing considerably larger than that upon which he had been +working when she arrived. + +"This is a rough idea of my picture. It is going to be much larger though, +and I have sent all the way to London for a canvas on which to paint it." + +'"Twill be a gert big picksher then?" + +"So big that I think I must try and get something into it besides the +gorse. I want something or other in the middle, just for a change. What +could I paint there?" + +"I dunnaw." + +"No more do I. I wonder how that little white pony tethered yonder would +do?" + +Joan laughed. + +"You'd never get the likes o' him to bide still for 'e." + +"No, I'm afraid not; and I doubt if I'm clever enough to paint him either. +You see, I'm only a beginner--not like these clever artists who can draw +anything. Well, I must think: to-morrow is Sunday. I shall begin my big +picture on Monday if the weather keeps kind. I shall paint here, in the +open air. And I will bring your ship, too, if you care to take the trouble +to come for it." + +"Yes, an' thank 'e, sir." + +"Not at all. I owe you thanks. Just think if I had gone home with that +horrid blackthorn." + +He turned to his work as though she were no longer present and the girl +prepared to depart. + +"I'll bid you good-arternoon now, sir," she said timidly. + +He looked up with surprise. + +"Haven't you gone, Joan? I thought you had started. Good-by until Monday. +Remember, if it is cold or rainy I shall not be here." + +The girl trotted off; and when she had gone Barren drew her from memory in +the center of his sketch. The golden glories of the gorse were destined to +be no more than a frame for something fairer. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +COLD COMFORT + + +John Barron made other preparations for his picture besides those detailed +to Joan Tregenza. He designed a large canvas and proposed to paint it in +the open air according to his custom. His health had improved, and the +sustained splendor of the spring weather flattered hopes that, his model +once won, the work he proposed would grow into an accomplished fact. There +was no cottage where he might house his picture and materials within half a +mile of Gorse Point, but a granite cow-byre rose considerably nearer, at a +corner of an upland field. Wind-worn and lichen-stained it stood, situated +not more than two hundred yards from the spot on which Barron's picture was +to be painted. A pathway to outlying farms cut the fields hard by the byre, +and about it lay implements of husbandry--a chain harrow and a rusty plow. +Black, tar-pitched double doors gave entrance to the shed, and light +entered from a solitary window now roughly nailed up from the outside with +boards. A padlock fastened the door, but, by wrenching down the covering of +the window, Barron got sight of the interior. A smell of vermin and decay +rose from the inner darkness; then, as his eyes focused the gloom, he noted +a dry, spacious chamber likely enough to answer his purpose. Brown litter +of last year's fern filled one corner, and in it was marked a lair as of +some medium-sized beast; elsewhere a few sacks with spades and picks and a +small pile of potatoes appeared: the roots were all sprouting feebly from +white eyes, as though they knew spring held the world, though neither +sunshine warmed them nor soft earth aided their struggle for life. Here the +man might well keep his canvas and other matters. Assuming that temporary +possession of the shed was possible, his property would certainly be safe +enough there; for artists are respected in and about Newlyn, and their +needs considered when possible. A farm, known as Middle Hemyll, showed gray +chimneys above the fields, half a mile distant, and, after finding the +shed, Barron proceeded thither to learn its ownership. The master of Middle +Hemyll speedily enlightened him, and the visitor learned that not only did +he speak to the possessor of the cow-byre, but that Farmer Ford was a keen +supporter of art, and would be happy to rent his outhouse for a moderate +consideration. + +"The land ban't under pasture now, an' the plaace ed'n much used just this +minute, so you'm welcome if you mind to. My auld goat did live theer wance, +but er's dead this long time. Maybe you seed the carcass of en, outside? +I'll have the byre cleared come to-morrer; an' if so be you wants winders +in the roof, same as other paintin' gents, you'll have to put 'em theer wi' +your awn money." + +Barron explained that he only needed the shed as a storehouse for his +picture and tools. + +"Just so, just so. Then you'll find a bwoy wi' the key theer to-morrer, an' +all vitty; an' you can pay in advancement or arter, as you please to. Us'll +say half-a-crown a week, if that'll soot 'e." + +The listener produced half-a-sovereign, much to Farmer Ford's +gratification, and asked that a lad or man might be found to return with +him there and then to the shed. + +"I am anxious to see the place and have it in order before I go back to +Newlyn," he explained. "I will pay you extra for the necessary labor, and +it should not take above an hour." + +"No more 'twill, an' I'll come 'long with 'e myself this minute," answered +the other. + +Getting a key to the padlock, and a big birch broom, he returned with +Barron, and soon had the doors of the disused byre thrown open to the air. + +"I shut en up when the auld goat went dead. Theer a used to lie in the +corner, but now he'm outside, an' I doubt the piskeys, what they talks +'bout, be mighty savage wi' me for not buryin' the beast, 'cause all +fairies is 'dicted to goats, they do say, an' mighty fond o' the milk of +'em." + +Farmer Ford soon cleared the place of potatoes, sacks, and tools. Then, +taking his broom, he made a clean sweep of dust and dirt. + +"Theer's a many more rats here than I knawed seemin'ly," he said, as he +examined a sink in the stones of the floor, used for draining the stalls; +"they come up here for sartain, an' runs out 'long the heydge to the +mangel-wurzel mound, I lay." + +Without, evidences of the vermin were clear enough. Long hardened tracks, +patted down by many paws, ran this way and that; and the main rat +thoroughfare extended, as the farmer foretold, to a great mound where, +stowed snugly in straw under earth, lay packed the remains of a +mangel-wurzel crop. At one end the store had been opened and drawn upon for +winter use; but a goodly pile of the great tawny globes still remained, +small lemon-colored leaves sprouting from them. Farmer Ford, however, +viewed the treasure without satisfaction. + +"Us killed a power o' sheep wi' they blarsted roots last winter," he said. +"You'd never think now as the frost could touch 'em, but it did though, +awin' to the wicked long winter. It got to 'em, sure 'nough, an' theer was +frost in 'em when us gived 'em to the sheep, an' it rotted theer innards, +poor twoads, an' they died, more'n a score." + +Barron listened thoughtfully to these details, then pointed to an ugly +sight beyond the wurzel mound. + +"I should like that removed," he said. + +It was the dead goat, withered to a mummy almost, with horns and hide +intact, and a rat-way bored through the body of the beast under a tunnel of +its ribs. + +"Jimmery! to see what them varmints have done to 'en! But I'll bury what's +left right on en; an' I'll stop the sink in the house, then you'll be free +of 'em." + +These things the farmer did, and presently departed, promising to revisit +the spot ere long with some dogs and a ferret or two. So Barron was left +master of the place. He found it dry, weather-proof and well suited to his +requirements in every respect. The concerns which he had ordered from +London would be with him by Saturday night if all went well, and he decided +that they should be conveyed to the byre at an early hour on Monday +morning. + +The next day was Sunday, and half a dozen men, with Barron and Murdoch +among them, strolled into Brady's great whitewashed studio to see and +criticise his academy picture which was finished. Everybody declared that +the artist had excelled himself in "The End of the Voyage." It represented +a sweep of the rocky coast by the Lizard, a wide gray sand, left naked by +the tide, with the fringe of a heavy sea churning on it, and sea-fowl +strutting here and there. In the foreground, half buried under tangles of +brown weed torn from the rocks by past storms, lay a dead sailor, and a big +herring-gull, with its head on one side and a world of inquiry in its +yellow eyes, was looking at him. Tremendous vigor marked the work, and only +a Brady could have come safely through the difficulties which had been +surmounted in its creation. Everybody sang praises, and Barron nodded warm +approval, but said nothing until challenged. + +"Now, find the faults, then tell me what's good," said the gigantic +painter. He stood there, burly, hearty, physically splendid--the man of all +others in that throng who might have been pointed to as the creator of the +solemn gray picture before them. + +"Leave fault-finding to Fleet Street," said Barron; "let the press people +tell you where you are wrong. I am no critic and I know what a mountain of +hard work went to this." + +"That's all right, old man; never mind the work--or me. Be impartial." + +"Why should I? To be impartial, as this world wags, is to be friendless." + +"Good Lord! d'you think I mind mauling? There's something wrong or you +wouldn't be so deucedly evasive. Out with it!" + +"Well, your sailor's not dead." + +Brady roared with laughter. + +"Man! the poor devil's been in the water a week!" + +"Not he. 'Tis a mistake in nine painted corpses out of ten. If you want to +paint a drowned man, wait till you've seen one close. That sailor in the +seaweed's asleep. Sleep is graceful, remember; death by drowning is +generally ugly--stiff, stark, hideous, eyeless, fish-gnawed a week after +the event. But what does it matter? You've painted a great picture. That +sea, with the circular swirl, as each wave goes back into the belly of the +next, is well done; and those lumps of spume fluttering above +watermark--that was finely noted. Easy to write down in print, but +difficult as the fiend to paint. And the picture is full of wind too. Your +troubles are amply repaid and I congratulate you. A man who could paint +that will go as far as he likes." + +The simple Brady forgot the powder in swallowing the jam. Barron had +touched those things in his work which were precious to him. His impulsive +nature took fire, and there was almost a quiver of emotion in his big voice +as he answered: + +"Damn it, you're a brick! I'd sooner hear you praise those lumps of +sea-spume, racing over the sand there, than see my picture on the line." + +But sentiment was strange to John Barron's impersonal nature, and he froze. + +"Another fault exists which probably nobody will tell you but me. Your +seaweed's great, and you knew it by heart before you painted it--that I'll +swear to, but your sleeper there would never lie in the line of it as you +have him. Reflect: the sea must float the light weed after it could move +him no more. He should be stogged in the sand nearer the sea." + +Brady, however, contested this criticism, and so the talk wore on until the +men separated. But the Irishman called on Barron after midday dinner and +together they strolled through Newlyn toward the neighboring village. +Chance brought them face to face with two persons more vital to the +narrative than themselves, and, pausing to chronicle the event of the +meeting, we may leave the artists and follow those whom they encountered. + +Gray Michael kept ashore on Sundays, and today, having come off the sea at +dawn, was not again putting forth until next morning. He had attended +meeting with his wife, his daughter and his son; he had dined also, and was +now walking over to Mousehole that he might bring some religious comfort to +a sorely stricken Luke Gospeler--a young sheep but lately won to the fold +and who now lay at the point of death. Joan accompanied him, and upon the +way they met John Barron and his companion. The girl blushed hotly and then +chilled with a great disappointment, for Barron's eyes were on the sea; he +was talking as he passed by, and he apparently saw neither her nor her +Sunday gown; which circumstance was a sorrow to Joan. But in reality Barron +missed nothing. He had shivered at her green dress and poor finery long +before she reached him. Her garb ruffled his senses and left him wounded. + +"There goes your beauty," laughed Brady; "how would you like to paint her +in that frock with those sinful blue flowers in her hat?" + +"Nature must weep to see the bizarre carnival these people enjoy on the +Seventh Day," answered the other. "Their duns and drabs, their russets and +tawny tones of red and orange, are of their environment, the proper skins +for their bodies; but to think of that girl brightening the eyes of a +hundred louts by virtue of those fine feathers! Dream of her in the Stone +Age, clad in a petticoat torn from a wolf, with her straw-colored hair to +her waist and a necklace of shells or wild beasts' teeth between her +breasts! And the man--her father, I suppose--what a picture his cursed +broadcloth and soft black hat make of him--like the head of a patriarch +stuck on a tailor's dummy." + +Meanwhile, ignorant of these startling criticisms, Mr. Tregenza and his +daughter pursued their road, and presently stopped before a cottage in one +of the cobble-paved alley-ways of Mousehole. A worn old woman opened the +door and courtesied to Gray Michael. He wished her good-afternoon, then +entered the cottage, first bidding Joan return in an hour. She had friends +near at hand, and hurried off, glad to escape the sight of sickness and the +prayers she knew that her father would presently deliver. + +"How be en?" inquired the fisherman, and the widowed mother of the patient +answered: + +"Better, I do pray. Er was in the doldrums issterday an' bad by night also, +a dwaling an' moaning gashly, but, the Lard be praised, he'm better in mind +by now, an' I do think 'tis more along of Bible-readin' than all the +doctor's traade [Footnote: _Traade_--Physic.] he've took. I read to en +'bout that theer bwoy, the awnly son o' his mother, an' her a +widder-wumman, an' how as the Lard brought en round arter he'd gone dead." + +Gray Michael sniffed and made no comment. + +"I'll see en an' put up a prayer or so," he said. + +"An' the Lard'll reward it, Mr. Tregenza." + +Young Albert Vallack greeted the visitor with even greater reverence than +his mother had done. He and the old woman were Falmouth folks and had +drifted Westerly upon the father's death, until chance anchored them in +Newlyn. Now the lad--a dissolute youth enough, until sudden illness had +frightened him to religion--was dying of consumption, and dying fast, +though as yet he knew it not. + +"'Tis handsome in you, a comin' to see the likes o' me," said the patient, +flushing with satisfaction. "You'm like the stickler at a wras'lin' match, +Mister Tregenza, sir; you sees fair play betwixt God an' man." + +"So you'm better, Albert, your mother sez." + +"Iss, a bit. Theer's more kick an' sprawl [Footnote: _Kick an' +sprawl_--Strength, vitality.] in me than theer 'ave bin; an' I feels +more hopeful like 'bout the future." + +Self-righteousness in a new-fledged Luke Gospeler, who had been of the fold +but three months and whose previous record was extremely unsatisfactory, +irritated Gray Michael not a little. + +"Bwoy!" he said loudly, "doan't 'e be deceived that way. 'Gird 'e wi' +sackcloth, lament and howl; for the fierce anger o' the Lard is _not_ +turned back from us.' Three months o' righteousness is a purty bad set off +'gainst twenty years o' sin, an' it doan't become 'e to feel hopeful, I +'sure ye." + +The sick man's color paled, and a certain note as of triumph in his voice +died out of it. His mother had left them, feeling that her presence might +hinder conversation and lessen the comfort which Mr. Tregenza had brought. + +"I did ought to be chap-fall'n, I s'pose." + +"Iss, you did, my son, nobody more'n you. Maybe you'll live; maybe you'll +die; but keep humble. I doan't wish to deceive 'e. Us ain't had time to +make no certainty 'bout things. You'm in the Lard's hand, an' it becomes 'e +to sing small, an' remember what your life's bin." + +The other grew uneasy and his voice faltered while he still fought for a +happy eternity. + +"I'd felt like 'twas all right arter what mother read." + +"Not so. God's a just God 'fore everything. Theer ed'n no favorin' wi' Him. +I hopes you'll live this many a day, Vallack; an' then, when your hour +comes, you'll have piled up a tidy record an' can go wi' a certainty +faacin' you. Seems you'm better, an' us at chapel's prayed hot an' strong +to the Throne that you might be left to work out your salvation now your +foot's 'pon the right road." + +"But if I dies, mister?" + +"'The prayer of the righteous man availeth much,'" answered Gray Michael +evasively. "I be come," he added, "to read the Scriptures to 'e." + +"You all prayed for me, sir?" + +"Iss, every man, but theer was no mincin' matters, Albert. Us was arskin' +for a miserable sinner, a lost sheep awnly just strayed back, an' we put it +plain as that was so." + +"'Tweer mighty kind o' the Luke Gosp'lers, sir." + +"'Twas their dooty. Now I be gwaine to read the Book." + +"I feels that uneasy now," whined the sufferer, in a voice where fear spoke +instead of hope, "but I s'pose 'tis a sign o' graace I should be?" + +"Iss, 'tis. I've comed to tell 'e the truth, for 'tis ill as a man should +be blind to facts on what may be his last bed 'bove the airth. Listen to +this, my son, an' if theer's anything you doan't onderstand, arsk me an' +I'll thraw light 'pon it." + +He read, with loud, slow voice, the fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiah, and that +glorious clarion of great promise gave Michael the lie and drowned his own +religious opinions as thunder drowns the croaking of marsh frogs; but he +knew it not. The brighter burned his own shining light, the blacker the +shadows it threw upon the future of all sinners. + +As Tregenza finished and put down his Bible, the other spoke and quoted +eagerly: + +"'Incline your ear an' come unto Me; fear, an' your sawl shall live!' Theer +do seem a hope in that if it ed'n awver-bold me thinkin' so?" he asked. + +"That's like them Church o' Englanders, a tearin' wan text away from +t'others an' readin' it accordin' as they pleases. I'll expound it all to +wance, as a God-fearin' man did ought to treat the Scriptures." + +Gray Michael's exposition illustrated nothing beyond his own narrow +intellectual limitations. His cold cloud of words obscured the prophet's +sunshine, and the light went out of the dying man's eyes, leaving only +alarm. He trembled on the brink of the horrid truth; he heard it thinly +veiled in the other's stern utterance, saw it looking from his hard blue +eyes. After the sermon, silence followed, broken by Vallack, who coughed +once and again, then raised himself and braced his heart to the tremendous +question that demanded answering. + +"I wants your awn feelin' like, mister. I must have it. I caan't sleep no +more wi'out knawin' the best or worst. You be the justest man ever I seed +or heard tell on out the Scriptures. An' I wants 'e to gimme your opinion +like. S'pose you was the Judge an' I comed afore 'e an' the Books was theer +and you'd read 'em an' had to conclude 'pon 'em--?" + +The fisherman reflected. Vallack's proposition did not strike him as +particularly grotesque. He felt it was a natural question, and he only +regretted that it had been put, because, though he had driven more than one +young man to righteousness along the path of terror, in this present case +the truth came too late save to add another horror to death. He believed in +all sincerity that as surely as the young man before him presently died, so +surely would he be damned, but he saw no particular object in stating the +fact. Such intelligence might tell upon Vallack's physical condition--a +thing of all others to be avoided, for Gray Michael held that the +sufferer's only chance of a happy eternity was increased and lengthened +opportunity in time. + +"It ed'n for me to sit in the Judgment Seat, Albert. 'Vengeance is mine, +sayeth the Lard.' You must allus hold in mind that theer's mighty few saved +alive, best o' times. Many be called, but few chosen. Men go down to the +graave every second o' the day an' night, but if you could see the sawls a +streamin' away, thicker'n a cloud of starlings, you'd find a mass, black as +a storm, went down long, an' awnly just a summer cloud like o' the blessed +riz up. Hell's bigger'n Heaven; an' er's need to be, for Heaven's like to +be a lonely plaace, when all's said. I won't speak no more 'bout that +subjec'. 'Tis good fashion weather for 'e just now, an us'll hope as you +ban't gwaine to die for many a day." + +"Say it out, mister, say it out. I knaws what you means. You reckons if I +gaws I'm lost." + +"My poor sawl, justice is justice; an' the Lard's all for justice an' no +less. Theer's no favorin' wi' Him, Albert." + +"But mightn't He favor the whole bilin' of us--good'n bad--cause He made +us?" + +"Surely not. Wheer's the justice o' that? If He done that, how'd the godly +get their fair dues--eh? Be the righteous man to share God's Heaven wi' +publicans an' sinners? That ed'n justice anyhow. Don't fret, lad; tears +won't mend bad years. Bide quiet an' listen to me whiles I pray for 'e." + +The man in the bed had grown very white, his eyes burned wildly out of a +shrunken face, and he gripped the sheets and shivered in pure physical +terror. + +"I caan't die, I caan't die, not yet," he groaned, "pray to the Lard to +keep me from dyin' yet a while, mister. Arsk en to give me just a lil time, +'cause I'm that sorry for my scarlet sins." + +Thereupon Michael knelt, clasped his hands so close that the bent +finger-joints grew white, raised his massive head upward and prayed with +his eyes closed. The intercession for life ended, he rose up, shook Vallack +by the hand, and so departed. + +"Allus, when you've got the chance, bear the balm o' Gilead to a sinner's +couch," he said to his daughter as they walked home. "'Tis the duty of man +an' maid to spread the truth an' bring peace to the troubled, an' strength +to the weak-hearted, an' rise up them that fall." + +A week later Mr. Tregenza heard how Albert Vallack had burst a blood-vessel +and died, fighting horribly with awful invisible terrors. + +"Another sawl gone down into the Pit," he said. "I reckon fewer an' fewer +be chosen every year as the world do grow older an' riper for the last +fires." + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +FAIRY STORIES + + +Joan found her sketch waiting for her the next day when she reached Gorse +Point about eleven o'clock; and she also discovered John Barron with a +large canvas before him. He had constructed his picture and already made +many drawings for it. Now he knew exactly what he wanted, and he designed +to paint Joan standing looking out at a distant sea which would be far +behind the spectator of the picture. When she arrived, on a fine morning +and mild, Barron rose from his camp-stool, lifted up a little canvas which +stood framed at his side and presented it to her. The sketch in oils of the +"Anna" was cleverer than Joan could possibly know, but she took no small +delight in it and in the setting of rough deal brightly gilded. + +"Sure 'tis truly good of 'e, sir!" + +"You are more than welcome. Only let me say one word, Joan. Keep your +picture hidden away until Joe comes back from sea and marries you. From +what you tell me, your father might not like you to have this trifle, and I +should be very sorry to annoy him." + +"I waddun' gwaine to show en," she confessed. "I shall store the picksher +away as you sez." + +"You are wise. Now look here, doesn't this promise to be a big affair? The +gorse will be nearly as large as life, and I've been wondering ever so long +what I shall put in the middle; and whatever do you think I've thought of?" + +"I dunnaw. That white pony us saw, p'raps?" + +"No; something much prettier. How would it do, d'you think, if _you_ +stood here in front of the gorse, just to fill up the middle piece of the +picture?" + +"Oh, no, no! My faither--" + +"You misunderstand, Joan. I don't want a picture of _you_, you know; +I'm going to paint the gorse. But if you just stood here, you'd make a sort +of contrast with your brown frock. Not a portrait at all, only just a +figure to help the color. Besides, you mustn't think I'm an artist, I +shouldn't go selling the picture or hanging it up for everybody to stare at +it. I'm certain your father wouldn't mind, and I'll tell him all about it +afterward, if you like." + +She hesitated and reflected with trouble in her eyes, while Barron quietly +took the picture he had brought her and wrapped it up in a piece of paper. +His object was to remind her without appearing to do so of her obligation +to him, and Joan was clever enough to take the hint, though not clever +enough to see that it was an intentional one. + +"Would it be a long job, sir?" she asked at length. + +"Yes, it would; because I'm a slow painter and rather stupid. But I should +think it very, very kind of you. I'm not strong, you know, and I daresay +this is the last picture I shall ever paint." + +"You ed'n strong, sir?" + +"Not at all." + +She was silent, and a great sympathy rose in her girl's heart, for frail +health always made her sad. + +"You don't judge 'tis wrong then for a maiden to be painted in a picksher?" + +"Certainly not, Joan. I should never suggest such a thing to you if I +thought it was in the least wrong. I _know_ it isn't wrong." + +"I seed you issterday," she said, changing the subject suddenly, "but you +dedn see me, did 'e?" + +"Yes, I did, and your father. He is a grand-looking man. By the way, Joan, +I think I never told you my name. I'm called John; that's short and simple, +isn't it?" + +"Mister Jan," she said. + +"No, not 'mister'--just 'Jan,'" he answered, adopting her pronunciation. "I +don't call you 'Miss' Joan." + +She looked at once uncomfortable and pleased. + +"We must be friends," the man continued calmly, "now you have promised to +let me put you here among the gorse bushes." + +"Sure, I dunnaw 'bout the picksher, Mister Jan." + +"Well, you would be doing me a great service. I want to paint you very much +and I think you will be kind." + +He looked into her eyes with a steady, inquiring glance, and Joan +experienced a new emotion. Joe had never looked like that; nor yet her +father. She felt a will stronger than her own was busy with her +inclinations. Volition remained free, and yet she doubted whether under any +circumstances could she refuse his petition. As it happened, however, she +already liked the man. He was so respectful and polite. Moreover, she felt +sad to hear that he suffered in health. He would not ask her to do wrong +and she felt certain that she might trust him. A trembling wish and a +longing to comply with his request already mastered her mind. + +"You'm sure--gospel truth--theer ed'n no harm in it?" + +"Trust me." + +In five minutes he had posed her as he wished and was drawing, while every +word he spoke put Joan more at her ease. The spice of adventure and secrecy +fired her and she felt the spirit of romance in her blood, though she knew +no name for it. Here was a secret delight knocking at the gray threshold of +every-day life--an adventure which might last for many days. + +Barron, to touch the woman in her if he could, harped upon her gown and the +color of it, on her shoes and sun-bonnet--on everything but herself. +Presently he reaped his reward. + +"Ban't you gwaine to paint my faace as well, Mister Jan." + +"Yes, if I can. But your eyes are blue, and blue eyes are hard to paint +well. Yours are so very blue, Joan. Didn't Joe ever tell you that?" + +"No--that's all fulishness." + +"Nothing that's true is foolish. Now I'm going to make some little sketches +of you, so as to get each fold and shadow in your dress right." + +Barron drew rapidly, and Joan--ever ready to talk to a willing listener +when her confidence was won--prattled on, turning the conversation as usual +to the matters she loved. Upon her favorite subjects she dared not open her +mouth at home, and even her lover refused to listen to the legends of the +land, but they were part of the girl's life notwithstanding, drawn into her +blood from her mother, a thousand times more real and precious than even +the promised heaven of Luke Gospeldom, not to be wholly smothered at any +time. Occasionally, indeed, uneasy fears that discussion of such concerns +was absolutely sinful kept her dumb for a week, then the religious wave +swept on, and Cornish folk-lore, with its splendor and romance, again +filled her heart and bubbled from her lips. Her little stories pleased +Barron mightily. Excitement heightened Joan's beauty. Her absolute +innocence at the age of seventeen struck him as remarkable. It seemed +curious that a child born in a cottage, where realities and facts are apt +to roughly front boy and girl alike, should know so little. She was a +beautiful, primitive creature, with strange store of fairy fable in her +mind; a treasury which brought color and joy into life. So she prattled, +and the man painted. + +Pure artistic interest filled Barron's brain at this season; not a shadow +of passion made his pencil shaky or his eye dim; he began to learn the girl +with as little emotion as he had learned the gorse. He asked her to +unfasten the top button of her dress that he might see the lines of her +plump throat, and she complied without hesitation or ceasing from her +chatter. He noted where the tan on her neck faded to white under her dress, +and occupied himself with all the artistic problems she unconsciously +spread before him; while she merely talked, garnered in his questions and +comments on all she said, and found delight in the apparent interest and +entertainment her conversation afforded him. + +"I seed a maggotty-pie [Footnote: _Maggotty-pie_--Magpie.] comin' +along this marnin'," she said. "Wan's bad an' a sign o' sorrer; but if you +spits twice over your left shoulder it doan't matter so much. But I be +better off than many maidens, 'cause I be saint-protected like." + +"That's interesting, Joan." + +"Faither'd be mad if I let on 'bout it to him, so I doesn't. He doan't +b'lieve much in dead saints, though Carnwall's full of 'em. Have 'e heard +tell 'bout Saint Madern?" + +"Ah, the saint of the well?" + +"Iss, an' the brook as runs by the Madern chapel." + +"I sketched the little ruin of the baptistery some time ago." + +"'Twas tho't a deal of wance, an' the holy water theer was reckoned better +for childern than any doctor's traade as ever was. My mother weer a Madern +cheel; an' 'er ordained I should be as well, an' when faither was to sea, +as fell out just 'pon the right day, mother took me up theer. That was my +awn mother as is dead. More folks b'lieved in the spring then than what do +now, 'cause that was sebenteen year agone. An' from bein' a puny cheel I +grawed a bonny wan arter dipping. But some liked the crick-stone better for +lil baabies than even the Madern brook." + +"Men-an-tol that stone is called?" + +"So 'tis, awnly us knaws it as the crick-stone. Theer's a big hole in en, +an' if a cheel was passed through nine times runnin', gwaine 'gainst the +way of the sun every time, it made en as strong as a lion. An' 'tis good +for grawn people tu, awnly folks is afeared to try now 'cause t'others +laugh at en. But I reckon the Madern brook's holy water still. An' theer's +wonnerful things said 'bout the crick-stones an' long stones tu. A many of +'em stands round 'bout these paarts." + +"D'you know Men Scryfa--the stone with the writing on it? That's a famous +long stone, up beyond Lanyon Farmhouse." + +"I've seed en, 'pon the heath. 'Tis butivul an' solemn an' still, all aloan +out theer in a croft to itself. I trapsed up-long wan day an' got beside of +en an' ate a pasty wi' Joe. But Joe chid me, an' said 'tweer a heathenish +thing sticked theer by the Phoenicians, as comed for tin in Solomon's +times." + +"Don't you believe that, Joan. Men Scryfa marks the memory of a good +Briton--one who knew King Arthur, very likely. I love the old stones too. +You are right to love them. They are landmarks in time, books from which we +may read something of a far, fascinating past." + +"Iss, but I ded'n tell 'e all 'bout the Madern waters. The best day for 'em +be the fust Sunday in May; an' come that, the mothers did use to gaw up to +the chapel--dozens of 'em--wi' poor lil baabies. They dipped 'em naked in +the brook, an' 'twas just a miracle for rashes and braggety legs and sich +like. An', arterward, the mothers made offerin's to the saint. 'Twas awnly +the thot like, but folks reckoned the saint 'ud take the will for the act, +'cause poor people couldn' give a saint nothin' worth namin'." + +Barren had heard of the votive offerings left by the faithful in past days +at St. Madron's shrine, but felt somewhat surprised to find the practice +dated back to a time so recent as Joan's infancy. He let her talk on, for +the subject was evidently dear to the girl. + +"And what did the mothers give the saint?" + +"Why, rags mostly. Just a rag tored off a petticoat, or some sich thing. +They hanged 'em up around about on the thorn bushes to shaw as they'd a +done more for the good saint if they'd had the power. An' theer's another +marvelous thing as washin' in thicky waters done: it kep' the fairies +off--the bad fairies, I mean. 'Cause theer'm gude an' bad piskeys, same as +gude an' bad men folks." + +"You believe in fairies, Joan?" + +She looked at him shyly, but he had apparently asked for information and +was not in the least amused. + +"I dunnaw. P'raps. Iss, I do, then! Many wiser'n me do b'lieve in 'em. You +arsk the tinners--them as works deep. They knaws; they've 'eard the +knackers an' gathorns many a time, an' some's seen 'em. But the mine +fairies be mostly wicked lil humpetty-backed twoads as'll do harm if they +can; an' the buccas is onkind to fishermen most times; an' 'tis said they +used to bide in the shape of a cat by day. But theer be land fairies as is +mighty good-hearted if a body behaves seemly." + +"I believe in the fairies too," said Barren gravely, "but I've never seen +one." + +"Do 'e now, Mister Jan! Then I'm sure theer is sich things. I ne'er seed +wan neither; but I'd love to. Some maids has vanished away an' dwelt 'mong +'em for many days an' then comed home. Theer's Robin o' the Carn as had a +maiden to work for en. You may have heard the tale?" + +"No, never." + +"'Tis a fine tale; an' the gal had a braave time 'mongst the lil people +till she disobeyed 'em an' found herself back 'mongst men folk agin. But in +coorse some of them--the piskeys, I mean--works for men folk themselves. My +gran'mother Chirgwin, when she was very auld, seed 'em a threshin' corn in +a barn up Drift. They was tiny fellers wi' beards an' red faaces, an' they +handled the flails cruel clever. Then, arter a bit, they done the threshin' +an' was kickin' the short straw out the grain, which riz a gert dust; an' +the piskeys all beginned sneezin'. An' my gran'mother, as was peepin' +through the door unbeknown to 'em, forgot you must never speak to a piskey, +an' sez, 'God bless 'e, hi men!' 'cause that's what us allus sez if a body +sneezes. Then they all took fright an' vanished away in the twinkle of a +eye. Which must be true, 'cause my awn gran'mother tawld it. But they ded'n +leave the farm, though nobody seed 'em again, for arter that 'tis said as +the cows gived a wonnerful shower o' milk, better'n ever was knawn before. +An' I 'sure 'e I'd dearly like to be maiden to good piskeys if they'd let +me work for 'em." + +"Ah, I'm certain you would suit them well, Joan; and they would be lucky to +get you, I think; but I hope they won't go and carry you off until I've +done with you, at any rate." + +She laughed, and he bid her put down her hand from her eyes and rest. He +had brought some oranges for her, but judged the friendship had gone far +enough, and first decided not to produce them. Half an hour later, however, +when the sitting was ended, he changed his mind. + +"Can you come to-morrow, Joan? I am entirely in your hands, remember, and +must consider your convenience always. In fact, I am your servant and shall +wait your pleasure at all times." + +Joan felt proud and rather important. + +"I'll come at 'leben o'clock to-morrow, but I doubt I caan't be here next +day, Mister Jan." + +"Thank you very much. To-morrow at eleven will do splendidly. By the way, I +have an orange here--two, in fact. I thought we might be thirsty. Will you +take one to eat going home?" + +He held out the fruit and she took it. + +"My! What a butivul orange!" + +"Good-by until to-morrow, Joan; and thank you for your great kindness to a +very friendless man. You'll never be sorry for it, I'm sure." + +He bowed gravely and took off his cap, then turned to his easel; and she +blushed with a lively pleasure. She had seen gentlemen take off their hats +to ladies, but no man had ever paid her that respect until then, and it +seemed good to her. She marched off with her picture and her orange, but +did not eat the fruit until out of sight of Gorse Point. + +The man painting there already began to fill a space in Joan's thoughts. He +knew so much and yet was glad to learn from her. He never laughed or talked +lightly. He put her in mind of her father for that reason, but then his +heart was soft, and he loved Nature and beautiful things, and believed in +fairies and spoke no ill of anybody. Joan speculated as to how these +meetings could be kept a secret and came to the conclusion it would not be +difficult to hide them. Then, reaching home, she hid her picture behind the +pig-sty until opportunity offered for taking it indoors to her own bedroom +unobserved. + +As for John Barren, he felt kindly enough toward his model. He could hold +himself with an iron hand when he pleased, and proposed that the growing +friendship should ripen into a fine work of art and no more. But what might +go to the making of the picture could not be foretold. He would certainly +allow nothing to check inspiration or stand between him and the very best +he had power to achieve. No sacrifice could be too great for Art, and +Barron, who was now awake and alive for an achievement, would, according to +his rule, count nothing hard, nothing impossible that might add a grain of +value to the work. His own skill and Joan's beauty were brought in contact +and he meant to do everything a man might do to make the result immortal. +But the human instruments necessary to such work counted for nothing, and +their personal prosperity and welfare would weigh no more with him than the +future of the brushes which he might use, after he had done with them. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +UNCLE CHIRGWIN + + +Joan's first announcement upon the following morning was a regret that the +sitting must be short. + +"We'm mighty busy, come wan thing an' another," she said. "Mother's gwaine +to Penzance wi' my brother to buy his seafarin' kit; and Uncle Chirgwin, as +keeps a farm up Drift, be comin' to dinner, which he ain't done this long +time; an' faither may by chance be home tu, so like as not, for the first +bwoats be tackin' back from the islands a'ready." + +"You shall stop just as short a time as you choose, Joan. It was very good +of you to come at all under these circumstances," declared the artist. + +"Us be fine an' busy when uncle comes down-long, an' partickler this time, +'cause theer've bin a differ'nce of 'pinion 'bout--'bout a matter betwixt +him and faither, but now he's wrote through the post to say as he'm comin', +so 'tis all right, I s'pose, an' us'll have to give en a good dinner +anyways." + +"Of course you must," admitted Barren, working steadily the while. + +"He'm a dear sawl, an' I likes en better'n anybody in the world, I think, +'cept faither. But he's easier to please than faither, an' so humble as a +beggar-man. An' I wants to make some cakes for en against tea-time, 'cause +when he comes, he bides till candle-lighting or later." + +Presently the artist bid her rest for a short while, and her thoughts +reverted to him and the picture. + +"I hope as you'm feelin' strong an' no worser, Mister Jan," she said +timidly. + +He was puzzled for a moment, then recollected that he had mentioned his +health to her. + +"Thank you very much for asking, Joan. It was good and thoughtful. I am no +worse--rather better if anything, now I come to think about it. Your +Cornish air is kind to me, and when the sun shines I am happy." + +"How be the picksher farin'?" + +"I get on well, I think." + +"'Tis cruel clever of 'e, Mister Jan. An' you'll paint me wi' the fuzz all +around?" + +"That is what I hope to do; a harmony in brown and gold." + +"You'll get my likeness tu, I s'pose, same as the photograph man done it +last winter to Penzance? Me an' Joe was took side by side, an' folks +reckoned 'twas the moral of us, specially when the gen'leman painted Joe's +hair black an' mine yeller for another shillin' cost." + +"It must have been very excellent." + +"Iss, 'twas for sartain." + +"What did Mr. Tregenza say of it?" + +"Well, faither, he'm contrary to sich things, as I tawld 'e, Mister Jan. +Faither said Joe'd better by a deal keep his money in his purse; but he let +me have the picksher, an' 'tis nailed up in a lil frame, what Joe made, at +home in the parlor." + +She stopped a moment and sighed, then spoke again. + +"Faither's a wonnerful God-fearin' man, sure 'nough." + +"Is he a God-loving man too, Joan?" + +"I dunnaw. That ed'n 'sackly the same, I s'pose?" + +"As different as fear and love. I'm not an atom frightened of God +myself--no more than I am of you." + +"Lard! Mister Jan." + +"Why should I be? You are not frightened of the air you breathe--yet that +is part of God; you are not frightened of the gold gorse or the blue +sky--yet they are part of God too. God made you--you are part of God--a +deliberate manifestation of Him. What's the use of being frightened? You +and I can only know God by the shapes He takes--by the bluebells and the +ferns and the larks in the sky, and the rabbits and wild things." + +His effort to inspire the girl with Nature-worship, though crudely cast in +a fashion most likely to attract her, yet failed just then, and failed +ludicrously. Her mind comprehended barely enough to accept his idea in a +sense suggested by her acquaintance with fable, and when he instanced a +rabbit as an earthly manifestation of the Everlasting, she felt she could +cap the example from her own store of knowledge. + +"I reckon I sees what you'm meanin', Mister Jan. Theer's things us calls +witch-hares in these paarts up-long. The higher-quarter people have seed +'em 'fore now; nothin' but siller bullets will kill 'em. They goes +loppettin' about down lawnly lanes on moonlight nights, an' they draws +folks arter 'em. But if you could kill wan of 'em 'tis said as they'd turn +into witches theer an' then. So you means that God A'-mighty' takes shaapes +sometimes same as they witches do, doan't 'e?" + +"Not quite that, Joan. What I want you to know is that the great Being you +call God is nearer to you here, on Gorse Point, than in the Luke Gospelers' +meeting-house, and He takes greater delight in a bird's song than in all +your father's prayers and sermons put together. That is because the great +Being taught the bird to sing Himself, but He never taught your father to +pray." + +"I dunnaw 'sackly what you means, Mister Jan, but I judges you ban't so +religious like as what faither is." + +"Religion came from God to man, Joan, because man wanted it and couldn't +get on comfortably without it; but theology--if you know what that +means--man invented for himself. Religion is the light; theology is the +candlestick. Never quarrel with any man's candlestick as long as you can +see his light burning bravely. Mr. Tregenza thinks all men are mistaken but +the Luke Gospelers--so you told me. But if that is the case, what becomes +of all your good Cornish saints? They were not Luke Gospelers--at least I +don't think they were." + +Joan frowned over this tremendous problem, then dismissed it for the +pleasanter and simpler theme John Barron's last remark suggested. + +"Them saints was righteous men anyhow, an' they worked miracles tu, so it +ban't no gude sayin' they wasn't godly in their ways, the whole boilin' of +'em. Theer's St. Piran, St. Michael, St. Austell, St. Blazey, St. Buryan, +St. Ives, St. Sennen, St. Levan, an' a many more, I could call home if I +was to think. Did 'e ever hear tell 'bout St. Neot, Mister Jan?" + +"'No, Joan; I'm afraid I don't know much about him." + +"Not 'bout they feesh?" + +"Tell me, while you rest a minute or two." + +"'Tis a holy story, an' true as any Bible tale, I should guess. St. Neot +had a well, an' wan day he seed three feesh a swimmin' in it an' he was +'mazed to knaw how they comed theer. So a angel flew down an' tawld en +that they was put theer for his eatin', but he must never draw out more'n +wan at a time. Then he'd all us find three when he comed again. An' so he +did; but wance he failed sick an' his servant had to look arter his vittles +meantime. He was a man by the name of Barius, an' he judged as maybe a +change of eatin' might do the saint good. So he goes an' takes two o' them +feesh 'stead o' wan as the angel said. An' he b'iled wan feesh, an' fried +t'other, an' took 'em to St. Neot; an' when he seed what his man been +'bout, he was flustered, I tell 'e. Then the saint up and done a marvelous +straange thing, for he flinged them feesh back in the well, just as they +was, and began praayin' to the Lard to forgive his man. An' the feesh +comed alive ag'in and swimmed around, though Barius had cleaned 'em, I +s'pose, an' took the guts out of 'em an' everything. Then the chap just +catched wan feesh proper, an' St. Neot ate en, an' grawed well by sundown. +So he was a saint anyways." + +"You can't have a miracle without a saint, of course, Joan?" + +"Or else the Lard. But I'll hold in mind what you sez 'bout Him bein' hid +in flowers an' birds an' sich like, 'cause that's a butivul thing to knaw." + +"And in the stars and the sun and the moon, Joan; and in the winds and +clouds. See how I've got on to-day. I don't think I ever did so much work +in an hour before." + +She looked and blushed to note her brown frock and shoes. + +"You've done a deal more to them fuzzes than what you have to me, +seemin'ly," she said. + +"That's because the gorse is always here and you are not. I work at the +gorse morning after morning, when the sun is up, until my fingers ache. +You'll see great changes in the picture of yourself soon though." + +But she was not satisfied, of course misunderstanding the unfinished work. + +"You mustn't say anything yet, you know, Joan," added the artist, seeing +her pouting lips. + +"But--but you've drawed me as flat as a cheeld, an' I be round as a wummon, +ban't I?" she said, holding out her hands that he might see her slight +figure. Her blue eyes were clouded, for she deemed that he had put an +insult upon her budding womanhood. Barren showed no sign of his enjoyment, +but explained as clearly as possible that she was looking at a thing wholly +unfinished, indeed scarce begun. + +"You might as well grumble with me for not painting your fingers or your +face, Joan. I told you I was a slow artist; only be patient; I'm going to +do all fitting honor to every scrap of you, if only you will let me." + +"Warmer words had come to his lips, but he did not suffer them to pass. +Then the girl's beautiful face broke into a smile again. + +"I be nigher eighteen than sebenteen, you knaw, Mister Jan. But, coorse, I +hadn't no bizness to talk like that to 'e, 'cause what do I knaw 'bout sich +things?" + +"You shan't see the picture again till it is finished, Joan. It was my +fault for showing it to you like that, and you had every right to protest. +Now you must go, for it's long past twelve o'clock." + +"I'm afeared I caan't come to-morrer." + +"As you please. I shall be here every day, ready and only too glad to see +you." + +"An'--an' you ban't cross wi' me for speakin' so rude, Mister Jan?" + +"Cross, Joan? No, I'm never cross with anybody but myself. I couldn't be +cross with my kind little friend if I tried to be." + +He shook hands; it was the first occasion that he had done so, and she +blushed. His hand was cold and thin, and she heard one of the bones in it +give a little crack as he held her palm within his own for the briefest +space of time. Then, as usual, the moment after he had said "good-by," he +appeared to become absolutely unconscious of her presence, and returned to +his picture. + +Joan's mind dwelt much upon the artist after she had departed, and every +train of reflection came back to the last words Barron spoke that morning. +He had called her his kind little friend. It was very wonderful, Joan +thought, and a statement not to be explained at all. Her stepmother's voice +cut these pleasant memories sharply, and she returned home to find that +Uncle Chirgwin had already arrived--a fact his old gray horse, tethered in +the orchard, and his two-wheeled market cart, drawn up in the side-lane, +testified to before Mrs. Tregenza announced it. + +"Out again, of coorse, just because you knawed I was to be drove off my +blessed legs to-day. I'll tell your faither of 'e, so I will. Gals like you +did ought to be chained 'longside theer work till 'tis done." + +Uncle Chirgwin sat by the fireside with a placid if bored expression on his +round face. His hands were folded on his stomach; his short legs were stuck +out before him; his head was quite bald, his color high, his gray eyes +weak, though they had some laughter hidden in them. His double chin was +shaved, but a very white bristle of stubbly whisker surrounded it and +ascended to where all that remained of his hair stuck, like two patches of +cotton wool, above his ears. The old man wore a suit of gray tweed and +blinked benignly through a pair of spectacles. He had already heard enough +of Mrs. Tregenza's troubles to last some time, and turned with pleasure to +Joan as she entered. So hearty indeed was the greeting and a kiss which +accompanied it that his niece felt the displeasure which her uncle had +recorded by post upon the occasion of her engagement to Mary Chirgwin's +former sweetheart existed no more. + +"My ivers! a braave, bowerly maid you'm grawin', sure 'nough! Joan'll be a +wummon 'fore us can look round, mother." + +"Iss--an' a fine an' lazy wummon tu. I wish you could make her work like +what Mary does up Drift." + +"Well, I dunnaw. You see there's all sorts of girls, same as plants an' +'osses an' cetera. Some's for work, some's for shaw. You 'specks a flower +to be purty, but you doan't blame a 'tater plant 'cause 'e ed'n particular +butivul. Same wi' 'osses, an' wi' gals. Joan's like that chinee plate 'pon +the bracket, wi' the pickshers o' Saltash Burdge 'pon en, an' gold writin' +under; an' Mary's like that pie-dish, what you put in the ubben a while +back. Wan's for shaw, t'other's for use--eh?" + +"Gwan! you'm jokin', Uncle Thomas!" said Joan. + +"An' a poor joke tu, so 'tis. You'd turn any gal's 'ead wi' your stuff, +Chirgwin. Wheer's the gude of a fuzz-pole o' yeller hair an' a pair o' blue +eyes stuck 'pon top of a idle, good-for-nothin' body? Maidens caan't live +by looks in these paarts, an' they'll find theerselves in trouble mighty +quick if they tries to." + +Uncle Chirgwin instantly admitted that Mrs. Tregenza had the better of the +argument. He was a simple man with a soft heart and no brains worth naming. +Most people laughed at him and loved him. As sure as he went to Penzance on +market-day, he was cordially greeted and made much of, and robbed. People +suspected that his shrewd, black-eyed niece stood between him and absolute +misfortune. She never let him go to market without her if she could help +it; for, on those infrequent occasions when he jogged to town with his gray +horse and cart alone, he always went with a great trust of the world in his +heart and endeavored to conduct the sale of farm produce in the spirit of +Christianity, which was magnificent but not business. Mr. Chirgwin's simple +theories had kept him a poor man; yet the discovery, often repeated, that +his knowledge of human nature was bad, never imbittered him, and he mildly +persisted in his pernicious system of trusting everybody until he found he +could not; unlike his neighbors who trusted nobody until they found that +they could. The farmer had blazed with indignation when Joe Noy flung over +Mary Chirgwin because she would not become a Luke Gospeler. But the matter +was now blown over, for the jilted girl, though the secret bitterness of +her sorrow still bred much gall in her bosom, never paraded it or showed a +shadow of it in her dark face. Uncle Thomas greatly admired Mary and even +feared her; but he loved Joan, for she was like her dead mother outwardly +and like himself in character: a right Chirgwin, loving sunshine and +happiness, herself sunshiny and happy. + +"'Pears I've comed the wrong day, Joan," he said presently, when Mrs. +Tregenza's back was turned, "but now I be here, you must do with me as you +can." + +"Mother's gwaine to town wi' Tom bimebye; then me an' you'll have a talk, +uncle, wi'out nothin' to let us. You'm lookin' braave, me auld dear." + +He liked a compliment, and anticipated pleasure from a quiet afternoon with +his niece. She bustled about, as usual, to make up for lost time; and +presently, when the cloth was laid, walked to the cottage door to see if +her father's lugger was at its moorings or in sight. Meantime Mrs. +Tregenza, having brought forth dinner from the oven, called at the back +door to her son in a voice harsh and shrill beyond customary measure, as +became her exceptional tribulations. + +"Come in, will 'e, an' ait your food, bwoy. Theer ed'n no call to kick out +they boots agin' the pig's 'ouse because I be gwaine to buy new wans for 'e +presently." + +Fired by a word which she had heard from John Barron, that flowers became +the house as well as the garden, Joan plucked an early sprig of pink ribe +and the first buds of wall-flower before returning to the kitchen. These +she put in a jug of water and planted boldly upon the dinner-table as Mrs. +Tregenza brought out a pie. + +"Butivul, sure 'nough," said Mr. Chirgwin, drawing in his chair. His eye +was on the pie-dish, but Joan thought he referred to her bouquet. + +"Lard! what'll 'e do next? Take they things off the table to wance, Joan." + +"But Uncle Thomas sez they'm butivul," she pleaded. + +"They be pleasant," admitted Mr. Chirgwin, "but bloody-warriors [Footnote: +_Bloody-warrior_--Wall-flower.] be out o' plaace 'pon the +dinner-table. I was 'ludin' to this here. You do brown a 'tater to rights, +mother." + +Mrs. Tregenza's shepherd's pies had a reputation, and anybody eating of one +without favorable comment was judged to have made a hole in his manners. +Now she helped the steaming delicacy and sighed as she sat down before her +own ample share. + +"Lard knaws how I done it to-day. 'Tis just a enstance how some things +comes nachrul to some people. You wants a light hand wi' herbs an' to knaw +your ubben. Get the brandy, Joan. Uncle allus likes the edge off drinkin' +water." + +The Tregenzas were teetotalers, but a bottle of brandy for medicinal +purposes occupied the corner of a certain cupboard. + +"You puts it right, mother. 'Tis just the sharpness I takes off. I can't +drink no beer nowadays, though fond o' it, 'cause 'tis belly-vengeance +stuff arter you gets past a certain time o' life. But I'd as soon have +tea." + +"That's bad to drink 'long wi' vlaish," said Mrs. Tregenza. "Tea turns +mayte leather-hard an' plagues the stomach cruel, as I knaws to my cost." + +They ate in silence a while, then, having expressed and twice repeated a +wish that Mary could be taught to make shepherd's pies after the rare +fashion of his hostess, Mr. Chirgwin turned to Tom. + +"So you'm off for a sailor bwoy, my lad?" + +"Iss, uncle, an' mother gwaine to spend fi' puns o' money on my kit." + +"By Golles! be she now? I lay you'll be smart an' vitty!" + +"That he will!" said Joan, but Mrs. Tregenza shook her head. + +"I did sadly want en to be a landsman an' 'prenticed to some good body in +bizness. It's runnin' 'gainst dreams as I had 'fore the bwoy was born, an' +the voice I heard speakin' by night arter I were churched by the Luke +Gosp'lers. But you knaw Michael. What's dreams to him, nor yet voices?" + +"The worst paart 'bout 'em, if I may say it, is that they'm so uncommon +well acquainted like wi' theer awn virtues. I mean the Gosp'lers an' all +chapel-members likewise. It blunts my pleasure in a good man to find he +knaws how good he is. Same as wan doan't like to see a purty gal tossin' +her head tu high." + +"You caan't say no sich thing o' Michael, I'm sure," remonstrated Mrs. +Tregenza instantly; "he'm that modest wi' his righteousness as can be. I've +knawn en say open in prayer, 'fore the whole chapel, as he's no better'n a +crawlin' worm. An' if he's a worm, what's common folks like you an' me? +Awnly Michael doan't seem to take 'count in voices an' dreams, but I knaws +they'm sent a purpose an' not for nort." + +Mr. Chirgwin admitted his own ridiculous religious insignificance as +contrasted with Gray Michael. Indeed the comparison, so little in his +favor, amused him extremely. He sipped his brandy and water and enjoyed a +treacle-pudding which followed the pie. Then, when Joan was clearing up and +Mrs. Tregenza had departed to prepare for her visit to Penzance, Uncle +Thomas began to puff out his cheeks, and blow, and frown, and look uneasily +to the right and left--actions invariably performed when he contemplated +certain monetary achievements of which he was only too fond. The sight of +Mary's eyes upon him had often killed such indiscretions in the bud, but +she was not present just then, so, with further furtive glances, he brought +out his purse, opened it, and found a half-sovereign which reposed alone in +the splendor of a separate compartment. Uncle Chirgwin then beckoned to +Tom, who had gone into the garden till his mother should be ready to start. + +"Good speed to 'e, bwoy," he said, "an' may the Lard watch over 'e by land +an' sea. Take you this lil piece o' money to buy what you've a mind to; an' +knaw you've got a auld man's blessin' 'long wi' it." + +"Mother," said Tom, a minute later, "uncle have gived me a bit o' gawld!" + +She took the coin from him and her eyes rested on it lovingly while the +outlines of her face grew softer and she moistened her lips. + +"First gawld's ever I had," commented Tom. + +"You'm 'mazin' generous wi' your moneys, uncle, an' I thank 'e hearty for +the bwoy. Mighty good of 'e--so much money to wance," said Thomasin, +showing more gratification than she knew. + +"I wants en to be thrifty," answered the old man, very wisely. "You knaws +how hard it is to teach young people the worth o' money." + +"Ay, an' some auld wans! Blest if I doan't think you'd give your head away +if 'e could. But I'll take this here half-suvrin' for Tom. 'Tis a nest-egg +as he shall add to as he may." + +Tom did not foresee this arrangement, and had something to say as he +tramped off with his mother to town; but though he could do more with her +and get more out of her than anybody else in the world, money was a subject +concerning which Mrs. Tregenza always had her way. She understood it and +loved it and allowed no interference from anybody, Michael alone excepted. +But he cared not much for money and was well content to let his wife hold +the purse; yet when he did occasionally demand an account, it was always +forthcoming to the uttermost farthing, and he fully believed what other +people told him that Thomasin could make a sixpenny-piece go further than +any other woman in Newlyn. + +Mother and son presently departed; while Mr. Chirgwin took off his coat, +lighted his pipe, and walked with Joan round about the orchard. He foretold +great things for the plums, now in full flower; he poked the pigs with his +stick and spoke encouragingly of their future also. Then he discussed +Joan's prospects and gladdened her heart by telling her the past must be +let alone and need never be reverted to again. + +"Mary's gettin' over it tu," he said, "least-ways I think she is. Her knaws +wheer to look for comfort, bless her. Us must all keep friendly for life's +not long enough to do 'nough good in, I allus says, let alone the doin' o' +bad." + +Then he discussed Joe Noy, and Joan was startled to find, when she came to +think seriously upon the subject, that though but a week and three days had +passed since she bid her lover "good-by," yet the picture of him in her +mind already grew a trifle dim, and the prospect of his absence for a year +held not the least sorrow in it for her. + +Presently, after looking to his horse, Uncle Thomas hinted at forty winks, +if the same would be quite convenient, and Joan, settling him with some +approach to comfort upon n little horsehair sofa in the parlor, turned her +attention to the making of saffron cakes for tea. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +THE MAKING OF PROGRESS + + +John Barron held strong theories about the importance of the mental +condition when work was in hand. Once fairly engaged upon a picture, he +painted very fast, labored without cessation, and separated himself as far +as might be from every outside influence. No new interests were suffered to +intrude upon his mind; no distractions of any sort, intellectual or +otherwise, were permitted to occupy even those leisure intervals which of +necessity lay between the periods of his work. On the present occasion he +merely fed and slept and dwelt solitary, shunning society of every sort and +spending as little time in Newlyn as possible. Fortunately for his +achievement the weather continued wonderfully fine and each successive day +brought like conditions of sunshine and color, light and air. This +circumstance enabled him to proceed rapidly, and another fact also +contributed to progress; the temperature kept high and the cow-byre, +wherein Barren stored his implements and growing picture, proved so +well-built and so snug withal that on more than one occasion he spent the +entire night there. Sweet brown bracken filled a manger, and of this he +pulled down sufficient quantities to make, with railway rugs, an ample bed. +The outdoor life appeared to suit his health well; some color had come to +his pale cheeks; he felt considerably stronger in body and mentally +invigorated by the strain of work now upon him. + +But though he turned his back on his fellow-men they sought him out, and +rumors at length grew to a certainty that Barron was busy painting +somewhere on the cliffs beyond Mousehole. Everybody supposed he had +abandoned his ambition to get a portrait of Joan Tregenza; but one man was +in his confidence: Edmund Murdoch. The young artist had been useful to +Barron. On many occasions he tramped out from Newlyn with additions to the +scanty larder kept at the cow-byre. He would bring hard-boiled eggs, +sandwiches, bottles of soda-water and whisky; and once he arrived at six +o'clock in the morning with a pony cart in which was a little oil stove. +Barron had confided in Murdoch, but begged he would let it be known that he +courted no society for the present. As the work grew he spent more and more +time upon it. He explained to his friend quite seriously that he was +painting the gorse, but that Joan Tregenza had consented to fill a part of +the picture--a statement which amused the younger artist not a little. + +"But the gorse is extraordinary, I'll admit. You must have worked without +ceasing. She will be exquisite. Where shall you get the blue for her eyes?" + +"Out of the sky and the sea." + +"Does the girl inspire you herself, John? I swear something has. This is +going to be great." + +"It's going to be true, that's all. No, Joan is a dear child, but her +body's no more than a perfect casket to a commonplace little soul. She +talks a great deal and I like nothing better than to listen; for although +what she says is naught, yet her manner of saying it does not lack charm. +Her voice is wonderfully sweet--it comes from her throat like a +wood-pigeon's, and education has not ruined her diction." + +"She's as shy as any wood-pigeon, too--we all know that; and you've done a +clever thing to tame her." + +"God forbid that I should tame her. We met and grew friendly as wild things +both. She is a child of Nature, her mind is as pure as the sea. Moreover, +Joan walks saint-guided. Folklore and local twaddle does not appeal +overmuch to me, as you know, yet the stories drop prettily from her lips +and I find pleasure in listening." + +Murdoch whistled. + +"By Jove! I never heard you so enthusiastic, so positive, so personally +alive and awake and interested. Don't fall in love with the girl before you +know it." + +To this warning Barron made a curious reply. + +"Everything depends on my picture. You know my rule of life; to sacrifice +all things to mood. I shall do so here. The best I can do must be done +whatever the cost." + +A shadow almost sinister lay behind the utterance, yet young Murdoch could +not fathom it. Barren spoke in his usual slow, unaffected tones, and +painted all the time; for the conversation took place on Gorse Point. + +"Not sure if I quite understand you, old man," said Murdoch. + +"It doesn't matter in the least if you don't, my dear fellow." + +His words were hardly civil, but the tone in which Barren spoke robbed the +utterance of any offense. + +"All you need do," he continued, "is to keep silent in the interests of art +and of Joan. I don't want her precious visits to me to get back to her +father's ears or they will cease, and I don't wish to do her a bad turn in +her home, for I owe her a great debt of gratitude. If men ask what I'm +doing, lie to them and beg them not to disturb me, for the sake of Art. +What a glint the east wind gives to color! Yet this is hardly to be called +an east wind, so soft and balmy does it keep." + +"Well, you seem to be the better for your work, at any rate. You're getting +absolutely fat. If Newlyn brings you health as well as fame, I hope you'll +retract some of the many hard things you have said about it." + +"It has brought me an interest, and for that at any rate I am grateful. +Good-by. I shall probably come down to-night, despite the fact that you +have replenished my stores so handsomely." + +Murdoch started homeward and met Joan Tregenza upon the way. She had given +Barron one further sitting after Uncle Chirgwin's call at Newlyn, but since +the last occasion, and for a period of two days, chance prevented the girl +from paying him another visit. Now she arrived, however, as early as +half-past ten, and Murdoch, while he passed her on the hill from Mousehole, +envied his friend the morning's work before him. + +Joan was very hot and very apologetic upon her arrival. + +"I began to fear you had forgotten me," the artist said, but she was loud +in protestations to the contrary. + +"No, no, Mister Jan. I've fretted 'bout not comin' up like anything; ay, +an' I've cried of a night 'cause I thot you'd be reckoning I waddun comin' +no more. But 'tweern't my doin' no ways." + +"You hadn't forgotten me?" + +"Indeed an' I hadn't. An' I'd be sorrerful if I thot you thot so." + +She walked to the old position before the gorse and fell naturally into it, +speaking the while. + +"Tis this way: mother's been bad wi' faace ache arter my brother Tom went +to sea wi' faither. An' mother grizzled an' worrited herself reg'lar ill +an' stopped in bed two days an' kep on whinin' 'bout what I was to do if +she died; cause she s'posed she was gwained to. But so soon as Tom comed +off his first trip, mother cheered wonnerful, an' riz up to see to en, an' +hear tell 'bout how he fared on the water." + +"Your head a wee bit higher, Joan. Well, I'm thankful to see you again. I +was getting very, very lonely, I promise you. And the more I thought about +the picture the more unhappy I became. There's such a lot to do and only +such a clumsy hand to do it. The better I know you, Joan, the harder become +the problems you set me. How am I going to get your soul looking out of +your eyes, d'you think? How am I to make those who may see my picture some +day--years after you and I are both dead and gone, Joan--fall in love with +you?" + +"La! I dunnaw, Mister Jan." + +"Nor do I. How shall I make the picture so true that generations unborn +will delight in the portrait and deem it great and fine?" + +"I dunnaw." + +"And yet you deserve it, Joan, for I don't think God ever made anything +prettier." + +She blushed and looked softly at him, but took no alarm; for though such a +compliment had never before been paid her, yet, as Barron spoke the words, +slowly, critically, without enthusiasm or any expression of pleasure on his +face, they had little power to alarm. He merely stated what he seemed to +regard as a fact. There was almost a suggestion of irritation in his +utterance, as though his model's rare beauty only increased his own +artistic difficulties; and, perhaps fearing from her smile that she found +undue pleasure in his statement, he added to it: + +"I don't say that to natter you, Joan. I hate compliments and never pay +them. I told you, remember, that your wrists were a thought too big." + +"You needn't be sayin' it over an' over, Mister Jan," she answered, her +smile changing to a pout. + +"But you wouldn't like me any more if I stopped telling you the truth. We +have agreed to love what is true and to worship Mother Nature because she +always speaks the truth." + +The girl made no answer, and he went on working for a few moments, then +spoke again. + +"I'm selfish, Joan, and think more of my picture than I do of my little +model. Put down your arm and take a good rest. I tried holding my hand over +my eyes yesterday to see how long I could do so without wearying myself. I +found that three minutes was quite enough, but I have often kept you posed +for five." + +"It hurted my arm 'tween the shoulder an' elbow a lil bit at first, but +I've grawed used to it now." + +"How ever shall I repay you, kind Joan, for all your trouble and your long +walks and pretty stories?" + +"I doan't need no pay. If 'twas a matter o' payin', 'twould be a wrong +thing to do, I reckon. Theer's auld Bascombe up Paul--him wi' curls o' long +hair an' gawld rings in's ears. Gents pays en to take his likeness; an' +theer's gals make money so, more'n wan; but faither says 'tis a heathenish +way of livin' an' not honest. An'--an' I'd never let nobody paint me else +but you, Mister Jan, 'cause you'm different." + +"Well, you make me a proud man, Joan. I'm afraid I must be a poor +substitute for Joe." + +He noticed she had never mentioned her sweetheart since their early +interviews, and wanted to ascertain of what nature was Joan's affection for +the sailor. He did not yet dream how faint a thing poor Joe had shrunk to +be in Joan's mind, or how the present episode in her life was dwarfing and +dominating all others, present and past. + +Nor did the girl's answer to his remark enlighten him. + +"In coorse you an' Joe's differ'nt as can be. You knaws everything +seemin'ly an' be a gen'le-man; Joe's only a seafarin' man, an' 'e doan't +knaw much 'cept what he's larned from faither. But Joe used to say a sight +more'n what you do, for all that." + +"I like to hear you talk, Joan; perhaps Joe liked to hear himself talk. +Most men do. But, you see, the things you have told me are pleasant to me +and they were not to Joe, because he didn't believe in them. Don't look at +me, Joan; look right away to the edge of the sea." + +"You'm surprised like as I talks to ye, Mister Jan. Doan't ladies talk so +free as what I do?" + +"Other women talk, but they are very seldom in earnest like you are, Joan. +They don't believe half they say, they pretend and make believe; they've +got to do so, poor things, because the world they live in is all built up +on ancient foundations of great festering lies. The lies are carefully +coated over and disinfected as much as possible and quite hidden out of +sight, but everybody knows they are there--everybody knows the quaking +foundations they tread upon. Civilization means universal civility, I +suppose, Joan; and to be civil to everybody argues a great power of telling +lies. People call it tact. But I don't like polite society myself, because +my nose is sensitive and I smell the stinking basis through all the pretty +paint. You and I, Joan, belong to Nature. She is not always civil, but you +can trust her; she is seldom polite, but she never says what is not true." + +"You talk as though 'e ded'n much like ladies an' gen'lemen, same as you +be." + +"I don't, and I'm not what you understand by 'a gentleman,' Joan. Gentlemen +and ladies let me go among them and mix with them, because I happen to have +a great deal of money--thousands and thousands of pounds. That opens the +door to their drawing-rooms, if I wanted to open it, but I don't. I've seen +them and gone about among them, and I'm sick of them. If a man wishes to +know what polite society is let him go into it as a very wealthy bachelor. +I'm not 'a gentleman,' you know, Joan, fortunately." + +"Surely, Mister Jan!" + +"No more than you're a lady. But I can try to be gentle and manly, which is +better. You and I come from the same class, Joan; from the people. The only +difference is that my father happened to make a huge fortune in London. +Guess what he sold?" + +"I dunnaw." + +"Fish--just plaice and flounders and herrings and so forth. He sold them by +tens of thousands. Your father sells them too. But what d'you think was the +difference? Why, your father is an honest man; mine wasn't. The fishermen +sold their fish, after they had had the trouble and danger of catching +them, to my father; and then my father sold them again to the public; and +the fishermen got too little and the public paid too much, and so--I'm a +very rich man to-day--the son of a thief." + +"Mister Jan!" + +"Nobody ever called him a thief but me. He was a great star in this same +polite society I speak of. He fed hundreds of fat people on the money that +ought to have gone into the fishermen's pockets; and he died after eating +too much salmon and cucumber at his own table. Poetic justice, you know. +There are stained glass windows up to his memory in two churches and tons +of good white marble were wasted when they made his grave. But he was a +thief, just as surely as your father is an honest man; so you have the +advantage of me, Joan. I really doubt if I'm respectable enough for you to +know and trust." + +"I'd trust 'e with anything, Mister Jan, 'cause you'm plain-spoken an' +true." + +"Don't be too sure--the son of a thief may have wrong ideas and lax +principles. Many things not to be bought can easily be stolen." + +Again he struck a sinister note, but this time on an ear wholly unable to +appreciate or suspect it. Joan was occupied with Barron's startling scraps +of biography, and, as usual, when he began talking in a way she could not +understand, turned to her own thoughts. This sudden alteration of his +position she took literally. It struck her in a happy light. + +"If you'm not a gen'leman then you wouldn' look down 'pon me, would 'e?" + +"God forbid! I look up to you, Joan." + +She was silent, trying to master this remarkable assertion. The artist +stood no longer upon that lofty pedestal where she had placed him; but the +change of attitude seemed to bring him a little closer, and Joan forgot the +fall in contemplating the nearer approach. + +"That's why I asked you not to call me 'Mister Jan,"' Barron added after a +pause. "We are, you see, only different because I'm a man and you're a +woman. Money merely makes a difference to outside things, like houses and +clothes. But you've got possessions which no money can bring to me: a happy +home and a lover coming back to you from the sea. Think what it must be to +have nobody in the world to care whether you live or die. Why, I haven't a +relation near enough to be even interested in all my money--there's +loneliness for you!" + +Joan felt full of a great pity, but could not tell how to express it. Even +her dull brains were not slow enough to credit his frank assertion that he +and she were equals; but she accepted the statement in some degree, and +now, with her mind wandering in his lonely existence, wondered if she might +presume to express sympathy for him and proclaim herself his friend. She +hesitated, for such friendship as hers, though it came hot from her little +heart, seemed a ludicrous thing to offer this man. Every day of intercourse +with him filled her more with wonder and with admiration; every day he +occupied a wider place in her thoughts; and at that moment his utterances +and his declaration of a want in life made him more human than ever to her, +more easily to be comprehended, more within the reach of her understanding. +And that was not a circumstance calculated to lessen her regard for him by +any means. Until that day he had appeared a being far apart, whose +interests and main threads of life belonged to another sphere; now he had +deliberately come into her world and declared it his own. + +The silence became painful to Joan, but she could not pluck up courage +enough to tell the artist that she at least was a friend. Finally she +spoke, feeling that he waited for her to do so, and her words led to the +point, for she found, in his answer to them, that he took her goodwill for +granted. + +"Ain't you got no uncles nor nothin' o' that even, Mister Jan?" + +He laughed and shook his head. + +"Not one, Joan--not anybody in all the world to think twice about me but +you." + +Her heart beat hard and her breath quickened, but she did not speak. Then +Barron, putting down his brushes and beginning to load a pipe, that his +next remark might not seem too serious, proceeded: + +"I call you 'friend,' Joan, because I know you are one. And I want you to +think of me sometimes when I am gone, will you?" + +He went on filling his pipe, and then, looking suddenly into her eyes, saw +there a light that was strange--a light that he would have given his soul +to put into paint--a light that Joe's name never had kindled and never +could. Joan wiped her hand across her mouth uneasily; then she twisted her +hands behind her back, like a schoolgirl standing in class, and made answer +with her eyes on the ground. + +"Iss, I will, then, Mister Jan; an' maybe I couldn't help it if I would." + +He lighted his pipe carefully before answering. + +"Then I shall be happy, Joan." + +But while she grew rose-red at the boldness of her sudden announcement, he +took care neither to look at her nor to let her know that he had realized +the earnestness with which she spoke. And when, ten minutes later, she had +departed, he mused speculatively on the course of their conversation, +asking himself what whim had led him to pretend to so much human feeling +and to lament his loneliness. This condition of his life he loved above all +others. No man, woman or child had the right to interfere with his selfish, +impersonal existence, and he gloried in the fact. But to the scraps of his +life's history, which he had spread before Joan in their absolute truth, he +had added this fiction of friendless loneliness, and it had worked a +wonder. He saw that he was growing to be much to her, and the problem lying +in his path rose again, as it had for a moment when Murdoch warned him in +jest against falling in love with Joan Tregenza. Dim suspicions crossed his +mind with greater frequency, and being now a mere remorseless savage, +hunting to its completion a fine picture, he made no effort to shut their +shadows from his calculation. Everything which bore even indirectly upon +his work received its share of attention; to mood must all sacrifices be +made; and now a new mood began to dawn in him. He knew it, he accepted it. +He had not sought it, but the thing was there, and Nature had sent it to +him. To shun it and fly from it meant a lie to his art; to open his arms to +it promised the destruction of a human unit. Barron was not the man to +hesitate between two such courses. If any action could heighten his +inspiration, add a glimmer of glory to his picture, or get a shadow more +soul into the painted blue eyes of the subject, he held such action +justified. For the present his mind was chaos on the subject, and he left +the future to work itself out as chance might determine. + +His painting was all he concerned himself with, and should Nature +ultimately indicate that greater perfection might be achieved through +worship and even sacrifice at her shrine, neither worship nor sacrifice +would be withheld. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + A WEDDING + + +Joan Tregenza went home in a dream that day. She did not know where to +begin thinking. "Mister Jan" had told her so many astounding things; and +her own heart, too, had made bold utterances--concerning matters which she +had crushed out of sight with some shame and many secret blushes until now. +But, seen in the light of John Barron's revelations, this emotion which she +had thrust so resolutely to the back of her mind could remain there no +more. It arose strong, rampant and ridiculous; only from her point of view +no humor distinguished it. This man, then, was like herself, made of the +same flesh and blood, sprung from the people. That fact, though possessing +absolutely no significance whatever in reality, struck Joan with great +force. Her highly primitive instincts stretched a wide gulf between the +thing called "gentleman" and other men; which was the result of training +from parents of the old-fashioned sort, whose world lay outside and behind +the modern spirit; who had reached the highest development of their +intelligence and formed their opinions before the passing of the Education +Act. Gray Michael naturally held the great ones of the earth as objects of +pity from an eternal standpoint, but birth weighed with him, and, in +temporal concerns, he treated his superiors with all respect and civility +when rare chance brought him into contact with them. He viewed uneasily the +last outcome of progress and the vastly increased facilities for +instruction of the juvenile population. The age was sufficiently godless, +in his judgment; and he had found that a Board School education was the +first nail in the coffin of every young man's faith. + +Joan, therefore, allowing nothing for the value of riches, of education, of +intellect, was content to accept Barron's own cynical statement in a spirit +widely different from the speaker's. He had sneered at himself, just as he +had sneered at his own dead father. But Joan missed all the bitterness of +his speech. To her he was simply a wondrously honest man who loved truth +for itself, who could never utter anything not true, who held it no offense +to speak truth even of the dead. Gentle or simple, he seemed infinitely +superior to all men whom she had met with. And yet this beautiful nature +walked through the world quite alone. He had asked her to remember him when +he was gone; he had said that she was his friend. And he cared little for +women--there was perhaps no other woman in the world he had called a +friend. Then the girl's heart fluttered at the presumption of her silly, +soaring thoughts, and she glanced nervously to the right and to the left of +the lonely road, as though fearful that some hidden eavesdropper might peep +into her open mind. The magic spell was upon her. This little, pale, clever +man, so quiet, so strange, so unlike anything else within her seventeen +years of experience, had wrought Nature's vital miracle, and Joan, who, +until then, believed herself in love with her sailor sweetheart, now stood +aghast before the truth, stood bewildered between the tame and bloodless +fantasy of her affection for Joe Noy and this wild, live reality. She +looked far back into a past already dim and remembered that she had told +Joe many times how she loved him with all her heart. But the words were +spoken before she knew that she possessed a heart at all. Yet Joe then +formed no inconsiderable figure in life. She had looked forward to marriage +with him as a comfortable and sufficient background for present existence; +she had viewed Joe as a handsome, solid figure--a man well thought of, one +who would give her a home with bigger rooms and better furniture in it than +most fishermen's daughters might reasonably hope for. But this new blinding +light was more than the memory of Joe could face uninjured. He shriveled +and shrank in it. Like St. Michael's Mount, seen afar, through curtains of +rain, Joe had once bulked large, towering, even grand, but under noonday +sun the great mass dwindles as a whole though every detail becomes more +apparent; and so with poor Joe Noy. Removed to a distance of a thousand +miles though he was, Joan had never known him better, never realized the +height, breadth, depth of him so acutely as now she did. The former +ignorance in such a case had been bliss indeed, for whereunto her present +acquired wisdom might point even she dared not consider. Any other girl +must have remained sufficiently alive to the enormous disparity every way +between herself and the artist; and Joan grasped the difference, but from +the wrong point of view. The man's delicacy of discernment, his wisdom, his +love of the things which she loved, his fine feeling, his humility--all +combined in Joan's judgment to place him far above herself, though she had +not words to name the qualities; but whereas another lowly woman, reaching +this point, must, if she possessed any mother-wit or knowledge of the +world, have awakened to the danger and grown guarded, Joan, claiming little +wit to speak of, and being an empty vessel so far as knowledge of the world +was concerned, saw no danger and allowed her thoughts to run away with her +in a wholly insane direction. This she did for two reasons: because she +felt absolutely safe, and because she suspected that Nature, who was +"Mister Jan's" God, had now come to be her God also. The man was very wise, +and he hated everything which lacked truth: therefore he would always do +what was right, and he would not be less true to her than he was to the +world. Truth was his guiding star, and he had always found Nature true. +Therefore, why should not Joan find it true? Nature was talking to her now +and teaching her rapidly. She must be content to wait and learn. The two +men, Noy and Barren, fairly represented the opposite views of life each +entertained, and Joan felt the new music wake a thousand sleeping echoes in +her heart while the old grew more harsh and unlovely as she considered it. +Joe had so many opinions and so little information; "Mister Jan" knew +everything and asserted nothing save what Nature had taught him. Joe was so +self-righteous and overbearing, so like her father, so convinced that Luke +Gospeldom was the only gate to glory; "Mister Jan" had said there was more +of the Everlasting God in a bluebell than in the whole of the Old +Testament; he had declared that the smell of the gorse and the sunshine on +the deep sea were better things than the incense and banners at St. +Peter's; he had asserted that the purring of kittens was sweeter to the +Father of all than the thunder of a mighty organ played in the noblest +cathedral ever made with hands. All these foolish and inconsequent +comparisons, uttered thoughtlessly by Barron's lips while his mind was on +his picture, seemed very fine to Joan; and the finer because she did not +understand them. Again, Joe rarely listened to her; this man always did, +and he liked to hear her talk: he had declared as much. + +Her brains almost hurt Joan on her way back to the white cottage that +morning. They seemed so loaded; they lifted her up high above the +working-day world and made her feel many years older. Such reflections and +ideas came to grown women doubtless, she thought. A great unrest arose from +the shadows of these varied speculations--a great unrest and disquiet--a +feeling of coming change, like the note in the air when the swallows meet +together in autumn, like the whisper of the leaves on the high tops of the +forest before rain. Her heart was very full. She walked more slowly as the +thoughts weighed heavier; she went back to her home round-eyed and solemn, +wondering at many things, at the extension of the horizon of life, at the +mental picture of Joe standing clearly out of the mists, viewed from a +woman's standpoint. + +That day much serving awaited her; but, at every turn and pause in the +small affairs of her duty, Joan's mind swooped back like a hawk to the +easel on Gorse Point; and when it did, her cheeks flushed and she turned to +bend over sink or pig's trough to hide the new fire that burned in her +heart and lighted her eyes. + +Mrs. Tregenza, who had suffered from neuralgia and profound depression of +spirit upon Tom's departure to the sea, but who comforted herself even in +her darkest hour by reflection that no lugger boy ever joined the fishing +fleet with such an equipment of new clothes as her son, was somewhat better +and more cheerful now that the lad had made his first trip and survived it. +Moreover, Tom would be home again that night in all probability, and, since +Michael was last ashore, the butcher from Paul had called and offered three +shillings and sixpence more for the next pig to be killed than ever a +Tregenza pig had fetched until that day. Life therefore held some +prosperity in it, even for Thomasin. + +After their dinner both women, the elder with a shawl muffled about her +face, went down the road to Newlyn to see a sight. They stopped at George +Trevennick's little house. It had a garden in front of it with a short +flagstaff erected thereon, and all looked neat, trim and ship-shape as +became the home of a retired Royal Navy man. A wedding was afoot, and Mr. +Trevennick, who never lost an opportunity to display his rare store of +bunting, had plentifully shaken out bright reds and yellows, blues and +greens. The little flags fluttered in four streamers from the head of the +flagstaff, and their colors looked harsh and crude until associated with +the human interests they marked. + +Already many children gazed with awe from the road, while a favored few, +including the Tregenzas, stood in Mr. Trevennick's garden, which was raised +above the causeway. Great good-humor prevailed, together with some +questionable jesting, and Joan heard the merriment with a sense of +discomfort. They would talk like this when Joe came back to marry her; but +the great day of a maid's life had lost its greatness for her now. The +rough, good-natured fun grated on her nerves as it had never grated before; +because, though she only guessed at the sly jokes of her elders, something +told her that "Mister Jan" would have found no pleasure in such merriment. +Mrs. Tregenza talked, Mr. Trevennick smoked, and Sally Trevennick, the old +sailor's daughter, entertained the party and had a word for all. She was +not young, and not well-favored, and unduly plump, but a sweet-hearted +woman nevertheless, with a great love for the little children. This indeed +presently appeared, for while the party waited there happened a tragedy in +the street which brought extreme sorrow to a pair of very small people. +They had a big crabshell full of dirt off the road which they drew after +them by a string, and in which they took no small pride and pleasure; but a +young sailor, coming hastily round a corner, trampled upon the shell, +smashed it, and passed laughing on. The infants, overwhelmed by this sudden +disaster to their most cherished earthly possession, crushed to the earth +by this blotting out of the sunshine of the day, lifted up their voices and +wept before the shattered ruins. One, the biggest, dropped the useless +string and put his face against the wall, that his extreme grief might be +hidden; but the smaller hesitated not to make his sorrows widely known. He +bawled, then took a deep breath and bawled again. As the full extent of his +loss was borne in upon him, he absolutely danced with access of frenzied +grief; and everybody laughed but fat Sally Trevennick. Her black eyes grew +clouded, and she went down into the road to bring comfort to the sufferers. + +"Never mind, then; never mind, you bwoys; us'll get 'e another braave +shell, so us will. Theer, theer, give over an' come 'long wi' me an' see +the flags. Theer's many bigger auld crabshells wheer that comed from, I +lay. Your faither'll get 'e another." + +She took a hand of each babe and brought them into the garden, from which +they could look down upon their fellows. Such exaltation naturally soothed +their sufferings, and amid many gasps and gurgles they found a return to +peace in the close contemplation of Mr. Trevennick's flagstaff and the +discussion of a big saffron pasty. + +Presently the bridegroom and his young brother passed on the way to church. +Both looked the reverse of happy; both wore their Sunday broadcloth, and +both swung along as fast as their legs would carry them. They were red hot +and going five miles an hour; but, though Mousehole men, everybody in +Newlyn knew them, and they were forced to run the gauntlet of much chaff. + +"Time was when they did use to thrash a new-married couple to bed," said +Mr. Trevennick. "'Twas an amoosin' carcumstance an' I've 'elped at many, +but them good auld doin's is dyin' out fast." + +Mrs. Tregenza was discussing the bridegroom's family. + +"He be a poor Billy-be-damned sort o' feller, I've allus heard, an' awnly a +common tinner, though his faither were a grass cap'n at Levant Mine." + +"But he's a steady chap," said Sally; "an' them in his awn station sez he's +reg'lar at church-goin' an' well thot 'pon by everybody. 'Tedn' all young +pairs as parson'll ax out, I can tell 'e. He wants to knaw a bit 'fore +'e'll marry bwoys an' gals; but theer weren't no trouble 'bout Mark +Taskes." + +"Sure I'm glad to hear it, Sally, 'cause if he caan't do everything, +everything won't be done. They Penns be a pauper lot--him a fish-jouster as +ain't so much as his awn donkey an' cart, an' lame tu. Not that 'twas his +awn fault, I s'pose, but they do say a lame chap's never caught in a good +trick notwithstandin'." + +"Here comes the weddeners!" said Joan, "but 'tedn' a very braave shaw," she +added. "They'm all a-foot, I do b'lieve." + +"Aw, my dear sawl! look at that now!" cried Mrs. Tregenza. "Walkin', +ackshally walkin'. Well--well!" + +The little bride advanced between her father and mother, while relations +and friends marched two and two behind. A vision it was of age and youth, +of bright spring flowers, of spotless cotton and black broadcloth. A matron +or two marched in flaming colors; a few fishermen wore their blue jerseys +under their reefer jackets; the smaller children were led by hand; and the +whole party numbered twelve all told. Mr. Penn looked up at the flags as he +limped along, and a great delight broke out upon his face; the bride's +mother beamed with satisfaction at a compliment not by any means expected, +for the Penns were a humble folk; and the bride blushed and stole a nervous +peep at the display. Mr. Penn touched his hat to the party in the garden, +and Mr. Trevennick, feeling the eye of the multitude upon him, loudly +wished the wedding party well as it passed by. + +"Good speed to 'e an' to the maid, Bill Penn. May she live 'appy an' be a +credit to all parties consarned." + +"Thank 'e, thank 'e, kindly, Mr. Trevennick. An' us takes it mighty +favorable to see your butivul flags a hangin' out--mighty favorable, I +'sure 'e." + +So the party tramped on and ugly Sally looked after them with dim eyes; but +Mrs. Tregenza's thin voice dried them. + +"A bad come-along o't for a gal to walk 'pon sich a day. They did ought to +a got her a lift to her weddin', come what might." + +"Maybe 'tis all wan to them poor dears. A coach an' four 'orses wouldn' +make that cheel no better pleased. God bless her, did 'e look 'ow she +flickered up when she seed faither's flags a flyin'?" + +"Theer's a right way an' a wrong o' doin' weddin's, Sarah, an' 'tedn' a +question whether a gal's better pleased or no. It's all wan to a dead +corpse whether 'tis took to the yard in a black hearse wi' plumes, same as +what us shall be, or whether 'tis borne 'pon wan o' them four 'anded +stretchers used for carryin' fishin' nets, same as poor Albert Vallack was +a while back--but wan way's proper an' t'other 'edn'." + +"They'm savin' the money for the feed. Theer's gwaine to be a deal o' clome +liftin' at Perm's cottage bimebye," said another of the party. + +"No honeymoon neither, so I hear tell," added Mrs. Tregenza. + +"But Taskes have bought flam-new furniture for his parlor, they sez," +declared the former speaker. + +"Of coorse. Still no honeymoon 'tall! Who ever heard tell of sich a thing +nowadays? I wonder they ban't 'shamed." + +"Less shame, Mrs. Tregenza, than trapsing off to Truro or somewheers an' +wastin' their time an' spendin' money they'll be wanting back agin 'fore +Christmas," retorted Sally, with some warmth. + +But Mrs. Tregenza only shook her head and sighed. + +"You speaks as a onmarried wummon, Sarah; but if you comed to be a bride +you'd sing dif-fer'nt. No honeymoon's wrong, an' your faither'll tell the +same." + +Mr. Trevennick admitted that no honeymoon was bad. He went further and +declared the omission of such an institution to be unprincipled. He even +said that had he known of this serious defect in the ceremonies he should +certainly have abstained from lending the brightness of his bunting to +them. Then he went to eye the flags from different points of view, while +Sally, in a minority of one, turned to Joan. + +"And what do you say?" she asked. "You'm 'mazin' quiet an' tongue-tied for +you. I s'pose you'm thinkin' of the time when Joe Noy comes home. I lay +you'll have a honeymoon anyways." + +"Iss, that you may depend 'pon," said Mrs. Tregenza. + +And Joan, who had in truth been thinking of her sweetheart's return, grew +red, whereat they all laughed. But she felt secretly superior to every one +of them, for the shrinking process began to extend beyond Joe now. A +fortnight before, she had been much gratified by allusions to the future +and felt herself an important individual enough. Then, she must have shared +her stepmother's pity at the poverty of the pageant which had just passed +by. But now the world had changed. Matrimony with Joe Noy was not a subject +which brought present delight to her, but the little bride who had just +gone to her wedding filled Joan's thoughts. What was in that girl's heart, +she greatly wondered. Did Milly Penn feel for long-legged Mark Taskes what +Joan felt for "Mister Jan"? Was it possible that any other woman had ever +experienced similar mysterious splendors of mind? She could not tell, but +it seemed unlikely to her; it appeared improbable that an ordinary man had +power to inspire another heart with such golden magic as glorified her own. + +Presently she departed with her stepmother, whereupon Sally Trevennick +relieved her pent-up feelings. + +"Thank the Lard that chitter-faaced wummon edn' gwaine to the weddin' any +ways! Us knaws she's a dear good sawl 'nough; but what wi' her sour voice, +an' her sour way o' talkin', an' her sour 'pinions, she'm enough to set a +rat-trap's teeth on edge." + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +MOONLIGHT + + +That evening Thomasin had another spasm of face-ache and went to bed soon +after drinking tea. Michael was due at home about ten o'clock or earlier, +and Joan--having set out supper, made all ready, and ascertained that her +stepmother had gone to sleep--walked out to the pierhead, there to wait for +Mr. Tregenza and Tom. Under moonlight, the returning luggers crept +homeward, like inky silhouettes on a background of dull silver. Every +moment added to the forest of masts anchored at the moorings outside the +harbor; every minute another rowing-boat shot between the granite piers, +slid silently into the darkness under shore, leaving moonlit rings widening +out behind at each dip of the oars. Joan sat down under the lighthouse and +waited in the stillness for her father's boat. Yellow flashes, like +fireflies, twinkled along through Newlyn, and above them the moon brought +out square patches of silver-bright roof seen through a blue night. Now and +then a bell rang in the harbor, and lights leaped here and there, mingling +red snakes and streamers of fire with the white moonbeams where they lay on +still water. Then Joan knew the fish were being sold by auction, and she +grew anxious for her father's return, fearing prices might have fallen +before he arrived. Great periods of silence lay between the ringings of the +bell, and at such times only faint laughter floated out from shore, or +blocks chipped and rattled as a sail came down or a concertina squeaked +fitfully where it was played on a Norwegian iceboat at the harbor quay. The +tide ran high, and Joan watched the lights reflected in the harbor and +wondered why the gold of them contrasted so ill with the silver from the +moon. + +Presently two men came along to the pierhead. They smoked, looked at the +sea, and did not notice her where she sat in shadow. One, the larger, wore +knickerbockers, talked loudly, and looked a giant in the vague light; the +other was muffled up in a big ulster, and Joan would not have recognized +Barron had he not spoken. But he answered his friend, and then the girl's +heart leaped to hear that quiet, unimpassioned voice. He spoke of matters +which she did not understand, of pictures and light and all manner of +puzzles set by Nature for the solution of art; but though for the most part +his remarks conveyed no meaning to her, yet he closed a sentence with words +that made her happy, and warmed her heart and left a precious memory behind +them. + +"Moonlight is a problem only less difficult than sunshine," he said to his +friend. "Where are you going to get that?" and he pointed to the sea. + +"It's been jolly well done all the same." + +"Never. It is not to be done. You can suggest by a trick, but God defend us +from tricks and sleight-of-hand in connection with the solemn business of +painting pictures. Let us be true or nothing." + +They walked away together, and Joan pondered over the last words. Truth +seemed an eternal, abiding passion with John Barron, and the contemplation +of this idea gave her considerable pleasure. She did not know that a man +may be at once true to his art and a liar to his fellows. + +Presently her father returned with Tom, and the three walked home together. +Gray Michael appeared quietly satisfied that his son was shaping well and +showing courage and nerve. But he silenced the lad quickly enough when Tom +began to talk with some gasconade concerning greet deeds done westward of +the Scilly Islands. + +"'Let another man praise thee an' not thine awn mouth,' my bwoy," said Mr. +Tregenza. "It ban't the wave as makes most splash what gaws highest up the +beach, mind. You get Joan to teach 'e how to peel 'taties, 'cause 'tis a +job you made a tidy bawk of, not to mention no other. Keep your weather-eye +liftin' an' your tongue still. Then you'll do. An' mind--the bwoat's clean +as a smelt by five o'clock to-morrow marnin', an' no later." + +Tom, dashed by these base details, answered seaman fashion: + +"Ay, ay, faither." + +Then they all tramped home, and the boy enjoyed the glories of a late +supper, though he was half asleep before he had finished it. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +THE KISS + + +By half-past five o'clock, Mr. Tregenza's black lugger was off again in a +gray dawn all tangled with gold on the eastern horizon. + +His mother had given Tom an early breakfast at half-past four, and the +youngster, agape and dim-eyed at first, speedily brightened up, for he had +a willing listener, in the candle-light and poured a tale of moving +incidents into Thomasin's proud but uneasy mind. + +"Them Pritchards sez as they'll make a busker [Footnote: _Busker_--A +rare good fisherman.] of me, 'cause it blawed a bit issterday marnin', but +'twas all wan to me; an' you abbun no call to fret yourself, nohow, mother, +'cause faither's 'lowed to be the best sailor in the fleet an' theer ban't +a better foul-weather boat sails from Newlyn than ourn." + +He chattered on, larding his discourse with new words picked up aboard, and +presently rolled off to get things shipshape just as his father came down +to breakfast. + +When the men had gone, little remained to be done that day, and, by +half-past seven, about which hour Mrs. Tregenza went into the village that +she might whine with a widow who had two boys in the fleet, Joan found +herself free until the afternoon. She determined therefore to reach Gorse +Point before the artist should arrive there, and set off accordingly. + +Early though she was, she had but a short time to wait, for Barron appeared +with his big canvas by nine o'clock. She thought he showed more pleasure +than usual at the sight of her. Certainly he shook hands and congratulated +her upon such early hours. + +"This is an unexpected pleasure, Joan. You must have been up betimes +indeed." + +"Iss fay, us took breakfus' by five, an' faither sailed 'fore half-past. +'Tis busy times for fishin' folk when the mackerl begins shoalin'." + +"I'm glad I came back to my den in the fields yonder and didn't stop in +Newlyn last night. You must see my little cow-byre some day or other, Joan. +I've made it wonderfully snug. Farmer Ford is good enough to let me take +possession of it for the present; and I've got food and drink stowed away, +and a beautiful bed of sweet, withered bracken. I sleep well there, and the +dawn comes in and wakens me." + +"You ban't feared o' piskeys nor nothin' in a lawnsome plaace like thicky +byre?" + +"No, no--the rats are rather intrusive, though." + +"But they'm piskeys or spriggans so like's not! You see, the lil people +takes all manner o' shaapes, Mister Jan; an' they chaanges 'em tu, but +every time they chaanges they've got to alter into somethin' smaller than +what they was before. An' so, in coorse of time, they do say they comes +down into muryans an' such like insects." + +"Piskeys or no piskeys, I've caught several in a trap and killed them." + +"They'm gashly things, rats, an' I shouldn't think as no good piskeys would +turn into varmints like them." + +"More should I. But something better than rats came to see me last night, +Joan. Guess who it was." + +"I dunnaw." + +"Why, you came!" + +"Me, Mister Jan! You must a bin dreamin'!" + +"Yes, of course I was; but such a lovely dream, Joan! You see, men who +paint pictures and love what is beautiful and dream about beautiful things +and beautiful people see all sorts of visions sometimes. I have pictures in +my head a thousand times more splendid than any I shall ever put upon +canvas, because mere paint-brushes cannot do much, even when they are in +the cleverest hands; but a man's brain is not bound down by material, +mechanical matters. My brain made a picture of you last night--a picture +that came and looked at me on my fern bed--a picture so real, so alive that +I could see it move and hear it laugh. You think that wonderful. It isn't +really, because my brain has done nothing but think of you now for nearly +six weeks. My eye studies you and stamps you upon my brain; then, when +night comes, and no man works, and the world is dark and silent, my brain +sets off on its own account and raises up a magic vision just to show me +what you really are--how different to this poor daub here." + +"Lard, Mister Jan! I never heard tell of sich a coorious thing as that." + +"And the pretty dream-Joan can talk almost as well as you can! Why, last +night, while I was half awake and half asleep, she put her hand upon my +shoulder and said kind things, but I dared not move or kiss her hand at +first for fear she would vanish if I did." + +Joan laughed. + +"That is a funny story, sure 'nough," she said. "I 'specs 'twas awnly +another fairy body, arter all." + +"No, it wasn't. She had your voice and your spirit in her; and that picture +which my brain painted for me was so much better than the thing my hand has +painted that, in the morning, I was almost tempted to destroy this +altogether. But I didn't." + +"An' what did this here misty sort o' maid say to 'e?" + +"Strange things, strange things. Things I would give a great deal to hear +you say. It seemed that you had come, Joan, it seemed that you had +purposely come from your little cottage on the cliff through the darkness +before dawn. Why? To share my loneliness, to brighten my poor shadowy life. +Dreams are funny things, are they not? What d'you think you said?" + +"Sure I dunnaw." + +"Why, you said that you were not going to leave me any more; that you +believed in me and that you had come to me because it was bad for a man to +live all alone in the world. You said that you felt alone too--without me. +And it made me feel happy to hear you say that, though I knew, all the +time, that it was not the real beautiful Joan who spoke to me." + +Thereupon the girl asked a question which seemed to argue some sharpening +of intelligence within her. + +"An' when I spoke that, what did you say, Mister Jan?" + +"I didn't say anything at all. I just took that sweet Joan-of-dreams into +my arms and kissed her." + +He was looking listlessly out over the sea as he spoke, and Joan felt +thankful his eyes were turned away from her, for this wonderful dream +incident made her grow hot all over. He seemed to divine by her silence +that his answer to her question had not added to her happiness. + +"I shouldn't have told you that, Joan, only you asked me. You see, in +dreams, we are real in some senses, though unreal in others. In dreams the +savage part of us comes to the top and Nature can whisper to us. She +chooses night to do so and often speaks to men in visions, because by day +the voice of the world is in their ears and they have no attention for any +other. It was strange, too, that I should fancy such a thing--should +imagine I was kissing you--because I never kissed a woman in my life." + +But from her point of view this falsehood was not so alluring as he meant +to make it sound. + +"'Twould be wrong to kiss any maiden, I reckon, onless you was tokened to +her or she were your awn sister." + +"But, as we look at life, we're all brothers and sisters, Joan--with Nature +for our mother. We agreed about that long ago." + +He turned to his easel, and she went and stood where her feet had already +made a brown mark on the grass. + +"I seen you last night, but you dedn' see me," she said, changing the +conversation with abruptness. + +"Yes, I did," he answered, "sitting under the shadow of the lighthouse, +waiting for Mr. Tregenza, I expect." + +"An' you never took no note o' me!" + +He flung down his brushes, turned away from the picture before he had +touched it, and went and lay near the edge of the cliff. + +"Come here, Joan, and I will tell you why I didn't notice you, though I +longed to do so. Come and sit down by me and I'll explain why I seemed so +rude." + +She came slowly and sat down some distance from him, putting her elbows on +her knees and looking away to sea. + +"'Tweern't kind," she said, "but when you'm with other folks, I s'pose +you'm ashamed o' me 'spite what you tawld me 'bout yourself." + +"You mustn't say that, Joan, or you'll make me unhappy. Ashamed of you! Is +it likely I'm ashamed of the only friend I've got in the world? No, I'm +frightened of losing you; I'm selfish; I couldn't make you known to any +other man because I should be afraid you'd like him better than me, and +then I should have no friend at all. So I wouldn't speak and reveal my +treasure to anybody else. I'm very fond of my friend, and very proud of +her, and as greedy as a miser over his gold." + +Joan took a long breath before this tremendous assertion. He had told her +in so many words that he was fond of her; and he had mentioned it most +casually as a point long since decided. Here was the question which she had +asked herself so often answered once for all. Her heart leaped at tidings +of great joy, and as she looked up into his face the man saw infinite +wonder and delight in her own. Mind was adding beauty to flesh, and he, +fast losing the artist's instinct before another, thought she had never +looked so lovely as then. + +"Oh, Mister Jan, you'm fond o' me!" + +"Why, didn't you know it, Joan? Did it want my words to tell you so? Hadn't +you guessed it?" + +He rose slowly and approached his picture. + +"Oh, how I wish this was a little more like my dream and like reality! I +need inspiration, Joan; I have reached a point beyond which I cannot go. My +colors are dead; my soul is dead. Something must happen to me or I shall +never finish this." + +"Ban't you so well as you was?" + +"No, Joan, I'm not. A thing has come between me and my happiness, between +me and my picture. I know not what to call it. Nature has sent it." + +"Then 'tis right an' proper, I s'pose?" + +"I suppose so, but it stops work. It makes my hand shake and my heart throb +fast and my brains grow hot." + +"Can't 'e take no physic for't?" + +"Why, yes, but I hesitate." + +He turned to her and went close to her. + +"Let me look at you, Joan--close--very close--so close that I can feel your +breath. It was so easy to learn the furze; it is so hard to learn you." + +"Sure I've comed out butivul in the picksher." + +"Not yet, not yet." + +He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes until she grew +nervous and brushed her hand across her cheek. Then, without a second's +warning, he bent down and kissed her on the mouth. + +"Mister Jan! How could 'e! 'Tis wrong--wrong of 'e! I'd never a thot--" + +She started from him, wild, alarmed, blushing hotly; and he shook his head +at her dismay and answered very calmly, very seriously: + +"It was not wrong, Joan, or I should not have done it. You heard me ask to +whom I should pray for inspiration, and Nature told me I must seek it from +you. And I have." + +"You shouldn't never a done it. I trusted 'e so!" + +"But I had to do it. Nature said 'Kiss her, and you will find what you +want.' Do you understand that? I have touched you and I am awake and alive +again; I have touched you, Joan, and I am not hopeless and sad, but happy. +Nature thought of me, Joan, when she made you and brought you into the +world; and she thought of sweet Joan when she fashioned Jan. Believe +it--you must believe it." + +"You did ought to a arsked me." + +"Listen. Nature let you live quiet in the country--for me, Joan. She let me +live all lonely in the world--for you. Only for you. Can't you understand?" + +"You did ought to a arsked me. Kissing be wrong 'tween us. You knaws it, +Mr. Jan." + +"It is right and proper and fair and beautiful," he said quietly. "My heart +sang when I kissed you, Joan, and so did yours. D'you know why? Because we +are two halves of a whole. Because the sunshine of your life would go out +without me; because my life, which never had any sunshine in it until now, +has been full of sunshine since I knew Joan." + +"I dunnaw. 'Twadden a proper thing to do, seein' how I trusted 'e." + +"We are children of Nature, Joan. I always do what she tells me. I can't +help it. I have obeyed her all my life. She tells me to love you, Joan, and +I do. I'm very sorry. I thought she had told you to love me, but I suppose +I was wrong. Never mind this once. Forgive me, Joan. I'll even fight Nature +rather than make you angry with me. Let me finish my picture and go away. +Come. I've no business to waste your precious time, though you have been so +kind and generous with it. Only I was tired and hopeless and you came like +a drink of wine to me, Joan; and I drank too much, I suppose." + +He picked up his brushes, spoke in a sad minor key, and seemed crushed and +weary. The flash died from his face and he looked older again. Joan, the +mistress of the situation, found it wholly bitter. She was bewildered, for +affairs had proceeded with such rapidity. He had declared frankly that he +loved her, and yet had stopped there. To her ideas it was impossible that a +man should say as much as that to a woman and no more. Love invariably +meant ultimate union for life, Joan thought. She could not understand any +other end to it. The man talked about Nature as a little child talks of its +mother. He had deemed himself entirely in the right; yet something--not +Nature, she supposed--had told her that he was wrong. But who was she to +judge him? Who was she to say where his conduct erred? He loved truth. It +was not a lie to kiss a girl. He promised nothing. How could he promise +anything or propose anything? Was she not another man's sweetheart? That +doubtless had been the reason why he had said no more than that he loved +her. To love her could be no sin. Nature had told him to; and God knew how +she loved him now. + +But she could not make it up with him. A cold curtain seemed to have fallen +between them. The old reserve which had only melted after many meetings, +was upon him again. He stood, as it seemed, on the former pedestal. A +strange, surging sensation filled her head--a sense of helpless fighting +against a flood of unhappy affairs. All the new glory of life was suddenly +tarnished through her own act, and she felt that things could never be the +same again. + +She thought and thought. Then John Barron saw Joan's blue eyes begin to +wink ominously, the corners of her bonny mouth drag down and something +bright twinkle over her cheek. He took no notice, and when he looked up +again, she had moved away and was sitting on the grass crying bitterly with +her hands over her face. The sun was bright, a lark sang overhead; from +adjacent inland fields came the jolt and clank of a plow with a man's voice +calling to his horses at the turns. The artist put down his palette and +walked over to Joan. + +"My dear, my dear," he said, "d'you know what's making you so unhappy?" + +She sobbed on and did not answer. + +"I can tell you, I think. You don't quite know whether to believe me or +not, Joan. That is very natural. Why should you believe me? And yet if you +knew--" + +She sat up, swallowed some of her tears, and smudged her face with her +knuckles. He took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to +her. It was cool and pleasant, and she went on crying a while, but tears +which were comforting and different to the first stinging drops bred from a +sudden, forlorn survey of life. He talked on, and his voice soothed her. He +kept his distance, and presently, as her ruffled spirit grew calmer, his +remarks assumed a brighter note. + +"Has my poor little Lady of the Gorse forgiven me at last? She won't punish +me any more, I know, and it is a very terrible punishment to see tears in +her eyes." + +Then she found her tongue again and words to answer him, together with +fluttering sighs that told the tears were ended. + +"I dunnaw why for I cried, Mr. Jan, but I seemed 'mazed like. I'm a stupid +fule of a maid, I reckon, an' I s'pose 'tis auld-fashioned notions as I've +got 'bout what be right an' wrong. But, coorse, you knaws better'n what I +can; an' you'd do me no hurt 'cause you loves me--you've said it; +an'--an'--I love 'e tu, Mister Jan, I 'sure 'e--better'n anything in all +the world." + +"Why, that's good, sweet news, Joan; and Nature told me the truth after +all! We're bound to love one another. She made us for that very reason!" + +He knew that her mind was full of the tangles of life and that she wanted +him to solve some of the riddles just then uppermost in her own existence. +He felt that Joe was in her thoughts, and he easily divined her unuttered +question as to why Nature had sent Joe before she had sent him. But, though +answers and explanations of her troubles were not likely to be difficult, +he had no wish to make them or to pursue the subject just then. Indeed, he +bid Joan depart an hour before she need have done so. Her face was spoiled +for that sitting, and matters had progressed up to the threshold of the +barrier. Before that could be broken down, she must be made to feel that +she was necessary to the happiness of his life; as he already felt that she +was necessary to the completion of his picture. She loved him very dearly, +and he, though love was not possible to his nature, could feel the +substitute. He had fairly stepped out of his impersonal shell into reality. +Presently he would return to his shell again. For a moment a model had +grown more to him than a picture; and he told himself that he must obey +Nature in order adequately to serve Art. + +He picked up the handkerchief he had lent Joan, looked at the dampness of +the tear-stains, and then spread it in the sun to dry. + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +JOAN WALKS HOME + + +While John Barren determined that a space of time extending over some days +should now separate him from Joan, she, for her part, had scarce left Gorse +Point after the conversation just chronicled when there came a great +longing in her heart to return thither. As she walked home she viewed +wearily the hours which lay between her and the following morning when she +might go back to him and see his face again. Time promised to drag for the +next day and night. Already she framed in her mind the things her mouth +should say to-morrow; and that almost before she was beyond sight of the +man's easel. Her fears had vanished with her tears. The future was entirely +in his hand now, for she had accepted his teaching, endeavored to look at +life with his eyes, made his God her own, so far as she had wit to gather +what his God was. She accepted the situation with trust, and felt +responsibility shifted on to "Mister Jan's" shoulders with infinite relief. +He was very wise and knew everything and loved the truth. It is desirable +to harp and harp upon this ever-recurring thought: the artist's grand love +for truth; because all channels of Joan's mind flowed into this lake. His +sincerity begat absolute trust. And, as John Barren and his words and +thoughts filled the foreground of life for her, so, correspondingly, did +the affairs of her home, with all the circumstances of existence in the old +environment, peak and dwindle toward shadowy insignificance. Her father +lost his majestic proportions; the Luke Gospelers became mere objects for +compassion; the petty, temporal interests and concerns of the passing hour +appeared mere worthless affairs for the occupation and waste of time. +"Mister Jan" loved her, and she loved him, and what else mattered? Past +hours of unrest and wakefulness were forgotten; her tears washed the dead +anxieties clean away; and the kiss which had caused them, though it +scorched her lip when it fell there, was now set as a seal and a crowning +glory to her life. He never kissed any other woman. That pledge of this +rare man's affection had been won by the magic of love, and Joan welcomed +Nature gladly and called it God with a warm heart and thankful soul; for +Nature had brought about this miracle. Her former religion worked no +wonders; it had only conveyed terror to her and a comprehensive knowledge +of hell. "Mister Jan" smiled at hell and she could laugh at her old fears. +How was it possible to hesitate between two such creeds? She did not do so, +and, with final acceptation of the new, and secret rejection of the old, +came a great peace to Joan's heart with the whisper of many voices telling +her that she had done rightly. + +So the storm gave place to periods of delicious calm and content only +clouded by a longing to be back with the artist again. He loved her; the +voice of his love was the song of the spring weather, and the thrush echoed +it and the early flowers wrote it on the hedgerows. God was everywhere to +her open eyes. Everything that was beautiful, everything that was good, +seemed to have been created for her delight during that homeward walk. She +was mightily lifted up. Nature seemed so strong, so kind, such a guardian +angel for a maiden. And the birds sang out that "Mister Jan" was Nature's +priest and could do no wrong; and that to obey Nature was the highest good. + +From which reflection rose a hazy happiness--dim, beautiful and indefinable +as the twinkling gold upon the sea under the throne of the sun. Joan dwelt +on the memory of the day which was now over for her, and on the thought of +morning hours which to-morrow would bring. But she looked no further; and +backward she did not gaze at all. No thought of Joe Noy dimmed her mental +delight; no shadowy cloud darkened the horizon then. All was bright, all +perfect. Her mind seemed to be breaking its little case, as the butterfly +bursts the chrysalis. Her life till then had been mere grub existence; now +she could fly and had seen the sun drawing the scent from flowers. Great +ideas filled her soul; new emotions awoke; she was like a baby trying to +utter the thing he has no word for; her vocabulary broke down under the +strain, and as she walked she gave thanks to Nature in a mere wordless +song, like the lark, because she could not put her acknowledgment into +language. But the great Mother, to whom Life is all in all, the living +individual nothing, looked on at a world wakening from sleep and viewed the +loves of the flowers and the loves of the birds and beasts and fishes with +concern as keen as the love in the blue eyes of Joan upon her homeward way. + +Busy indeed at this vernal season was the mysterious Nurse of God's little +world. Her hands rested not from her labors. She worked strange wonders on +the waste, by magic of a million breaking buds, by burying of the dead, by +wafting of subtle pollen-life from blossom to blossom. And in cliffs above +the green waters the nests of her wild-fowl were already lined with wool +and feather; neither were her samphires forgotten in their dizzy +habitations; and salt spray sprinkled her uncurling sea ferns in caves and +crannies where they grew. She laughed at the porpoises rolling their fat +sides into sunshine; she brought the sea-otter where it should find fish +for its young; she led giant congers to drowned men; she patted the sleek +head of the sad-eyed seal. Elsewhere she showed the father-hawk a leveret +crouching in his form; she took young rabbits to the new spring grass; the +fox to the fowl, the fly to the spider, the blight to the bud. Her weakly +nestlings fell from tree and cliff to die, but she beheld unmoved; her +weasel sucked the gray-bird's egg, yet no hand was raised against the +thief, no voice comforted the screaming agony of the mother. With the van +of her legions she moved, and the suffering stragglers cried in vain, for +her concerns were not with them. She did no right, she worked no evil; she +was not cruel, neither shall we call her kind. The servant of God was she, +then as always, heedful of His utterances, obedient to His laws. Which +laws, when man better divines, he shall learn thy secret too, Nurse of the +world, but not sooner. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + LONELY DAYS + + +Having already learned from experience that hard work quickens the flight +of time, Joan, returning in happy mood to her home and with no trace of the +past tears upon her cheeks, surprised Mrs. Tregenza by a display of most +unusual energy and activity. She helped the butcher to get the pig into a +low cart built expressly for the conveyance of such unwieldy animals; she +looked mournfully at her departing companion, knowing that the morrow had +nothing for him but a knife, that he had eaten his last meal. And while +Joan listened to the farewell grunts of the fattest pig which had ever +adorned her father's sty, Mrs. Tregenza counted the money and bit a piece +here and there, and wondered if she could get the next young pig from Uncle +Chirgwin for even a lower figure than the last. + +The day which had wrought such wonders for Joan's inner life, and brought +to her eyes a sort of tears unshed till then, ended at last, and for her a +sleepless night followed upon it. Not until long past one o'clock in the +morning did she lose consciousness, and then the thoughts of the day broke +loose again in visions, taking upon themselves fantastic shapes and moving +amid dream scenery of strange splendor. Now it was her turn to conjure +brain pictures out of fevered thoughts, and she woke at last with a start +in the dawn, to see a faint light painting the square of her bedroom +window. Looking out, she found the world dimly visible, a darker shadow +through the gloom where the fishing-boats were gathering in the bay, the +lighthouse lamp still shining, stars twinkling overhead, absolute silence +everywhere, and a cold bite about the air. The girl went back to bed again, +but slept no more and anon arose, dressed, set about morning duties, and, +much to Mrs. Tregenza's astonishment, had the fire burning and breakfast +ready by the time her stepmother appeared. + +"Aw jimmery!" Thomasin exclaimed, as Joan came in from the outhouse to find +her warming cold hands at the fire, "I couldn't b'lieve my eyes at first +an' thot the piskey men had come to do us a turn spite o' what faither sez. +You've turned over a leaf seemin'ly. Workin' out o' core be a new game for +you." + +"I couldn' sleep for thinkin' 'bout--'bout the pig an' wan thing an' +'nother." + +"He's pork now, or nearly. You heard butcher promise me some nattlins, +dedn' 'e? You'd best walk up to Paul bimebye an' fetch, 'em. 'Tis easier to +call to mind other folk's promises than our awn. He said the same last +pig-killin' an' it comed to nort." + +Joan escaped soon after breakfast and set off eagerly enough. She took a +basket with her and designed to call at Paul on the way home again. +Moreover, she chose a longer route to Gorse Point than that through +Mousehole, for her very regular habits of late had caused some comment in +that village, and more than one acquaintance had asked her, half in jest, +half in earnest, who it was she went to see up Mousehole hill. This had +frightened Joan twice already, and to-day, for the first time, she took the +longer route above Paul Church-town. It brought her over fields near the +cow-byre where Barren spent much of his time and kept his picture; and when +she saw her footpath must pass the door of the little house, a flutter +quickened her pulses and she branched away over the field and proceeded to +the cliffs through a gap in the hedge some distance from the byre. + +But as Joan came out upon the sward through the furzes her heart sank in +sight of loneliness. She was not early to-day, but she had come earlier +than "Mister Jan." The gray figure was invisible. There were the marks on +the turf where his easel and camp-stool stood; there was the spot his feet +were wont to press, and her own standing-point against the glimmering +gorse; but that was all. She knew of no reason for his delay. The weather +was splendid, the day was warm, and he had never been so late before within +her recollection. Joan, much wondering, sat down to wait with her eyes upon +the sea, her ears alert for the first footstep, and her mind listening +also. Time passed, and indefinite uneasiness grew into a fear; then that +expanded and multiplied as her mind approached the problem of "Mister +Jan's" non-appearance from a dozen different standpoints. Hope declared +some private concern had kept him and he would not be long in coming; fear +inquired what unforeseen incident was likely to have risen since +yesterday--asked the question and answered it a dozen ways. The girl +waited, walked here and there, scanned the footpath and the road, returned, +sat down in patience, ate a cake she had brought, and so whiled the long +minutes away. The fears grew as hour and half-hour passed--fears for him, +not herself. The crowning despair did not touch her mind till later, and +her first sorrow was a simple terror that harm had fallen upon the man. He +had told her that he valued life but little, that at best no great length +of days awaited him; and now she thought that wandering about the cliffs by +night he might have met the death he did not fear. Then she remembered he +was but a sick man always, with frail breathing parts; and her thoughts +turned to the shed, and she pictured him lying ill there, unable to +communicate with friends, perhaps waiting and praying long hours for her +footfall as she had been waiting and praying for his. Upon this most +plausible possibility striking Joan, her heart beat at her breast and her +cheeks grew white. She rose from her seat upon the cliff, turned her face +to the cow-byre and made a few quick steps in that direction. Then a vague +flutter of sense, as of warning where no danger is visible, slowed her +speed for a moment; but her heart was strung to action, and the strange new +voice did not sound like Nature's, so she put it aside and let it drown +into silence before the clamor of fear for "Mister Jan's" well-being. +Indeed, that dim premonitory whisper excited a moment's anger in the girl +that any distrust could shadow her love for such a one at such a time. She +hated herself, held the thought a sin of her own commission, and sped +onward until she stood upon the northern side of the byre in a shadow cast +from it by the sun. The place was padlocked, and at that sight Joan's +spirits, though they rose in one direction, yet fell in another. One fear +vanished, a second loomed the larger; for the padlock, while it indicated +that the artist had left his lonely habitation for the time, did not +explain his absence now or dispel the possibilities of an accident or +disaster. The tar-pitched double door of the shed was fast and offered no +peep-hole; but Joan went round to the south side, where an aperture +appeared and where a little glass window had taken the place of the wooden +shutters. Sunshine lighted the shed inside; she could see every detail of +the chamber, and she photographed it on her mind with a quick glance. A big +easel with the life-size picture of herself upon it stood in the middle of +the shed, and a smaller easel appeared hard by. The artist's palettes, +brushes and colors littered a bench, and bottles and tumblers were +scattered among them. Two pipes which she had seen in his mouth lay +together upon a box on the floor, and beside them stood a tin of tobacco +wrapped in yellow paper. A white umbrella and some sticks stood in one +corner, and another she saw was filled by some railway rugs spread over +dried bracken. Two coats hung on nails in the wall, and above one was +suspended a Panama hat which Barren often wore when painting. Something +moved suddenly, and, looking upon the stone floor, she saw a rat-trap with +a live rat in it. The beast was running as far as it could this way and +that, poking its nose up and trying the roof of its prison. She noticed its +snout was raw from thrusting between the wire, and she wished she could get +in to kill it. She did not know that it was a mother rat with young ones +outside squeaking faintly in the stack of mangel-wurzels; she did not know, +as it hopped round and round, that its beady eyes were glittering with a +great agony, and that the Mother of all was powerless to break down a mere +wire or two and save it. + +Presently, worn and weary, Joan trudged home again, with no very happy +mind. She found food for comfort in one reflection alone: the artist had +made no special appointment for that day, and it might be that business or +an engagement at Newlyn, Penzance or elsewhere was occupying his time. She +felt it must be so, and tried hard to convince herself that he would surely +be at the usual spot upon the morrow. + +So she walked home unhappy; and time, which had dragged yesterday, to-day +stood still. Before night she had lived an age; the hours of darkness were +endless, but her father's return furnished excuse for another morning of +early rising; and when Gray Michael and Tom had eaten, donned clean raiment +and returned to the sea, Joan, having seen them to the pierhead, did not go +home, but hastened straight away for Gorse Point, and arrived there earlier +than ever she had done before. There was something soothing to her troubled +mind in being upon the spot sacred to him. Though he was not present, she +seemed closer far to him on Gorse Point than anywhere else. His foot had +marked the turf there; his eye had mirrored the furzes a hundred times; she +knew just where his shadow had fallen as be stood painting, and the spot +upon which he was wont to sit by the cliff-edge when came the time for +rest. Beside this holy place she now seated herself and waited with hope +higher in the splendor of morning; for sorrows, fears and ills are always +blackest when the sun has set, and every man or woman can better face +trouble on opening their eyes in a sunny dawn than after midnight has +struck, a sad day left them weakened, and nothing wakes in the world but +Care and themselves. + +The morning wore away, and the old fears returned with greater force to +chill her soul. The sun was burnishing the sea, and she watched Mousehole +luggers putting out and dancing away through the gold. Under the cliffs the +gulls wheeled with sad cries and the long-necked cormorants hastened +backward and forward, now flying fast and low over the water, now fishing +here and there in couples. She saw them rear in the water as they dived, +then go down head first, leaving a rippling circle which widened out and +vanished long before the fishers bobbed up again twenty yards further on. +Time after time she watched them, speculating vaguely after each +disappearance as to how long the bird would remain out of sight. Then she +turned her face to the land, weary of waiting, weary of the bright sea and +sky, and the music of the gulls, and of life. She sat down again presently, +and put her hand over her face and struggled with her thoughts. Manifold +fears compassed her mind about, but one, not felt till then, rose now, a +giant above the rest. Yesterday she had been all alarm for "Mister Jan"; +to-day there came terror for herself. Something said "He has gone, he has +left you." Her brain, without any warning, framed the words and spoke them +to her. It was as though a stranger had brought the news, and she rose up +white and stricken at this fatal explanation of the artist's continued +absence. She put the thought from her as she had put another, but it +returned with pertinacity, and each time larger than before, until the fear +filled all her mind and made her wild and desperate, under the conviction +of a sudden, awful life-quake launched against her existence to shatter all +her new joy and dash the brimming cup of love from her lips. + +Hours passed, and she grew somewhat faint and hollow every way--in head and +heart and stomach. Her eyes ached, her brains were worn out with thinking; +she felt old, and her body was heavy and energy dead. The world changed, +too. The gorse looked strange as the sun went round, the lark sang no more, +the wind blew coldly, and the sea's gold was darkened by a rack of flying +clouds whose shadows fell purple and gray upon the waters. He had gone; he +had left her; perhaps she would never see him or hear of him again. Then +the place grew hateful to her and terrible as a grave. She dragged herself +away, dizzy, weary, wretched; and not until half way home again did she +find power to steady her mind and control thought. Then the old alarm +returned--that first fear which had pictured him dead, perhaps even now +rolling over and over under the precipices, or hid forever in the cranny of +some dark cavern at the root of the cliffs, where high tides spouted and +thundered and battered the flesh off his bones against granite. She +suffered terribly in mind upon that homeward journey. Her own light and +darkness mattered nothing now, and her personal and selfish fears had +vanished before she reached Newlyn. She was thinking how she should raise +an alarm, how she should tell his friends, who possibly imagined "Mister +Jan" safe and comfortable in his cow-byre. But who were his friends and how +should she approach them without such a step becoming known and getting +talked about? Her misery was stamped on her face when she at last returned +to the white cottage at three o'clock in the afternoon of that day, and +Mrs. Tregenza saw it there. + +"God save us! wheer you bin to, an' what you bin 'bout? You'm so pasty an' +round-eyed as if you'd bin piskey-led somewheers. An' me worn to death wi' +work. An' wheer'm the nattlins an' the basket?" + +Joan had quite forgotten her commission and left the basket on Gorse Point. + +"I'll gaw back bimebye," she said. "I bin walkin' 'long the cliffs in the +sun an' forgot the time. Gimme somethin' t'ate, mother; I be hungry an' +fainty like wi' gwaine tu far. I could hardly fetch home." + +"You'm a queer twoad," said Thomasin, "an' I doan't knaw what's come over +'e of late days. 'Pears to me you'm hidin' summat; an' if I thot that, I'd +mighty quick get faither to find out what 'twas, I can tell 'e." + +Then she went off, and brought some cold potatoes and dripping, with bread +and salt, and a cup of milk. + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +LESSONS LEARNED + + +The lesson which he had set for Joan Tregenza's learning taught John Barron +something also. Eight-and-forty hours he stayed in Newlyn, and was +astounded to find during that period what grip this girl had got upon his +mind, how she had dragged him out of himself. His first thought was to +escape all physical excitement and emotion by abandoning his picture almost +upon the moment of its completion and abandoning his model too; but various +considerations cried out against such a course. To go was to escape no +difficulty, but to fly from the spoils of victory. The fruit only wanted +plucking, and, through pleasure, he believed that he would proceed to +speedy, easy and triumphant completion of his picture. No lasting +compunction colored the tenor of his thoughts. Once, indeed, upon the day +when he returned to Gorse Point and saw Joan again, some shadow of regret +for her swept through his brain; but that and the issue of it will be +detailed in their place. + +Time went heavily for him away from Joan. He roamed listlessly here and +there and watched the weather-glass uneasily; for this abstention from work +was a deliberate challenge to Providence to change sunshine for rain and +high temperature for low. Upon the third day therefore he returned at early +morning to his picture in the shed. The greater part was finished, and the +masses of gorse stood out strong, solid and complete with the slender brown +figure before them. The face of it was very sweet, but to Barron it seemed +as the face of a ghost, with no hot blood in its veins, no live interests +in its eyes. + +"'Tis the countenance of a nun," he said sneeringly to himself. "No fire, +no love, no story--a sweet virgin page of life, innocent of history or of +interest as a new-blown lily." The problem was difficult, and he had now +quite convinced himself that solution depended on one course alone. "And +why not?" he asked himself. "Why, when pleasures are offered, shall I +refuse them? God knows Nature is chary enough with her delights. She has +sowed death in me, here in my lungs. I shall bleed away my life some day or +die strangled, unless I anticipate the climax and choose another exit. Why +not take what she throws to me in the meantime?" + +He walked down to the Point, set up his easel and waited, feeling that Joan +had certainly made two pilgrimages since his last visit and little doubting +that she would come a third time. Presently indeed she did, scarcely daring +to raise her eyes, but flushing with great waves of joy when she saw him, +and crying "Mister Jan!" in a triumphant ripple of music from a full heart. +Then the artist rose very boldly and put his arms round her and looked into +her face, while she nestled close to him and shut her eyes with a sigh of +sheer content and thankfulness. She had learned her lesson thoroughly +enough; she felt she could not live without him now, and when he kissed her +she did not start from the caress, but opened her eyes and looked into his +face with great yearning love. + +"Oh, thank the good God you'm comed back agin to me! To think it be awnly +two lil days! An' the time have seemed a hunderd years. I thot 'e was lost +or dead or killed, an' I seed 'e, when I slept, a tossin' over down in the +zawns [Footnote: _Zawns_--Sea caves.] where the sea roars an' makes the +world shake. Oh, Mister Jan, an' I woke screamin', an' mother comed up, an' +I near spoke your name, but not quite." + +"You need not have feared for me, Joan, though I have been very miserable +too, my little sweetheart; I have indeed. I was overworked and worried and +wretched, so I stopped in Newlyn, but being away from you had only taught +me I cannot exist away from you. The time was long and dreary, and it would +have been still worse had I known that you were unhappy." + +"'Tweer wisht days for me, Mister Jan. I be such a poor lass in brains, an' +I could awnly think of trouble 'cause I loved 'e so true. 'Tedn' like the +same plaace when you'm away. Then I thot you'd gone right back to Lunnon, +an' I judged my heart 'ud break for 'e, I did." + +"Poor little blue-eyed woman! Could you really think I was such a brute?" + +"'Twas awnly wan thot among many. I never thot so much afore in my life. +An' I looked 'bout tu; an' I went up to the lil byre, where your things +was, an' peeped in en. But I seed naught of 'e, awnly a gashly auld rat in +a trap. But 'e won't gaw aways like that ag'in, will 'e?" + +"No, no. It was too bad." + +"Coorse I knawed that if all was well with 'e, you'd a done the right +thing, but it 'peared as if the right thing couldn' be to leave me, Mister +Jan--not now, now you be my world like; 'cause theer edn' nothin' or nobody +else in the world but you for me. 'Tis wicked, but t'others be all faded +away; an' faither's nort, an' Joe's nort, alongside o' you." + +He did not answer, and began to paint. Joan's face was far short of looking +its best; there were dark shadows under her eyes and less color than usual +brightened her cheeks. He tried to work, but circumstances and his own +feelings were alike against him. He was restless and lacked patience, nor +could his eye see color aright. In half an hour he had spoiled not a little +of what was already done. Then he took a palette-knife, made a clean sweep +of much previous labor and began again. But the music of her happy voice +was in his blood. The child had come out of the valley of sorrow and she +was boisterously happy and her laughter made him wild. Mists gathered in +his eyes and his breath caught now and again. Passion fairly gripped him by +the throat till even the sound of his own voice was strange to him and he +felt his knees shake. He put down his brushes, turned from the picture, and +went to the cliff-edge, there flinging himself down upon the grass. + +"I cannot paint to-day, Joan; I'm too over-joyed at getting you back to me. +My hand is not steady, and my Joan of paint and canvas seems worse and +feebler than ever beside your flesh and blood. You don't know--you cannot +guess how I have missed you." + +"Iss fay, but I can, Mister Jan, if you felt same as what I done. 'Tweer +cruel, cruel. But then you've got a many things an' folks to fill up your +time along with; I abbun got nothin' now but you." + +"I expect Joe often thinks about you." + +"I dunnaw. 'Tis awful wicked, but Joe he gone clean out my mind now. I thot +I loved en, but I was a cheel then an' I didn't 'sackly knaw what love was; +now I do. 'Twadden what I felt for Joe Noy 'tall; 'tis what I feels for +you, Mister Jan." + +"Ah, I like to hear you say that. Nature has brought you to me, Joan, my +little jewel; and she has brought Jan to you. You could not understand that +last time I told you; now you can and you do. We belong to each other--you +and I--and to nobody else." + +"I'd be well content to belong to 'e, Mister Jan. You'm my good fairy, I +reckon. If I could work for 'e allus an' see 'e an' 'ear 'e every day, I +shouldn' want nothin' better'n that." + +Then it was that the shade of a compunction and the shadow of a regret +touched John Barron; and it cooled his hot blood for a brief moment, and he +swore to himself he would try to paint her again as she was. He would fight +Nature for once and try if pure intellect was strong enough to get the face +he wanted on to the canvas without the gratification of his flesh and +blood. In which determination glimmered something almost approaching to +self-sacrifice in such a man. He did not answer Joan's last remark, but +rose and went to his picture, and she, thinking herself snubbed by his +silence after her avowal, grew hot and uncomfortable. + +"The weather is going to change, sweetheart," he said, allowing himself the +luxury of affectionate words in the moment of his half-hearted struggle; +"the weather-glass creeps back slowly. We must not waste time. Come, Joan; +we are the children of Nature, but the slaves of Art. Let me try again." + +But she, who had spoken in all innocence and with a child's love, was +pained that he should have taken no note of her speech. She was almost +angry that he had power to conjure such words to her lips; and yet the +anger vanished from her mind quickly enough and her thoughts were all happy +as she resumed her pose for him. + +The past few days had vastly deepened and widened her mental horizon; and +now Barron for the first time saw something of what he wanted in her eyes +as she gazed away over the sea and did not look at him as usual. There, +sure enough, was the soul that he knew slept somewhere, but had never seen +until then. And the sight of it came as a shock and swept away his +sophistries and ugly-woven ideas. Inclination had told him that Nature, +through one channel only, would bring the mystery of hidden thought to +Joan's blue eyes, and he had felt well satisfied to believe it was so; but +now even the plea of Art could not excuse the thing which had grown within +him of late, for experiences other than those he dreamed of had glorified +the frank blue eyes and brought mind into them. Now it only remained for +him to paint them if he could. Not wholly untroubled, but never much more +beautiful than that morning, Joan gazed out upon the remote sea. Then the +thoughtful mood passed, and she laughed and babbled again, and the new-born +beauty departed from her eyes for a season, and the warm blood raced +through her veins, and she was all happiness. Meanwhile nothing came of his +painting and he was not sorry when she ended the ordeal. + +"The bwoats be comin' back home along, Mister Jan. I doan't mark faither's +yet, but when 'tis wance in sight he'll be to Newlyn sooner'n me. So I'd +best be gwaine, though it edn' more than noon, I s'pose. An' my heart's a +tidy sight lighter now than 'tweer issterday indeed." + +"I'm almost afraid to let you go, Joan." + +She looked at him curiously, waiting for his bidding, but he seemed moody, +and said no more. + +"When be you comin' next?" + +"To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow, my pearl above price. It is so +hard, so very hard," he answered. "Fine or wet I shall be here to-morrow, +for I am not going back to Newlyn again till my work is done. Three more +sittings, Joan, if you have enough patience--" + +"In coorse, Mister Jan." + +She did not explain to him what difficulties daily grew in the way of her +coming, how rumor was alive, and how her stepmother had threatened more +than once to tell Gray Michael that his wayward daughter was growing a +gadabout. Joan had explained away her roaming with a variety of more or +less ingenious lies, and she always found her brain startlingly fertile +where the artist and his picture were concerned. She felt little doubt that +three more visits to Gorse Point might be achieved--ay, and thirty more if +necessary. But afterward? What would follow the painting of the picture? +She asked herself the question as he kissed her, with a kiss that was +almost rough, while he bid her go quickly; and the former reply to every +doubt made answer. Her fears fled as usual before the invigorating +spectacle of this sterling, truth-loving man. With him all the future +remained and with him only. Hers was the pleasant, passive task of +obedience to one utterly trusted and passionately loved. Her fate lay +hidden in his heart, as the fate of the clay lies hid in the brain of the +potter. + +And so home she went, walking in a sunshine of her own thoughts. The clouds +were gone; they massed gloomily on the horizon of the past; but looking +forward, she saw no more of them. All time to come was at the disposition +of the wisest man she had ever met. She did not know or guess at the battle +which this same wise man had fought and lost under her eyes; she gathered +nothing of the truth from his gloom, his silence, his changed voice, his +sudden farewell. She did not know passion when she saw it; and the ugly +visible signs thereof told no tale to her. + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +STORM + + +That night the change came and the wind veered first to the south, then to +the southwest. By morning, gray clouds hid the sky and hourly grew darker +and lower. As yet no rain fell, but the world had altered, and every +light-value, from an artist's standpoint, was modified. + +John Barren sat by his stove in the byre, made himself a cup of black +coffee, and presently, wrapped in a big mackintosh, walked out to Gorse +Point. His picture he left, of course, at the shed, for painting was out of +the question. + +Nature, who had been smiling so pleasantly in sunshine these many days, now +awoke in a grim gray mood. The sea ran high, its white foam-caps and ridges +fretting the rolling volume of it; the luggers fought their way out with +buried noses and laboring hulls; rain still held off, but it was coming +quickly, and the furze and the young grasses panted for it on Gorse Point. +Below the cliffs a wild spirit inhabited the sea fowl, and they screamed +and wheeled in many an aerial circle, now sliding with motionless +outstretched wing upon the gathering gale, now beating back against it, now +dancing in a fleet and making music far away in the foam. Upon the beach +the dry sand whipped round in little whirls and eddies where wind-gusts +caught it; the naked rocks poked shining weed-covered heads out of a low +tide, and the wet white light of them glimmered raw through the gray tones +of the atmosphere. Now and then a little cloud of dust would puff out from +the cliff-face where the wind dislodged a dry particle of stone or mould; +elsewhere Barren saw the sure-rooted samphire and tufts of sea-pink, +innocent of flowers as yet; and sometimes little squeaking dabs of down +might also be observed below where infant gulls huddled together in the +ledges outside their nests and gazed upon a condition of things as yet +beyond their experience. + +Joan came presently to find the artist looking out at the sea. + +"You ban't gwaine to paint, I s'pose, 'cause o' this ugly fashion weather?" +she said. + +"No, sweetheart! All the gold has gone out of the world, and there is +nothing left but lead and dross. See how sharp the green is under the gray, +and note the clearness of the air. Everything is keen and hard upon the eye +to-day; the sky is full of rain and the sea is a wild harmony in gray and +silver." + +"Iss, the cleeves be callin' this marnin'. 'Tis a sort o' whisper as comes +to a body's ear, an' it means that the high hills knaws the rain is nigh. +An' they tell it wan to t'other, and moans it mournful over the valleys +'pon the wind. 'The storm be comin', the storm be comin',' they sez." + +The south and west regions of distance blackened as they sat there on the +cliff, and upon the sea separate heavy gusts of wind roughened up the +hollows of the waves. Which effect seen from afar flickered weirdly like a +sort of submarine lightning shivering white through dark water. Presently a +cloud broke, showing a bank of paler gray behind, and misty silver arrows +fell in broad bands of light upon the sea. They sped round, each upon the +last, like the spokes of a gigantic wheel trundling over the world; then +the clouds huddled together again and the gleam of brightness died. + +"You'm wisht this marnin', Mister Jan. You abbun so much as two words for +me. 'Tis 'cause you caan't paint your picksher, I reckon." + +He sighed and took her hand in his. + +"Don't think that, my Joan. Once I cared nothing for you, everything for my +picture; now I care nothing for my picture, everything for you. And the +better I love you, the worse I paint you. That's funny, isn't it?" + +"Iss, 'tis coorious. But I'm sure you do draw me a mighty sight finer than +I be. 'Tis wonnerful clever, an' theer edn' no call to be sad, for no man +else could a done better, I lay." + +He did not answer, and still held her hand. Then there came a harder breath +of wind with a sob of sound in it, while already over the distant sea swept +separate gray curtains of rain. + +"It's coming, Joan; the storm. It's everywhere, in earth and air and water; +and in my blood. I am savage to-day, Joan, savage and thirsty. What will be +the end of it?" + +He spoke wildly, like the weather. She did not understand, but she felt his +hand clinch tightly over hers, and, looking at the white thin fingers +crooked round her wrist, they brought to her mind the twisted claws of a +dead sea-gull she remembered to have found upon the beach. + +"What will be the end of it, Joan? Can't you answer me?" + +"Doan't 'e, Mister Jan; you'm hurtin' my hand. I s'pose as a sou'westerly +gale be comin'. Us knaws 'em well enough in these paarts. Faither reckoned +theer was dirty weather blawin' up 'fore he sailed. He was away by +daylight. The gales do bring trouble to somebody most times." + +"What will be the end of us, I mean, not of the weather? The rain will come +and the clouds will melt, and we know, as sure as God's in heaven, that we +shall see sunshine and blue sky again. But what about our storm, Joan; the +storm of love that's burst in my heart for you--what follows that?" + +His question frightened her. She had asked herself the same and been well +content to leave an answer to him. Here he was faced with a like problem +and now invited her to solve it. + +"I dunnaw. I thot such love never comed to no end, Mister Jan. I thot +'tweer good to wear; but--but how do I knaw if you doan't?" + +"You trust me, Joan?" + +"Why, who should I trust, if 'tweern't you? I never knawed any person else +as set such store 'pon the truth. I doan't s'pose the cherrybims in heaven +loves it more'n what you do." + +"Here's the rain on the back of the wind," he said. + +A few heavy drops fell, cold as ice upon his burning face, and Joan laughed +as she held out her hand, on which a great splash as big as a shilling had +spread. + +"That be wan of Tregagle's tears," she said, "an' 'tis the voice of en as +you can hear howlin' in the wind. He's allus a bawlin' an' squealin', poor +sawl, but you can awnly hear en now an' again 'fore a storm when the gale +blaws his hollerin' this way." + +"Who was Tregagle?" + +"He was a lawyer man wance, an' killed a many wives, an' did a many +shameful deeds 'fore he went dead. Then, to Bodmin Court, theer comes a law +case, an' they wanted Tregagle, an' a man said Tregagle was the awnly +witness, and another said he wadden. The second man up an' swore 'If +Tregagle saw it done, then I wish to God he may rise from's graave and come +this minute.' Then, sure enough, the ghost of Tregagle 'peared in the +court-house an' shawed the man was a liar. But they couldn' lay the ghost +no more arter; an' it was a devil-ghost, which is the worstest kind; an' it +stuck close to thicky lyin' man an' wouldn' leave en nohow. But at last a +white witch bound the spirit an' condemned it to empty out Dosmery Pool wi' +a crogan wi' a hole in it. A crogan's a limpet shell, which you mightn't +knaw, Mister Jan. Tregagle, he done that party quick, an' then he was at +the man again; but a passon got the bettermost of en an' tamed en wi' +Scripture till Tregagle was as gentle as a cheel. Then they set en to work +agin an' bid en make a truss o' sand down in Gwenvor Cove, an' carry it +'pon his shoulder up to Carn Olva. Tregagle weer a braave time doin' that, +I can 'sure 'e, but theer comed a gert frost wan winter, an' he got water +from the brook an' poured it 'pon the truss o' sand, so it froze hard. Then +he carried it up Carn Olva; an' then, bein' a free spirit agin, he flew off +quicker'n lightning to that lyin' man to tear en to pieces this time. But +by good chance, when Tregagle comed to en, the man weer carryin' a lil +baaby in's arms--a lil cheel as had never done a single wicked act, bein' +tu young; so Tregagle couldn' do no hurt. An' they caught en again, an' +passon set en 'pon another job: to make a truss o' sand in Whitsand Bay +wi'out usin' any fresh water. But Tregagle caan't never do that; so he +cries bitter sometimes, an' howls; an' when 'e howls you knaw the storm's a +comin' to scatter the truss o' sand he's builded up." + +Barron followed the legend with interest. Tregagle and his victim and the +charm of the pure child that saved one from the other filled his thought +and the event to which Fate was now relentlessly dragging him. He argued +with himself a little; then the rain came down and the wind leaped like a +lion over the edge of the land, and the man's blood boiled as he breathed +ocean air. + +"Us'll be wetted proper. I'll run for it, Mister Jan, an' you'd best to go +up-long to your lil lew house. Wet's bad for 'e, I reckon." + +"No," he said, "I can't let you go, Joan. Look over there. Another flood is +going to burst, I think. Follow me quickly, quickly." + +The rain came slanting over the gorse in earnest, but Joan hesitated and +hung back. Louder than the wind, louder than the cry of the birds, than the +howling of Tregagle, than the calling of the cleeves, spoke something. And +it said "Turn, on the wing of the storm; fly before it, alone. Let this man +walk in the teeth of the gale if he will; but you, Joan Tregenza, follow +the wind and set your face to the east, where the sole brightness now left +in the sky is shining." + +Sheets of gray swept over them; the world was wet in an instant; a little +mist of water splashed up two inches high off the ground; the gorse tossed +and swayed its tough arms; the sea and the struggling craft upon it +vanished like a dream; from the heart of the storm cried gulls, themselves +invisible. + +"Come, Joan, we shall be drowned." + +He had wrapped her in a part of the mackintosh, and laughed as he fastened +them both into it and hugged her close to himself. But she broke away, +greatly fearing, yet knowing not what she feared. + +"I reckon I'd best run down fast. Indeed an' I want to go." + +"Go? Where? Where should you go? Come to me, Joan; you shall; you must. We +two, sweetheart--we two against the rain and the wind and the world. Come! +It will kill me to stand here, and you don't want that." + +"But--" + +"Come, I say. Quicker and quicker! We two--only we two. Don't make me +command you, my priceless treasure of a Joan. Come with me. You are mine +now and always. Quicker and quicker, I say. God! what rain!" + +Still she hesitated and he grew angry. + +"This is folly, madness. Where is your trust and belief? You don't trust, +nor love, nor--" + +"Doan't 'e say that! Never say that! It edn' true. You'm all to me, an' you +knaws it right well, an' I'll gaw to the world's end with 'e, I will--ay, +an' trust 'e wi' my life!" + +He moved away and she followed, hastening as he hastened. Unutterable +desolation marked the spot. Life had vanished save only where sheep +clustered under a bank with their tails to the weather, and long-legged +lambs blinked their yellow eyes and bleated as the couple passed. Despite +their haste the man and the girl were very wet before reaching the shelter +of the byre. Rain-water dribbled off his cap on to his hot face and his +feet were soaking. Joan was breathless with haste; her draggled skirts +clung to her; and the struggle against the storm made her giddy. + +So they reached the place of shelter; and the gale burst over it with a +great, crowning yell of wind and hurtle of rain. Then John Barren opened +the byre door and Joan Tregenza passed in before him; whereupon he followed +and shut the door. + +A loose slate clattered upon the roof, and from inside the byre it sounded +like a hand tapping high above the artist's bed of brown fern--tapping some +message which neither the man nor the girl could read--tapping, tapping, +tapping tirelessly upon ears wholly deaf to it. + + + + + + +BOOK TWO + +NATURE + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +AN INTERVAL + + +For a week the rain came down and it blew hard from the west. Then the +weather moderated, and there were intervals of brightness and mild, damp +warmth that brought a green veil trembling over the world like magic. The +elms broke into a million buds, the pear trees in sunny corners put forth +snowy flowers; the crimson knobs of the apple-blossom prepared to unfold. +In the market gardens around and about Newlyn the plums were already +setting, the wallflowers, which make a carpet of golden-brown beneath the +fruit-trees in many orchards, were velvety with bloom; the raspberry canes, +bent hoop-like in long rows, beautifully brightened the dark earth with +young green; and verdure likewise twinkled even to the heart of the +forests, to the stony nipples of the moor's vast, lonely bosom. So spring +came, heralded by the thrush; borne upon the wings of the western wind. And +then followed a brief change with more heavy rains and lower temperature. + +The furzes on Gorse Point were a scented glory now--a nimbus of gold for +the skull of the lofty cliff. Here John Barren and Joan Tregenza had met +but twice since the beginning of the unsettled weather. For her this period +was in a measure mysterious and strange. Centuries of experience seemed to +separate her from the past, and, looking backward, infinite spaces of time +already stretched between what had been and what was. Now overmuch sorrow +mingled with her reflections, though a leaven of it ran through all--a +sense of loss, of sacrifice, of change, which flits, like the shadow of a +summer cloud, even through the soul of the most deeply loving woman who +ever opened her eyes to smile upon the first day-dawn of married life. But +Joan's sorrow was no greater than that, and little unquiet or uneasiness +went with it. She had his promises; from him they could but be absolute; +and not a hundred attested ceremonies had left her heart more at ease. In +fact she believed that John Barren was presently going to marry her, and +that when he vanished from Newlyn, she, as the better-loved part of +himself, would vanish too. It was the old, stale falsehood which men have +told a hundred thousand times; which men will go on telling and women +believing, because it is the only lie which meets all requirements of the +case and answers its exact purpose effectively. Age cannot wither it, for +experience is no part of the armor of the deceived, and Love and Trust have +never stopped to think since the world began. + +As for the artist, each day now saw him slipping more deeply, more +comfortably back into the convolutions of his old impersonal shell. He had +been dragged out, not unwilling, by a giant passion, and he had sacrificed +to it, sent it to sleep again, and so returned. He felt infinitely kind to +Joan. A week after her visit to the linhay he, while sitting alone there, +had turned her picture about on the easel, withdrawn its face from the wall +and studied his work. And looking, with restored critical faculty and cold +blood, he loved the paint for itself and deemed it very good. The storm was +over, the transitory lightnings drowned lesser lights no more, and that +steady beacon-flame of his life, which had been merged, not lost, in the +fleeting blaze, now shone out again, steadfast and clear. Such a revulsion +of feeling argued well for the completion of his picture, ill for the model +of it. + +They sat one day, as the weather grew more settled, beside a granite +bowlder, which studded the short turf at the extremity of Gorse Point, +where it jutted above the sea. Joan, with her chin upon her hands, looked +out upon the water; Barron, lying on a railway-rug, leaned back and smoked +his pipe and studied her face with the old, keen, passionless eagerness of +their earliest meetings. + +"When'll 'e tell me, Jan love? When'll 'e tell me what 'e be gwaine to do? +Us be wan now--you an' me--but the lines be all the lovin'est wife can +p'int to in proof she _be_ a wife. Couldn't us be axed out in church +purty soon?" + +He did not make immediate answer, but only longed for his easel. There, in +her face, was the wistful, far-away expression he had sighed for; a measure +of thought had come to the little animal--her brains were awake and her +blue eyes had never looked liked this before. Joan asked the question +again, and Barren answered. + +"The same matter was in my own mind, sweetheart. I am in a mighty hurry +too, believe it. You are safe with your husband, Joan. You belong to me +now, and you must trust the future with me. All that law demands to make us +man and wife it shall have; and all religion clamors for as well, if that +is a great matter to you. But not here--in this Newlyn. I think of you when +I say that, Joan, for it matters nothing to me." + +"Iss. I dunnaw what awful sayin's might go abroad. Things is all contrary +to home as 'tis. Mother's guessed part an' she tawld faither I weer gwaine +daft or else in love wi' some pusson else than Joe. An' faither was short +an' sharp, an' took me out walkin', an' bid me bide at home an' give over +trapsin' 'bout. An' 'e said as 'ow I was tokened to Joe Noy an' bound by +God A'mighty to wait for en if 'twas a score years. But if faither had +knawed I weer never for Noy, he'd a' said more'n that. I ban't 'feared o' +faither now I knaws you, Jan, but I be cruel 'feared o' bein' cussed, +'cause theer's times when cusses doan't fall to the ground but sticks. +'Twouldn' be well for the likes o' you to have a ill-wished, awver-luked +body for wife. An' if faither knawed 'bout you, then I lay he'd do more'n +speak. So like's not he'd strike me dead for't, bein' that religious. But +you must take me away, Jan, dear heart. I'm yourn now an' you must go on +lovin' me allus, 'cause theer'll never be nobody else to not now. I've +chose you an' gived 'e myself an' I caan't do no more." + +He listened to her delicious voice, and shut out the crude words as much as +might be while he marked the music. He was thinking that if Joan had +possessed a reasonable measure of intellect, a foundation for an education, +he would have been satisfied to keep her about him during that probably +limited number of years which must span his existence. But the gulf between +them was too wide; and, as for the present position, he considered that no +harm had been done which time would not remedy. Joan was not sufficiently +intelligent to suffer long or much. She would forget quickly. She was very +young. Her sailor must return before the end of the year. Then he began to +think of money, and then sneered at himself. But, after all, it was natural +that he should follow step by step upon the beaten track of similar events. +"Better not attempt originality," he thought, "for the thing I have done is +scarce capable of original treatment. I suppose the curtain always rings +down on a check--either taken or spurned." + +"So you think you can give them all up for poor me, Joan? Your home, your +father, brother, mother--all?" + +"I've gived up a sight more'n them, Jan. I've gived 'e what's all to a +maiden. But my folks weern't hard to give up. 'Tis long since they was +ought to me now. I gaws an' comes from the cottage an' sez, all the time, +'this ban't home no more. Mister Jan's home be mine,' I sez to myself. An' +each time as I breaks bread, an' sleeps, an' wakes, an' looks arter +faither's clothes I feels 'tis wan time nigher the last. They'll look back +an' think what a snake 'twas they had 'bout the house, I s'pose. Mother'll +whine an' say, 'Ah! 'er was a bitter weed for sartain,' an' faither'll +thunder till the crocks rattle an' bid none dare foul the air wi' my name +no more. But I be wearyin' of 'e wi' my clackin', Jan, dear heart?" + +"Not so, Joan--never think that. I could listen to you till Doomsday. Only +we must act now and talk presently. I know you're tired of the picture, and +you were cross last time we met because I could speak of it; but I must for +a moment more. It cries out to be finished. A few hours' good work and +all's done. The weather steadies now and the glass is rising, so our +sittings may begin in a day or two. Let me make one last, grand struggle. +Then, if I fail, I shall fling the picture over this cliff, and my palette +and brushes after it. So we will keep our secret a little longer. Then, +when the picture is made or marred, away we'll go, and by the time they +miss you from your old home you will be half way to your new one." + +But she did not heed the latter part of his remarks, for her thoughts were +occupied with what had gone before. + +"'Pears, when all's said, you'd sooner have the picksher Joan than the real +wan. 'Tis all the picksher an' the picksher an' the picksher." + +This was not less than the truth, but of course he blamed her for so +speaking, and said her words hurt him. + +"'Tis this way," she said, "I've larned so much since I knawed 'e, an' I be +like as if I was woke from a sleep. Things is all differ'nt now; but 'tis +awnly my gert love for 'e as makes me 'feared sometimes 'cause life's too +butivul to last. An' the picksher frights me more'n fancy, 'cause, +seemin'ly, theer's two Joans, an' the picksher Joan's purtier than me. +'Er's me, but better'n me. 'Er's allus bright an' bonny; 'er's never +crossed an' wisht; 'er 'olds 'er tongue an' doan't talk countrified same as +me. Theer'll never be no tears nor trouble in her eyes; she'll bring 'e a +name, an' bide purty an'--an' I hates the picksher now, so I do." + +Barron listened with considerable interest to these remarks. There was +passion in Joan's voice as she concluded, and her emotion presently found +relief in tears. She only uttered thoughts long in her mind, without for an +instant guessing the grim truth or suspecting what his work was to the man; +yet, things being as they were, she felt some real passing pain to find him +devote so much thought to it. Before the storm his painting had sunk to +insignificance, since then it began to grow into a great matter again; and +Joan was honestly jealous of the attention the artist bestowed upon it now. +If she had dared, she would have asked him to destroy it; but something +told her he would refuse. No fear for the future was mingled with this +emotion. Only his mighty interest in the work annoyed her. It was a natural +petty jealousy; and when John Barron laughed at her and kissed her tears +away, she laughed too and felt a little ashamed, though none the less glad +that she had spoken. + +But while he flung jests at her anger, Barron felt secretly surprised to +note the strides his Awdrey's mind was making. Much worth consideration +appeared in her sudden attack upon the picture. She had evidently been +really reflecting, with coherence and lucidity. That astonished him. But +still he answered with a laugh. + +"Jealous, Joan! Jealous of yourself--of the poor painted thing which has +risen from the contents of small tubes smeared over a bit of canvas! My +funny little dear delight! Will you always amuse me, I wonder? I hope you +will. Nobody else can. Why, the gorse there will grumble next and think I +love my poor, daubed burlesque of its gold better than the thing itself. If +I find pleasure in the picture, how much the more must I love the soul of +it? You see, I'm ambitious. You are quite the hardest thing I ever found to +paint, and so I go on trying and trying. Hard to win and hard to paint, +Joan." + +She stretched out her hands to him and shook her head. + +"Not hard to win, Jan. Easy enough to win to you. I ne'er seed the likes o' +you in my small world. Not hard to win I wasn't." + +"You won't refuse me a few more sittings, then, because you have become my +precious wife?" + +"In coorse not. An' I'm so sorry I was cranky. I 'dedn' mean what I said +ezacally." + +To-day, coming fresh to his ear after a week's interval, after several days +spent with cultured friends and acquaintances in Newlyn, Joan's rustic +speech grated more painfully than usual. Once he had found pleasure in it; +but he was not a Cornishman to love the sound of those venerable words +which sprinkled Joan's utterances and which have long since vanished from +all vocabularies save those of the common people; and now her language +began to get upon his nerves and jar them. He was tired of it. Often, while +he painted, she had prattled and he, occupied with his work, had heard +nothing; but to-day he recognized the debt he owed and listened patiently +for a considerable time. Her deep expectancy irritated him too. He had +anticipated that, however, and was aware that her trust and confidence in +him were alike profound. Perhaps a shadow of fear, distrust or uneasiness +had pleased him better. He was snugly back in his tub of impersonality from +which he liked to view the fools' show drift pass. His last experiment in +the actively objective had ruined a girl and promised to produce a fine +picture. And that was the end of it. No fellow-creature could ever share +this cynic's barrel with him. + +Presently Joan departed upon her long tramp home. She had gone to convey a +message to one of Thomasin Tregenza's friends at Paul. And when the girl +left him, with a promise to come at all costs upon the next sunny morning, +Barron began to think about money again. He found that the larger the +imaginary figures, the smaller shadow of discomfort clouded his thoughts. +So he decided upon an act of princely generosity, as the result of which +resolve peace returned and an unruffled mind. For the musty conventionality +of his conclusion, it merely served as a peg upon which to hang thoughts +not necessary to set down here. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +THE PARTING + + +Joan had only told her lover a part of what happened in her home when +Thomasin broke her suspicions to Gray Michael. He had taken the matter very +seriously indeed, delivered a stern homily and commanded his daughter to +read the Book of Ecclesiasticus through thrice. + +"'The gad-about is a vain thing and a mighty cause for stumblin'.' You mind +that, an' take better care hencefarrard to set a right example to other +maids an' not lead 'em wrong. Theer shan't be no froward liver under this +roof, Joan Tregenza, an' you, as be my awn darter's the last I'd count to +find wanderin'." + +She lied as to particulars. She had no fear of her father now as a man, but +hard words always hurt her, and superstition, though she was fast breaking +from many forms of it under Barron's tuition, still chained her soul in +some directions. Did her father know even a shadow of the truth, some dire +and blasting prediction would probably result from it, and though +personally he was little to her now, as a mouthpiece of supernatural powers +he might bring blighting words upon her; for he walked with God. But +Michael's God was Joan's no more. She had fled from that awful divinity to +the more beautiful Creator of John Barron. He was kind and gentle, and she +loved to hear His voice in the hum of the bees upon the gorse and see His +face everywhere in the fair on-coming of spring. Nature, as she understood +it now, chimed with the things her mother had taught Joan. She found room +for all the old, pretty stories in this new creed. The dear saints fitted +in with it, and their wonders and mysteries, and the comprehensive if vague +knowledge that "God is Love." She believed she understood the truth about +religion at last; and Nature smiled very sweetly at her and shared in the +delight of the time. So she walked dreaming on toward the invisible door of +her fool's paradise, and never guessed how near it was or what Nature would +look like from the other side. + +She still dwelt at the little home on the cliff, so unreal and shadowy now; +she built cloud castles ablaze with happiness; she found falsehood not +difficult, for her former absolute truthfulness deadened her stepmother's +suspicion. Certain lies told at home enabled her to keep faith with the +artist; and the weather also befriending him, three more sittings in speedy +succession brought John Barron to the end of his labors. After Joan's +exhibition of jealousy he was careful to say little about his work and +affect no further interest in it. He let her chatter concerning the future, +told her of his big house in London, and presently took care to drop hints +from time to time that the habitation was by no means as yet ready to +receive his bride. She always spoke on the assumption that when the picture +was done he would leave for London and take her with him. She already +imagined herself creeping off to join him at the station, sitting beside +him in the train, and then rolling away, past Marazion, into the great +unfamiliar world which lay beyond. And he knew that no such thing would +happen. He intended that Joan should become a pleasant memory, with the +veil of distance and time over it to beautify what was already beautiful. +He wanted to remember the music of her throbbing voice, and forget the +words it used to utter. The living girl's part was played and ended. Their +lives had crossed at right angles and would never meet again. "Nature makes +a glorious present to Art, and I am privileged to execute the deed of +gift," thought Barron; "that is the position in an epigram." He felt very +grateful to Joan. He knew her arm must have ached often enough, but whether +her heart would presently do so he hardly felt qualified to judge. The +incidents of that stormy day might have been buried in time ten years, so +faint was his recollection of them now. He remembered the matter with no +greater concern than the image of the shivering negresses in the blue water +at Tobago. + +And so the picture, called "Joe's Ship," was finished, and while it fell +far short of what Barron had hoped, yet he knew his work was great and the +best thing he had done. A packing case for the canvas was already ordered +and he expected it upon the identical day that saw his farewell to Joan. + +Bit by bit he had broken to her that it was not his intention to take her +with him, but that he must go to his house alone and order things in +readiness. Then he would come back and fetch her. And she had accepted the +position and felt wondrous sad at the first meeting with Barren after the +completion of the picture. It seemed as though a great link was broken +between them, and she realized now what folly her dislike of his work had +been. + +"I wish I could take you right away with me, Joan, my little love; but a +bachelor's house is a comfortless concern from a woman's point of view. You +will hear from me in a day or two. You must call at the post-office in +Penzance for letters, because I shall not send them here." + +"You'll print out what you writes big, so's I doan't miss nort, won't 'e?" + +"I'll make the meaning as clear as possible, Joan." + +"'Tis wisht to think as theer'll be hunderds o' miles 'twixt us. I doan't +know how I be gwaine to live the days out." + +"Only a fortnight, remember." + +"Fourteen whole days an' nights." + +"Yes, indeed. It seems a terribly long time. You must comfort me, +sweetheart, and tell me that they will be very quickly done with." + +Joan laughed at this turning of the tables. + +"I reckon a man's allus got a plenty things to make time pass for en. But +'tis different wi' a gal." + +She trusted him as she trusted God to lift the sun out of the eastern sea +next morning and swing it in its solemn course over heaven. And as there +was no fear of danger and no shadow of distrust upon her, Joan made a +braver parting than her lover expected. + +"Some men are coming to see my picture presently," he said, very gently. "I +expect my sweet Joan would like to be gone before they arrive." + +She took the hint, braced her heart for the ordeal, and rose from where +they had been sitting on Gorse Point. She looked dreamily a moment at the +furzes and the place whereon she had stood so often, then turned to the man +and came close and held up four little spring lilies which she had brought +with her. Her voice grew unsteady, but she mastered it again and smiled at +him. + +"I brot these for 'e, dear Jan. Us calls 'em butter-an'-eggs, 'cause o' the +colors, I s'pose. They'm awnly four lil flowers. Will 'e keep 'em? An'--an' +give me summat as I can knaw's just bin in your hand, will 'e? 'Tis +fulishness, dear heart, but I'm thinkin' 'twould make the days a dinky bit +shorter." + +He took the gift, thought a moment, and gave her a little silver ring off +his finger. Then he kissed her, pressed her close to him and said +"good-by," asking God to bless her, and so forth. + +With but a few tears rebelling against her determination, Joan prayed good +upon his head, repaid the caress, begged him for his love to come quickly +back again, then tore herself away, turned and hastened off with her head +held bravely up. But the green fields swam and the sea danced for her a +moment later. The world was all splashed and blotched and misty. "I'll be +braave like him," she thought, smothering the great sobs and rubbing her +knuckles into her eyes till she hurt them. But she could not stem the +sorrow in a moment, and, climbing through a gap in the hedge, she sat down, +where only ewes and lambs might see, and cried bitterly a while. And so +weeping, a sensation, strange, vague, tremendous, came into her being; and +she knew not what it meant; but the mystery of it filled her with great +awe. "'Tis God," she said to herself, "'tis God's hand upon me. He've +touched me, He've sealed me to dear, dear Jan. 'Tis a feelin' to bring +happiness along with it, nor sorrer." She battled with herself to read the +wonder aright, and yet at the bottom of her heart was fear. Then physical +sensations distracted her; she found her head was aching and her body +feeling sick. Truly the girl had been through an ordeal that day, and so +she explained her discomfort. "I be wivvery an' wisht along o' leavin' en," +she said; "oh! kind, good God A'mighty, as hears all, send en back to me, +send en back to me very soon, for I caan't live wi'out en no more." + +As for the man, he sighed when Joan disappeared; and the expiration of +breath was short and sharp as the sound of a key in a lock. He had in truth +turned the key upon a diary to be opened no more; for the sweetness of the +closed chapter was embalmed in memory, blazoned on canvas. Yet there was +bitterness, too, of a sort in his sigh, and the result of this sunken +twinge at his heart appeared when Brady, Tarrant and one or two other +artists presently joined him. They saw their companion was perturbed, and +found him plunged into a black, cynic fit more deeply than usual. He spared +no subject, no individual, least of all himself. + +Paul Tarrant--a Christian painter, already mentioned--was the first to +find fault with Barron's picture. The rest had little but praise for it, +and Brady, who grew madly enthusiastic, swore that "Joe's Ship" was the +finest bit of work that ever went out of Cornwall. But Tarrant cherished a +private grievance, and, as his view of art and ethics made it possible for +him, from his standpoint, to criticise the picture unfavorably in some +respects, he did so. It happened that he had recently finished a curious +work for the Academy: a painting called "The Good Shepherd." It represented +a young laboring man with a face of rare beauty but little power, plodding +homeward under setting sunlight. Upon his arm he bore a lamb, and behind +his head the sinking sun made a glorious nimbus. Barron had seen this work, +admired some of the painting, but bluntly sneered at the false sentiment +and vulgar parade of religious conviction which, as he conceived, animated +the whole. And now, the other man, in whose heart those contemptuous words +still rankled, found his turn had come. He had bitterly resented Barron's +sarcastic reference to those holy things which guided his life; there was +something of feminine nature in him too; so he did not much regret the +present opportunity. + +"And you, Tarrant? This gives you scant pleasure--eh?" asked Barron. + +"It is very wonderful painting, but there's nothing under the paint that I +can see." + +"Nothing but the canvas--in so far at least as the spectator is concerned. +Every work of art must have a secret history only known to its creator." + +"What the divil d'you mean, Paul?" asked Brady. + +"You know what I mean well enough," answered the first speaker coldly. "My +views are not unfamiliar to any of you. Here is a thing without a soul--to +me." + +"God! you say that! You can look at those eyes and say that?" + +"I admire the painting, but _cui bono_? Who is the better, the wiser? +There is nothing under the paint." + +"You are one of those who turn shadows into crosses, clouds into angels. Is +it not so?" asked Barron smiling; and the other fired at this allusion to +his best known picture. + +"I am one of those who know that Art is the handmaid of God," he answered +hotly. "I happen to believe in Jesus Christ, and I conceive that no picture +is worthy to be called great or worthy of any Christian's painting unless +it possess some qualities calculated to ennoble the mind of those who see. +Art is the noblest labor man can employ time upon. The thing comes from +God; it is a talent only to be employed in the highest sense when devoted +to His glory." + +"Then what of heathen art? You let your religion distort your view of +Nature. You sacrifice truth to a dogma. Nature has no ethics. You profess +to paint facts and paint them wrong. You are not a mystic; that we could +understand and criticise accordingly. You try to run with the hare and hunt +with the hounds. You talk about truth and paint things not true." + +"From your standpoint possibly. Yours is the truth of naturalism; mine is +the truth of Faith." + +"If you are going to entrench yourself behind Faith, I have done, of +course. Only, don't go about saying, as you did just now, that Art is the +noblest labor man can employ time upon. That's bosh, pure and simple. There +are some occupations not so noble, that is all. Art is a heathen and always +will be, and you missionary-men, with a paint-brush in one hand and a Bible +in the other, are even worse than certain objectionable literary +celebrities, whose novels reek of the 'new journalism' and the Sermon on +the Mount--the ridiculous and sublime in tasteless combination. You +missionaries, I say, sap the primitive strength of Art; you demoralize her. +To dare to make Art pander to a passing creed is vile--worse than the +spectacle of the Salvation Army trying to convert Buddhists. That I saw in +India, and laughed. But we won't quarrel. You paint Faith's jewelry; I'll +amuse myself with Truth's drabs and duns. The point of view is all. I +depict pretty Joan Tregenza looking over the sea to catch a glimpse of her +sweetheart's outward-bound ship. I paint her just as I saw her. There was +no occasion to leave out or put in. I reveled in a mere brutal transcript +of Nature. You would have set her down by one of the old Cornish crosses +praying to Christ to guard her man. And round her you would have wrought a +world of idle significance. You would have twisted dogma into the flowers +and grass-blades. The fact that the girl happened to be practically +brainless and a Luke Gospeler would not have weighed with you a moment." + +"I'm weary of the old cant about Nature," said Tarrant. "You're a +naturalist and a materialist. That ends it. There is no possibility of +argument between us." + +"Would the man who painted that gorse cant?" burst out Brady. "Damn it all, +Tarrant, if a chap can teach us to paint, perhaps he can teach us something +else as well. Look at that gorse, I tell you. That's the truth, won with +many a wrestle and heartache, I'll swear. You know as well as I do what +went to get that, and yet you say there's nothing behind the paint. That's +cant, if you like. And as to your religious spirit, what's the good of +preaching sermons in paint if the paint's false? We're on it now and I'll +say what I believe, which is that your 'Good Shepherd' is all wrong, apart +from any question of sentiment at all. Your own party will probably say +it's blasphemous, and I say it's ridiculous. You've painted a grand sky and +then ruined it with the subject. Did you ever see a man's head bang between +you and a clear setting sun? Any way, that figure of yours was never +painted with a sunset behind him, I'll swear." + +"You can't paint truth as you find it and preach truth as you believe it on +the same canvas if you belong to any creed but mine," said Barron calmly. +"You build on the foundations of Art a series of temples to your religious +convictions. You blaze Christianity on every canvas. I suppose that is +natural in a man of your opinions, but to me it is as painful as the +spectacle of advertisements of quack nostrums planted, as you shall see +them, beside railway lines--here in a golden field of buttercups, there +rising above young barley. Of course, I don't presume to assert that your +faith is a quack nostrum; only real Art and Religion won't run in double +harness for you or anybody. They did once, but the world has passed beyond +that point." + +"Never," answered Tarrant. "We have proof of it. Souls have been saved by +pictures. That is as certain as that God made the earth and everything on +it." + +"There again! Every word you speak only shows how difficult it is for us to +exchange ideas. Why is it so positively certain that God made the earth and +everything on it? To attribute man's origin direct to God is always, in my +mind, the supreme proposition of human conceit. Did it need a God to +manufacture you or me or Brady? I don't think so. Consider creation. I +suppose if an ant could gauge the ingenuity of a steam engine, he would +attribute it without hesitation to God, but it happens that the steam +engine is the work of a creature--a being standing somewhere between God +and the ant, but much nearer the latter than the former. You follow me? +Even Tarrant will admit, for it is an article of his creed, that there +exist many beings nearer to God than man. They have wings, he would tell +us, and are eternal, immortal, everlasting." + +"I see," said Brady, "you're going to say next that faulty concerns like +this particular world are the work of minor intelligences. What rot you can +talk at times, old man!" + +"Yet is it an honor to God Almighty that we attribute the contents of this +poor pill of a planet to Him? I think it would be an insult if you ask me. +Out of respect to the Everlasting, I would rather suppose that the earth, +being by chance a concern too small for His present purposes, He tosses it, +as we toss a dog a bone, to some ingenious archangel with a theory. Then +you enjoy the spectacle of that seraph about as busy over this notable +world as a child with a mud pie. The winged one sets to work with a will. A +little pinch of life; develops under his skillful manipulation; evolution +takes its remorseless course through the wastes of Time until--behold! the +apotheosis of the ape at last. Picture that well-meaning but muddle-headed +archangel's dismay at such a conclusion! All his theories and conceits--his +splendid scheme of evolution and the rest--end in a mean but obstinate +creature with conscious intelligence and an absolute contempt and disregard +for Nature. This poor Frankenstein of a cherub watches the worm he has +produced defy him and refuse absolutely to obey his most fundamental +postulates or accept his axioms. The fittest survive no more; these +gregarious, new-born things presently form themselves into a pestilential +society, they breed rubbish, they--" + +"By God! stop it, John," said Murdoch. "Now you're going too far. Look at +Tarrant. He'd burn you over a slow fire for this if he could. Speak for +yourself at any rate, not for us." + +"I do," answered the other bitterly. "I speak for myself. I know what a +poor, rotten cur I am physically and mentally--not worth the bread I eat to +keep me alive. And shall I dare say that God made me?" + +"But what's the end of this philosophy of despair, old chap?" asked Brady; +"what becomes of your worst of all possible planets?" + +"The end? Dust and ashes. My unfortunate workman, having blundered on for +certain millions of years tinkering and patching and improving his dismal +colony, will give the thing up; and God will laugh and show him the +mistakes and then blot the essay out, as a master runs his pen through the +errors in a pupil's exercise. The earth grows cold at last, and the herds +of humanity die, and the countless ages of agony and misery are over. Yes, +the poor vermin perish to the last one; then their black tomb goes whirling +on until it shall be allowed to meet another like itself, when a new sun +shines in heaven and space is the richer by one more star." + +"May God forgive you for your profanity, John Barren," said Tarrant. "That +He places in your hand such power and suffers your brain to breed the +devil's dung that fills it, is to me a mystery. May you live to learn your +errors and regret them." + +He turned away and two men followed him. Conversation among those who +remained reverted to the picture; and presently all were gone, excepting +only Barren, who had to wait and see his work packed. + +Remorse will take strange shapes. His bitter tirade against his environment +and himself was the direct result of this man's recent experiences. He knew +himself for a mean knave in his dealings with an innocent girl and the +thought turned the aspect of all things into gall. + +Solitude brought back a measure of peace. The picture was packed and +started to Penzance railway-station, while Barron's tools also went, by +pony-cart, back to his rooms in Newlyn. He was to leave upon the following +morning with Murdoch and others who were taking their work to the +Exhibitions. + +Now he looked round the cow-byre before locking it for the last time and +returning the key to Farmer Ford's boy, who waited outside to receive it. +"The chapter is ended," he said to himself. "The chapter which contains the +best thing that ever I did, and, I suppose, the worst, as morals have it. +Yet Art happily rises above those misty abstractions which we call right +and wrong. She resembles Nature herself there. Both demand their +sacrifices. 'The white martyrdom of self-denial, the red martyrdom of +blood--each is a thousand times recorded in the history of painting and +will be a thousand times again." + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +THE ACT OF FAITH + + +So John Barren set forth, well content to believe that he would never again +visit Cornwall, and Joan called at the Penzance post-office on the morning +which followed his departure. Her geographical knowledge was scanty. Truro +and Plymouth, in her belief, lay somewhere upon the edge of the world; and +she scarcely imagined that London could be much more remote. + But no letter awaited her, and life grew to be terribly empty. For a week +she struggled with herself to keep from the post-office, and then, nothing +doubting that her patience would now be well rewarded, Joan marched off +with confidence for the treasure. But only a greater disappointment than +the last resulted; and she went home very sorrowful, building up +explanations of the silence, finding excuses for "Mister Jan." The prefix +to his name, which had dropped during their latter intimacy, returned to +her mind now the man was gone: as "Mister Jan" it was that she thought +about him and prayed for him. + +The days passed quickly, and when a fortnight stood between herself and the +last glimpse of her lover, Joan began to grow very anxious. She wept +through long nights now, and her father, finding the girl changed, guessed +she had a secret and told his wife to find it out. But it was some time +before Thomasin made any discovery, for Joan lied stoutly by day and prayed +to God to pardon by night. She strove hard to follow the teaching of the +artist, to find joy in flowers and leaves, in the spring music of birds, in +the color of the sea. But now she dimly guessed that it was love of him +which went so far to make all things beautiful, that it was the magic and +wisdom of his words which had gilded the world with gold and thrown new +light upon the old familiar objects of life. Nature's organ was dumb now +that the hands which played upon it so skillfully had passed far away. But +she was loyal to her teacher; she remembered many things which he had said +and tried hard to feel as he felt, to put her hand in beautiful Mother +Nature's and walk with her and be at peace. Mister Jan would soon return; +the fortnight was already past; each day as she rose she felt he might come +to claim her before the evening. + +And, meanwhile, other concerns occupied her thoughts. The voice which spoke +to her after she bid John Barren "good-by," had since then similarly +sounded on the ear of her heart. Alike at high noon and in the silence of +the night watches it addressed her; and the mystery of it, taken with her +other sorrows, began to affect her physically. For the first time in her +life the girl felt ill in body. Her appetite failed, dawn found her sick +and weary; her glass told her of a white, unhappy face, of eyes that were +lighted from within and shone with strange thoughts. She was always +listening now--listening for the new voice, that she might hear the word it +uttered. Her physical illness she hid with some cunning and put a bright +face upon life as far as she could do so before those of her home; but the +task grew daily more difficult. Then, with a period of greatly increased +discomfort, Joan grew alarmed and turned to the kind God of "Mister Jan," +and made great, tearful praying for a return of strength. Her petition was +apparently granted, for the girl enjoyed some improvement of health and +spirit. Whereupon she became fired with a notable thought, and determined +to seek her patron saint where still she suspected his power held sway: at +the little brook which tinkles along beside the ruins of St. Madron's +chapel in a fair coomb below the Cornish moorlands. The precious water, as +Joan remembered, had brought strength and health to her when a baby; and +now the girl longed to try its virtues again, and a great conviction grew +upon her that the ancient saint never forgot his own little ones. +Opportunity presently offered, and through the first misty gray of a +morning in early April, she set out upon her long tramp from Newlyn through +Madron to the ruined baptistery. + +St. Madron, or Padern, lived in the sixth century, somewhat earlier than +Augustine. A Breton by birth, he labored chiefly in Wales, established a +monastery on Brito-Celtic lines in Cardiganshire, and became its bishop +when a see was established in that district. He traveled far, visited +Mount's Bay and established the church of Madron, still sacred to his name, +while doubtless the brook and chapel hard by were associated with him from +the same period. In Scawen's time folk were wont to take their hurts +thither on Corpus Christi evening, drink of the water, deposit an offering, +and repose upon the chapel floor till dawn. Then, drinking again, they +departed whole, if faith sufficiently mighty had supported them. Norden +remarks of the water that "its fame was great for the supposed vertue of +healinge, which St. Maderne had thereunto infused; and maine votaries made +anuale pilgrimages unto it...." In connection with the custom of immersion +here indicated, we find there obtained the equally venerable practice of +hanging votive rags upon the thorn bushes round about the chapel. This +conceit is ancient as Japan, and one not only in usage to this day among +the Shintoists of that land, but likewise common throughout Northern Asia +and, nearer home, in the Orkneys, in Scotland, in Ireland. Older far than +Christianity are these customs; the megalithic monuments of the pagan +witness similar practices in remote corners of the earth; rag-trees, +burdened with the tattered offerings of the devout, yet stud the desert of +Suez, and those who seek shall surely find some holy well or grave hard at +hand in every case. To mark and examine the junction of these venerable +fancies with Christian superstition is no part of our present purpose, but +that ideas, pagan in their birth, have lent themselves with sufficient +readiness to successive creeds and been knit into the dogmas of each in +turn, is certain enough. Thus, through Cornwall, the imaginings of wizard +and wonder-worker in hoary time come, centuries later, to be the glory and +special power of a saint. Such fantastic lore was definitely interdicted in +King Edgar's reign, when "stone worshipings, divinations, well worshipings +and necromances" were proclaimed things heathen, and unhallowed; but with +the advent of the Saint-Bishops from Wales, from Ireland, from Brittany, +primitive superstitions were patched upon the new creed, and, to suit +private purposes, the old giants of the Christian faith sanctified holy +well and holy stone, posing by right divine as sure dispensers of the +hidden virtue in stream and granite. But the roots of these fables burrow +back to paganism. Hundreds of weakly infants were passed through +Men-an-tol--the stone with a hole or the "crick-stone"--in the names of +saints; and hundreds had already been handed through it centuries before +under like appeal to pagan deities. + +Of Madron baptistery, now a picturesque ruin, it seems clear that until the +Reformation regular worship and the service of baptism were therein +celebrated. The place has mercifully escaped all restoration or renovation +and stands at this moment open to the sky in the slow hand of Time. A brook +runs babbling outside, but the holy well or colymbethra is now dry, though +it might easily be filled again. This interesting portion of the chapel +remains intact, and the entrance to it lies upon the level of the floor +according to ancient custom, being so ordered that the adult to undergo +baptism might step down into the water, and that not without dignity. + +Hither came Joan. Her patchwork of faith and Nature-worship was a live +thing to her now, and she found no difficulty in reconciling the sweet +saint-stories heard in childhood from her dead mother's lips, with the +beautiful and fair exposition of truth which "Mister Jan" found written +large upon the world by Nature in spring-time. + +It was half-past four o'clock when she trudged through Madron to see the +gray church and the little gray houses all sleeping under the gray sky. She +plodded on up the hill past the gaunt workhouse which stands at the top of +it; and what had seemed soft, sweet repose among the cottage homes, felt +like cold death beneath these ashy walls. To Joan, the workhouse was a word +of shame unutterable. Those among whom she lived would hurl the word +against enemies as a prophecy of the utmost degradation. She shivered as +she passed, and was sad, knowing that a whole world of poverty, failure, +sorrow, regret, was hidden away in that cold, still pile. But the hand of +sleep lay softly there; only a sick soul or two stirred, the paupers were +the equal of princes till a hoarse bell brought them back out of blessed +unconsciousness. + +Bars of light streaked the east, and Joan, only stopping at the hill crest +to see dawn open silver eyes on the sea, hastened inland through silent, +dewy fields. Presently a fence and wall cut civilization from the wild land +of the coomb, and the girl proceeded where grass-grown cart-ruts wound +among furze and heather and the silver coils of new-born bracken just +beginning to peep up above the dead fern of last year. This hollow ran +between undulations of fallow and meadow; no harrow clinked as yet; only +the cows stood here and there above the dry patches on the dewy fields +where their bodies had lain in sleep. She saw their soft eyes and smelled +the savor of them. Presently the cart-ruts disappeared in fine grass all +bediamonded, knobbed with heather, sprouting rusty-red, and sprinkled with +tussocks of coarser grass, whereon green blades sprang up above the dead +ones, where they struggled, matted and bleached and sere. Rabbits flashed +here and there, the white under-side of their little scuts twinkling +through the gorse; and then the birds woke up; a thrush sang low, sleepy +notes from the heart of a whitethorn; yellowhammers piped their mournful +calls from the furze. On Joan's left hand there now rose a clump of +wind-worn beech-trees, their brown spikes breaking to green, even where +dead red leaves still clung to the parent branches. Beneath them ran a +hedge of earth above a deep pool or two, very clear and fringed with young +rushes, upright and triumphant above the old dead ones. Everywhere Joan saw +Life trampling and leaping, growing and laughing over the ruins of things +that had lived and died. It saddened her a little. Did Nature forget so +soon? Then she told herself that kind Nature had loved them and gloried in +them too; and now she would presently bury all her dead children in +beautiful graves of new green. The mosses and marsh were lovely and the +clear pools full of living creatures. But these things were not +saint-blessed and eternal. No spring fed these silent wells, no holy man of +old had ever smiled upon them. + +A stepping-stone by a wall lay before her now; this she crossed, heard the +stream murmuring peace, and hastened, and presently stood beside it. Here +were holy ground and water; here were peace and a place to pray in. Blue +forget-me-nots looked wondering up, seeing eyes as blue as their own, and +she smiled at them and drank of the ripples that ran at their roots. Gray +through the growing haze of green, a ruined wall showed close to the girl. +The blackthorns' blooms were faded around her, the hawthorn was not yet +powdered with white. She cast one look to right and left before entering +the chapel. A distant view of the moorland rose to the sky, and the ragged +edge of the hills was marked by a gaunt engine-stack noting past +enterprise, triumphs long gone by, ruined hopes but recently dead. Snug +fox-covers of rhododendron swept up toward the head of the coomb; and +below, distant half a mile or more, cottages already showed a glimmer of +gold on their thatches where the increasing splendor of day brightened +them, and morning mists were raising jeweled arms. Then Joan passed into +the ruin through that narrow opening which marks the door of it. The +granite walls now stand about the height of a man's shoulder and the +chamber itself is small. Stone seats still run round two sides of it; ivy +and stone-worts and grasses have picked the mortar from the walls and +clothed them, even as emerald moss and gray lichens and black and gold +glorify each piece of granite; a may-bush, tangled about a great shiny +ivy-tod, surmounts the western walls above the dried well; furzes and +heather and tall grasses soften the jagged outlines of the ruin, and above +a stone altar, at the east end of it, rises another white-thorn. At this +season of the year the subsequent floral glories of the little chapel were +only indicated: young briers already thrust their soft points over the +stone of the altar and the first leaves of foxgloves were unfolding, with +dandelions and docks, biting-stone-crop and ferns, ragged-robins and wild +geraniums. These infant things softened no outline yet. The flat paving of +the floor, where it yet remained, was bedded in grass; a little square +incision upon the stone of the altar glimmered full of water and reflected +the light from fleecy clouds which now climbed into heaven, bearing sunrise +fires upward over a pale blue sky. + +Here, under the circumambient, sparkling clearness, coolness and silence, +Joan stood with strange medley of thoughts upon her soul. The saints and +the fairies mingled there with visions of Nature, always smiling, with a +vague shadow of one great God above the blue, but dim and very far away; +and a nearer picture which quickened her heart-beat: the picture of "Mister +Jan." Here she felt herself at one with the world spread round her. The +mother eyes of a blackbird, sitting upon her eggs in the ivy-tod, kept +their bright gold on Joan, but showed no fear; the young rabbits frisked at +hand; a mole poked his snout and little paddle-paws out of the grass; all +was peace and happiness, it seemed, with the voice of good St. Madron +murmuring love in his brooklet at hand. + +Joan knelt down by the old altar and bowed her head there and prayed to +Nature and to God. At first merely wordless prayers full of passionate +entreaty rose to the Throne; then utterance came in a wild simple throng of +petitions; and all her various knowledge, won from her mother and John +Barren, found a place. Pan and Christ might each have heard and listened, +for she called on the gods of earth and heaven from a heart that was full. + +"Kind Mother o' the flowers, doan't 'e forget a poor maiden what loves 'e +so dear. I be sad an' sore-hearted 'cause things is bad wi' me now Mister +Jan's gone; an' I knaws as I've lied an' bin wicked 'bout Joe, but, kind +Mother, I awnly done what Mister Jan, as was wise an' loved me, bid. Oh, +God A'mighty, doan't 'E let en forget me, 'cause I've gived up all--all the +lil I had for en, an' Nature made me as I be. Oh, kind God, make me happy +an' light-hearted an' strong agin, same as the lil birds an' sich like is +happy an' strong; an' forgive me for all my sins an' make me well for +Mister Jan, an' clever for Mister Jan, so's I'll be a fine an' good wife to +en. An' forgive me for lyin', 'cause what I done was Nature, 'cordin' to +Mister Jan; an' Nature's kind to young things, 'cordin' to Mister Jan; an' +I be young yet. An' make me a better lass, for I caan't abear to feel as I +do; an' make me think o' the next world arter this wan. But, oh, dear God, +make me well an' braave agin, for 'tis awful wisht for me wi'out Mister +Jan; an' make Mister Jan strong too. I be all in a miz-maze and doan't knaw +wheer to turn 'cept to Nature, dear Lard. Oh, kind God A'mighty, lemme have +my angel watchin' over me close, same as what mother used to say he did +allus. An' bring Mister Jan back long very quick, 'cause I'm nothin' but +sadness wi'out en. An', dear St. Madern, I ax 'e to bless me same as you +done when--when I was a lil baaby, 'cause I be gwaine to bathe in your +brook, bein' a St. Madern cheel. Oh, dear, good God o' all things, please +to help me an' look to me, 'cause I be very sad, an' I never done no harm +to none, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen." + +Then she said the Lord's Prayer, because her mother had taught her that no +human petition was ever heard unless accompanied by it. And it seemed as +though the lark, winding upward with wide spiral to his song-throne in the +sky and tinkling thin music on the morning wind, was her messenger: which +thought was beautiful to Joan and made her heart glad. + +Never had she looked fairer. Her blue eyes were misty, but the magic of +prayer, the glory of speaking straight to the Father of all, call Him what +she might, had nobly fortified her sinking spirit. Peace brooded in her +soul then, and faith warmed her blood. She was sure her prayer would be +answered; she was certain that her health and her loved one would both come +back to her. And she stood by the altar and smiled at the golden morning, +herself the fairest thing the sun shone upon. + +Having peeped shyly about her, Joan took off her clothes, placed them on +the altar-stones, shook down her hair, and glided softly to the stream. At +one point its waters caught the sunshine and babbled over white sand +between many budding spikes of wild parsley and young fronds of fern. Naked +and beautiful the girl stood, her bright hair glinting to her waist, all +rippled with the first red gold of the morning, her body very white save +where the sun and western wind had browned both arms and neck; her form +innocent as yet of the mystery hid for her in Time. Joan's fair limbs spoke +of blood not Cornish, of days far past when a race of giants swept up from +behind the North Sea to tread a new earth and take wives of the little dark +women of the land, abating the still prevalent nigrescence of the Celt with +Saxon eyes and hair, adding their stature and their strength to races +unborn. A sweet embodiment of all that was lovely and pure and fresh, she +looked--a human incarnation of youth and springtime. + +There was a pool deeper than the general shallowness of the stream which +served for Joan's bath, and she entered there, where soft white sand made +pleasant footing for her toes, where more forget-me-nots twinkled their +turquoise about the margin, where shining gorse towered like a sentinel +above. + +She suffered the holy water to flow over every inch of her body, and then, +rubbing her white self red and glowing with the dead brake fern of last +year and squeezing the water out of her hair, Joan quickly dressed again +and prepared to depart. She was about to leave a fragment torn from her +skirt hanging by the chapel, but changed her mind, and getting a splinter +of granite, rough-edged, she began to chip away a tress of her own bright +hair, sawing it off upon the stone table as best she could. Like a fallen +star it presently glimmered in the thorn bush above St. Madron's altar +where she wound the little lock, presently to bring gold to the nests and +joy to the heart of small feathered folk. + +Joan walked home with the warm blood racing in her veins, roses on her +cheeks and the glory of hope in her eyes. Already she felt her prayers were +being heard; already she was thanking God for heeding her cry, and St +Madron for the life-giving waters of his holy stream. Thee, where finches +chattered and fluttered forward, breakfasting together in pleasant company, +a shadow and a swift, strong wing flashed across Joan's sight--and a hawk +struck. The little people shrieked, a few gray feathers puffed here and +there, and one spark of life was blown out that other sparks might shine +the brighter. For presently Joan's kind "Mother o' the flowers" watched the +beaks of fledgeling hawks grow red, and the parent bird of prey's cold eyes +brightened with satisfaction; as will every parent eye brighten at the +spectacle of baby things eating wholesome food with hearty appetite. + +The death of the small fowl clouded the pilgrim's thoughts, but only for a +moment. Sentiment and emotion had passed; now she was eager with delicious +physical hunger and longing for her breakfast. The girl had not felt so +well or so happy for a considerable time. Half her prayer, she told +herself, was answered already; and the other half, relating to "Mister +Jan," would doubtless meet with similar merciful response ere many hours +had flown. + +So joyfully homeward out of dreamland into a world of facts Joan hastened. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +A THOUSAND POUNDS + + +A glad heart shortens the longest road, and Joan, whose return journey from +the holy well was for the most part downhill, soon found herself back again +in Penzance. The fire of devotion still actuated her movements, and she +walked fearlessly, doubting nothing, to the post-office. There would be a +letter to-day; she knew it; she felt it in her consciousness, as a +certainty. And when she asked for it and mentioned her name, she put her +hand out and waited until the sleepy-eyed clerk rummaged through a little +pile of letters standing together and tied with a separate string. She +watched him slowly untie them and scan the addresses, grumbling as he did +so. Then he came to the last of all and read out: + +"'Miss Joan Tregenza, Post-Office, Penzance. To be left until called for.'" + +"Mine, mine, sir! I knawed 'e'd have it! I knawed as the kind, good--" + +Then she stopped and grew red, while the clerk looked at her curiously and +then yawned. "What's a draggle-tailed chit like her got to do with such a +thing?" he wondered, and then spoke to Joan: + +"Here you are; and you must sign this paper--it's a registered letter." + +Joan, her hand shaking with excitement, printed her name where he directed, +thanked the man with a smile that softened him, and then hastened away. + +The girl was faint with hunger and happiness before she reached home. She +did not dare to open the letter just then, but took it from her pocket a +dozen times before she reached Newlyn and feasted her eyes on her own name, +very beautifully and legibly printed. He had written it! His precious hand +had held the pen and formed each letter. + +Deep, wordless thanks welled up in Joan's heart, for God was not very far +away, after all. He had heard her prayer already, and answered it within an +hour. No doubt it was easy for Him to grant such a little prayer. It could +be nothing much to God that one small creature should enjoy such happiness; +but what seemed wonderful was that He should have any time to listen at +all, that He should have been able to turn from the mighty business of the +great awakening world and give a thought to her. + +"Sure 'twas the lil lark as the good Lard heard, an' my asking as went +up-long wi' en," said Joan to herself. + +She found her father at home and the family just about to take breakfast. +Gray Michael had returned somewhat unexpectedly, with a fine catch, and did +not intend sailing again before the evening tide. A somewhat ominous +silence greeted the girl, a silence which her father was the first to +break. + +"Ayte your food, my lass, an' then come in the garden 'long with me," he +said. "I do want a word with 'e, an' things must be said which I've put off +the sayin' of tu long. So be quick's you can." + +But this sauce did not spoil the girl's enjoyment of her porridge and +treacle. She ate heartily, and her happy humor seemed catching, at least so +far as Tom was concerned. A bright color warmed Joan's cheek; the cloud +that had dimmed her eyes was there no longer; and more than once Mr. +Tregenza looked at his wife inquiringly, for the tale she had been telling +of Joan's recent moods and disorder was at variance with her present +spirits and appetite. After breakfast she went to her room while her father +waited; and then it was that Joan snatched a moment to open John Barron's +letter. There would be no time to read it then, she knew: that delicious +task must take many hours of loving labor; but she wanted to count the +pages and see "Mister Jan's" name at the end. She knew that crosses meant +kisses, too. There might be crosses somewhere. So she opened the envelope +in a fever of joyous excitement, being careful, however, not to tear a +letter of the superscription. And from it there came a fat, folded pile of +tissue paper. Joan knew it was money, and flung it on her bed and fumbled +with sinking heart for something better. But there was nothing else--only +ten pieces of tissue-paper. She remembered seeing her father with similar +pieces; and her mother saying there was nothing like Bank of England notes. +But they had been crumpled and dirty, these were snowy white. Each had a +hundred pounds marked upon it; and Joan was aware that ten times a hundred +is a thousand. But a thousand pounds possessed no more real meaning for her +than a million of money does for the average man. She could not estimate +its significance in the least or gauge its possibilities. Only she knew +that she would far rather have had a few words from "Mister Jan" than all +the money in the world. + +Mr. Tregenza's voice below broke in upon the girl's disappointment, and, +hastily hiding the money under some linen in a little chest of drawers, +where the picture of Joe's ship was also concealed, she hurried to join her +father. But the empty envelope, with her name printed on it, she put into +her pocket that it might be near her. + +Joan did not for an instant gather what meaning lay under this great gift +of money, and to her the absence of a letter was no more than a passing +sorrow. She read nothing between the lines of this silence; she only saw +that he had not forgotten, and only thought that he perhaps imagined such +vast sums of money would give her pleasure and make the waiting easier. +What were banknotes to Joan? What was life to her away from him? She +sighed, and fell back upon the thought of his wisdom and knowledge. He must +be in the right to delay, because he was always in the right. A letter +would presently come to explain why he had sent the money and to treat of +his return. The girl felt that she had much to thank God for, after all. He +had sent her the letter; He had answered her prayer in His own way. It ill +became her, she thought, to question more deeply. She must wait and be +patient, however hard the waiting. + +So thinking, she joined her father. Tom was away up the village, Mrs. +Tregenza found plenty to occupy her mind and body indoors; Joan and Mr. +Tregenza had the garden to themselves. He was silent until they reached the +wicket, then, going through it, he led the way slowly up a hill which wound +above the neighboring stone quarry; and as he walked he addressed Joan. +She, weary enough already, prayed that her parent intended going no further +than the summit of the hill; but when he spoke she forgot physical fatigue, +for his manner was short and stern. + +"Theer's things bein' hid 'twixt you an' me, darter, an' 'tis time you +spoke up. Every parent's got some responsibility in the matter of his +cheel's sawl, an', if theer's aught to knaw, 'tis I must hear it. 'The +faither waketh for the darter when no man knaweth,' sez the Preacher, an' +he never wrote nothin' truer. I've waked for you, Joan. 'Keep a sure watch +over a shameless darter,' sez the Preacher agin; but God forbid you'm that. +Awnly you'm allus wool-gatherin', an' roamin', an' wastin' time. An' time +wance squandered do never come agin. I hear tell this has been gwaine +forrard since Joe went to sea. What's the matter with 'e? Say it out plain +an' straight an' now this minute." + +Joan had particularly prayed by the Madron altar that the Everlasting would +keep her from lying. She remembered the fact as her father put his +question; and she also recollected that John Barron had told her to say +nothing about their union until he returned to her. So she lied again, and +that the more readily because Gray Michael's manner of asking his question +put a reasonable answer into her head. + +"I s'pose as it might be I'm wisht 'cause o' Joe Noy, faither." + +"Then look 'e to it an' let it cease. Joe's in the hand o' the Lard same as +we be. He's got to work out his salvation in fear an' tremblin' same as us. +Some do the Lard's work ashore, some afloat, some--sich as me--do it by +land an' sea both. You doan't work Joe no good trapsing 'bout inland, here, +theer, an' everywheers; an' you do yourself harm, 'cause it makes 'e oneasy +an' restless. Mendin' holes an' washin' clothes an' prayin' to the Lard to +'a' mercy on your sinful sawl's what you got to do. Also learnin' to cook +'gainst the time you'm a wife an' the mother o' childern, if God so wills. +But this ban't no right way o' life for any wan, gentle or simple, so mend +it. A gad-about, lazy female's hell-meat in any station. Theer's enough of +'em as 'tis, wi'in the edge o' Carnwall tu. What was you doin' this +marnin'? Mother sez 'er heard you stirrin' 'fore the birds." + +"I went out a long walk to think, faither." + +"What 'e want to think 'bout? Your plaace is to du, not to think. God'll +think for 'e if 'e ax; an' the sooner you mind that an' call 'pon the +A'mighty the better; 'cause the Devil's ready an' willin' to think for 'e +tu. Read the Book more an' look about 'e less. Man's eyes, an' likewise +maid's, is best 'pon the ground most time. Theer's no evil writ theer. The +brain of man an' woman imagineth ill nearly allus, for why? 'Cause they +looks about an' sees it. Evil comes in through the eyes of 'em; evil's +pasted large 'pon every dead wall in Newlyn. Read the Book--'tis all summed +up in that. You've gotten a power o' your mother in 'e yet. Not but you've +bin a good darter thus far, save for back-slidin' in the past; but I saved +your sawl then, thanks be to the voice o' God in me, an' I saved your +mother's sawl, though theer was tidy wraslin' for her; an' I'll save yourn +yet if you'll do your paart." + +Here Gray Michael paused and turned homeward, while Joan congratulated +herself upon the fact that a conversation which promised to be difficult +had ended so speedily and without misfortune. Then her father asked her +another question. + +"An' what's this I hear tell 'bout you bein' poorly? You do look so well as +ever I knawed 'e, but mother sez you'm that cranky with vittles as you +never was afore, an' wrong inside likewise." + +"Ban't nothin', faither. 'Tis awver an' done. I ate tu much or some sich +thing an' I be bonny well agin now." + +"Doan't be thinkin' then. 'Tis all brain-sickness, I'll lay. I doan't want +no doctor's traade in my 'ouse if us can keep it outside. The Lard's my +doctor. Keep your sawl clean, an' the Lard'll watch your body. 'E's said as +much. 'E knaws we'm poor trashy worms an' even a breath o' foul air'll take +our lives onless 'E be by to filter it. Faith's the awnly medicine worth +usin'." + +Joan remembered her morning bath and felt comforted by this last +reflection. Had she not already found the magic result? For a moment she +thought of telling her father what she had done, but she changed her mind. +Such faith as that would have brought nothing but wrath upon her. + +While Mr. Tregenza improved the hour and uttered various precepts for his +daughter's help and guidance, Thomasin was occupied at home with grave +thoughts respecting Joan. She more than suspected the truth from signs of +indisposition full of meaning to a mother; but while duly mentioning the +girl's illness, Mrs. Tregenza did not dare to breathe the color of her own +explanation. She prayed to God in all honesty to prove her wrong, but her +lynx eyes waited to read the truth she feared. If things were really so +with Joan, then they could not be hid from her eyes much longer; and in the +event of her suspicions proving correct, Mrs. Tregenza told herself, as a +right Luke Gospeler, she must proclaim her horrid discovery and let the +perdition of her husband's daughter be generally made manifest. She knew so +many were called, so few chosen. No girl had ever been more surely called +than Joan: her father's trumpet tongue had thundered the ways of +righteousness into her ears from her birth; but, after all, it began to +look as though she was not chosen. The circumstance, of course, if proved, +would rob her of every Luke Gospeler's regard. No weak pandering with +sentiment and sin was permitted in that fold. And Mrs. Tregenza had little +pity herself for unfortunate or mistaken women. Let a girl lose her +character and Thomasin usually refused to hear any plea of mercy from any +source. Only once did she find extenuating circumstances: in a case where a +ruined farmer's daughter brought an action for breach of promise and won +it, with heavy damages. But money acted in a peculiar way with this woman. +It put her conscience and her judgment out of focus, softened the outlines +of events, furnished excuses for unusual practices, gilded with a bright +lining even the blackest cloud of wrongdoing. Where Mrs. Tregenza could see +money she could see light. Money made her charitable, broad-minded, even +tolerant. She knew she loved it, and was careful to keep the fact out of +Gray Michael's sight as far as possible. She held the purse, and he felt +that it was in good hands, but cautioned her from time to time against the +awful danger of letting a lust for this world's wealth come between the +soul and God. + +And now a course long indicated in Thomasin's mind was being by her +pursued. Having convinced herself that under the present circumstances any +step to found or dispel her fears concerning Joan would be just and proper, +she took the exceptional one of searching the girl's little room while her +stepdaughter was out with Michael. Even as Mr. Tregenza turned to go +homeward again, his wife stood in the midst of Joan's small sanctuary, and +cast keen, inquiring eyes about her. She rarely visited the apartment, and +had not been in it for six months. Now she came to set doubt at rest if +possible, or confirm it. Her own secret opinion was that Joan had come to +serious trouble with her superiors. In that case letters, presents or +tokens had probably passed into her hands; and, if such existed, in this +room they would be. + +"God send as I'm makin' a mistake an' shaan't find nothin' 'tall," said +Mrs. Tregenza to herself. And then she began her scrutiny. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + THE TRUTH + + +Thomasin saw that all things about Joan's room were neat, spotless, and in +order. For one brief moment a sense of disquiet at the action before her +touched the woman's heart and head; but duty alike to her husband and her +stepdaughter demanded the search in her opinion. Should there be nothing to +find, so much the better; if, on the other hand, matters affecting Joan's +temporal and eternal welfare were here hidden, then they could not be +uncovered too quickly. She looked first through the girl's little wooden +trunk, the key of which was in the lock, but nothing save a childish +treasure or two rewarded Mrs. Tregenza here. In a broken desk, which had +belonged to her mother, Joan kept a few Christmas cards, and two +silhouettes: one of Uncle Thomas, of Drift, one of Mary Chirgwin. Here were +also some cooking recipes copied in her mother's writing, an agate marble +which Joan had found on Penzance beach, lavender tied up in a bag, and an +odd toy that softened Thomasin's heart not a little as she picked it up and +looked at it. The thing brought back to her memory a time four years +earlier. It was a small, grotesque figure on wires, built up of chestnuts +and acorns with a hazel-nut for its head and black pins stuck in for the +eyes. She remembered Tom making it and giving it to Joan on her birthday. +Then the memory of Joan's love for Tom from the time he was born came like +a glow of sunshine into the mother's heart, and for a moment she was minded +to relinquish her unpleasant task upon the spot; but she changed her +intention again and proceeded. The box held little else save a parcel of +old clothes tied up with rosemary in brown paper. These the woman surveyed +curiously, and knew, without being told, that they had belonged to Joan's +mother. For some reason the spectacle killed sentiment and changed her +mood. She shut down the box, and then, going to the chest of drawers, +pulled out each compartment in turn. Nothing but Joan's apparel and her few +brooches and trinkets appeared here. The history of each and all was +familiar to Mrs. Tregenza. But on reaching the bottom drawer of the chest, +she found it locked and the key absent. To continue her search, however, +was not difficult. Nothing separated the drawers, and by removing that +above the last, the contents of the lowest lay at her mercy, It was full of +linen for the most part, but hidden at the bottom, Thomasin made a +discovery, and found certain matters which at once spoke of tremendous +mystery, and, to her mind, indicated the nature of it. First she came upon +the little picture of Joe's ship in its rough gilded frame. This might be +an innocent gift from some of the young men who had asked in the past to be +allowed to paint Joan and received a curt negative from Gray Michael. But +the other discovery meant more. Pushing her hand about the drawer she found +a pile of paper, felt the crackle of it, and pulled it eagerly to the +light. Then, and before she learned the grandeur of the sum, she was seized +with a sudden palpitation and sat down on Joan's bed. Her mouth grew full +as a hungry man's before a feast, her lips were wet, her hand shook as she +opened and spread the notes. Then she counted them and sat gasping like a +landed fish. Thomasin had never seen so much money before in her life. A +thousand pounds! Unlike Joan, to whom the sum conveyed no significance, +Mrs. Tregenza could estimate it. Her mind reached that far, and the +bank-notes, for her, lay just within the estimation of avarice. Every snowy +fragment meant a hundred pounds--a hundred sovereigns--two hundred +ten-shilling pieces. The first shock overpast, and long before she grew +sufficiently calm to associate the treasure with its possessor, Mrs. +Tregenza began spending in her mind's eye. The points in house and garden, +outhouse and sty, whereon money might be advantageously expended, rose up +one after the other. Then she put aside eight hundred and fifty out of the +grand total and pictured herself taking it to the bank. She thought of a +nest-egg that would "goody" against the time Tom should grow into a man; +she saw herself among the neighbors, pointed at, whispered of as a woman +with hundreds and hundreds of pounds put by; she saw the rows of men +sitting basking about in Newlyn, as their custom is when off the sea; and +she heard them drop words of admiration at the sight of her. Presently, +however, this gilded vision vanished, and she began to connect the money +with Joan. She solved the mystery then with a brutal directness which hit +the mark in one direction; as to the source of the money, but went wide of +it in some measure upon the subject of the girl. Thomasin held briefly that +her stepdaughter had fallen, and now, knowing her condition, had informed +some man of it, with the result that from him came this unutterable gift. +That the money made an enormous difference to Mrs. Tregenza's mental +attitude must be confessed. She found herself fashioning absolute excuses +for Joan. Girls so often came to ill through no fault of their own. The man +must at least have been a gentleman to pay for his pleasure in four +figures. Four figures! Here she stopped thinking in order to picture the +vision of a unit followed by three ciphers. Then she marveled as to what +manner of man he was who could send a girl like Joan a thousand pounds. She +never heard of such a price for the value received. Her respect for Joan +began to increase when she realized that the money was hers. Probably there +was even more where that came from. "Anyway," she reflected, "it ban't no +use cryin' ower spilt milk. What's done's done. An' a thousand pounds'll go +long ways to softenin' the road. She might travel up-long to Truro to my +cousin an' bide quiet theer till arter, an' no harm done, poor lass. When +all's said, us knaws the Lard Hissel weer mighty easy wi' the like o' she, +an' worser wenches tu. But Michael--God A'mighty knaws he won't be easy. +She'm a damned wummon, I s'pose, but she's got to live through 'er life +here--damned or saved; an' she's got a thousand pound to do't with. A +terrible braave dollop o' money, sure 'nough. To think 'ow 'ard a man's got +to work 'fore he earns five of 'em!" But her imagination centered upon Gray +Michael now, and she almost forgot the banknotes for a moment. She thought +of his agony and trembled for the result. He might strike Joan down and +kill her. The man's anger against evil-doers was always a terrific thing; +and he had no idea of the value of money. She hazarded guesses at the +course he would pursue, and each idea was blacker than the last. Then +Thomasin fell to wondering what Michael would be likely to do with the +money. She sighed at this thought, and then she grew pale at the imaginary +spectacle of her husband tearing the devil-sent notes to pieces and +scattering them over the cliff to the sea. This horrible possibility stung +her to another train of ideas. Might it be within her power to win Joan's +secret, share it, and keep it from the father? Her pluck, however, gave way +when she looked a little deeper into the future. She would have done most +things in her power for a thousand pounds, but she would not have dared any +treachery to Michael. The woman put the notes together and stroked them and +listened to the rustle of them and rubbed her hard cheek with them. Then, +looking from the little window of Joan's garret, she saw the girl herself +approaching with Mr. Tregenza. They were nearly home again, so Thomasin +returned the money and the picture to their places in the chest of drawers, +smoothed the bed, where she had been sitting for half an hour, and went +downstairs still undetermined as to a course of action. + +Before dinner was eaten, however, she had decided that her husband must +know the truth. Even her desire toward the money cooled before the prospect +of treachery to him. Fear had something to do with this decision, but the +woman's own principles were strong. It is unlikely that in any case they +would have broken down. She sent Joan on an errand to the village after the +meal was ended; and upon her departure addressed her husband hurriedly. + +"You said I was 'mazed to dinner, an' so I was. I've gotten bad news for +'e, Michael, touchin' Joan." + +"No more o' that, mother," he answered, "I've talked wi' she an' said a +word in season. She'm well in body an' be gwaine to turn a new leaf, so +theer's an end o' the matter." + +"'Tedn' so," she declared, "I've bin in the gal's room an' I've found--but +you bide here an' I'll bring 'em to 'e. Hold yourself back, Michael, for us +caan't say nothin' sure till us knaws the truth from Joan." + +"She've tawld me the truth out a walkin' an' I've shawed her the narrer +path. What should you find?" + +"Money--no lil come-by-chance neither; more money than ever you or me seed +in our born days afore or shall agin." + +"You'm dreamin', wummon!" he said. + +"God knaws I wishes it weer so," she answered, and went once more to Joan's +room. + +Gray Michael was walking up and down the kitchen when she returned, and +Thomasin said nothing, but put money and picture upon the table. Her +husband fought with himself a moment, as it appeared, then seemed to pray a +while, standing still with his hand pressed over his eyes, and finally sat +himself down beside the things which Thomasin had brought. + +"I'd no choice but to tell 'e," she said. + +Gray Michael's eyes were on the picture and utter astonishment appeared in +them. + +"Why! 'tis Joe Noy's ship. Us seed her off the islands, outward bound! He +might 'a' gived it her hisself surely?" + +"But t'other thing; the money. Count them notes. Noy never gived Joan +them." + +He spread the parcel, counted the money, and sat back thunderstruck. + +"God in heaven! A thousan' pound, an' notes as never went through no dirty +hands neither! What do it mean?" + +"How should I tell what it means? I found the whole fortune hid beneath her +smickets. Lard knaws how she comed by it. What have the likes o' she to +give for money?" + +"What do 'e mean by that?" he blazed out, rising to his feet and clinching +his fists. + +"Ax your darter. Do 'e think I'd dare to say a word onless I was sartain +sure? You'd smash me, your own wife, if I weer wrong, like enough. I ban't +wrong. Joan's wi' cheel or I never was. Maybe that thraws light on the +money, maybe it doan't. I did pray as it might 'a' comed out to be her man +at sea. But you'll find it weern't. God help 'e, Michael, my heart do bleed +for 'e. Can 'e find it in 'e to be merciful same as the Lard in like case, +or--?" + +He raised his hand to stop her. He was sitting back in his chair with a +face that had grown gray even to the skin, with eyes that looked out at +nothing. There was a moment's silence save for the tall clock in the +corner; then Tregenza brushed beads of water off his forehead and dried his +hand on his trousers. He raised his eyes to the roof and gripped his hands +together on his chest and slowly spoke a text which his wife had heard upon +his lips before, but only at times of deep concern or emotion. + +"'The Lard is king, be the people never so impatient; He sitteth between +the cherubims, be the airth never so unquiet.'" + +Few saw any particular meaning in this quotation applied in moments of +stress, as Michael usually employed it; but to the man it was a supreme +utterance, the last word to be spoken in the face of all the evil and +wickedness of the world. Come what might, God still reigned in heaven. + +He spoke aloud thus far, and afterward, by the movement of his beard and +lip, Thomasin could see he was still talking or praying. + +"Let the Lard lead 'e, husband, in this hard pass," she said. "'Vengeance +is Mine,' the Book sez." + +He turned his eyes upon her. His brows were dragged down upon them; he had +brushed his gray hair like bristles upright on his head; across the mighty +wall of his forehead jagged cross-lines were stamped, like the broken +strata over a cliff-face. + +"Ay, you say it. Vengeance be God's awn, an' mercy be God's awn. 'Tedn' for +no man to meddle wi' them. Us caan't be aught but just. She'll have justice +from me--no more'n that. 'Tis all wan now. Wanton or no wanton, she've +flummoxed me this day. The giglot lied an' said the thing that was not. +She'm not o' the Kingdom--the fust Tregenza as ever lied--the fust." + +"God send it edn' as bad as it do look, master. 'Er caracter belike ban't +gone. S'pose as she'm married?" + +"Hould your clack, wummon. I be thinkin'." + +He was thinking, indeed. In the face of this discovery, the ghost of an +idea, which had haunted Gray Michael's mind more than once during the +upbringing of Joan, returned a greater and more pronounced shadow than ever +before. The conviction carried truth stamped upon it from the standpoint of +his present horrid knowledge. To an outsider his thought had appeared +absolutely devilish, to the man himself it was as a buoy thrown to one +drowning. The belief flooded his mind, swept him away, convinced him. Its +nature presently appeared as he answered Thomasin. She was still thinking +of the thousand pounds. + +"Theer's no word in the Book agin mercy, Michael. Joan's your awn +darter--froward or not froward." + +"You'm wrong theer," he said. He was now cool and quiet. "I did think so +wance; I did tell her so when us walked not two hour agone. Now I sees +differ'nt. She'm none o' mine. She'm no Tregenza. Be Nature, as made us +God-fearin' to a man, to a wummon, to a cheel, gwaine to lie after +generations 'pon generations? Look back at them as bred me, an' them as +bred them--back, an' back, an' back. All Tregenzas was o' the Lard's +harvest; an' should I, as feared God more'n any o' 'em, an' fought for the +Lard of Hosts 'fore I was higher'n this table--should I--Michael Tregenza, +breed a damned sawl? The thot's comed black an' terrible 'pon my mind 'fore +to-day; an' I've put en away from me, judgin' 'twas the devil. Now I knaw +'twas God spoke; now I knaw that her's none o' my gettin'. 'Who honoreth +his faither shall 'a' joy o' his awn childern.' Shall I, as weer a pattern +son, be cussed wi' a strumpet for a darter?" + +"You'm speakin' a hard thing o' dead bones, then. The Chirgwins is upland +folks o' long standin', knawn so far as the Land's End, an' up Drift an' +down Lizard likewise." + +"She've lied to me," was his answer; "she've lied oftentimes; she'm false +to whatever I did teach her; she've sawld herself--she've--no more on +it--no more on it but awnly this: I call 'pon God A'mighty to bear witness +she'm no Tregenza--never--never." + +"'Tweer her mother in the gal; but doan't 'e say more 'bout that, Michael. +Poor dear sawl, she'm dead an' gone, an' she loved 'e wi' all her 'eart, as +I, what knawed her, can testify to." + +"No more o' that," he said, "the gal's comin'. Thank God she ban't no cheel +o' mine--thank God, as 'ave tawld me 'tedn' so. He whispered it, an' I put +it away an' away. Now I knaws. You bide here, Thomasin Tregenza, and I'll +speak what's fittin'." + +Thus in one moment this hideous conviction was stamped upon the man's soul +for life. He judged the dead mother by the daughter and visited the child's +sin upon the parent's memory. Any conclusion more monstrous, more directly +opposed to every natural instinct, can hardly be conceived, but the man had +been strangling natural instincts for fifty years. Only pride of family +remained. There were but few Tregenzas left and soon there would be none +unless Tom carried on the name. Michael was the quintessence of the +Tregenza spirit, the fruit of generations, the high-water mark. He stood on +that giddy pinnacle which has religious mania for its precipice. To damn a +dead woman was easier than to accept a wanton daughter. Better an +unfaithful wife than that any soul born of Tregenza blood should be lost. +So he washed his hands of both, thanking God, who had launched the truth +into his mind at last; and then he rose to his feet as Joan entered the +room. + +She stood for a moment in the doorway with her blue eyes fixed in amazement +upon the kitchen table. Then she grew very red to the roots of her hair and +came forward. There was almost a joy in her mind that the long story of +falsehood must end at last. She did not fear her father now and looked up +into his face quite calmly as she approached the table. + +"These be mine," she said. "Was it you, faither, as took 'em from wheer +they was?" + +"'Twas me, Joan," answered Mrs. Tregenza; "an' I judge the Lard led me." + +The girl stood erect and scornful. + +"I'm glad you found them; now I can tell the truth." + +"Truth!" thundered Michael. "Truth--what do you knaw 'bout Truth, darter o' +Baal? Your life's a lie, your tongue's rotten in your mouth wi' lyin'. +Never look in no honest faace agin!" + +"You'd do best to bide still while I tell 'e what this here means," said +Joan quietly. The man's anger alarmed her no more than the squeak of a +caged rat. "I ban't no darter o' Baal, an' the money's come by honest. I've +lied afore, but never shall again. An' I've let Joe go 'is ways thinkin' I +loved en, which I doan't. I be tokened to a furriner from London, an' he's +took me for his awn, an' he be gwaine to come down-long mighty soon an' +take me away. But I couldn't tell 'e nothin' of that 'cause he bid me keep +my mouth shut. So theer." + +"'Took 'e for 'is awn'! Wheer is he, then? Why be you here?" + +"He'm comin', I tell 'e. He'm a true man, an' he shawed me what 'tis to +love." + +"Bought you, you damned harlot!" + +She knew the word was vile, but a shred of John Barron's philosophy +supported her. + +"My awnly sin is I've lied to you, faither; an' you've no right to call me +evil names." + +"Never call me faither no more, lewd slut! I be no faither o' thine, nor +never was. God A'mighty! a Tregenza a wanton! I'd rather cut my hand off +than b'lieve it so. It's this--this--blood-money--the price o' a damned +sawl! No more lyin'. I knaw--I knaw--an' the picksher--the ship of a true +man. It did ought to break your heart to see it, if you had wan. A +devil-spawned painting feller, in coorse. An' his black heart happy an' +content 'cause he've sent this filth. You stare, wi' your mother's +eyes--you stare, an' stare. Hell's yawning for 'e, wretched wummon, an' for +him as brot 'e to it!" + +"He doan't believe in hell, no more doan't I," said Joan calmly; "an' it +ban't a faither's plaace to damn's awn flaish an' blood no way." + +"Never name me thy faither no more! I ban't your faither, I tell 'e, an' I +do never mean to see thy faace agin. Go wheer you'm minded; but get 'e gone +from here. Tramp the broad road with the crowd--the narrer path's closed +agin 'e. And this--this--let it burn same as him what sent it will." + +He picked up the note nearest to him, crumpled it into a ball and flung it +upon the fire. + +"Michael, Michael!" cried his wife, rushing forward, "for God's love, what +be doin' of? The money ban't damned; the money's honest!" + +But Joan did more than speak. As the gift flamed quickly up, then sunk to +gray ash, a tempest of passion carried her out of herself. She trembled in +her limbs, grew deadly pale, and flew at her father like a tigress. No evil +word had ever crossed her lips till then, though they had echoed in her +ears often enough. But now they jumped to her tongue, and she cursed Gray +Michael and tore the rest of the money out of his hand so quickly that his +intention of burning it was frustrated. + +"It's mine, it's mine, blast you!" she screamed like a fury, "what right +have you to steal it? It's mine--gived me by wan whose shoe you ban't +worthy to latch! He's shawed me what you be, an' the likes o' you, wi' your +hell-fire an' prayin' an' sour looks. I ban't afeared 'o you no more--none +o' you. I be sick o' the smeech o' your God. 'Er's a poor thing alongside +o' mine an' Mister Jan's. I'll gaw, I'll gaw so far away as ever I can; an' +I'll never call 'e my faither agin, s'elp me God!" + +Mrs. Tregenza had thanked Providence under her breath when Joan rescued the +notes, but now, almost for the first time, she realized that her own +interest in this pile of money was as nothing. Every penny belonged to her +stepdaughter, and her stepdaughter evidently meant to keep it. This +discovery hit her hard, and now the bitterness came forth in a flood of +words that tumbled each over the other and stung like hornets as they +settled. + +Gray Michael's broadside had roared harmlessly over Joan's erect head; +Thomasin's small shot did not miss the mark. She was furious; her husband +stood dumb; her virago tongue hissed the truth; and Joan, listening, knew +that it was the truth. + +No matter what the elder woman said. She missed no vile word of them all. +She called Joan every name that chills the ear of the fallen; and she +explained the meaning of her expressions; she bid the girl take herself and +the love-child within her from out the sight of honest folks; she told her +the man had turned his back forever, that only the ashy road of the ruined +remained for her to tread. And that was how the great news that Nature had +looked upon her for a mother came to Joan Tregenza. Here was the riddle of +the mysterious voice unraveled; here was the secret of her physical sorrows +made clear. She looked wildly from one to the other--from the man to the +woman; then she tottered a step away, clutching her money and her little +picture to her breast; and then she rolled over, a huddled, senseless heap, +upon the floor. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +DRIFT + + +When Joan recovered consciousness she found her head and neck wet where her +stepmother had flung cold water over her. Thomasin was at that moment +burning a feather under her nose, but she stopped and withdrew it as the +girl's eyes opened. + +"Theer, now you'll be well by night. He've gone aboard. Best to change your +gownd, for 'tis wetted. Then I'll tell 'e what 'er said. Can 'e get +upstairs?" + +Joan rose slowly and went with swimming brain to her room. She still held +her picture and her money. She took off her wet clothes, then sat down upon +her bed to think; and as her mind grew clear, there crept through the +gloomy shadows of the past tragedy a joy. It lightened her heart a moment, +then vanished again, like the moon blotted suddenly from the sky by a rack +of storm-cloud. Joan was full of the stupendous news. The shock of hearing +her most unsuspected condition had indeed stricken her insensible, but it +was the surprise of it more than the dismay. Now she viewed the +circumstance with uncertainty, not knowing the attitude "Mister Jan" would +adopt toward it. She argued with herself long hours, and peace brooded over +her at the end; for, as his cherished utterances passed in review before +her memory, the sense and sum of them seemed to promise well. He would be +very glad to share in the little life that was upon the way to earth. He +always spoke kindly of children; he had called them the flower-buds in +Nature's lap. Yes, he must be glad; and Nature would smile too. Nature knew +what it was to be a mother, Joan told herself. She was in Nature's hand +henceforth. But her blue eyes grew cold when she thought of the morning. So +much for St. Madron and his holy water; so much for the good angels who her +dead parent had told her were forever stretching loving, invisible hands to +guard and shield. "Mister Jan's be the awnly God," she thought, "an' He'm +tu far aways to mind the likes o' we; so us must trust to the gert Mother +o' the flowers." She accepted the position with an open heart, then turned +her thoughts to her loved one. Having now firmly convinced herself that her +condition would bring him gratification and draw them still nearer each to +the other, Joan yearned unutterably for his presence. She puzzled her +brains to know how she might communicate with him, how hasten his return. +She remembered that he had once told her his surname, but she could not +recollect it now. He had always been "Mister Jan" to her. + +She went down to her supper in the course of the evening, and the great +matter in her mind was for a while put aside before a present necessity. +Action, she found, would be immediately required of her. Her father, before +going from the kitchen after she had fainted, directed Thomasin to bid her +never see his face again. She must depart, according to his direction, on +the following day; for the thatched cottage upon the cliff could be her +home no more. + +"Theer weern't no time for talkin'; but I lay 'er'll sing differ'nt when +next ashore. You bide quiet here till 'er's home agin. 'Tain't nachur to +bid's awn flaish an' blood go its ways like that. An', 'pears to me, as +'tedn' the law neither. But you bide till he'm back. I be sorry as I spawk +so sharp, but you was that bowldacious that my dander brawk loose. Aw +Jimmery! to think as you dedn' knaw you was cheeldin'!" + +"'Twas hearin' so suddint like as made me come over fainty." + +"Ate hearty then. An' mind henceforrard you'm feedin' an' drinkin' for two. +Best get to bed so soon's you can. Us'll talk 'bout this coil in the +marnin'." + +"Us'll talk now. I be off by light. I 'edn' gwaine to stop no more. Faither +sez I ban't no cheel o' his an' he doan't want to see my faace agen. Then +he shaan't. I'll gaw to them as won't be 'shamed o' me: my mother's +people." + +"Doan't 'e be in no tearin' hurry, Joan," said Mrs. Tregenza, thinking of +the money. "Let him, the chap, knaw fust what's come along o' his +carneying, an' maybe he'll marry 'e, as you sez, right away. Bide wi' me +till you tells en. Let en do what's right an' seemly. That's the shortest +road." + +"Iss fay; he'm a true man. But I ban't gwaine to wait for en in this 'ouse. +To-morrow I'll send my box up Drift by the fust omblibus as belongs to +Staaft, an' walk myself, an' tell Uncle Thomas all's there is to tell. +He've got a heart in his breast, an' I'll bide 'long wi' him till Mister +Jan do come back." + +"Wheer's he to now?" + +"To Lunnon. He've gone to make his house vitty for me." + +"Well, best to get Uncle Chirgwin to write to en, onless you'd like me to +do it for 'e." + +"No. He'll do what's right--a proper, braave man." + +"An 'mazin' rich seemin'ly. For the Lard's love, if you'm gwaine up Drift, +take care o' all that blessed money. Doan't say no word 'bout it till you'm +in the farm, for theer's them--the tinners out o' work an' sich--as 'ud +knock 'e on the head for half of it. To think as Michael burned a hunderd +pound! Just a flicker o' purpley fire an' a hunderd pound gone! 'Tis 'nough +to make a body rave." + +The girl flushed, and something of her father's stern look seemed reflected +in her face. + +"He stawl my money. No, I judge his word be truth: he'm no faither o' mine +if the blood in the veins do count for anything." + +Joan went to bed abruptly on this remark, and lay awake thinking and +wondering through a long night--thinking what she should say to Uncle +Chirgwin, wondering when "Mister Jan" was coming back to her, and picturing +his excitement at her intelligence. In the morning she packed her box, ate +her breakfast, and then went into the village to find somebody who would +carry her scanty luggage as far as Penzance. From there, an omnibus ran +through Drift, past Mr. Chirgwin's farmhouse door. Joan herself designed to +walk, the distance by road from Newlyn being but trifling. It chanced that +the girl met Billy Jago, he who in early spring had cut down an elm tree +while John Barron watched. Him Joan knew, for he had worked on her uncle's +farm for many years. Mr. Jago, who could be relied upon to do simple +offices, undertook the task readily enough and presently arrived with a +wheelbarrow. He whined, as ever, about his physical sufferings, but drank a +cup of tea with evident enjoyment, then fetched Joan's box from her room +and set off with it to meet the public vehicle. Her goods were to be left +at Drift, and Joan herself started at an early hour, wishing to be at the +farm before her property. She walked in the garden for the last time, +marked the magic progress of spring, then took an unemotional leave of her +stepmother. + +"There 'edn' no call to leave no message as I can see," said Joan, while +she stood at the door. "He ban't my faither, he sez, so I'll take it for +truth. But I'll ask you to kiss Tom for me. Us was allus good brother an' +sister, whether or no; an' I loves en dearly." + +"Iss, I knaw. He'll grizzle an' fret proper when he finds you'm gone. +Good-by to 'e. May the Lard forgive 'e, an' send your man 'long smart; an' +for heaven's sake doan't lose them notes." + +"They be safe stawed next to my skin. Uncle Chirgwin'll look to them; an' +you needn't be axin' God A'mighty to forgive me, 'cause I abbun done +nothin' to want it. I be Nature's cheel now; an' I be in kindly hands. You +caan't understand that, but I knaws what I knaws through bein' taught. +Good-by to 'e. Maybe us'll see each other bimebye." + +Joan held out her hand and Mrs. Tregenza shook it. Then she stood and +watched her stepdaughter walk away into Newlyn. The day was cold and +unpleasant, with high winds and driving mists. The village looked grayer +than usual; the boats were nearly all away; the gulls fluttered in the +harbor making their eternal music. Seaward, white horses flecked the leaden +water; a steamer hooted hoarsely, looming large under the low, sullen sky, +as it came between the pierheads. Presently a scat of heavy rain on a +squall of wind shut out the harbor for a time. Mrs. Tregenza waited until +Joan had disappeared, then went back to her kitchen, closed the door, sat +in Gray Michael's great chair by the hearth, put her apron over her head +and wept. But the exact reason for her tears she could not have explained, +for she did not know it. Mingled emotions possessed her. Disappointment had +something to do with this present grief; sorrow for Joan was also +responsible for it in a measure. That the girl should have asked her to +kiss Tom was good, Thomasin thought, and the reflection moved her to +further tears; while that Joan was going to put her money into the keeping +of a simple old fool like Uncle Chirgwin seemed a highly pathetic +circumstance to Mrs. Tregenza. Indeed, the more she speculated upon it the +sadder it appeared. + +Meanwhile Joan, leaving Newlyn and turning inland along the little lane +which has St. Peter's church and the Newlyn brook upon its right, escaped +the wind and found herself walking through an emerald woodland world all +wrapped in haze and rain. Past the smelting works, where purple smoke made +wonderful color in rising against the young green, over the brook and under +the avenue of great elms went Joan. Her heart ached this morning, and she +thought of yesterday. It seemed as though a hundred years of experience had +passed over her since she knelt by St. Madron's stone altar. She told +herself bitterly how much wiser she was to-day, and, so thinking strange +thoughts, tramped forward over Buryas Bridge, and faced the winding hill +beyond. Then came doubts. Perhaps after all St. Madron had answered her +prayer. Else why the underlying joy that now fringed her sorrows with +happiness? + +Drift is a place well named, when seen, as then, gray through sad-colored +curtains of rain on the bare hilltop. But the orchard lands of the coomb +below were fair, and many primroses twinkled in the soaking green of the +tall hedge-banks. Joan splashed along through the mud, and presently a lump +rose in her throat, born of thoughts. It had seemed nothing to leave the +nest on the cliff, and she held her head high and thanked God for a great +deliverance. That was less than an hour ago; yet here, on the last hill to +Drift and within sight of the stone houses clustering at the summit, her +head sank lower and lower, and it was not the rain which dimmed her eyes. +She much doubted the value of further prayers now, yet every frantic hope +and aspiration found its vent in a petition to her new God, as Joan mounted +the hill. She prayed, because she could think of no other way to soothe her +heart; but her mind was very weary and sad--not at the spectacle of the +future, for that she knew was going to be fair enough--but at the vision of +the past, at the years ended forever, at the early pages of life closed and +locked, to be opened again no more. A childhood, mostly quite happy, was +over; she would probably visit the house wherein she was born never again. +But even in her sorrow, the girl wondered why she should be sad. + +Mr. Chirgwin's farm fronted the highway, and its gray stone face was +separated therefrom by a small and neat patch of garden. Below the house a +gate opened into the farmyard, and Uncle Chirgwin's land chiefly sloped +away into the coomb behind, though certain fields upon the opposite side of +the highroad also pertained to him. The farmhouse was time-stained, and the +stone had taken some wealth of color where black and golden lichens fretted +it. The slates of the roof shone with wet and reflected a streak of white +light that now broke the clouds near the hidden sun. The drippings from the +eaves had made a neat row of little regular holes among the crocuses in the +garden. Tall jonquils also bent their heads there, heavy with water, and +the white violets which stood in patches upon either side of the front door +had each a raindrop glimmering within its cup. A japonica splashed one gray +wall with crimson blossoms and young green leaves; but, for the rest, this +house-front was quite bare. Joan saw Mary Chirgwin's neat hand in the snowy +short blinds which crossed the upper windows; and she knew that the +geraniums behind the diamond panes of the parlor were her uncle's care. +They dwelt indoors, winter and summer, and their lanky, straggling limbs +shut out much light. + +The visitor did not go to the front door, whither a narrow path, flanked +with handsome masses of "Cornish diamonds," or quartz crystals, directly +led from the wicket, but entered at a larger gate which led into the +farmyard. Here cattle-byres and shippons ranged snugly on three sides of an +open space, their venerable slates yellow with lichens, their thatches +green with moss. In the center of the yard a great manure heap made +comfortable lying for pigs and poultry; while the farmhouse stretched back +upon the fourth side. Another gate opened beyond it, and led to the land +upon the sloping hill and in the valley below. Joan passed a row of cream +pans, shining like frosted silver in the mist, then turned from the bleak +and dripping world. The kitchen door was open, and revealed a large, low +chamber whose rafters were studded with orange-colored hams, whose +fireplace was vast and black save for a small wood fire filling but a +quarter of the hearth. Grocer's almanacs brought brave color to the walls, +sharing the same with a big dresser where the china made a play of +reflected light from the windows. Above the lofty mantel-piece there hung +an old fowling-piece, and a row of faded Daguerreotypes, into most of which +damp had eaten dull yellow patches. The mantel-shelf carried some rough +stoneware ornaments, an eight-day clock, a tobacco jar, and divers small +utensils of polished tin. A big table covered with American cloth filled +the center of the kitchen, a low settle crossed the alcove of the window, +and a leather screen, of four folds and five feet high, surrounded Uncle +Chirgwin's own roomy armchair in the chimney-corner. Strips of cocoanut +fiber lay upon the ground, but between them appeared the bare floor. It was +paved with blue stone for the most part, though here and there a square of +white broke the color; and the white patches had worn lower than the rest +under many generations of hobnailed boots. A faint odor of hams was in the +air, and the slight, stuffy smell of feathers. + +A woman sat in the window as Joan entered. She had her back to the door, +and not hearing the footfall, went on with her work, which was the plucking +of a fowl. A cloth lay spread over the floor at her feet, and each moment +the pile of feathers upon it increased as the plucker worked with rhythmic +regularity and sang to herself the while. + +Mary Chirgwin was a dark, good-looking girl, with a face in which strong +character appeared too prominently shadowed to leave room for absolute +beauty. But her features were regular if swarthy; her eyes were splendid, +and her brow, from which black hair was smoothly and plainly parted away, +rose broad and low. There was nothing to mark kinship between the cousins +save that both held their heads finely and possessed something of the same +distinction of carriage. Mary was eight-and-twenty, and, whatever might be +thought about her face, there could be but one opinion upon her feminine +splendor of figure. Her broad chest produced a strange speaking and singing +voice--mellow as Joan's, but far deeper in the notes. Mary gloried in +congregational melodies, and those who had not before heard her efforts at +church on Sundays would often mistake her voice for a man's. She was +dressed in print with a big apron overall; and her sleeves, turned up to +her elbows, showed a pair of fine arms, perfect as to shape, but brown of +color as the woman's face. + +Joan stood motionless, then her cousin looked round suddenly and started +almost out of her chair at a sight so unexpected. But she composed herself +again instantly, put down the semi-naked fowl and came forward. They had +not seen each other since the time when Joe Noy flung over Mary for Joan; +and the latter, remembering this circumstance very well, had hoped she +might escape from meeting her cousin until after some talk with Uncle +Thomas. But Mary hid her emotion from Joan's sight, and they shook hands +and looked into one another's faces, each noting marked changes there since +the last occasion of their meeting. The elder spoke first, and went +straight to the past. It was her nature to have every connection and +concern of life upon a definite and clear understanding. She hated mystery, +she disliked things hidden, she never allowed the relations between herself +and any living being to stand otherwise than absolutely defined. + +"You'm come, Joan, at last, though 'twas a soft day to choose. Listen +to me, will 'e? Then us can let the past lie, same as us lets sleepin' +dogs. I called 'pon God to blight your life, Joan Tregenza, when--you +knaw. I thot I weer gwaine to die, an' I read the cussin' psalm +[Footnote: _The Cursing Psalm--Psalm CIX_. If read by a wronged person +before death, it was, and is sometimes yet, supposed to bring +punishment upon the evil-doer.] agin you. 'Feared to me as you'd +stawl the awnly thing as ever brot a bit o' brightness to my life. But +that's all over. Love weern't for me; I awnly dreamed it weer. An' I +larned better an' didn't die; an' prayed to God a many times to +forgive that first prayer agin you. The likes o' you doan't know nort +'bout the grim side o' life or what it is to lose the glory o' +lovin'. But I doan't harbor no ill agin you no more." + +"You'm good to hear, Polly, an' kind words is better'n food to me now. I'll +tell 'e 'bout myself bimebye. But I must speak to uncle fust. Things has +happened." + +"Nothin' wrong wi' your folks?" + +"I ain't got no folks no more. But I'll tell 'e so soon's I've tawld Uncle +Thomas." + +"He'm in the croft somewheers. Better bide till dinner. Uncle'll be back by +then." + +"I caan't, Mary--not till I've spoke wi' en. I'll gaw long down Green Lane, +then I shall meet en for sure. An' if a box o' mine comes by the omblibus, +'tis right." + +"A box! Whatever is there in it, Joan?" + +"All's I've gotten in the world--leastways nearly. Doan't ax me nothin' +now. You'll knaw as soon as need be." + +Without waiting for more words Joan departed, hastened through the gate on +the inner wall of the farmyard and walked along the steep hillside by a +lane which wound muddily downward to the grasslands, under high hazel +hedges. The new leaves dripped showers at every gust of the wind, then a +gleam of wan sunlight brightened distant vistas of the way, while Joan +heard the patter of a hundred hoofs in the mud, the bleat of lambs, the +deeper answer of ewes, the barking of a shepherd's dog. Soon the cavalcade +came into view--a flock of sheep first, a black and white dog with a black +and white pup, which was learning his business, next, and Uncle Chirgwin +himself bringing up the rear. The first sunshine of the day seemed to have +found him out. It shone over his round red face and twinkled in the dew on +his white whiskers. He stumped along upon short, gaitered legs, but went +not fast, and stayed at the steep shoulder of the hill that his lambs might +have rest and time to suck. + +Mary Chirgwin meantime speculated on this sudden mystery of her cousin's +arrival. She spread the cloth for dinner, bid her maid lay another place +for Joan and wondered much what manner of news she brought. There were +changes in Joan's face since she saw it last--not changes which might have +been attributed to the possession of Joe Noy, but an alteration of +expression betokening thought, a look of increased age, of experiences not +wholly happy in their nature. + +And Joan had also marked the changes in Mary. These indications were clear +enough and filled her with sorrow. A river of tears will leave its bed +marked upon a woman's face; and Joan, who had never thought overmuch of her +cousin's sorrows until then, began to feel her heart fill and run over with +sudden sympathy. She asked herself what life would look like for her if +"Mister Jan"; changed his mind now and never came back again. That was how +Mary felt doubtless when Joe Noy left her. Already Joan grew zealous in +thought for Mary. She would teach her something of that sweet wisdom which +was to support her own burden in the future; she would tell her about +Nature--the "All-Mother" as "Mister Jan" called her once. And, concerning +Joe Noy--might it be within the bounds of possibility, within the power of +time to bring these two together again? The thought was good to Joan, and +wholly occupied her mind until the sight of Uncle Chirgwin with his sheep +brought her back to the present moment and her own affairs. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +A PROBLEM + + +When Mr. Chirgwin caught sight of Joan his astonishment knew no bounds, and +his first thought was that something must certainly be amiss. He stood in +the roadway, a picture of surprise, and, for a moment, forgot both his +sheep and lambs. + +"My stars, Joan! Be it you really? Whatever do 'e make at Drift, 'pon such +a day as this? No evil news, I hope?" + +"Uncle," she answered, "go slow a bit an' listen to what I've got to say. +You be a kind, good sawl as judges nobody, ban't you? And you love me +'cause your sister was my mother?" + +"Surely, surely, Joan; an' I love you for yourself tu--nobody better in +this world." + +"You wouldn' go for to send me to hell-fire, would 'e?" + +"God forbid, lass! Why, whatever be talkin' 'bout?" + +"Uncle Thomas, faither's not my faither no more now. He've turned me out +his house an' denied me. I ban't no darter of his henceforrard; an' he'm no +faither o' mine. He don't mean never to look 'pon my faace agin, nor me +'pon his. The cottage edn' no home for me no more." + +"Joan, gal alive! what talk be this?" + +"'Tis gospel. I'm a damned wummon, 'cordin' to my faither as was." + +"God A'mighty! You--paart a Chirgwin--as comed, o' wan side, from her as +loved the Lard so dear, an', 'pon t'other, from him as feared un so much. +Never, Joan!" + +"Uncle Thomas, I be in the fam'ly way; an' faither's damned me, an' +likewise the man as loves me, an' the cheel I be gwaine to bring in the +world. I've comed to hear you speak. Will you say the same? If you will, +I'll pack off this instant moment." + +The old man stood perfectly still and his jaw went down while he breathed +heavily; a world of amazement and piteous sorrow sat upon his face; his +voice shook and whistled in the sound as he answered. + +"Joan! My poor Joan! My awn gal, this be black news--black news. Thank God +she'm not here to knaw--your mother." + +"I've done no wrong, uncle; I ban't 'shamed of it. He'm a true, good man, +and he'm comin' to marry me quick." + +"Joe Noy?" + +"No, no, not him. I thot I loved en well till Mister Jan comed, an' opened +my blind eyes, an' shawed me what love was. Mister Jan's a gen'leman--a +furriner. He caan't live wi'out me no more; he's said as he caan't. An' I'm +droopin' an' longin' for the sight o' en. An' I caan't bide in the streets, +so I axes you to keep me till Mister Jan do come to fetch me. I find words +hard to use to 'splain things, but his God's differ'nt to what the Luke +Gosp'lers' is, an' I lay 'tis differ'nt to yourn. But his God's mine +anyways, an' I'm not afeared o' what I done, nor 'shamed to look folks in +the faace. That's how 'tis, Uncle Thomas. 'Tis Nature, you mind, an' I be +Nature's cheel no--wi' no faither nor mother but her." + +The old man was snuffling, and a tear or two rolled down his red face, +gathered the damp already there and fell. He groaned to himself, then +brought forth a big, red pocket-handkerchief, and wept outright, while Joan +stood silently regarding him. + +"I'd rather a met death than this; I'd rather a knawn you was coffined." + +"Oh, if I could awnly 'splain!" she cried, frantically; "if I awnly could +find his words 'pon my tongue, but I caan't. They be hid down deep in me, +an' by them I lives from day to day; but how can I make others see same as +I see? I awnly brings sorrer 'pon sorrer now. Theer's nothin' left but him. +If you could a heard Mister Jan! You would understand, wi' your warm heart, +but I caan't make 'e; I've no terrible, braave, butivul words. I'll gaw my +ways then. If any sawl had tawld me as I'd ever bring tears down your faace +I'd never b'lieved 'em--never; but so I have, an' that's bitterness to me." + +He took her by the hand and pressed it, then put his arm round her and +kissed her. His white bristles hurt, but Joan rejoiced exceedingly, and now +it was her turn to shed tears. + +"He'll come back--he'm a true man," she sobbed; "theer ban't the likes o' +Mister Jan in Carnwall, an'--an' if you knawed en, you'd say no less. You'm +the fust as have got to my heart since he went; an' he'd bless 'e if he +knawed." + +"Come along with me, Joan," answered Uncle Chirgwin, straightening himself +and applying his big handkerchief to her face. "God send the man'll be +'longside 'e right soon, as you sez. Till he do come, you shaan't leave me +no more. Drift's home for you while you'm pleased to bide theer. An' I'll +see your faither presently, though I wish 'twas any other man." + +"I knawed you was all us the same; I knawed you'd take me in. An' Mister +Jan shall knaw. An' he'll love you for't when he do." + +"Come an' see me put the ewes an' lambs in the croft; then us'll gaw to +dinner, an' I'll hear you tell me all 'bout en." + +He tried hard to put a hopeful face upon the position and, himself as +simple as a child, presently found Joan's story not hopeless at all. He +seemed indeed to catch some of her spirit as she proceeded and painted the +manifold glories of "Mister Jan" in the best language at her command. To +love Nature was no sin; Mr. Chirgwin himself did so; and as for the money, +instead of reading the truth of it, he told himself very wisely that the +giver of a sum so tremendous must at least be in earnest. The amount +astounded him. Fired by Joan's words, for as he played the ready listener +her eloquence increased, he fell to thinking as she thought, and even +speaking hopefully. The old farmer's reflections merely echoed his own +simple trust in men and had best not been uttered, for they raised Joan's +spirits to a futile height. But he caught the contagion from her and spoke +with sanguine words of the future, and even prayed Joan that, if wealth and +a noble position awaited her, she would endeavor to brighten the lives of +the poor as became a good Cornish woman. This she solemnly promised, and +they built castles in the air: two children together. His sheep driven to +their new pasture, Uncle Chirgwin led the way home and listened as he +walked to Joan's story. She quite convinced him before he reached his +kitchen door--partly because he was very well content to be convinced, +partly because he could honestly imagine no man base enough to betray this +particular blue-eyed child. + +Mr. Chirgwin's extremely unworldly review of the position was balm to Joan. +Her heart grew warm again, and the old man's philosophy brightened her +face, as the sun, now making a great clearness after rain, brightened the +face of the land. But the recollection of Mary Chirgwin sobered her uncle +not a little. How she would take this tremendous intelligence he failed to +guess remotely. Opportunity to impart it occurred sooner than he expected, +for Joan's box had just arrived. During dinner the old man explained that +his niece was to be a visitor at Drift for a term of uncertain duration; +and after the meal, when Joan disappeared to unpack her box and make tidy a +little apple-room, which was now empty and at her service, Uncle Chirgwin +had speech with Mary. He braced himself to the trying task, waited until +the kitchen was empty of those among his servants who ate at his table, and +then replied to the question which his niece promptly put. + +"What do this mean, Uncle Thomas? What's come o' Joan that she do drop in +'pon us like this here wi' never a word to say she was comin'?" + +"Polly," he answered, "your cousin Joan have seen sore trouble, in a manner +o' speakin', an' you'd best to knaw fust as last. Us must be large-minded +'bout a thing like this She'm tokened to a gen'leman from Lunnon." + +"What! An' him--Joe Noy?" + +"To he plain wi' you, Polly, she've thrawed en over. Listen 'fore you +speaks. 'Twas a match o' Michael Tregenza's makin', I reckon, an', so +like's not, Joe weern't any more heart-struck than Joan. I finds it hard to +feel as I ought to Gray Michael, more shame to me. But Joan's failed in +love wi' a gen'leman, an' he with her, an' he'm comin' any mornin' to fetch +'er--an'--an'--you must be tawld--'tis time as he did come. An' he've sent +Joan a thousand pound o' paper money to shaw as 'e means the right thing." + +But the woman's mind had not followed these last facts. Her face was white +to the lips; her hands were shaking. She put her head down upon them as she +sat by the fire, and a groan which no power could strangle broke from her +deep bosom. She spoke, and regretted her words a moment later. "Oh, my God! +an' he brawk off wi' me for the likes o' she!" + +"Theer, theer, lass Mary, doan't 'e, doan't 'e. You've hid your tears that +cunnin', but my old eyes has seen the marks this many day an' sorrered for +'e. 'Tis a hard matter viewed from the point what you looks 'pon it; but I +knaws you, my awn good gal; I knaws your Saviour's done a 'mazin' deal to +hold you up. An' 'twont be for long, 'cause the man'll come for her mighty +soon seemin'ly. Can 'e faace it, the Lard helpin'? Poor Joan's bin kicked +out the house by her faither. I do _not_ like en--never did. What do +'e say? She doan't count it no sin, mind you, an' doan't look for no +reprovin', 'cause the gen'leman have taught her terrible coorious ideas; +but 'tis just this: we'm all sinners, eh, Polly? An' us caan't say 'sactly +what size a sin do look to God A'mighty's eye. An' us have got the Lard's +way o' handlin' sich like troubles writ out clear--eh? Eh, Polly? He dedn' +preach no sermon at the time neither." + +The old man prattled on, setting out the position in the most favorable +light to Joan that seemed possible to him. But his listener was one no +longer. She had forgotten her cousin and the present circumstances, for her +thoughts were with a sailor at sea. One tremendous moment of savage joy +gripped her heart, but the primitive passion perished in its birth-pang and +left her cold and faint and ashamed. She wondered from what unknown, +unsecured corner of her soul the vile thing came. It died on the instant, +but the corpse fouled her thoughts and tainted them and made her feel faint +again. The irony of chance burst like a storm on the woman, and mazes of +tangled thoughts made her brain whirl in a chaos of bewilderment. She sat +motionless, her face dark, and much mystery in her wonderful eyes, while +Mr. Chirgwin, with shaking head and scriptural quotation and tears, babbled +on, pleading for Joan with all his strength. Mary heard little of what he +said. She was occupied with facts and asking herself her duty. From the +storm in her mind arose a clear question at last, and she could not answer +it. The point had appeared unimportant to anybody but Mary Chirgwin, but no +question of conduct ever looked trivial to her. At least the doubt was +definite and afforded mental occupation. She wondered now whether it was +well or possible that she and Joan could live together under the same roof. +Why such a problem had arisen she knew not; but it stood in the path, a +fact to be dealt with. Her heart told her that Joan and her uncle alike +erred in the supposition that the girl's seducer would ever return. She +read the great gift of money as Thomasin had read it--rightly; and the +thought of living with Joan was at first horrible to her. + +Mr. Chirgwin talked and Mary reflected. Then she rose to leave the room. + +"'Tis tu gert a thing for me to say--no wummon was ever plaaced like what I +be now. I do mean to see passon at Sancreed, uncle. He'll knaw what's right +for me. If he bids me stay, I'll stay. 'Tis the thot o' Joe Noy maddens me. +My head'll burst if I think any more. I'll go to passon." + +"Whether you'll stay, Polly! Why shouldn't 'e stay? Surely it do--" + +"Doan't 'e talk no more 'tall, uncle. You caan't knaw what this is to me, +you doan't understan' a wummon faaced wi' a coil like this here. Joe--Joe +as loved 'er, I s'pose, differ'nt to what 'e did me. An' she, when his back +weer turned--an'--an'--me--God help me!--as never could do less than love +en through all!" + +She was gone before he had time to answer, but he realized her mighty agony +of mind and stood dumb and frightened before it. Then a thought came +concerning Joan and he felt that, at all costs, he must speak to Mary again +before she went out. Mr. Chirgwin waited quietly at the stair-foot until +she came down. The turmoil was in her eyes still, but she spoke calmly and +listened to him when he replied. + +"Doan't 'e say nuthin' to Joan, Uncle Thomas. I be gwaine to larn my duty, +as is hidden from me. An' my duty I will do." + +"An' so you alias have, Polly, since you was a grawed gal; an' God knaws +it. But--do'e think as you could--in a manner o' speakin'--hide names from +passon? Ban't no call to tell what's fallen out to other folks. Joan--eh, +Polly? Might 'e speak in a parable like--same as Scripture--wi'out namin' +no names. For Joan's sake, Mary--eh?" + +She was silent a full minute, then answered slowly. + +"I see what you mean, uncle. I hadn' thot o' she just then. Iss fay, you'm +right theer. Ban't no work o' mine to tell 'bout her." + +She hesitated, and the old man spoke again. + +"I s'pose that a bit o' prayer wouldn' shaw light on it--eh, Polly? Wi'out +gwaine to Sancreed. The Lard knaws your fix better'n what any words 'ud put +it clear to passon. An' theer's yourself tu. 'Pears to me, axin' your +pardon, for you'm clever'n what I am, that 'tedn' a tale what you can put +out 'fore any other body 'sactly--even a holy man like him." + +She saw at once that it was not. Her custom had been to get the +kind-hearted old clergyman of her parish church to soothe the doubts and +perplexities which not seldom rose within her strenuous mind. And before +this great, crushing problem, with the pretext of the one difficulty which +had tumbled uppermost from the chaos and so been grasped as a reality, she +had naturally turned to her guide and friend. But, as her uncle spoke, she +saw that in truth this matter could not be laid naked before any man. +Another's hidden life was involved; another's secret must come out if all +was told, and Mary's sense of justice warned her that this could not be. +She had taken her own mighty grief to the little parsonage at Sancreed, and +a kindly counselor, who knew sorrow at first hand, helped her upon the road +that henceforth looked so lonely and so long; but this present trial, +though it tore the old wounds open, must be borne alone. She saw as much, +and turned and went upstairs again to her chamber. + +"Think of her kindly," said Uncle Chirgwin as Mary left him without more +words. "She'm so young an' ignorant o' the gert world, Polly. An' if the +worst falls, which God forbid, 'tis her as'll suffer most, not we." + +"Us have all got to suffer an' suffer this side our graaves," she said, +mounting wearily. + +"So young an' purty as she be--the moral o' her mother. I doan't knaw--'tis +sich a wonnerful world--but them blue eyes--them round blue eyes couldn't +do a thing as was wrong afore God as wan might fancy," he said aloud, not +knowing she was out of earshot. Then he heaved a sigh, returned to the +kitchen, and presently departed to the fields. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +WAITING FOR "MISTER JAN" + + +With searching of heart, Mary Chirgwin spent time during that afternoon. In +one room Joan, happier than she had been for many days, set out her few +possessions, boldly hung the picture of Joe Noy's ship upon the wall and +gazed at it with affection, for it spoke of the painter, not the sailor, to +her; while, in a chamber hard by, Mary solved the problem of the day, +coming at her conclusion with great struggle of mind and clashing of +arguments. She resolved at last to abide at Drift with her uncle and with +Joan. The reason for those events now crowding upon her life was hidden +from her; and why Providence saw fit to awaken or mightily intensify the +sorrows which time was lulling to sleep, she could not divine. She accepted +her position, none the less, doubted nothing but that the secret hidden in +these matters would some day be explained, and, according to her custom +before the approach of all mundane events and circumstances affecting +herself, viewed the present trial as heaven-sent to purify and strengthen. +So your religious egotists are ever wont to read into the great waves of +chance, as here and there a ripple from them sets their own little vessels +shaking, as here and there some splash of foam, a puff of wind, strikes the +nutshell which floats their lives, a personal, deliberate intervention, an +event designed by the Everlasting to test their powers, ripen their +characters, equip their souls for an eternity of satisfaction. + +At tea time the cousins met again, and Uncle Chirgwin, returning from his +affairs, was rejoiced to learn Mary's decision. No outward sign marked her +struggle. She was calm, even stately, with a natural distinction which +physically appeared in her bearing and carriage. She chilled Joan a little, +but not with intention. Yet Joan was bold for her love and spoke no less +than the truth when she asserted that she viewed her position without shame +and without remorse. She spoke of it openly, fearlessly, and kept Uncle +Chirgwin on thorns between the cold silence of his elder niece and the +garrulous chatter of the younger. The saint was so stern, the sinner so +happy and so perfectly impressed with her own innocence, which latter fact +Mary too saw clearly; and it instantly solved half the problem in her mind. +Joan had obviously been sent to Drift that the truth might reach her heart. +She came a heathen from the outer darkness of sin, with vain babbling on +her lips and a mind empty. She called herself "Nature's child" and the +theatric thunders of Luke Gospeldom had never taught her that she was +God's. Here, then, was one to be brought into the fold with all possible +dispatch, and Mary, who loved religious battle, braced herself to the task +while silently listening to Joan, that she might the better learn what +manner of spiritual attack would best meet this sorry case. + +Uncle Chirgwin took charge of his niece's bank-notes, and, after some +persuasion, consented to accept the weekly sum of three shillings and +sixpence from Joan. He made many objections to any such arrangement, but +the girl overruled them, declaring absolutely that she would not stop at +Drift, even until her future husband's return, unless the payment of money +was accepted from her. It bred a secret joy in Joan to feel that "Mister +Jan's" wealth now enabled her to enjoy an independence which even Mary +could not share. She much desired to give more money, but Uncle Chirgwin +reduced the sum to three shillings and sixpence weekly and would take no +more. This wealth was viewed with very considerable loathing by Mary +Chirgwin, and she criticised her uncle's decision unfavorably; but he +accepted the owner's view, arguing that it was only justice to all parties +so to do, until facts proved whether Joan was mistaken. The notes did not +cause him uneasiness--at any rate during this stage of affairs--and he took +them to Penzance upon the occasion of his next visit. Mr. Chirgwin's lawyer +saw to the safe bestowal of the money; and when she heard that her nine +hundred pounds would produce about five-and-twenty every year and yet not +decrease the while, Joan was much astonished. + +Meantime John Barren neither came to fetch her, nor sent any writing to +tell of the causes for his delay. The girl was fruitful of new reasons for +his silence, and then grew a black fear which answered all doubts and, by +its reasonableness, terrified her. Perhaps "Mister Jan" was ill--too ill +even to write. He had but little strength--that she knew, and few +friends--of that Joan was also aware, for he had told her so. Yet, surely, +there were those, if only his servants, who might have written to bid her +hasten. A line--a single word--and she would get into the train and stop in +it until she saw "London" written on a board at a station. Then she would +leap out and find him and get to his heart and warm it and kiss life back +to his body, light to his loved gray eyes. So thinking, time dragged, and +as the novelty of the new life abated, and wore thin, Joan's spirits +wavered until long and longer intervals of gloomy sadness marked the +duration of each day for her. But she was young, and hope yet held revels +in her heart when the mood favored, when the wind was soft, the sun bright, +and Mother Nature seemed close and kind, as often happened. Joan worked +too, helping Mary and the maids, but after a wayward manner of her own. +There was no counting upon her and she loved better to be with her uncle, +abroad upon the land, or by herself, hidden in the orchard, in the fruit +garden, or in the secret places of the coomb. + +She had her favorite spots, for as yet that great, overwhelming regard for +the old stone crosses, which came to her afterward, had not grown into a +live passion. Her present pilgrimages were short, her shrines those of +Nature's building. Much she loved the arm of an ancient apple-tree hid in +the very heart of the orchard. A great gnarled limb bent abruptly out, grew +long and low, and was propped at a distance of three yards from the parent +tree. Midway between the stem and support, a crooked elbow of the bough +made a pleasant seat for Joan; and here, when life at the farm looked more +gray than common, she came and sometimes sat long hours. Her perch raised +her above a velvet scented sea of wall-flowers which ran in regular waves +beneath the apple-trees, under murmuring of many bees. The blossom above +Joan's head was all a lacework of sunny rose and cream; and the sun painted +glorious russet harmonies below, glinted magically in the green and white +above, turned the gray lichens, which clustered on the weather side of the +trunks and boughs, to silver. The glory of life here always heartened Joan. +She felt the immortality of Nature, who, from naked earth and barren +boughs, thus at the sun's smile splendidly awakened, and teemed and +overflowed with bewildering, inexhaustible luxuriance. Nor seldom this +aspect of her Mother's infinite wealth touched her blood, and a strange +sensation as of very lust of life made her wild. At such times she would +pick the green things and tear them and watch the colorless life ooze from +their wounds; she would gather blossoms and scatter them against the wind, +break buds open and pluck their hearts out, fill her mouth with sorrel and +young grass-shoots, and feel the cool saps of them upon her palate. And +sometimes her Mother frightened her, for the dim clouds hid beneath the +horizon of maternity were moving now and their color was dark. Nature had +as many moods as Joan and often looked distant and terrible. Poor little +blue-eyed "sister of the sun and moon!" She likened herself so bravely to +the other children of her Mother--to the stars, to the fair birch-trees, +where emerald showers now twinkled down over the silver stems, to the +uncurling fronds of the fern, to the little trout in the coomb-stream; and +yet she was not content as they were. + +"Her's good, so good, but oh! if her was a bit nigher--if I could sit in +her lap an' feel her arms around me an' thread the daisies into chains like +when I was a lil maid! But I be a grawed wummon now--an' yet caan't feel it +so--not yet. Her'll hold my hand, maybe, an' lead me 'pon the road past +pain an' sorrow. I can trust her, 'cause Mister Jan did say as Nature never +lies--never." + +So the child's thoughts wandered on a day when she sat upon the bough and +brought a shower of pale petals down with every movement. But as yet only +the shadows of shadows clouded her thoughts when she thought about herself. +It was the loneliness brought real care--the loneliness and the waiting. + +She spent time, too, in Uncle Chirgwin's old walled garden. This place and +its products went for little in the traffic of the farm, though every year +its owner was wont to count upon certain few baskets of choice fruit as an +addition to his income, and every year his hopes were blighted. For the +walls whereon his peaches and nectarines grew had stood through +generations, their red brick work was much fretted by time, and the +interstices between the bricks made snug homes for a variety of insects. +Joan once listened to her uncle upon this subject, and henceforth chose to +make his scanty fruit her special care. + +"'Tis like this," he explained, "an' specially wi' the necter'ns. The +moment they graws a shade, an' long afore they stone, them dratted lil auld +sow-pigs [Footnote: _Sow-pigs_--Woodlice.] falls 'pon 'em cruel. Then +they waits theer time till the ripenin', an', blame me, but the varmints do +allus knaw just a day 'fore I does, when things be ready, an' they eats the +peaches an' necter'ns by night, gouging 'em shameful, same as if you'd done +it wi' your nails. 'Tis a terrible coorious wall for sow-pigs, likewise for +snails; an' I be allus a gwaine to have en repaired an' pinted, but yet +somehow 'tedn' done. But your sharp eyes'll be a sight o' use wi' creepin' +things. 'Tis a reg'lar Noah's Ark o' a wall, to be sure; not but what I lay +theer's five pound worth o' stone fruit 'pon it most years if 'twas let +bide." + +Joan enjoyed watching the peaches grow. First they peeped like pearls from +the dried frills of their blossoms; then they expanded and cast off the +encumbrance of dead petals and nestled against the red bricks that sucked +up sunshine and held it for them when the sun had gone. She found the +garden wall was a whole busy world, and, taught by her vanished master, she +took interest in all that dwelt thereon. But the snails and woodlice she +slew ruthlessly that her uncle might presently come by his five pounds' +value of fruit. + +Mary Chirgwin speedily discovered the task of reforming her cousin was like +to be lengthy and arduous. There appeared no foundations upon which to +work, and while the certainty of Barron's return still remained with Joan +as a vital guide to conduct, no other gospel than that which he had taught +found her a listener. She refused to go to church, to Mary's chagrin and +Uncle Chirgwin's sorrow; but he explained the matter correctly and indeed +found a clew to most of Joan's actions at this season. Mary saw the old +man's growing love for the new arrival, and a smaller mind might have sunk +to jealousy quickly enough under such circumstances, but she, deeply +concerned with Joan's eternal welfare, rose above temporary details, At the +same time her uncle's mild and tolerant attitude caused her pain. + +"As to church-gwaine," he said, on a Sunday morning when he and his elder +niece had driven off to Sancreed as usual, leaving Joan in the orchard; +"she've larned to look 'pon it from a Luke Gosp'ler's pint o' view. Doan't +you fret, Polly. Let her bide. 'Twill come o' itself bimebye wan o' these +Sundays. Poor tiby lamb! Christ's a watchin' of her, Polly. An' if this +here gen'leman, by the name o' Mister Jan, doan't come--" + +"You make me daft!" she interrupted, with impatience. "D'you mean as you +ever thot he would?" + +"I hopes. Theer's sich a 'mazin' deal o' good in human nature. Mayhap he'm +wraslin' wi' his sawl to this hour. An' the Lard do allus fight 'pon the +side o' conscience. Iss fay! Some 'ow I do think as he'll come." + +Mary said no more. She was quite positive that her cousin and her uncle +were alike mistaken; but she saw that, until the hard truth forced itself +upon Joan, the girl would go her present way. It was not that Joan lacked +goodness and sweetness, but, in Mary's opinion, she took an obstinate and +wrong-headed course upon the one vital subject of her own salvation. Mary +fought with herself to love Joan, and the battle now was only hard when Joe +Noy came within the scope of her thoughts. She banished him as much as she +could, but it never grew easy, and the complex problems bred of reflections +on this theme maddened her. For she had always loved him, and that +affection, thrust away as deadly-sin, when he left her for another, could +not be wholly strangled now. + +Time hung heavily and more heavily with Joan at Drift. A fortnight passed; +but the hope of the ignorant and trustful dies very hard and the faith +which is bred of absolute love has a hundred lives. The girl walked into +Penzance every second day, and hope blazed brightly on the road to the +post-office, then sank a little deeper into the hidden places of her heart +as she plodded empty-handed back to Drift. + +Slowly, and so gradually that she herself knew it not, her thoughts grew +something less occupied with John Barren, something more concerned about +herself. For the world was full of happy mothers now. One "Brindle"--a +knot-cow of repute--dropped a fine bull-calf in a croft hard by the +orchard, and Joan looked into "Brindle's" solemn eyes after the event, and +learned. She marveled to see the little brown calf stand on his shaking +legs within an hour of his birth; then his mother licked him lovingly, +while Uncle Chirgwin himself drew off her "buzzy milk." There was another +mother in a disused pigsty. There Joan found a red and white tortoise-shell +cat with four blind, squeaking atoms beside her, and as the cat rolled over +and the atoms sucked life, Joan saw her shining eyes, afore-time so bright +and hard, full of a new strange light, like the cloud that glimmers over +the fires of an opal. The cat's green orbs were full of mystery: of pain +past, of joy present. So again Joan learned. But a black tragedy blotted +out that little happy family in the pigsty, and Death, in the shape of Amos +Bartlett, Mr. Chirgwin's head man, fell upon them. Then the farmer learned +that his niece could be angry. One morning Joan found the mother cat +running wildly here and there, with a world of misery in its cry; while a +moment afterward she came upon the kittens in a duck pond. Mr. Bartlett was +present and explained. + +"Them chets had to gaw, missy. 'Tis a auld word an' it ban't wise to take +no count of sayings like that. 'May chets bad luck begets.' You've heard +tell o' that? Never let live no kittens born in May. They theer dead chets +comed May Day." + +"You'm a cruel devil!" she said hotly; "how'd you like for your two lil +children to be thrawed in the water, May or no May? Look at thicky cat, +breakin' her heart, poor twoad!" + +Mr. Bartlett was justly angry that Joan could dare to thus class his +priceless red-headed twins with a litter of dead kittens, and he said more +than was wise, ramming home a truth, and that coarsely. + +"Theer's plenty more wheer them comed from, I lay. Nachur's so free, you +see--tu free like sometimes. Ban't no dearth o' chets or childern as I've +heard on. They comes unaxed, an' unwanted tu. You might a heard tell o' +some sich p'raps?" + +She blushed and shook with passion at this sudden new aspect of affairs. +Here was a standpoint from which nobody had viewed her before. Worse--far +worse than her father's rage or Uncle Chirgwin's tears was this. Amos +Bartlett represented the world's attitude. The world would not be angry +with her, or cry for her; it would merely laugh and pass on, like Mr. +Bartlett. So Joan learned yet again; and the new knowledge cowed her for +full eight-and-forty hours. But the eyes of the mothers had taught Joan +something of the secret of pain, and a thread of gravity ran henceforth +through all thoughts concerning the future. She much marveled that "Mister +Jan" had never touched upon this leaf in the book. Beauty was what he +invariably talked about, and he found beauty hidden in many a strange +matter too; but not in pain. That was because he suffered himself +sometimes, Joan suspected. And yet, to her, pain, though she had never felt +it, seemed not wholly hideous. She surprised herself mightily by the depth +of her own thoughts now. She seemed to stand upon the brink of deep matters +guessing dimly at things hidden. Then her moods would break again from the +clouds to brightness. Hot sunshine on her cheek always raised her young +spirits, and her health, now excellent, threw joy into life despite the +ever-present anxiety. Then came a meeting which roused interest and brought +very genuine delight with it. + +It happened upon a fine Sunday afternoon, when Joan was walking through the +fields on the farm--those which extended southward--that she reached a +stile where granite blocks lay lengthwise, like the rungs of a ladder, +between two uprights. Here she stopped a while, and sat her down, and +looked out over the promise of fine hay. The undulating green expanse was +studded with the black knobs of ribwort plantain and gemmed with +buttercups, which here were dotted like sparks of fire, here massed in +broad bunches and splashes of color. The wind swept over the field, and its +course was marked by sudden flecks and ripples of transient sheeny light, +paler and brighter than the mass of the herbage. Then a figure appeared +afar off, following the course of the footpath where it wound through the +gold of the flowers and the silver of the bending grasses. It approached, +resolved itself into a fisher-boy and presently proved to be Tom Tregenza. +Joan ran forward to meet him as soon as the short figure, with its +exaggerated nautical roll, became known to her. She kissed her half-brother +warmly, and he hugged her and showed great delight at the meeting, for he +loved Joan well. + +"I've stealed away, 'cause I was just burstin' to get sight of 'e again, +Joan. Faither's home an' I comed off for a walk, creepin' round here an' +hopin' as we'd meet. 'Tis mighty wisht to home now you'm gone, I can tell +'e. I've got a sore head yet along o' you." + +"G'wan, bwoy! Why should 'e?" + +"Iss so. 'Twas like this. When us comed back from sea wan mornin' a week +arter you'd gone I ups an' sez, ''Tis 'bout as lively as bad feesh ashore +now Joan ban't here.' I dedn' knaw faither was in the doorway when I said +it, 'cause he'd give out you was never to be named no more. But mother seed +en an' sez to me, 'Shut your mouth.' An', not knawin' faither was be'ind +me, I ups agin an' sez, 'Why caan't I, as be her awn brother, see Joan +anyway an' hear tell what 'tis she've done? I lay as it ban't no mighty +harm neither, 'cause Joan's true Tregenza!'" + +"Good Lard! An' faither heard 'e?" + +"Iss, an' next minute I knawed it. He blazed an' roared, an' comed over an' +bummed my head 'pon the earhole--a buster as might 'a' killed some lads. My +ivers! I seed stars 'nough to fill a new sky, Joan, an' I went down tail +over nose. I doubt theer's nobody in Newlyn what can hit like faither. But +I got up agin an' sot mighty still, an' faither sez, 'She as was here ban't +no Tregenza, nor my darter, nor nothin' to none under my hellings +[Footnote: _Hellings_--Roof.] no more--never more, mark that.' Then +mother thrawed her apern over her faace an' hollered, 'cause I'd got such a +welt, an' faither walked out in the garden. I was for axin' mother then, +but reckoned not for fear as he might be listenin' agin. But I knawed you +was up Drift, 'cause I heard mother say that much; an' now I've sot eyes on +you agin; an' I knaw you'll tell me what's wrong wi' you; an' if I can do +anything for 'e I will, sink or swim." + +"Faither's a cruel beast, an' he'll come to a bad end, Tom, 'spite of they +Gosp'lers. He'm all wrong an' doan't knaw nothin' 'tall 'bout God. I do +knaw what I knaw. Theer's more o' God in that gert shine o' buttercups 'pon +the grass than in all them whey-faced chapel folks put together." + +"My stars, Joan!" + "'Tis truth, an' you'll find 'tis some day, same as what I have." + +"I doan't see how any lad be gwaine to make heaven myself," said Tom +gloomily. "Us had a mining cap'n from Camborne preach this marnin', an', by +Gollies! 'tweer like sittin' tu near a gert red'ot fire. Her rubbed it in, +I tell 'e, same as you rubs salt into a hake. Faither said 'twas braave +talk. But you, Joan, what's wrong with 'e, what have you done?" + +"I ain't done no wrong, Tom, an' you can take my word for't." + +"Do 'e reckon you'm damned, like what faither sez?" + +"Never! I doan't care a grain o' wheat what faither sez. What I done +weern't no sin, 'cause him, as be wiser an' cleverer an' better every way +than any man in Carnwall, said 'tweern't; an' he knawed. I've heard wise +things said, an' I've minded some an' forgot others. None can damn folks +but God, when all's done, an' He's the last as would; for God do love even +the creeping, gashly worms under a turned stone tu well to damn 'em. Much +more humans. I be a Nature's cheel an' doan't b'lieve in no devil an' no +hell-fire 'tall." + +"I wish I was a Nachur's cheel then." + +Joan flung down a little bouquet of starry stitchworts she had gathered +upon the way and turned very earnestly to Tom. + +"You _be_, you _be_ a Nature's cheel. Us all be, but awnly a few +knaws it." + +Tom laughed at this idea mightily. + +"Well, I'll slip back long, Joan; an' if I be a Nachur's cheel, I be; but I +guess I'll keep it a secret. If I tawld faither as I dedn' b'lieve in no +auld devil, I guess he'd hurry me into next world so's I might see for +myself theer was wan." + +They walked a little way together. Then Tom grew frightened and stopped his +companion. "Guess you'd best to be turnin'. Folks is 'bout everywheer in +the fields, bein' Sunday, an' if it got back to faither as I'd seed you, +he'd make me hop." + +"D'you like the sea still, Tom?" + +"Doan't I just! Better'n better; an' I be grawin' smart, 'cause I heard +faither tell mother so when I was in the wash'ouse an' they thot I wasn't. +Faither said as I'd got a hawk's eye for moorin's or what not. An' I licked +the bwoy on Pratt's bwoat a fortnight agone. A lot o' men seed me do't. I +hopes I'll hit so hard as faither hisself wan day, when I'm grawed. +Good-by, sister Joan. I'll see 'e agin when I can, an' bring up a feesh +maybe. Doan't say nothin' 'bout me to them at the farm, else it may get +back." + +So Tom marched off, speculating as to what particular lie would best meet +the case if cross-questioning awaited him on his return, and Joan watched +the thickset little figure very lovingly until it was out of sight. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +MEADOWSWEETS + + +June came. The wall-flowers were long plucked or dead, the last snows of +apple-blossom had vanished away, and the fruit was setting well. The +woodlice were already ruining the young nectarines. "They spiles 'em in +the growth an' scores 'em wi' their wicked lil teeth, then, come August +an' they ripens, they'll begin again. But the peaches they won't touch +now, 'cause of the fur 'pon 'em. Awnly they'll make up for't when the +things is ready for eatin'." So Uncle Thomas explained the position to +Joan. He, good man, had fulfilled his promise to see Michael Tregenza. +It happened that a load of oar-weed was wanted on the farm, and Mr. +Chirgwin, instead of sending one of the hands with horse and cart to +Newlyn according to his custom when seaweed was needed, went himself. +His elder niece expostulated with him and explained that such a trip +would be interpreted to mean straitened circumstances on the farm; but +her uncle was not proud, and when he explained that his real object was +an opportunity to speak with Joan's father Mary said no more. + +Screwing courage to the sticking-point, therefore, the old man went down to +Newlyn on a morning when Joan was not by to question his movements. Fortune +favored him. Michael had landed at daylight and was not sailing again till +dusk. The fisherman listened patiently, but Mr. Chirgwin's inconsequent and +sentimental conversation sounded as tinkling brass upon his ear. Both +argued the question upon religious grounds, but from an entirely different +standpoint. Michael was not at the trouble to talk much, for his visitor +seemed scarce worthy of powder and shot. He explained that he deemed it +damnation to hold unnecessary converse with sinners; that, by her act, Joan +had raised eternal barriers between herself and those of her own home, and, +indeed, all chosen people; that he had walked in the light from the dawn of +his days until the present time, and could not imperil the souls of his +wife, his son and himself by any further communion with one, in his +judgment, lost beyond faintest possibility of redemption. Uncle Chirgwin +listened with open mouth to these sentiments. He longed to relate how Joan +had repented of her offense, how she had thrown herself upon the Lord, and +found peace and forgiveness. No such thing could be recorded, however, and +he felt himself at a disadvantage. He prayed for mercy on her behalf, but +mercy was a luxury Gray Michael deemed beyond the reach of man. He showed +absolutely no emotion upon the subject, and his chill unconcern quenched +the farmer's ardor. Mr. Chirgwin mourned mightily that he held not a +stronger case. Joan had tied his hands, at any rate, for the present. If +she would only come round, accept the truth and abandon her present +attitude--then he knew that he would fight like a giant for her, and that, +with right upon his side, he would surely prevail. His last words upon the +subject shadowed this conviction. + +"Please God time may soften 'e, Tregenza; an', maybe, soften Joan tu. Her +heart's warm yet, an' the truth will find its plaace theer in the Lard's +awn time; but you--I doubt 'tedn' in you to change." + +"Never, till wrong be right." + +"You makes me sorry for 'e, Tregenza." + +"Weep for yourself, Thomas Chirgwin. You'm that contented, an' the +contented sawl be allus farthest from God if you awnly knawed it. Wheer's +your fear an' tremblin' too? I've never seed 'e afeared or shaken 'fore the +thrawn o' the Most High in your life. But I 'sure 'e, thee'll come to it." + +"An' you say that!' You'm 'mazin' blind, Tregenza, for all you walk in the +Light. The Light's dazed 'e, I'm thinkin', same as birds a breakin' theer +wings 'gainst lighthouse glasses. You sez you be a worm twenty times a day, +an' yet you'm proud enough for Satan hisself purty nigh. If you'm a worm, +why doan't 'e act like a worm an' be humble-minded? 'Tis the lil childern +gets into heaven. You'm stiff-necked, Michael Tregenza. I sez it respectful +an' in sorrer; but 'tis true." + +"I hope the Lard won't lay thy sin to thy charge, my poor sawl," answered +the fisherman with perfect indifference. "You--you dares to speak agin me! +I wish I could give 'e a hand an' drag 'e a lil higher up the ladder o' +righteousness, Chirgwin; but you'm o' them as caan't dance or else won't, +not if God A'mighty's Self piped to 'e. Go your ways, an' knaw you'm in the +prayers of a man whose prayers be heard." + +"Then pray for Joan. If you'm so cocksure you gets a hearin' 'fore us +church folks, 'tis your fust duty to plead for her." + +"It was," he said. "Now it is too late, I've sweated for her, an' wrastled +wi' principalities an' powers for her, an' filled the night watches by sea +an' shore wi' gert agonies o' prayer for her. But 'tweern't to be. Her +name's writ in the big Book o' Death, not the small Book o' Life. David +prayed hard till that cheel, got wrong side the blanket, died. Then he +washed his face an' ate his meat. 'Twas like that wi' me. Joan's dead now. +Let the dead bury theer dead." + +"'Tis awful to hear 'e, Tregenza." + +"The truth's a awful thing, Chirgwin, but a lie is awfuler still. 'Tis the +common fate to be lost. You an' sich as you caan't grasp the truth 'bout +that. Heaven's no need to be a big plaace--theer 'edn' gwaine to be no +crowdin' theer. 'Tis hell as'll fill space wi' its roominess." + +"I be gwaine," answered Mr. Chirgwin. "Us have talked three hour by the +clock, an' us ain't gotten wan thot in common. I trusts in Christ; you +trusts in yourself. Time'll shaw which was right. You damn the world; I +wouldn't damn a dew-snail. [Footnote: _Dew-snail_--A slug.] I awnly +sez again, 'May you live to see all the pints you'm wrong.' An' if you do, +'twill be a tidy big prospect." + +They exchanged some further remarks in a similar strain. Then Tom informed +Uncle Chirgwin that his cart with a full load of oar-weed was waiting at +the door. Whereupon the old man got his hat, loaded his pipe, wished +Thomasin good-by, and drove sorrowfully away. Mrs. Tregenza had secretly +inquired after Joan's health and wealth. That the first was excellent, the +second carefully put away in the lawyer's hands, caused her satisfaction. +She told Mr. Chirgwin to make Joan write out a will. + +"You never knaws," she said. "God keep the gal, but they do die now an' +agin. 'Tweer better she wrote about the money 'cordin' to a lawyer's way. +And, say, for the Lard's love, not to leave it to Michael. So well light a +fire wi' it as that. He bawled out as the money had lit a fire a'ready, +when I touched 'pon it to en--a fire as was gwaine to burn through +eternity; but Michael's not like a human. His ideas 'pon affairs is all +pure Bible. You an' me caan't grasp hold o' all he says. An' the money's +done no wrong. So you'll drop in Joan's ear as it might be worldly-wise to +save trouble by sayin' what should be done if anything ill failed 'pon +her--eh?" + +Uncle Chirgwin promised that he would do so, and Mrs. Tregenza felt a +weight off her mind which had distressed it for some while. She was +thinking of Tom, of course. She knew that Joan loved him, and though the +prospect of his ever coming by a penny of the money appeared slender, yet +to think that he might be in a will, named for hundreds of pounds, was a +shadowy sort of joy to her. + +That night Joan's uncle told the girl of his afternoon's work, and she +expressed some sorrow that he should have thus exerted himself on her +behalf. + +"Faither's dirt beside the likes of you," she said. "'Twas wastin' good +time to talk to en, an' I wouldn't go back to Newlyn, you mind, if he was +to ax me 'pon his knees. I'm a poor fool of a gal, but I knaws enough to +laugh at the ignorance o' faither an' that fiddle-faaced crowd to the Luke +Gospel Chapel." + +"Doan't 'e be bitter, Joan. Us all makes mistakes an' bad's the best o' +human creatures. Your faither will chaange, sure as I'm a livin' man, some +day. God ban't gwaine to let en gaw down to's graave wi' sich a 'mazin' +number o' wrong opinions. Else think o' the wakin' t'other side! Iss, it +caan't be. Why, as 'tis, if he went dead sudden, he'd gaw marchin' into +heaven as bold as brass, an' bang up to the right hand o' the thrawne! +Theer's a situation for a body! An' the awk'ardness o' havin' to step +forrard an' tell en! No, no, the man'll be humbled sure 'fore his journey's +end. Theer's Everlasting eyes 'pon en, think as you may." + +"I never think at all about him," declared Joan, "an' I ban't gwaine to. He +won't chaange, an' I never wants en to. I've got you to love me, an' to +love; an' I'm--I'm waitin' for wan as be gawld to faither's dross." + +She sighed as she spoke. + +"Waitin' for en still?" + +"Ay, for Mister Jan. It caan't be no gert length o' time now. I s'pose days +go quicker up Lunnon town than wi' us." + +"Joan, my dovey, 'tis idle. Even I sees it now. I did think wi' you fust as +he was a true man. I caan't no more. I wish I could." + +A month before Joan would have flashed into anger at such a speech as this, +but now she did not answer. Young love is fertile in imagination. She had +found a thousand glories in John Barren, and, when he left her, had woven a +thousand explanations for his delayed return. Now invention grew dull; +enthusiasm waned; her confidence was shaken, though she denied the fact +even to herself as a sort of treachery. But there is no standing still in +time. The remorseless fact of his non-return extended over weeks and +months. + +Mr. Chirgwin saw her silence, noted the little quiver of her mouth as he +declared his own loss of faith, stroked the hand she thrust dumbly into his +and felt her silence hurt his heart. + +Presently Joan spoke. + +"I've got none to b'lieve in en no more then--not wan now, not even you. +Whiles you stuck up for en I felt braave 'bout his comin'; now--now Mister +Jan have awnly got me to say a word for en. An' you doan't think he'm a +true man no more then, uncle?" + +"Lassie, I wish to God as I did. Time's time. Why ban't he here?" + +"I doan't dare think this is the end. I'm feared to look forrard now. If +it do wance come 'pon me as he've gone 'twill drive me mad, I knaws." + +"No, never, not if you'd awnly turn your faace the right way. Theer's +oceans o' comfort an' love waitin' for 'e, gal. You did belong to a hard +world, as I knaws who have just comed from speech wi' your faither; but +'twas a world o' clean eatin' an' dressin' an' livin'--a God-fearin' world +leadin' up'ards on a narrer, ugly road, but a safe road, I s'pose. An' you +left it. You'll say I be harsh, but my heart do bleed for 'e, Joan. If +you'd awnly drop this talk 'bout Nature, as none of us understands, an' +turn to the livin' Christ, as all can understand. That's wheer rest lies +for 'e, nowheers else. You'm like Eve in the garden. She was kindiddled an' +did eat an' lost eternal life an' had to quit Eden. An' 'tis forbidden +fruit as you've ate, not knawin' 'twas sich. Nature doan't label her +pisins, worse luck." + +"Eve? No, I ban't no Eve. She had Adam." + +There was a world of sorrow in the words and the hopeless ring in them +startled Uncle Chirgwin, for it denoted greater changes in the girl's mind +than he thought existed. She seemed nearer to the truth. It cut his heart +to see her suffering, but he thanked Heaven that the inevitable knowledge +was coming, and prayed it might be the first step toward peace. He was +silent with his thoughts, and Joan spoke again, repeating her last words. + +"Iss, Eve had Adam to put his arm around her an' kiss her wet eyes. He were +more to her than what the garden was, I'll lay, or God either. That's the +bitter black God o' my faither. What for did He let the snake in the garden +'tall if He really loved them fust poor fools? Why dedn' He put they +flamin' angels theer sooner. 'Twas the snake they should have watched an' +kep' out." + +Uncle Chirgwin looked at her with round terrified eyes. She had never +echoed Barron's sentiments to such a horrified listener. + +"Doan't, for pity's sake, Joan! The wickedness of it! Him as taught you to +think such frightful thoughts tried to ruin your sawl so well as your body. +Oh, if you'd awnly up an' say, 'That man was wrong an' I'll forget en an' +turn to the Saviour.'" + +"You caan't understan'. I do put ugly bits o' thot afore 'e, but if you'd +heard him as opened my eyes, you'd knaw 'tedn' ugly taken altogether. I +knaws so much, but caan't speak it out. Us done no sin, an' I ban't shamed +to look the sun in the faace, nor you. An' he will come--he will--if +theer's a kind God in heaven he'll come back to me. If 'e doan't, then I'll +say that faither's God's the right wan." + +"Doan't 'e put on a bold front, Joan gal. Theer's things tu deep for the +likes o' us. You ban't prayin' right, I reckon. Theer's a voice hid in you. +Listen to that. Nature's spawk to 'e an' now er's dumb. Listen to t'other, +lassie. Nature do guide beasts an' birds an' the poor herbs o' the field; +but you--you listen to t'other. You'll never be happy no more till you awns +'twas a sad mistake an' do ax in the right plaace for pardon." + +"I want no pardon," she said. "I have done no wrong, I tell 'e. Wheer's +justice to? 'Cause the man do bide away, I be wicked; if he comed back +to-morrer an' married me--what then? I be sinless in the matter of it, an' +Nature do knaw it, an' God do knaw it." + +But her breast heaved and her eyes were wet with unshed tears. Uncle +Chirgwin, her solitary trust and stand-by, had drifted away too. His hope +was dead and she could not revive it. He had never spoken so strongly +before, but now he was taking up Mary's line of action and had ranged +himself against her. It almost seemed to Joan that he reflected in a meek, +diluted fashion, as the moon turns the sun's golden fire to silver, +something of what he must have heard that afternoon from her father. This +defection acted definitely on the girl's temperament. She fought fear, +hardened her heart against doubt, cast suspicion far away as treason to +"Mister Jan" and gave to hope a new lease of life. She would be patient for +his sake, she would trust in him still. + +There was something grand in the loneliness, she told herself. He would +know perhaps one day of her great patient faith and love. And the trial +would make her brain and heart bigger and better fit her for the position +of wife to him. The struggle was fought by her with that courage which lies +beyond man's comprehension. She looked at the world with bright eyes when +there was necessity for facing it; she exhausted her ingenuity in schemes +for communicating with John Barron. If he only knew! She felt that even had +change darkened his affection for her, yet, most surely, the thought of the +baby must tempt him back again. Thus, with sustained bravery and ignorance, +she left her hand in Nature's, and her faith, rising gloriously above the +doubt of the time, trusted that majestic heathen goddess as a little child +trusts its mother. + +Fate played another prank upon her not long afterward and thrust into her +hands a possible means of access to John Barron. A favorite resort of +Joan's was the brook which ran down the valley beneath Drift and Sancreed. +The little stream wound through a fair coomb between orchards, meadows, +wastes of fern and heather. At this season of the year the valley was very +lonely, and a certain spot beside the stream often tempted Joan by reason +of its comfort and its peace. From here, sitting on a granite bowlder +clothed in soft green mosses and having a shape into which human limbs +might fit easily, the girl could see much that was fair. The meadows were +all sprinkled with the silver-mauve of cuckoo-flowers--Shakespeare's +"lady's smock"; the hills sloped upward under oaken saplings as yet too +young for the stripping; the valley stretched winding landward beneath +Sancreed. Above and far away stretched the Cornish moors dotted with man's +mining enterprises, chiefly deserted. Ding-Dong raised its gaunt engine +stack and, distant though it was, Joan's sharp eyes could see the rusty arm +of iron stretching forth from the brickwork, motionless, not worth the +removing. Close at hand, where the stream wandered babbling at her feet, +the whole glory of spring shone on blossoms and grasses where the world of +the stream-side sent forth a warm, living smell. The wildness of the upland +moors stretched down into the valley below them. There glimmered blue-green +patches of bracken, speckled with the red and white hides of calves which +fed and scampered dew-lap deep; and the fern was all sheened with light +where the sunshine brightened its polished leaves. The stream wound through +the midst, bedecked and adorned with purple bugle flowers, bridged with +dog-roses and honeysuckles, in festoons, in bunches and in sprays, crowned +with scented gorse, fringed with yellow irises which splashed flaming +reflections where the brook widened and slowed into shallow little +backwaters. Flags and cresses framed the margins; meadowsweets made the air +fragrant above, and granite bowlders fretted the waters silver, their +foundations hidden in dark water-weed. Sunshine danced on every tiny +cascade and threw stars and twinkling flashes of light upward from the +brown pools upon the banks. Everything was upon a miniature scale, even to +the trout which lived in the stream, flashed their dim shadows under its +waters, leaped into the air after the flies, set little clouds of sand +shimmering as they darted up and down or, when surprised, wriggled away +into favorite holes and hiding places beneath the banks and trailing weeds. +Ling and wortleberry too were moorland visitors in the valley, and the bog +heather already budded. + +Here was one of the many favorite resting-places of Joan, and hither she +came on a rare morning in mid June at the wish of another person. + +Uncle Chirgwin had set his niece a task, and the object of her present +visit was no mere dawdling and thinking while perched upon the granite +throne above the meadowsweets. This fact a basket and a three-pronged fork +indicated. Her uncle deemed himself an authority on simples and possessed +much information, mostly erroneous, concerning the properties of wild herbs +and flowers. A decoction of hemp agrimony he at all times considered a most +valuable bitter tonic; and of this plant the curious flesh-colored flowers +on their long green stems grew pretty freely by the stream-side in the +valley. The time of flowering was not yet come, but Joan knew the dull leaf +of the herb well enough and, that found, she could easily dig up the root, +wherein its virtue dwelt. But before starting on her search, the girl +rested a while where the serrated foliage and creamy blossom of the +meadowsweets laced and fringed the granite of her couch; and, as she sat +there, her eye taking in the happy valley, her brain reading into the +luxuriant life of nature, some strange new thoughts hidden until lately, +she became suddenly conscious of a phenomenon beyond her power to +immediately explain or understand It drove the hemp agrimony quite out of +her head, and, when the mystery came to be explained, filled Joan's mind +with the memory of her own sad affairs. First and repeatedly there +glimmered a gossamer over the stream, falling into the water and as often +rising again; then above the film of light flashed another, rising abruptly +golden into the sunshine. Not for a moment or two did she discover the +flashing thing was a fly-rod, but presently the man who held it appeared +below her at a bend of the streamlet. He was clad much like the artists, +and it made the blood flush hot to her cheek as she thought he might be +one. Young men sometimes fished the brook for the fingerling trout it +contained. They were small but sweet, and the catching them with a fly was +difficult work in a stream so overhung with tangles of vine and brier, so +densely planted in the wider reaches with water hemlock and lesser weeds. +This fisherman, at any rate, found successful sport beyond his power to +achieve. He flogged away, but hung his fly clear of the stream at every +second cast and deceived not the smallest troutlet of them all. The young +man, after the manner of those anglers classified as "chuck and chance it," +worked his clumsy way toward Joan's chair on the granite bowlder. +Motionless she sat, and her drab attire and faded sun-bonnet harmonized so +well with the tones around it--the gray of the stones, the lights of the +river, the masses of the meadowsweet--that while noting a broad and +sparkling stickle winding away beneath her, the angler missed the girl +herself. This stickle spread, with an oily tremor and white undercurrent +full of air pearls, from a waterfall where the foot of Joan's throne +fretted the stream. Below it the waters slowed and ran smoothly into dark +brown shadows, being here marked by the wrinkled lines of their currents +and splashed with the sky's reflected blue. An ideal spot for a trout it +doubtless was, and the approaching sportsman exercised unusual care in his +approach, crouching along the bank and finally creeping bent double within +casting distance. Then, as he freed his fly, he saw Joan, like a queen of +the pool reigning motionless and silent. She moved and no fish was likely +to rise after within the visual radius of her sudden action. Thereupon the +angler in the man cursed; the artist in him drew a short, sharp breath. He +scrambled to his feet and looked again upon a beautiful picture. The plump, +baby freshness of Joan's face had vanished indeed, and there was that in +the slightly anxious expression and questioning look of her blue eyes that +had told any medical man he stood before a future mother; but, in her +seated position, no tangible suggestion of a hidden life was thrust upon +the spectator's view. He only saw a wondrously pretty woman in a charming +attitude, amid objects which enhanced her beauty by their own. She seemed a +trifle pale for a cottage girl, but her mouth was scarlet and dewy as ripe +wood-strawberries, her eyes were just of that color where the blue sky +above was reflected and changed to a darker shade by the pools of the +brook. She sat with her hands folded in her lap and looked straight at the +sportsman with a frank interest which surprised him. He was a modest lad, +but the sudden presentment of an object so lovely woke his pluck and he +fished ostentatiously to Joan's very feet, suspecting that the absurdity of +the action would not be apparent to her. She watched the morsel of feather +and fur dragged across the water after the fantastic fashion of the "chuck +and chancer," and he, when her eyes were on the water, kept his own fast +upon her face. Both man and woman were profoundly anxious each to hear the +other's voice, but neither felt brave enough to speak first. Then the +artist's ingenuity found a means, and Joan presently saw his fly stick fast +upon the side of the stream where she sat. The thing was caught at the +seed-head of a rush within reach of Joan's hand, and while this incident +appeared absolutely accidental, yet it was not so, for the artist had long +been endeavoring to get fast somewhere hard by Joan. Now, finding his +maneuver accomplished, he made but the feeblest efforts to loosen the fly, +then raised his hat and accosted Joan. + +"Might I trouble you to set my line clear? Ashamed to ask such a thing, but +it would be awfully kind. Oh, thank you, thank you. Take care of your +fingers! The hook is very sharp." + +Joan got the fly free in a moment, and then, to Harry Murdoch's +gratification, addressed him. The young fellow was Edmund Murdoch's cousin, +and at present dwelt in Newlyn with the elder artist already mentioned as +John Barron's friend. + +"May I make so bold as to ax if you do knaw a paintin' gen'leman by name +o'--o' Mister Jan? Leastways, that's wan on's names, but I never can call +home the other, though he tawld me wance. He was here last early +spring-time, an' painted a gert picture of me up 'pon top the hill they +calls Gorse Point." + +"Lucky devil," thought the artist; but though he knew something of Barron +and his work and had heard that Barron painted when at Newlyn, he did not +associate these facts with the girl before him. + +"He'm in Lunnon, so far's I knaw," she continued. + +Harry Murdoch had to look hard at Joan before answering, and he delayed a +while with an expression of deep thought upon his face. At length he spoke. + +"No, I cannot say that I have heard of him or the picture. But perhaps some +of the men in Newlyn will know. He was lucky to get you to paint. I wish +you would let me try." + +She shook her head impatiently. + +"No, no. He done it 'cause--'cause he just wanted a livin' thing to fill up +a bit o' his canvas. 'Tweern't for shaw or for folks to see. He done it for +pleasure. An' I wants to knaw wheer he lives 'cause he might think I be in +Newlyn still, but I ban't. I'm livin' up Drift along wi' Mr. Chirgwin. An' +I wish he could knaw it." + +"He was called 'Mister John'? Well, I'll see what I can do to find out +anything about him. And your name?" + +"Joan Tregenza. If you'll be so good as to put a question round 'mongst the +painting gen'lemen, I'd thank 'e kindly." + +"Then I certainly will. And on Saturday next I'll come here again to tell +you if I have heard anything. Will you come?" + +"Iss fay, an' thank you, sir." + +So he passed slowly forward, and she sat a full hour after he had left her +building new castles on the old crumbling foundations. It was even in her +mind to pray, to pray with her whole heart and soul; but chaos had settled +like a storm upon her beliefs. She did not know where to pray to now; yet +to-day Hope once more glimmered like a lighthouse lamp through the dreary +darkness. So she turned her eyes to that radiance and waited for next +Saturday to come. + +Then she set about grubbing up roots of hemp agrimony where they grew. She +was almost happy and whistled gently to herself as she filled her little +basket. + +That night Edmund Murdoch heard his cousin's story and explained that +"Mister Jan" was doubtless John Barron. + +"I'm owing the beggar a letter; I'll write tomorrow." + +"Was it a good picture?" + +"I should say that few better ever came out of Newlyn. Perhaps none so +good. Is the model as pretty as ever?" + +Young Harry raved of the vision that Joan had presented among the +meadowsweets. + +"Well, I suppose he wouldn't mind her knowing where he lives; but he's such +a queer devil that I'll write and ask him first. We shall hear in a couple +of days; I can tell him her address, at any rate; then he may write direct +to her, if he cares to." + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +TWO LETTERS + + +Four days elapsed, and then Edmund Murdoch received an answer to his +letter. He had written at length upon various affairs and his friend did no +less. + +"No. 6 Melbury Gardens, S.W. + +"June 8, 189--. + +"Dear Murdoch--Your long screed gave me some pleasure and killed an hour. +You relate the even course of your days since my departure from Cornwall, +and I envy the good health and happy contentment of mind which your note +indicates. I gained no slight benefit from my visit to the West Country, +and it had doubtless carried me bravely through this summer but for an +unfortunate event. A sharp cold, which settled on my chest, has laid me low +for some length of time, though I am now as well again as I shall ever be. +So much for facing the night air in evening dress. Nature has no patience +with our idiotic conventions, and hates alike man's shirt-front and woman's +bare bosom when displayed, as is our imbecile custom, at the most dangerous +hours in the twenty-four. My doctors are for sending me away, and I shall +probably follow their advice presently. But the end is not very far off. + +"I rejoice that you have sucked in something of my spirit and are trying to +get at the heart of rocks and sea before you paint them. Men waste so much +time poking about in art galleries, like the blind moles they mostly are, +and forget that Nature's art gallery is open every day at sunrise. Dwell +much in the air, glean the secrets of dawns, listen when the white rain +whispers over woodland, translate the tinkle of summer seas where they kiss +your rocky shores; get behind the sunset; think not of what colors you will +mix when you try to paint it, but let the pageant sink into your soul like +a song. Do not drag your art everywhere. Forget it sometimes and develop +your individuality. You have learned to draw tolerably; now learn to think. +Believe me, the painting people do not think enough. + +"Truly I am content to die in the face of the folly I read and see around +me. Know you what certain obscure writers are now about in magazines? They +are vindicating the cosmic forces, whitewashing Mother Nature after +Huxley's Romanes lecture! He told the truth, and Nature loved him for it; +but now come hysterical religious ciphers who squeak boldly forth in print +that Nature is the mother of altruism, that self-sacrifice is her first +law! One genius observes that 'tis their cruelty and selfishness have +arrested the progress of the tiger and the ape! Poor Nature! Never a word +of shotguns in all this drivel, of course. Cruelty and selfishness! +Qualities purely and solely human--qualities resulting from conscious +intelligence alone. You and I are selfish, not the ape; you and I are +cruel, not the tiger. He at least learns Nature's lessons and obeys her +dictates; we never do and never shall. A plague upon these fools with their +theologic rubbish heaps. They would prostitute the very fonts of reason and +make Nature's eternal circle fit the little squares of their own faiths. +Man! I tell you that the root of human misery might be pulled out and +destroyed to-morrow like the fang of a decayed tooth if only reason could +kill these weeds of falsehood which choke civilization and strangle +religion. But the world's 'doers' have all got 'faith' (or pretend to it); +the world's thinkers are mere shadows moving about in the background of +active affairs. They only write and talk. Action is the sole way of +chaining a nation's mind. + +"Your churchman is active enough, hence the spread of that poison which +keeps human reason stunted, impotent, anaemic. Take Liberty--the cursed +ignis fatuus our dear poets have shrieked for, our preachers have prayed +for, our patriots have perished for through all time. In pursuit of this +rainbow-gold more blood and brains have been wasted than would have +sufficed to make a nation. And yet a breath from Reason blows the thing to +tatters, as an uprising wind annihilates a fog. Freedom is an attribute of +the Eternal, and creation cannot share it with him, any more than it can +share his throne with him. 'The liberty of the subject'! A contradiction in +terms. Banish this unutterable folly of freedom, and control the breeding +of human flesh as we control the output of beef and of mutton. Then the +face of the world will alter. Millions of money is annually spent in order +that mindless humanity, congenital lunatics and madmen, may be fed and +housed and kept alive. Their existences are to themselves less pleasurable +than that of the beasts, they are a source of agony to those who have borne +them; but they live to old age and devour tons of good food, while +wholesome intellects starve in the gutters of every big city. Banish this +cant of freedom then, I tell you. The lightning in heaven is not free; the +stars are not free; Nature herself is the created slave of the Great +Will--and _we_ prattle about liberty. Let the State look to it and +practice these lessons Nature has taught and still preaches patiently to +deaf ears. Let it be as penal to bring life into the world without +permission from authority as it is to put life out of the world. Let the +begetting of paupers be a crime; let the health and happiness of the +community rise higher than the satisfaction of individuals; let the +self-denial practiced by the reasonable few be made a legal necessity to +the unreasonable many. Let the blighted, the malformed, the brainless go +back to the earth from which they came. Let the world of humanity be +cleansed and sweetened and purified as Nature cleanses and sweetens and +purifies her own kingdom. She removes her failures; we put ours under glass +and treat them like hothouse flowers. That is called humanity; it is the +mad leading the mad.... But why waste your time? Nature will have the last +word; Reason must win in the end; a genius, at once thinker and doer, will +come along some day and put the world right, at a happy moment when the din +of theologists is out of its ears. We want a new practical religion; for +Christianity, distorted and twisted through the centuries into its present +outworn, effete, ignoble shape, is a mere political force or a money-making +machine, according to the genius of the country which professes it. The +golden key of the founder, which is lost, may be found again, but I think +it never will be." + +[Here the man elaborated his opinions. They were like himself: a medley--a +farrago--wherein ascerbity, acuteness, and a mind naturally philosophic +were stranded in the arid deserts of a pessimism bred partly from his own +decaying physical circumstances and partly from recognition of his own +wasted time.] + +"I do not suppose that I shall paint any more. I had my Cornish picture +brought from its packing-case and framed, and supported on a great easel at +the foot of my bed while I was stricken down last month. Mistress Joan eyed +me curiously from under her hand, and through the night-watches, while my +man snored in the next chamber and I tossed with great unrest, the girl +seemed to live and move and smile at me under the flicker of the night +lamp. Everybody is pleased to say that 'Joe's Ship' seems good to them. I +have it now in the studio, and contrasted it yesterday with my bathing +negresses from Tobago. I think I like it better. It is difficult to read +the soul in black faces, especially when the models are freezing to death +as mine were. But there is something near to soul in this painted +Joan--more I doubt than the living reality would be found to possess +to-day. She was a good girl all the same, and I am gratified to hear she +did not quite forget me. I have written to her at the address you mention. +They pester me to send the picture somewhere, and to stop their +importunities--especially the women--I have promised to let the thing go to +the Institute in the autumn. I shall doubtless change my mind before the +time comes. + +"My life slowly but surely dwindles to that mere battle with Death which +your consumptive wages at the finish. I fancy Biskra will see my bones +later in the year. The R.A. took not less than six months off my waning +days this spring. Thank God they hung Brady as he deserved. Twenty good +works I saw--'the rest is silence.' + +"Yours, while I remain, + +"JOHN BARRON." + +It was true that the artist had written another letter addressed to Joan +Tregenza at Drift. He had written it first--written it hurriedly, wildly, +on the spur of the moment. But, after the completion of his communication +to Murdoch, the mood of the man changed. He had coldly read again the +former epistle, and altered his mind concerning it. Barron wanted Joan back +again sometimes, if life dragged more than usual; but pens and paper +generally modified his desire when he got that far toward calling her to +him. Her memory tickled him pleasantly and whiled away time. He framed the +various sketches he had made of her and suffered thought to occupy itself +with her as with no other woman who had entered his life. But the day on +which he wrote to Murdoch was a good one with him. He felt stronger and +better able to suck pleasure out of living than he had for a month. + +"When I whistle she will come," he thought to himself. "Perhaps there would +be some pleasure in taking her to Biskra presently. I will wait, at any +rate, until nearer the last scene. She would be pretty to look at when I'm +dying. Yes, she shall close my eyes some day, if she likes. That's a +pleasant thought--for me." + +So the letter to Murdoch was sent forth, but the letter to Joan, containing +some poetic thoughts on Nature, a pathetic description of Barron's +enfeebled state, and an appeal to her to join him that they might part no +more on this side the grave, was torn up. He laughed at the trouble he had +taken to print it all, and pondered pleasantly on the picture which Murdoch +had drawn of Joan ruling the kingdom of the meadowsweets, of her eager +question concerning "Mister Jan." + +"Strange," he reflected, "that her mediocre intelligence should have clung +to a man so outwardly mean as myself. If I thought that she had remembered +half I said when I was with her, or had made a single attempt to practice +the gospel I preached so finely--damned if I wouldn't have her back again +to-morrow and be proud of her too. But it can't be. She was such an +absolute fool. No, I much fear she only desires to find out what has become +of the goose who laid the big golden egg. Or if she doesn't, perhaps her +God-fearing father and mother do." + +Which opinion is not uninteresting, for it illustrates the usual failure of +materialism to discover or gauge those mental possibilities which lie +hidden within the humblest and worst equipped intelligences. John Barron +was an able man in some respects, but his knowledge of Joan Tregenza had +taught him nothing concerning her character and its latent powers of +development. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +DISENCHANTMENT + + +With summer, Nature, proceeding on her busy way, approached again the +annual phenomena of seed-time and harvest. To Joan, as spring had brought +with it a world of mothers, so the subsequent season filled Nature with +babies; and, in the light of all this newborn life, the mothers suffered a +change. Now, sorrow-guided, did Joan begin to read under the face of +things, "to get behind the sunset," as Barren had said in his letter to +Murdoch, to realize a little of the mystery hidden in green leaves and +swelling fruits and ripening grain, to observe at least the presence of +mystery though she could not translate more than an occasional +manifestation thereof. She found much matter for wonder and for fear. +Visible Nature had grown to be a smiling curtain behind which raged eternal +struggles for life. Every leaf sheltered a tragedy, every bough was a +battlefield. The awful frailty of all existence began to dawn upon Joan +Tregenza, and the discovery left her helpless, lonely, longing for new +gods. She knew not where to turn. Any brightness from any source had been +welcome then. + +Disenchantment came with the second visit of the artist to the stream. +There; young Murdoch had met her and told her that "Mister Jan" was going +to write her a letter. Upon which she had sung glad songs in a sunlit world +and amazed Mary and Uncle Chirgwin alike by the exhibition of a sudden and +profound happiness. But that longed-for letter never came; weeks passed by; +the truth rolled up over her life at last; and, as a world seen in a blaze +of sunshine only dazzles us and conceals its facts under too much light, +but reveals the same clear cut and distinct at dawn or early twilight, so +now Joan's eyes, obscured no more by the blinding promise of great joy, +began to see her world as it was, her future as it would be. + +Strange thoughts came to her on an evening when she stood by the door of +the kitchen at Drift, waiting for the cart to return from market. It was a +cool, gray gloaming, wreathed in diaphanous mists born of past ram. These +rendered every outline of tree and building vague and immense. Where Joan +stood, the peace of the time was broken only by a gentle dripping from the +leaves of a great laurel by the gate which led from the farmyard to the +fields. Below it, moist ground was stamped with the trident impress of many +fowls' feet; and, now and then, a feather sidled down from the heart of the +evergreen, where poultry, black and white and spangled, were settling to +roost. A subdued clucking and fluttering marked their hidden perches; then +came showers of rain-drops from the shining leaves as a bird mounted to a +higher branch; after which silence fell again. + +And Joan found all hope fairly dead at last. There and then, in the misty +eveningtide, the fact fell on the ear of her heart as though one had spoken +it; and henceforth she dated disenchantment from that hour. The whole +pageant of her romance, with the knightly figure of the painter that filled +its foreground, shriveled to a scroll no bigger than a curled, dead +leaf--sere, wasted, ghostly, and light enough to be washed away on a tear, +borne away upon a sigh. + +Then there followed for her prodigious transformations in the panorama of +Nature. Seen from the standpoint of his great, overwhelming lie to her, the +philosophy which this man had professed changed in its appearance, and that +mightily. He had used his cleverness like a net to trap her, and now, +though she could not prove his words untrue save in one particular, yet +that crowning act of faithlessness much tended to vitiate all the beauties +of imagination which had gone before it. They were lilies grown from a +dung-heap. Looking back in the new cold sidelight, her life came out +clearly with all the color gone from it and the remorseless details +distinct. And in this survey Nature dwindled to a minor Deity, a goddess +with moods as many and whims as wild as a woman's. She was unstable, it +seemed to Joan then; the immemorial solidity and splendor of her had +departed; her eyes were not fixed on Heaven any more, nor did peace any +longer rest within them; they were frightened, terrified, and their wild +and furtive glances followed one Shadow, reflected one Shape. It stood +waiting at the end of all her avenues; It peered from the heart of her +forests; it wandered on her heaths and moors; it lay under the stones in +her rivers; it stalked her sea-shores, floated on her waves, rode upon her +lightning, hid in her four winds; and the Shadow's name was Death. Joan +stood face to face with it at last and gazed round-eyed at a revelation. +She was saddened to find her own story told by Nature in many allegories, +painted upon the garden, set forth in waste places, fashioned by humble +weeds, reflected in the small, brief lives of unconsidered creatures. Now +she imagined herself an ill-shaped apple in the orchard which the mother of +all had neglected. It was crumpled up on one side, twisted out of its fair +full beauty, ruined by some wicked influence--a failure. Now she was a fly +caught by the gold spider who set his web shaking to deceive. Now she was a +little bird singing one moment, the next crawling dazed and shaking under +the paw of a cat. Why should Nature make the strong her favorites and be so +cruel to the weak? That seemed an ungodly thing to Joan. She had only +reached this point. She had no inkling of the great cleansing process which +removes the dross, the eternal competition from which only the cleanest and +sweetest and best come forth first. She saw the battle indeed, but did not +understand the meaning of it any more than the rest of the world which, in +the words of the weakling Barren, beneath the emblems of a false humanity, +keeps its weeds under hot-house glasses and, out of mercy to futile +individuals, does terribly wrong its communities. Our cleansing processes +are only valuable so far as they go hand in hand with Nature, and where the +folly of many fools rejects the wisdom of the wise, there Nature has her +certain revenge sooner or later. The sins of the State are visited on the +children of the State, and those who repeal laws which Science, walking +hand in hand with Nature, has proposed, those who refuse laws which +Science, Nature-taught, urges upon Power, do not indeed suffer themselves, +but commit thousands of others to suffering. So their false sentiment in +effect poisons the blood-springs of a nation. Religion leads to these +disasters, and any religion answerable for gigantic human follies is either +false or most falsely comprehended. + +Her uncle still tarried, and Joan, weary of waiting, betook herself and her +sorrows to the old garden, there to view a spectacle which she never tired +of. She watched the evening primroses, saw their green bud-cases spring +open and the soft yellow leaves tremble out like butterflies new come from +the chrysalis. She loved these little lemon-colored lamps that twinkled +anew at every sundown in the green twilight of the garden. She knew their +eyes would watch through the night and that their reward would be death. +Many shriveled fragments marked the old blossoms on the long stems, but the +crowns of each still put out new buds, and every dusk saw the wakening of +fresh blossoms heedless of their dead sisters below. "They was killed +'cause they looked at the sun," thought Joan. "I suppose the moon be theer +mistress and they should not chaange their god. Yet it do seem hard like to +be scorched to death for lookin' upward." + +What she saw now typified in a dead flower was her own case under a new +symbol; but the girl wasted no anger on the man who had played with her to +make a holiday pleasant, on that mock sun whose light now turned to +darkness. Her mind was occupied entirely with pity for herself. And that +fact probably promised to be a sure first step to peace. The lonely void of +her life must be filled, else Joan was like to go mad; and the filling, +left to Faith, might yet be happily accomplished. For Faith, if no more +than a "worm with diamond eyes" yet has eyes of diamonds, and rainbows are +the arches of her shape. Faith is fair and a very heart-companion to those +who know her and love her courts; and Joan, of all others, was best endowed +by disposition and instinct for the possession of her. Faith had slept in +the girl's heart since her mother died; but, sleeping, had grown, and now +waited in all strength to be called to a great task. The void was at its +deepest just now; the lowest note of Joan's soul had sounded; the facts of +her ruin and desertion were fully accepted at last; and such knowledge +served even to turn the growing mother in her sour for a time. Maternal +instinct stood still just a little while at this point in the girl's inner +life; then, when all things whirled away to chaos; on this night, when +nothing remained sure for her but death; in her hour of ultimate, +unutterable weakness and at the dawn of a blank despair, came one last plea +from Uncle Chirgwin. Mary had given up talking, fairly wearied out and +convinced that to waste more words on Joan would be a culpable disposal of +time; but Mr. Chirgwin blundered doggedly on with the humility of a worm +and the obstinacy of a friendly dog. He hammered at the portals of Joan's +spiritual being with admirable pertinacity; and at length he had his +reward. Faith in something being an absolute and vital essential to the +welfare of every woman, Joan Tregenza was no exception to the rule. + +It fell out on the night of her uncle's weekly visit to market, that Joan +had just returned from the garden, when she heard the clatter of the +spring-cart. It drew up at the kitchen door and Mary alighted with Mr. +Chirgwin. The baskets that had started laden with eggs, butter and other +produce came back empty save for a few brown paper parcels. Exceptional +prices had ruled in the market-place that day, so Mr. Chirgwin and his +niece returned home in excellent temper. + +They all met at supper, together with those farm-servants who took their +meals at the farmer's table. Then the laborers and the women workers +withdrew; Mary sat down to a little sewing before bedtime; and Mr. Chirgwin +smoked his pipe and looked at Joan. He noticed that the weather reflected +much upon her moods. She was more than usually silent tonight despite the +bright news from market. + +Presently Mary put on the kettle and brought out a bottle of rum. Her uncle +had taken his nightcap of spirit and water from her hand for nearly ten +years, and the little duty of preparing it was dear to her. She also made +cups of tea for Joan and herself. Mary often blamed herself for this luxury +and only allowed it on the night that ended those arduous duties proper to +market-day. "While thus employed, both she and Uncle Thomas tried to draw +Joan out of her gloomy silence. + +"Theer's to be a braave sight o' singin' down to Penzance come next week, +Joan. Lunnon folks, they tell me, wi' names a foot tall stuck 'pon the +hoardings. Us thot 'twould be a pleasin' kind o' junketin' to go an' +listen. Not but entertainments o' singin' by night be mighty exciting to +the blood. Awnly just for wance, Polly reckoned it might do us all good. +An' Polly knaws what's singin' an' what edn' so well as any lass. The +riders [Footnote: _The riders_--A circus.] be comin' likewise, though +maybe that's tu wild an' savage amoosment for quiet folks." + +"You an' Polly go to the singin' then. 'Tedn' for the likes o' me." + +Then Joan turned to her cousin, who was pouring tea out of a little pot +which held two cups and no more. + +"Let me have the last nine drops, Polly; they'm good for the heartache, an' +mine's more'n common sore to-night." + +Mary sighed, opened her mouth to preach a sermon, but shut it without a +word. She drained the teapot into Joan's cup, and then, from a bright mood +for her, relapsed into cold silence. Uncle Chirgwin, however, prattled on +about the concert until his elder niece finished her tea and went to bed. +Then he put down his pipe, took a long pull at his drink, and began to talk +hurriedly to Joan. + +"I bin an' got a wonnerful fine notion this day, drivin' home-long, Joan; +an' it's comed back an' back that importuneous that I lay it's truth, an' +sent for me to remember. D'you knaw that since you comed to Drift us have +prospered uncommon? Iss, us have. The winter dedn' give no mighty promise, +nor yet the spring, till you comed. Then the Lard smiled 'pon Drift. Look +at the hay what's gwaine to be cut, God willin', next week. I never seed +nothin' more butivul thick underneath in all my days. A rare aftermath tu, +I'll warrant. 'Tis so all round. The wheat's kernin' somethin' cruel +fine--I awnly wish theer was more of it--an' the sheep an' cattle's in +braave kelter likewise. Then the orchard do promise no worse. I never seed +such a shaw of russets an' of quarantines 'pon they old trees afore." + +"'Tis a fine, fair season." + +"Why, so I say--a 'mazin' summer thus far--but what's the reason o't? +That's the poser as an answer comed to in the cart a drivin' home. You'm +the reason! You mind when good Saint Levan walked through the fields that +the grass grawed the greener for his tread, an' many days arter, when he'd +gone dead years an' years, the corn allus comed richest 'long the path what +he trod. An' 'tis the same here, 'cause God's eye be on you, Joan Tregenza, +an' His eye caan't be fixed 'pon no spot wi'out brightening all around. You +mind me, that's solemn truth. The Lard's watchin' over you--watchin' double +tides, as the sailors say--and so this bit o' airth's smilin' from the herb +o' the field to the biggest tree as graws. He'm watchin' over Drift for +your sake, my girl, an' the farm prospers along o' the gert goodness o' the +watchin' Lard. Iss fay, He fills all things livin' with plenshousness, an' +fats the root an' swells the corn 'cause He'm breathin' sweet over the +land--'cause He'm wakin' an' watchin' for you, Joan." + +"He'm watchin' all of us, I s'pose--just to catch the trippin' footstep, +like what faither sez. He abbun no call to worry no more 'bout me, I +reckon. I be Nature's cheel, I be; an' my mother's turnin' hard too--like a +cat, as purrs to 'e wan moment an' sclows 'e the next. My day's done. I've +chose wrong an' must abide by it. But 'tis along o' bein' sich a lil fool. +Nature pushes the weak to the wall. I've seed that much 'o late days. I was +born to have my heart broke, I s'pose. 'Tedn' nothin' very straange." + +"I judge your angel do cry gert tears when you lets on like that, my Joan. +Oh, gal, why won't 'e give ear to me, as have lived fifty an' more winters +in the world than what you have? Why caan't 'e taste an' try what the Lard +is? Drabbit this nonsense 'bout Nature! As if you was a fitcher, or an +'awk, or an owl! Caan't 'e see what a draggle tail, low-minded pass all +this be bringin' 'e to? Yet you'm a thinkin' creature an' abbun done no +worse than scores o' folks who be tanklin' 'pon harps afore the throne o' +God this blessed minute. You chose wrong; you said so, an' I was glad to +hear 'e, for you never 'lowed even that much till this night. What then? +Everybody chooses wrong wan time or another. Some allus goes for it, like +the bud-pickers to the red-currant bushes, some slips here an' theer, an' +do straightway right 'emselves--right 'emselves again an' again. The best +life be just a slippin' up an' rightin' over an' over, till a man dies. +You've slipped young an' maybe theer's half a cent'ry o' years waitin' for +'e to get 'pon the right road; yet you sez you must abide by what you've +done. Think how it stands. You've forgived him as wronged 'e, an' caan't +the Lard forgive as easy as you can? He forgived you 'fore you was born. I +lay the Luke Gosp'lers never told 'e that braave fact, 'cause they doan't +knaw it theerselves. 'Tis like this: your man did take plain Nature for +God, an' he did talk fulishness 'bout finding Him in the scent o' flowers, +the hum o' bees an' sichlike. Mayhap Nature's a gude working God for a +selfish man, but she edn' wan for a maid, as you knaws by now. Then your +faither--his God do sit everlastingly alongside hell-mouth, an' laugh an' +girn to see all the world a walkin' in, same as the beasts walked in the +Ark. Theer's another picksher of a God for 'e; but mark this, gal, they be +lying prophets--lying prophets both! You've tried the wan, an' found it +left your heart hollow like, an' you've tried t'other an' found that left +it no better filled; now try Christ, will 'e--? Just try. Doan't keep Him, +as is allus busy, a waitin' your whims no more. Try Christ, Joan dearie, +an' you'll feel what you've never felt yet. I knaw, as put my 'and in His +when 'twas plump an' young as yourn. An' He holds it yet, now 'tis +shriveled an' crooked wi' rheumatics. He holds it. Iss, He do." + +The old man put out his hand to Joan as he spoke and she took it between +her own and kissed it. + +"You'm very good," she said, "an' you'm wise 'cause you'm auld an' have +seen many years. I prayed to Saint Madern to hear me not long since, an' I +bathed in his waters, an' went home happy. But awnly the birds an' the +rabbits heard me. An' next day faither turned me out o' his house an' +counted me numbered for hell." + +"Saints be very well, but 'tedn' in 'cordance with what we'm tawld nowadays +to pray to any but the Lard direct." + +He pleaded long and patiently, humbly praying for the religion which had +lightened his own road. The thought of his vast experience and the +spectacle of his own blameless and simple life, as she reviewed it, made +Joan relent at last. The great loneliness of her heart yearned for +something to fill it. Man had failed her, saints had failed her; Nature had +turned cold; and Uncle Chirgwin held out a great promise. + +"Ban't no sort o' use, I'm thinkin'," she said at last, "but if you'm that +set 'pon it I'll do your wish. I owe you that an' more'n that. Iss, I'll +come along wi' you an' Mary to Sancreed church next Sunday. 'Tis lil enough +to do for wan as have done so much for me." + +"Thank God!" he said earnestly. "That's good news, to be sure, bless your +purty eyes! An' doan't 'e go a tremblin' an' fearin', you mind, like to +meetin'. 'Tedn' no ways like that. Just love o' the Lard an' moosic an' +holy thots from passon, an' not more hell-fire than keeps a body +healthy-minded an' awake. My ivers! I could a'most sing an' dance myself +now, an' arter my day's work tu, to think as you'll sit alongside o' me in +church come Sunday!" + +Joan smiled at his enthusiasm on her behalf, then kissed him and went to +bed; while he, mixing up his prayers, his last pipe, and his final glass of +spirits according to his custom, sat the fire out while he drank deeper and +prayed harder than usual in the light of his triumph. + +"Polly couldn' do it, not for all her brains an' godliness," he murmured to +himself, "yet 'twas given to an auld simple sawl like me! An' I have. I've +led her slap-bang into the hand o' the Lard, an' the rest be His business. +No man's done a better day's work inside Cornwall to-day than what I +have--that's sure!" + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +FROM JOE + + +Since her visit to the church at Newlyn, Joan had been in no place of +worship save the chapel of the Luke Gospelers. What might be the nature of +the service before her she did not know, nor did she care. But the girl +kept her promise and drove in the market-cart to Sancreed with her uncle +and cousin when Sunday came. The little church lay bowered in its grove of +sycamores, and, around it, a golden-green concourse of quivering shadows +cooled those who had walked or driven from Drift--an outlying portion of +the parish--approached through lanes innocent of all shade. Mr. Chirgwin +put up the horse and presently joined his nieces in church. Then Joan saw +him under interesting and novel conditions. He wore glasses with gold rims; +he covered his bald head with a little velvet cap; at the appointed time he +took a wooden plate and carried it round for money. Mary found the old +man's places for him and sang in a way that fairly astounded Joan. The +enormous satisfaction brought to herself by these vocal efforts was +apparent. Her soul appeared mightily lifted up. She amused chance visitors +to the church, but the regular congregation liked to hear Mary; and Joan, +seeing the comfort her cousin sucked from singing, wished she had heart to +join. That, however, she wholly lacked. Moreover, the words were strange to +her. + +The quiet service, brightened by music, dragged its slow length murmuringly +along. The sermon, delivered by a visitor, was not of a sort to hold Joan, +and, indeed, could hardly be expected to attract many in such a +congregation. The preacher had lately been reading old Cornish history, +and, overcome by the startling fact that the far west of England--Cornwall +and Devon--were Christian long before Augustine saw Kent, dwelt upon the +matter after a very instructive fashion in ears unlikely to benefit from +such knowledge. That the Cornu-British bishops preached Christ while yet +Sussex, Wessex, Hampshire, Berks and other districts worshiped Woden, +Freya, the Queen of Heaven, the Thunder God, and other deities whose altars +were set up after the Conquest, did not interest Joan for one or Mr. +Chirgwin for another. But the girl woke up at the mention of Irish and +Welsh and Breton saints. Pleasant to hear was the utterance of names which +she had loved once but of late almost forgotten. They came back now, and, +the service having turned her heart to softness, she welcomed them gladly +as friends returned from afar. For the rest, the Litany it was which roused +Joan to deepest interest and opened her mind to new impressions. Here was a +prayer, gigantic in length, universal, all-embracing, catholic beyond the +compass of anything her thoughts had heretofore conceived. From the Queen +upon her throne to Joan herself, from the bishops, the princes and the +Lords of the Council to Uncle Chirgwin and his fruits of the earth, that +astounding petition ranged with equal vigor and earnestness. Nothing was +too high, nothing was too low for it; all the world was named, and the +people cried for a hearing or for mercy between each supplication and each +prayer. The overwhelming majesty of such praying impressed Joan much; as, +indeed, it impresses all who come adult thereto and do not associate it +with their childhood, with weary hours dragging interminably out, with +sleepy buzz of voices, with sore knees or a breaking back, with yearnings +stifled, with devices for passing time, with the longed-for sunshine +stealing inch by inch eastward on the church walls. + +"A power o' larnin' in a small headpiece," commented Uncle Chirgwin as he +drove home with the girls sitting side by side on his left. "A braave +ch'ice o' words an' a easy knowledge o' the saints as weern't picked up in +a day. Tis well to hear a furriner now an' again. They do widen the grasp +of a man's mind, looking 'pon things from a changed point o' view. Not as +us could be 'spected to be Latiners, yet I seem 'tis very well to listen to +it as chance offers. 'Tis something to knaw 'twas Latin, an' that did I, +though I doubt some o' the good neighbors couldn' tell it for what 'twas, +by no means." + +Joan said little about the service, but she praised the Litany from her own +peculiar attitude toward it. + +"That be fine prayin'," she said, "with nobody forgot, an' all in black +print so's wance said 'tedn' lost." + +After dinner, when Mary had gone to see a friend and the farm people were +dawdling abroad till evening milking-time, Joan made her uncle read the +service through again. This he did comfortably between the whiffs of his +pipe, and Joan answered the responses, cooing them in her sweet voice as +softly as the red and blue pigeons crooned on the roof outside. Drift was +asleep under a hot blaze of afternoon sunshine. Sometimes a child's keen +voice in the road cut the drowsy silence and came to Joan's ears where she +sat, in the best parlor with Uncle Thomas; sometimes slow wheels rumbled up +the hill toward Buryan. Other sounds there were none. The old people slept +within their cottages after the extra baked meats of Sunday's dinner; many +of the young paired and walked where pathways ran over meadows and through +yellowing wheat; while others, more gregarious and unattached, had tramped +away to Penzance to join the parade by the sea and meet their friends from +the shops. + +Anon nailed boots stamped up the little pathway to Drift farmhouse, and Tom +Tregenza appeared. To-day he entered fearlessly, for he came upon an errand +from his father. He kissed Joan and shook hands with Uncle Thomas. Then he +said: + +"'Tis a letter as I've brought for Joan--a furriner." + +The girl's heart beat hard, and the blood rushing from her cheeks left them +white. But the letter only came from Joe Noy, and it is certain that Mr. +Tregenza would have forwarded no other. Excitement died, and was painfully +renewed, in a fresh direction, when Joan realized from whom the missive +came and thought about its writer. He had long been a stranger to her mind, +and now he seemed suddenly to re-enter it--like a stranger. + +"I can stay for a bit of tea so long as I be back by chapel-time," +explained Tom. + +"An' so you shall, my son. Run 'e out o' doors an' amoose yourself where +you mind to; awnly don't ope the lil linhay in the Brook Croft, 'cause auld +bull's fastened up theer an' his temper's gettin' more'n more out o' hand." + +So Tom departed, and Uncle Chirgwin read Joan's letter aloud to her. It +came from Santa Rosalia, and contained not much news but plenty of love and +some religious sentiments bred from the writer's foreign environment. Joe +Noy would be back in England again before the end of the year. + +Joan was reduced to tears by this communication. She refused to be +comforted, and, indeed, the position was beyond Uncle Chirgwin's power to +brighten. The letter had come at a bad moment, and that calm and repose +which almost appeared to be softening Joan's sorrows now spread speedy +wings and departed, leaving her wholly forlorn. Curtains were falling +behind her, but curtains were also rising in front. She had looked forward +vaguely, and now the position was suddenly defined by the arrival of Joe's +letter, with all its future phases clear-cut, cold and terrible. + +"My baaby's comin' just then. An' that's what'll fall 'pon his ear fust +thing. Oh, if us could awnly tell en afore he comes so he might knaw 'tis +all chaanged! 'Twould be easier for en, lovin' me that keen. He'd grawed to +be a shadder of a man in my mind; but now I sees en real flaish'n blood; +an' maybe--maybe he'll seek me out an' kill me for what's done." + +"I do creem to hear 'e, gal! No, no, Joe Noy's a God fearin' sawl." + +"If he'd forgive me fust, I'd so soon he killed me as not. Sam Martin +killed Widow Garth's gal 'cause she were ontrue to en; an' a many said +'twas wrong to hang en to Bodmin. Death's my deserts, same as Ann Garth; +an' she got it; an' I doan't care how soon I do. None wants me no more, nor +what I'm breedin' neither. I'd die now, an' smilin', if 'tweern't for +arterwards." + +"Cuss the letter!" said Uncle Chirgwin, getting red in the face. "Cuss it, +I says, for gwaine an' turnin' up just this day! A fortnight later you +could 'a' looked on it wi' quiet mind an' knawed wheer to turn; to-day's +it's just bin an' undone what was done. Not but what 'tis as butivul a +letter as ever comed off the sea; but if theer'd awnly been time to +'stablish 'e 'fore it comed! Now you've turned your back 'pon the Household +o' Faith just as arms was being stretched out that lovin'." + +"Faith won't undo what I've done, nor yet make my wickedness fall lighter +for Joe. Yes, 'twas wicked, wicked, wicked. I knaw it now." + +Mary and Tom came in from different directions about this time. The latter +had regaled himself with a peep at "auld bull," heard the terrific snorting +of his nostrils and observed how he bellowed mightily at durance on such an +afternoon. Tea being finished, the boy started homeward with a basket of +fresh eggs and butter, a pound of cream and some early apples of a sort +used for cider, but yet equal to the making of a pie. + +"As for the butter, 'tis Joan's churnin'," said Mary, "but you'd best not +to tell your faither that, else, so like's not, he'll pitch it into the +sea. If us could send en a pound o' charity, I doubt he'd be better for't." + +"Faither's a holy man, whatever else he be," said Tom stoutly. "He doan't +want for no good qualities like, 'cause what he doan't knaw 'bout God edn' +worth knawin'." + +Mary laughed. It was a feat she seldom performed, and the sound of her +amusement lacked joy. + +"Well, us won't argue 'bout en. You'm right to say that. Be the basket too +heavy for 'e?" + +"No! not likely. Have 'e ever seed my forearm, Polly?" + +"Never. I will another time. Best be gwaine, else you'll be late for +chapel." + +So Tom marched off, and Mary, returning to the house, heard of Joan's +letter. + +The old gusts of misery, sorrow, indignation, rose in her heart again then, +but faintly, like the dying flutter of winds that have blown themselves +out. She tried to find a way of bringing comfort to her cousin, but failed. +Joan had retired and refused consolation. + +The glory of splendid summer hours passed away; the long twilight sank to +darkness; the opal lights in the west at last died under the silver of the +moon. And then, like a child weary with crying, Joan slept, while Mary, +creeping a third time to see and speak with her, departed silently. But she +did not sleep; and her wakefulness was fortunate, for long after eleven +o'clock came a noisy summons at the outer door. Looking from her room which +faced the front of the house, the woman saw Tom with his full basket +standing clearly defined below. The world of the weald and woods shimmered +silvery in dew and moonlight. Infinite silence reigned. Then the boy's +small, indignant voice broke it. + +"You'll have to let me in, I reckon. Blamed if I doan't think you was right +'bout faither arter all." + +The reason for Tom's return may be briefly told. He had taken his basket +home and got it safely under cover to his mother. Then, after chapel, Gray +Michael went into the village, and Thomasin had an opportunity to ask some +of those questions she was burning to put. + +"An' how be Joan?" she began. + +"Wisht an' drawed thin 'bout the faace seemin'ly. An' Joe's letter just +made her cry fit to bust her eyes, 'stead o' cheerin' of her like." + +"Poor lass. I dedn' expect nothin' differ'nt. I've most a mind to go up +Drift an' see her--for a reason I've thot upon. Did Joan say anythin' 'bout +a last will an' testament to 'e?" + +"No, nothin' 'bout anything worth namin'. But Polly had a deal to say. Her +wished her could send faither a pound o' charity 'stead o' butter." + +"She dared!" + +At that moment Mr. Tregenza returned to supper, and soon afterward his son +went to bed. The lad had not been asleep half an hour before Gray Michael +came across the basket from Drift. Two minutes later Tom heard the thunder +of his father's voice. + +"Tom! you come down here an' be sharp about it!" + +The boy tumbled out of bed instantly, and went down to the kitchen in his +nightshirt and trousers. Michael Tregenza was standing by the table. Upon +it appeared the basket from Drift, stored with cream, butter, eggs and +apples. Thomasin sat in the low chair by the fire with her apron over her +face, and that was always a bad sign, as Tom knew. + +"What day be this, bwoy?" began Michael. + +"The Lard's, faither." + +"Ay: the Lard's awn day, though you've forgot it seemin'ly." + +"No I abbun, faither." + +"Doan't 'e answer me 'cept I tells you to. Where did these things come +from?" + +"Drift, faither. Uncle Chirgwin bid me bring 'em with his respects." + +"Did you tell en 'twas breakin' the commandments?" + +"No, faither." + +"Why didn't 'e? You knawed it yourself." + +"Iss, faither; but uncle's a ancient man, an' I guessed he knawed so well +as me, an' I reckoned 'twould be sauce for such as me to say anything to a +auld, gray body like him." + +"Sinners is all colors an' ages. Another time doan't you do what's wrong, +whether 'tis auld or young as tempts 'e to't. You'm a Luke Gosp'ler, an' it +edn' being a shinin' light 'tall to go wrong just because wan as did ought +to knaw wiser an' doan't, tells 'e to. Now you can lace on your boots, as +soon as you'm minded to, an' traapse up Drift with that theer basket an' +all in it. 'Twon't harm godless folks to wake 'em an' faace 'em with their +wrongdoing. An' I lay you'll remember another time." + +Tom, knowing that words would be utterly wasted, went back to his attic, +dressed, and started. He had the satisfaction of eating apples in the +moonlight and of posing as a bitterly wronged boy at Drift when Mary came +down, lighted a candle, and let him into the house. + +Uncle Chirgwin also appeared, and said some hard things in a sleepy voice, +while Tom drank cider and ate a big slice of bread and bacon. + +"A terrible Old Testament man, your faither, sure 'nough," said Uncle +Chirgwin. "Be you gwaine to stop the night 'long o' us or no?" + +"Not me! I got to be in the bwoat 'fore half-past five to-morrer marnin'." + +"This marnin' 'tis," said Mary, "or will be in a few minutes. An' you can +tell your faither what I said 'bout charity, if you like. I sez it again, +an' it won't hurt en to knaw." + +"But it might hurt me to tell. The less said soonest mended wi' faither." + +Tom departed, the lighter for his basket. He flung a stone at a hare, +listened to the jarring of a night-hawk, and finally returned home about +one o'clock. Both his parents were awaiting him, and the boy saw that his +mother had been enduring some trouble on his behalf. + +"Mind, my son, hencefarrard that the Sabbath is the Lard thy God's. You may +have done others a good turn besides yourself this night." + +"What did they say, Tom?" asked his mother. + +"They wasn't best pleased. They said a hard sayin' I'd better not to say +agin," answered the boy, heavy with sleep. + +"Let it be. Us doan't want to hear it. Get you to bed. An', mind, the bwoat +at the steps by half-past five to-morrer." + +"Ay, ay, faither." + +Then Tom vanished, his parents went to their rest, and the cottage on the +cliff slept within the music of the sea, its thatch all silver-bright under +a summer moon. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +A BARGAIN FOR MRS. TREGENZA + + +To the superficial eye dead hopes leave ugly traces; viewed more +inquiringly the cryptic significance of them appears; and that is often +beautiful. Joan's soul looked out of her blue eyes now. Seen thoughtfully +her beauty was refined and exalted to an exquisite perfection; but the +unintelligent observer had simply pronounced her pale and thin. The event +which first promised to destroy the new-spun gossamers of a religious faith +and break them even on the day of their creation, in reality acted +otherwise. For Joan, Joe's letter was like a window opening upon a hopeless +dawn; and her helplessness before this spectacle of the future threw the +girl upon religion--not as a sure rock in the storm of her life, but as a +straw to the hand of the drowning. The world had nothing else left in it +for her. She, to whom sunshine and happiness were the breath of life, she +who had envied butterflies their joyous being, now stood before a future +all uphill and gray, lonely and loveless. As yet but the dawn of affection +for the unborn child lightened her mind. Thought upon that subject went +hand in hand with fear of pain. And now, in her dark hours, Joan happily +did not turn to feed upon her own heart, but fled from it. For distraction +she read the four Gospels feverishly day by day, and she prayed long to the +Lord of them by night. + +Mary helped her in an earnest, cheerless fashion, and before her cousin's +solicitude, Joan's eyes opened to another thought: the old friendship +between Mary and Joe Noy. It had wakened once, on her first arrival at +Drift, then slept again till now. She was troubled to see the other woman's +indifference, and she formed plans to bring these two together again. The +act of getting away from herself and thinking for others brought some +comfort to her heart and seemed to rise indirectly out of her reading. + +The Christianity of Drift was old-fashioned, and reflected the Founder. No +distractions rose between Joan and the story. She took it at first hand, +escaping thus from those petty follies and fooleries which blight and fog +the real issues today. She sucked her new faith pure. A noble rule of +conduct lay before her; she dimly discerned something of its force; and +unselfishness appeared in her, proving that she had read aright. As for the +dogma, she opened her arms to that very readily because it was beautiful +and promised so much. Faith's votaries never turn critical eyes upon the +foundations of her gorgeous fabric; their sight is fixed aloft on the +rainbow towers and pinnacles, upon the golden fanes. And yet this man-born +structure of theology, with aisles and pillars fretting and crumbling under +the hand of reason, needs such eternal propping, restoring and repairing, +that priestly tinkers, masons, hod-carriers are solely occupied with it. +They grapple and fight for the poor shadows of dogma by which they live, +and, so engaged, the spirit and substance of religion is by them altogether +lost. None of the Christian churches will ever be overcrowded with men who +possess brain-power worthy the name. Mediocrity and ignorance may starve, +but talent and any new nostrum to strangle reason and keep the rot from the +fabric will always open their coffers. + +Joan truly found the dogma more grateful and comforting than anything else +within her experience, and the apparition of a flesh and blood God, who had +saved her with His own life's blood before she was born, appeared too +beautiful and sufficing to be less than true. Her eyes, shut so long, +seemed opening at last. With errors that really signify nothing, she drew +to herself great truths that matter much and are vital to all elevated +conduct. She thought of other people and looked at them as one wakened from +sleep. And, similarly, she looked at Nature. Even her vanished lover had +not taught her all. There were truths below the formulae of his worship; +there were secrets deeper than his intellectual plummet had ever sounded. +Without understanding it, Joan yet knew that a change had come to pass in +material things. Sunshine on the deep sea hid more matters for wonder than +John Barron had taught or known. Once only as yet had she caught a glimpse +of Nature's beating heart; and that was upon the occasion of her visit to +St. Madron's chapel. She was lifted up then for a magic hour; but the lurid +end of that day looked clearer afterward than ever the dewy dawn of it. +Nature had smiled mutely and dumbly at her sufferings for long months since +then. But now added knowledge certainly grew, and from a matrix mightier +than the love of Nature or of man, was Joan's new life born. It embraced a +new sight, new senses, ambitions, fears and hopes. + +Joan went to church at every opportunity. Faith seemed so easy, and soon so +necessary. Secret prayer became a real thing to be approached with joy. To +own to sins was as satisfactory as casting down a heavy burden at a +journey's end; to confess them to God was to know that they were forgiven. +There were not many clouds in her religious sky. As Mary's religion was +bounded by her own capabilities and set forth against a background of +gloom, which never absolutely vanished save in moments of rare exaltation, +so Joan's newfound faith took upon itself an aspect of sunshine. Her clouds +were made beautiful by the new light; they did not darken it. Mary's gray +Cornish mind kept sentiment out of sight. She lived with clear eyes always +focusing reality as it appeared to her. Heaven was indeed a pleasanter +eternal fact than hell; yet the place of torment existed on Bible +authority; and it was idle to suppose it existed for nothing. Grasping +eternity as a truth, she occupied herself in strenuous preparation; which +preparation took the form of good works and personal self-denial. Joan +belonged to an order of emotional creatures widely different. She loved the +beautiful for its own sake, kept her face to the sun when it shone, +shivered and shut up like a scarlet pimpernel if bad weather was abroad. +And now a chastened sunshine, daily growing stronger, shot through the +present clouds, painted beauty on their fringes, and lighted the darkness +of their recesses so that even the secrets of suffering were fitfully +revealed. Joan grasped at new thoughts, the outcome of her new road. + +Nature presently seemed of a nobler face, and certain immemorial +achievements of man also flashed out in the side-light of the new +convictions; as objects, themselves inconsiderable, will suddenly develop +unsuspected splendors from change of standpoint in the beholder. The magic +of that Christianity, which Joan now received directly from her Bible, +wrought and embroidered a new significance into many things. And it worked +upon none as upon the old crosses, some perfect still, some ruined as to +arm or shaft, some quite worn out and gnawed by time from their original +semblance. These dotted her native land. Them she had always loved, but now +they appeared marvelously transfigured, and the soul hid in their granite +beamed through it. Supposing the true menhirs to be but ruined crosses +also, Joan shed on them no scantier affection than upon the less venerable +Brito-Celtic records of Christianity. Bid so to do, and prompted also by +her inclination, the girl was wont to take walks of some length for her +health's sake; and these had an object now. As her dead mother's legends +came back to her memory and knit Nature to her new Saviour, so the +weather-beaten stones brought Him likewise nearer, marked the goal of +precious daily pilgrimages, and filled a sad young life with friends. + +Returning from a visit to Tremathick cross, where it stands upon a little +mound on the St. Just road, Joan heard a thin and well-known voice before +she saw the speaker. It was Mrs. Tregenza, who had walked over to drink tea +and satisfy herself on sundry points respecting her stepdaughter. + +"Oh, my Guy Faux, Polly!" she said upon arriving, "I'm in a reg'lar take to +be here, though I knaws Michael's t'other side the islands an' won't fetch +home 'fore marnin'. I've comed 'cause I couldn't keep from it no more. +How's her doin', poor tibby lamb, wi' all them piles o' money tu. Not that +money did ought to make a differ'nce, but it do, an' that's the truth, an' +it edn' no good makin' as though it doan't. What a world, to be sure! An' +that letter from Noy? I knaw you was fond of en likewise in your time. The +sadness of it! Just think o' that mariner comin' home 'pon top o' this +mishap." + +Mary winced and answered coldly that the world was full of mishaps and of +sadness. + +"The man must face sorrer same as what us all have got to, Mrs. Tregenza. +Some gets more, some gets less, as the sparks fly up'ard. Joe Noy's got +religion tu." + +Mary spoke the last words with some bitterness, which she noted too late +and set against herself for a sin. + +"Oh, my dear sawl," said Mrs. Tregenza, looking round nervously, as though +she feared the shadow of her husband might be listening. "Luke Gosp'ling's +a mighty uncomfortable business, though I lay Tregenza'd most kill me if he +heard the word. 'Tedn' stomachable to all, an' I doubts whether 'twill be a +chain strong enough to hold Joe Noy, when he comes back to find this coil. +'Tis a kicklish business an' I wish 'twas awver. Joe's a fiery feller when +he reckons he's wronged; an' there ban't no balm to this hurt in Gosp'ling, +take it as you will. I tell you, in your ear awnly, that Luke Gosp'lers +graw ferocious like along o' the wickedness o' the airth. Take Michael, as +walks wi' the Lard, same as Moses done; an' the more he do, the ferociouser +he do get. Religion! He stinks o' religion worse than ever Newlyn stinks o' +feesh; he goes in fear o' God to his marrow; an' yet 'tis uncomfortable, +now an' then, to live wi' such a righteous member. Theer's a sourness along +of it. Luke Gosp'ling doan't soften the heart of en." + +"It should," said Mary. + +"An's so it should, but he says the world's no plaace for softness. He'm a +terror to the evildoer; an' he'm a terror to the righteous-doer; an' to +hisself no less, I reckon; an' to God A'mighty tu, so like's not. The +friends of en be as feared of en as his foes be. An' that's awful wisht, +'cause he goes an' comes purty nigh alone. The Gosp'lers be like fry flyin' +this way an' that 'fore a school o' mackerl when Michael's among 'em. Even +minister, he do shrivel a inch or two 'longside o' Michael. I've seen en +wras'lin' wi' the Word same as Jacob wras'led wi' the angel. An' yet, why? +Theer's a man chosen for glory this five-an'-forty years, an' he knaws it +so well as I do, or any wan." + +"He knaws nothin' o' the sort. The best abbun no right to say it," declared +Mary. + +Then Mrs. Tregenza fired up, for she resented any criticism on this subject +other than her own. + +"An' why not, Polly Chirgwin? Who's a right to doubt it? Not you, I reckon, +Ban't your plaace to judge a man as walks wi' God, like Moses done. If +Michael edn' saved, then theer's no sawl saved 'pon land or sea. You +talk--a young maiden! His sawl was bleedin' an' his hands raw a batterin' +the gate o' heaven 'fore you was born, Polly--ay, an' he'd got the +bettermost o' the devil wance for all 'fore you was conceived in the womb; +you mind that." + +"Us caan't get the bettermost o' the devil wance for all," said Mary, +changing the issue, "no--not no more'n us can wash our skin clean wance for +all. But you an' me thinks differ'nt an' allus shall, Mrs. Tregenza." + +"Iss, though I s'pose 'tis the same devil as takes backslidin' church or +chapel folks. Let that bide now. Wheer's Joan to? I've got to thank 'e +kindly for lookin' arter Tom t'other Sunday night. Tis things like that +makes religion uncomfortable. But you gived the bwoy some tidy belly-timber +in the small hours o' day, an' he comed home dog-tired, but none the worse. +An' thank 'e for they apples an' cream an' eggs, which I'm sorry they had +sich poor speed. A butivul basket as hurt me to the heart to paart with. +But I wasn't asked. No offense, I hope, 'bout it? Maybe uncle forgot 'twas +the Lard's day?" + +"He'm the last ever to do that." + +Joan entered at this point in the conversation and betrayed some slight +emotion as her stepmother kissed her. It was nearly five months since they +had met, and Mary now departed, leaving them to discuss Joan's physical +condition. + +"I be doin' clever," said Joan, "never felt righter in body." + +Mrs. Tregenza poured forth good advice, and after a lengthy conversation +came to a secret ambition and broached it with caution. + +"I called to mind some baaby's things--shoes, clouts, frocks an' sich-like +as I've got snug in lavender to home. They was all flam-new for Tom, an' I +judged I'd have further use for 'em, but never did. Theer they be, even to +a furry-cloth, as none doan't ever use nowadays, though my mother did, and +thot well on't. So I did tu. 'Tis just a bit o' crimson red tailor's cloth +to cover the soft plaace 'pon a lil baaby's head 'fore the bones of en graw +together. An' I reckon 'tis better to have it then not. I seem you'd do +wise to take the whole kit; an' you'm that well-to-do that 'twouldn' be +worth thinkin' 'bout. 'Twould be cheaper'n a shop; an' theer's everything a +royal duke's cheel could want; an' a butivul robe wi' lacework cut 'pon it, +an' lil bits o' ribbon to tie in the armholes Sundays. They'm vitty +clothes." + +Joan's eyes softened to a misty dreaminess before this aspect of the time +to come. She had thought so little about the baby and all matters +pertaining thereto, that every day now brought with it mental novelty +and a fresh view of that experience stored for her in the future. + +"Iss, I do mind they things when Tom was in 'em. What be the value in +money?" + +Mrs. Tregenza answered shyly and almost respectfully. + +"Well, 'tis so difficult to say, not bein' a reg'lar seller o' things. They +cost wi'out the robe, as was a gift from Mrs. Blight, more'n five pound." + +"Take ten pound, then. I'll tell uncle." + +Thomasin's red tongue-tip crept along her lips and her bright eyes blinked, +but conscience was too strong. + +"No, no--a sight too much--too much by half. I'll let 'e have the lot for a +fi'-pun' note. An' I'd like it to be a new wan, if 'tis the same to you." + +Joan agreed to this, and ten minutes afterward Uncle Chirgwin was opening +his cash-box and handing Thomasin the snowy, crackling fragment she +desired. + +"'Tis the fust bit o' money ever I kept unbeknawnst to Michael," she said, +"an', 'pon me life, Chirgwin, I be a'most 'feared on't." + +"You'll soon get awver that," declared Uncle Thomas. "I'll send the trap +home with 'e, an' you can look out the frippery; an' you might send a nice +split bake back-along with it, if you've got the likes of sich a thing +gwaine beggin' to be ate." + +Presently Mrs. Tregenza drove away and Joan went to her room to think. +Magic effects had risen from the spectacle of the well-remembered face, +from the sound of the sharp, high voice. A new sensation grew out of them +for Joan. Home rose like a vision, with the sighing of the sea, the crying +of the gulls, the musical rattle of blocks in the bay, the clink, clink of +picks in the quarry, the occasional thunder of a blast. Many odors were +with her: the smell of tar and twine and stores, the scent of drying fish. +She saw the low cliffs all gemmed at this season with moon-flowers--the +great white convolvulus which twinkled there. A red and purple fuchsia in +the garden, had blossomed also. She could see the bees climbing into its +drooping bells. She remembered their music, as it murmured drowsily from +dead and gone summers, and sounded sweeter than the song of the bees at +Drift. She heard the tinkle of a stream outside the cottage, where it ran +under the hedge through a shute and emptied itself into a great +half-barrel; and then, turning her thoughts to the house, her own attic, +with the view of St. Michael's Mount and the bay, rose in thought, with +every detail distinct, even to the glass scent-bottle on the mantel-piece, +and the colored print of John Wesley being rescued in his childhood from a +burning house. These and kindred memories made a live picture to Joan's +eyes. For the first time since she had left her home the girl found in her +heart a desire to return to it. She awoke next morning with the old +recollections increased and multiplied; and the sensation bred from +continued contemplation was the sensation of a loss. + + + + + + +BOOK THREE + +CHANCE + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +OF THE CROSSES + + +The significance of the ancient crosses in Joan Tregenza's latest phase of +mental growth becomes much finer after learning somewhat more concerning +them than she could ever know. The ephemeral life of one unhappy woman +viewed from these granite records of Brito-Celtic pagan and Christian +faith, examined in its relation to these hoary splinters of stone, grows an +object of some pathetic interest. Such memorials of the past as are here +indicated, vary mightily in age. The Christian monuments are not older than +the fifth century, but many have been proved palimpsests and rise on pagan +foundations dating from a time far more ancient than their own. The relics +are divided into two classes by antiquarians: Pillar Stones and Sculptured +Crosses. The former occur throughout the Celtic divisions of Great Britain, +and are sometimes marked with the Chi Rho monogram, or early rude cross +form. In most cases these earlier erections indicated a grave, while the +sculptured crosses either denoted boundaries of sanctuary, or were raised +promiscuously where men and women passed or congregated, their object being +to encourage devotion and lead human thoughts heavenward. The designs on +these monuments are usually a bad imitation of Irish key patterns and +spirals; but many, in addition, show crucifixes in their midst, with +pre-Norman figures depicting the Christ in a loose tunic or shirt, his head +erect and his body alive, after the Byzantine fashion. The mediaeval mode +of carving a corpse on the cross is of much later date and may not be +observed before the twelfth century. + +More than three hundred of these sculptured crosses have been discovered +within the confines of Cornwall. In churchyards and churchyard walls they +stand; they have even been discovered wrought into the fabric of the +churches themselves; the brown moor likewise knows them, for they stud its +wildernesses and rise at the crossways of many lonely roads; while +elsewhere, villages hold them in their hearts, and the emblem rises daily +before the sight of generation upon generation. In hedges they are also to +be seen, and in fields; many have been rescued from base uses; and all have +stood through the centuries as the sign and testimony of primitive Cornish +faith, even as St. Piran's white cross on a black ground, the first banner +of Cornwall, bore aloft the same symbol in days when the present emblem, +with its fifteen bezants and its motto, "One and All," was not dimly +dreamed of. + +These ancient crosses now rose like gray sentinels on the gray life of Joan +Tregenza. At Drift she was happily placed among them, and many, not +necessary to separately name, lay within the limit of her daily wanderings, +and her superstitious nature, working with the new-born faith, wove +precious mystery into them. Much she loved the more remote and lonely +stones, for beside them, hidden from the world's eye, she could pray. Those +others about which circled human lives attracted her less frequently. To +her the crosses were sentient creatures above the fret of Time, eternally +watching human affairs. The dawn of art as shown in early religious +sculpture generally amuses an ignorant mind, but, to Joan, the little +shirted figures of her new Saviour, which opened blind eyes on the stones +she loved, were matter for sorrow rather than amusement. They did by no +means repel her, despite the superficial hideousness of them; indeed, with +a sort of intuition, Joan told herself that human hands had fashioned them +somewhere in the dawn of the world when yet her Lord's blood was newly +shed, at a time before men had learned skill to make beautiful things. + +Once, beside the foot of the cross which stood in Sancreed [Footnote: This +fine sculptured cross has since these events been placed within the said +churchyard, at the desire of Mr. A. G. Langdon, the greatest living +authority on the subject of Cornish remains.] churchyard wall, between two +tree-trunks under a dome of leaves, the girl found growing a spotted +persicaria, and the force of the discovery at such a spot was great to her. +Familiar with the legend of the purple mark on every leaf of the plant, +nothing doubting that it had aforetime grown at the foot of the true cross +and there been splashed with the blood of her Master, Joan accepted the old +story that henceforth the weed was granted this proud livery and badge of +blood. And now, finding it here, the fable revived with added truth and +conviction, the legend of the persicaria was as true to her as that other +of the Lord's resurrection from death. Thus her views of Nature suffered +some approach to debasement in a new direction, but this degradation, so to +call it, brought mighty comfort to her soul, daily rounded the ragged edges +of life, woke merciful trust and belief in a promised life of bliss beyond +the grave, and embroidered thereupon a patchwork, not unbeautiful, built of +fairy folk-lore, saintly legend and venerable myth. Her credulous nature +accepted right and left; anything that harbored a promise or was lovely or +wonderful in itself found acceptance; and Joan read into the very pulses of +the summer world the truth as she now understood it. Cornwall suddenly +became a new Holy Land to the girl. Here the circumstances of life chimed +with those recorded in the New Testament, and it was an easy mental +achievement to transplant her Saviour from a historical environment into +her own. She pictured Him as walking amid Uncle Chirgwin's ripening corn; +she saw Him place His hands on the heads of the little children at cottage +doors; she imagined Him standing upon one of the stranded luggers in Newlyn +harbor with the gulls floating round His head and the fishermen listening +to his utterance. + +The growing mother instincts in Joan also developed about this season. They +leaped from comparative quiescence into activity; they may indeed be +recorded as having arisen within her after a manner not less sudden than +had the new faith itself, which was exhibited to you as blossoming with an +abruptness almost violent, because it thus occurred. Now most channels of +thought led Joan to her unborn infant, and there came at length an occasion +upon which she prayed for the first time that her child might be justified +in its existence. + +The petition was raised where, in the past, she had uttered one widely +different: at the altar-stone in the ruined baptistery of Saint Madron. +Thither on a day in early August, Joan traveled by short cuts over fields +which brought the chapel within reach of Drift. The scene had changed from +that of her former visit, and summer was keeping the promises of spring. +Yellow stars of biting stone-crop covered the walls of the ruin; the fruit +of the blackthorn was growing purple, of the hawthorn, red; the lesser +dodder crept, like pink lacework, over furze and heather; bright-eyed +euphrasy and sweet wild thyme were murmured over by many bees; at the +altar's foot grew brake fern and towering foxgloves; while upon the sacred +stone itself brambles laid their fruit, a few ripe blackberries shining +from clusters of red and green. Seeding grasses and docks likewise +nourished within the little chapel, and ragged robins and dandelions +brought the best beauty they had. Among which matters, hid in loneliness, +to the sound of that hymn of life which rises in a whisper from all earth +at summer noon, Joan prayed for her baby that it might not be born in vain. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +HOME + + +Among the varied ambitions now manifested by Joan was one already hinted +at--one which increased to the displacement of smaller interests: she much +desired to see again her home, if but for the space of an hour. The days +and weeks of an unusually smiling summer brought autumn, and with it the +cutting of golden grain; but the bustle and custom of harvest failed to +draw Joan among her kind. Human life faded somewhat, even to the verge of +unreality with her. Silence fell upon her, and a gravity of demeanor which +was new to the beholders. Uncle Chirgwin and Mary were alike puzzled at +this sign, and, misunderstanding the nature of the change, feared that the +girl's spiritual development must be meeting unseen opposition. Whims and +moods were proper to her condition, so the farmer maintained; but the fancy +of eternally sequestering herself, the conceit of regarding as friends +those ancient stones of the moor and crossroads, was beyond his power to +appreciate. To Mary such conduct presented even greater elements of +mystery. Yet the fact faced them, and the crosses came in time to be one of +the few subjects which Joan cared to talk upon. Even then it was to her +uncle alone she opened her heart concerning them: Mary never unlocked the +inner nature of her cousin. + +"I got names o' my awn for each of 'em," Joan confessed, "an' I seem they +do knaw my comin' an' my secrets an' my troubles. They teach me the force +o' keepin' my mouth shut; an' much mixin' wi' other folks arter the silence +o' the stones 'mazes me--men an' wummen do chatter so." + +"An' so did you, lassie, an' weern't none the worse. Us doan't hear your +purty voice enough now." + +"'Tis better thinkin' than talkin', Uncle Thomas. I abbun nort to talk +'bout, you see, but a power o' things to think of. The auld stones speaks +to me solemn, though they can't talk. They'm wise, voiceless things an' +brings God closer. An' me, an' all the world o' grass an' flowers, an' the +lil chirruping griggans [Footnote: Grasshoppers.] do seem so young beside +'em; but they'm big an' kind. They warm my heart somethin' braave; an' they +let the gray mosses cling to 'em an' the dinky blue butterflies open an' +shut their wings 'pon 'em, an' the bramble climb around theer arms. They've +tawld me a many good things; an' fust as I must be humbler in my bearin'. +Wance I said I'd forgive faither, an' I thot 'twas a fair thing to say; now +I awnly wants en to forgive me an' let me come to my time wi' no man's +anger hot agin me. If I could win just a peep o' home. I may never see it +no more arter, 'cause things might fall out bad wi' me." + +"'Tis nachrul as you harp on it; an', blame me, if I sees why you shouldn' +go down-long. Us might ride in the cart an' no harm done." + +"Ay, do 'e come, theer's a dear sawl. Just to look upon the plaace--" + +"As for that, if us goes, us must see the matter through an' give your +faither the chance to do what's right by 'e." + +"He'll not change; but still I'd have en hear me tell I'm in sorrer for the +ill I brot 'pon his name." + +"Ay, facks! 'Tis a wise word an' a right. Us'll go this very arternoon. You +get a odd pound or so o' scald cream, an' I'll see to a basket o' fruit wi' +some o' they scoured necterns, as ban't no good for sellin', but eats so +well as t'others. Iss, we'll go so soon as dinner be swallowed. Wishes +doan't run in a body's head for nothin'." + +Uncle Chirgwin's old market-cart, with the gray horse and the squeaking +wheel, rattled off to Newlyn some two hours later, and the ordeal, longed +for at a distance, towered tremendous and less beautiful at nearer +approach. When they started, Joan had hoped that her father might be at +home; as they neared Newlyn she felt a growing relief in the reflection +that his presence ashore was exceedingly improbable. Her anxieties were +forgotten for a few moments at sight of the well-known outlines of the +hills above the village. Now arrish-mows--little thatched stacks some eight +feet high--glimmered in the pale gilded stubbles of the fields; the +orchards gleamed with promise; the foliage of the elms was at its darkest +before the golden dawn of autumn. Well-remembered sights rose on Joan's +misty eyes with the music proper to them; then came the smell of the sea +and the jolting of the cart, going slowly over rough stones. Narrow, steep +streets and sharp corners had to be traversed not only with caution but at +a speed which easily placed Joan within the focus of many glances. Troubles +and humiliation of a sort wholly unexpected burst suddenly upon her, +bringing the girl's mind rudely back from dreams born of the familiar +scene. Newlyn women bobbed about their cottage doors with hum and stir, and +every gossip's mouth was full of news at this entry. Doors and windows +filled with curious heads and bright eyes; there was some laughter in the +air; fishermen got up with sidelong looks from the old masts or low walls +whereon, during hours of leisure, they sat in rows and smoked. Joan, all +aflame, prayed Uncle Chirgwin to hasten, which he did to the best of his +power; but their progress was of necessity slow, and local curiosity +enjoyed full scope and play. Tears came to the girl's eyes long before the +village was traversed; then, through a mist of them, she saw a hand +stretched to meet her own and heard a voice which rang kindly on her ears. +It was Sally Trevennick, who faced the spiteful laughter without flinching +and said a few loud, friendly words, though indeed her well-meant support +brought scant comfort with it for the victim. + +"Lard sakes! Joan, doan't 'e take on so at them buzzin' fools! 'Tedn' the +trouble, 'tis the money make 'em clatter! Bah! Wheer's the wan of them +black-browed gals as 'alf the money wouldn' buy? You keep a bold faace, an' +doan't let 'em see as their sniggerin's aught more to 'e than dog-barking." + +"Us'll be theer in a minute," added Mr. Chirgwin, "an' I'll drive back agin +by Mouzle; then you'll 'scape they she-cats. I never thot as you'd a got to +stand that dressin' down in a plaace what's knawed you an' yours these many +years." + +Joan asked Sally Trevennick whether she could say if Gray Michael was on +the water, and she felt very genuine thankfulness on learning that Sally +believed so. Two minutes later the spring-cart reached level ground above +the sea, then, whipping up his horse, Uncle Chirgwin increased the pace, +and very quickly Joan found herself at the door of home. + +Thomasin was within, and, hearing the sound of wheels cease before the +cottage, came forth to learn who had arrived. Her surprise was only equaled +by her alarm at sight of Joan and Mr. Chirgwin. So frightened indeed did +she appear that both the newcomers supposed Mr. Tregenza must be within. +Such, however, was not the case, and Joan's stepmother explained the nature +of her fears. + +"He'm to sea, but the whole world do knaw you be come, I'll lay; an' he'll +knaw tu. Sure's death some long-tongued female will babble it to en 'fore +he's off the quay. Then what?" + +"'Tedn' your fault anyways," declared Uncle Thomas. "Joan's wisht an' sad +to see home agin, as was right an' proper; an' in her present way she've +got to be humored. So I've brot her, an' what blame comes o't my shoulders +is more'n broad enough to carry. I wish, for my paart, as Michael was home, +so's I might faace en when Joan says what her've comed to say. I be gwaine +to Penzance now, 'pon a matter o' business, an' I'll come back here in an +hour or so an' drink a dish o' tea along with you 'fore we staarts." + +He drove away immediately, and for a while Joan was left with Mrs. +Tregenza. The latter's curiosity presently soothed her fears, and almost +the first thing she began to talk about was that "will and testament" which +she had long since urged upon her stepdaughter. But the girl, moving about +in the well-known orchard, had no attention for anything but the sights, +sounds and scents around her. Silently and not unhappily she basked in old +sensations renewed; and they filled her heart. Meanwhile Thomasin kept up a +buzz of conversation concerning Joan's money and Joan's future. + +"Touchin' that bit o' writin'! Do 'e see to it, soas; 'tis awnly wisdom. +Theer's allus a fear wi' the fust, specially in the case o' a pin-tail +built lass like you be. An' if you was took, which God forbid, theer'd be +that mort o' money to come to Michael, him bein' your faither--that is, +s'pose the cheel was took tu, which God forbid likewise. An' he'd burn +it--every note--I mean Michael. Now if you was to name Tom--just in case o' +accidents--? He'm of your awn blood by's faither." + +"But my baaby must be fust." + +"In coorse er must. 'Tis lawful an' right. Love childern do come as sweet +an' innercent on to the airth as them born o' wedlock--purty sawls. 'Tis +the fashion to apprentice 'em to theer faithers mostly, an' they be a sort +o' poor cousins o' the rightful fam'ly; but your lil wan--well--theer edn' +gwaine to be any 'poor cousin' talk 'bout en--if en do live. But I was +talkin' o' the will." + +"I've writ it out all fair in ink 'cordin' as Uncle Chirgwin advised," said +Joan. "Fust comes my cheel, then Tom. Uncle sez theer ban't no call to name +others. I wanted hisself to take a half on it, but he said theer weren't no +need an' he wouldn't nohow." + +"Quite right," declared Thomasin. "Iss fay! He be a plain dealer an' a good +righteous man." + +Joan's thoughts meanwhile were mainly concerned with her surroundings, and +when she had walked thrice about the garden, visited the pigs, peeped into +the tool-house to smell the paint and twine, noted the ripening plums and a +promising little crop of beets coming on in the field beyond, she went +indoors. There a pair of Michael's tall sea-boots stood in the chimney +corner, with a small pair of Tom's beside them; the old, well-remembered +crockery shone from the dresser; geraniums and begonias filled the window; +on a basket at the right of the fireside stood a small blue plate with gold +lettering upon it and a picture of Saltash Bridge in the middle. The legend +ran--_A present for a good girl_. It was a gift from her father to +Joan, on her tenth birthday. She picked it up, polished it, and asked for a +piece of paper to wrap it in, designing to carry the trifle away with her. + +Every old nook and corner had been visited by the time that Uncle Chirgwin +returned. Then all sat down to eat and drink, and the taste of the tea went +still further to quicken Joan's memory. + +Mrs. Tregenza gave them such information as suggested itself to her during +the progress of the meal. She was chiefly concerned about her son. + +"Cruel 'ard worked he be, sure 'nough," she murmured. "'Tis contrary to +reason a boy can graw when he's made to sweat same as Tom be. An' short for +his age as 'tis. But butivul broad, an' 'mazin' strong, an' a fine sight to +see en ate his food. Then the Gosp'lers--well, they'm cold friends to the +young. A bwoy like him caan't feel religion in his blood same as grawed +folks." + +"Small blame to en," said Joan promptly. "Let en go to church an' hear +proper holy ministers in black an' white gownds, an' proper words set down +in print, same as what I do now." + +"I'd as soon not have my flaish creep down the spine 'pon Sundays as not," +confessed Thomasin, "but Michael's Michael, an' so all's said." + +Uncle Chirgwin went to smoke a pipe and water his horse at this juncture; +but he returned within less than ten minutes. + +"It's blowin'," he said, "an' the fust skew o' gray rain's breakin' over +the sea. I knawed 'twas comin' by my corns. The bwoats is sailin' back +tu--a frothin' in proper ower the lumpy water." + +"Then you'd best be movin'," said Mrs. Tregenza. "I judged bad-fashioned +weather was comin' tu when I touched the string o' seaweed as hangs by the +winder. 'Tis clammy to the hand. God save us!" she continued, turning from +the door, "theer's ourn at the moorin's! They've been driv' back 'fore us +counted 'pon seein' 'em by the promise of storm. Get you gone, for the love +o' the Lard; an' go Mouzle way, else you'll run on top o' Michael for +sure." + +"Ban't no odds if us do. Joan had a mind to see en," answered the farmer; +but Joan spoke for herself. She explained that she now wished to depart +without seeing her father if possible. + +It was, however, too late to escape the meeting. Even as the twain bade +Mrs. Tregenza a hasty farewell, heavy feet sounded on the cobbles at the +cottage door and a moment later Tregenza entered. His oilskins were wet and +shiny; half a dozen herrings, threaded through the gills on a string, hung +from his right hand. + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +"THE LORD IS KING" + + +Michael Tregenza instantly observed Joan where she sat by the window, and, +seeing her, stood still. The fish fell from his hand and dropped slithering +in a heap on the stone floor. There was a silence so great that all could +hear a patter of drops from the fisherman's oilskins as the water rolled to +the ground. At the same moment gusts of rising wind shook the casement and +bleared the glass in it with rain. Joan, as she rose and stood near Mr. +Chirgwin, heard her heart thump and felt the blood leap. Then she nerved +herself, came a little forward, and spoke before her father had time to do +so. He had now turned his gaze from her and was looking at the farmer. + +"Faither," she said very gently, "faither dearie, forgive me. I begs it so +hard; 'tis the thing I wants most. I feared to see 'e, but you was sent off +the waters that I might. I comed in tremblin' an' sorrer to see wheer I've +lived most all my short days. I'm that differ'nt now to what I was. Uncle +Thomas'll tell 'e. I know I'm a sinful, wicked wummon, an' I'm heart-broke +day an' night for the shame I've brot 'pon my folks. I'll trouble 'e no +more if 'e will awnly say the word. Please, please, faither, forgive." + +She stood without moving, as did he. Uncle Chirgwin watched silently. Mrs. +Tregenza made some stir at the fire to conceal her anxiety. No relenting +glimmer softened either the steel of Gray Michael's eyes or one line in his +great face. The furrows knotted between his eyebrows and at the corners of +his eyes. His sou'wester still covered his head. At his mouth was a +down-drawing, as of disgust before some offensive sight or smell, and the +hand which had held the fish was clinched. He swallowed and found speech +hard. Then Joan spoke again. + +"Uncle's forgived me, an' Mary, an' Tom, an' mother here. Caan't 'e, caan't +'e, faither? My road's that hard." + +Then he answered, his words bursting out of his lips sharply, painfully at +first, rolling as usual in his mighty chest voice afterward. The man +twisted Scripture to his narrow purposes according to Luke Gospel usage. + +"'Forgive'? Who can forgive but the Lard, an' what is man that he should +forgive them as the A'mighty's damned? 'Tis the sinners' bleat an' whine +for forgiveness what's crackin' the ear o' God whensoever 'tis bent 'pon +airth. Ain't your religion taught you that--you, Thomas Chirgwin? If not, +'tis a brawken reed, man. Get you gone, you fagot, you an' this here +white-haired sawl, as is foolin' you an' holdin' converse wi' the outcast +o' heaven. I ban't no faither o' yourn, thank God, as shawed me I +weern't--never, never. Gaw! Gaw both of 'e. My God! the sight of 'e do +sicken me as I stand in the same air. You--an auld man--touchin' her an' +her devil-sent, filthy moneys. 'Twas a evil day, Thomas Chirgwin, when I +fust seed them o' your blood--an ill hour, an' you drives it red-hot into +my brain with your actions. Bad, bad you be--bad as that lyin', false, lost +sinner theer--a-draggin' out your cant o' forgiveness an' foolin' a damned +sawl wi' falsehoods. _You_ knaws wheer she'm gwaine; an' your +squeakin', time-servin' passon knaws; an' you both tells her differ'nt!" + +"Out on 'e, you stone-hearted wretch o' a man!" began Uncle Chirgwin in a +small voice, shaking with anger; but the fisherman had not said his last +word, and roared the other down. Gray Michael's self-control was less than +usual; his face had grown very red and surcharged veins showed black on the +unwrinkled sides of his forehead. + +"No more, not a word. Get you gone an' never agin set foot 'pon this here +draxel. [Footnote: _Draxel_--Threshold.] Never--never none o' Chirgwin +breed. Gaw! or auld as you be, I'll force 'e! God's on the side o' right!" + +Hereupon Joan, not judging correctly of the black storm signs on her +father's face or the force of the voice, now grating into a shriek as +passion tumbled to flood, prayed yet again for that pardon which her parent +was powerless to grant. The boon denied grew precious in her eyes. She wept +and importuned, falling on her knees to him. + +"God can do it, God can do it, faither. Please--please, for the sake o' the +God as leads you, forgive. Oh, God in heaven, make en forgive me--'tis all +I wants." + +But a religious delirium gripped Tregenza and poisoned the blood in him. +His breast rose, his fists clinched, his mouth was dragged sidewise and his +underlip shook. A damned soul, looking up with wild eyes into his, was all +he saw--the very off scouring and filth of human nature--hell tinder, to +touch which in kindness was to risk his own salvation. + +"Gaw, gaw! Else the Lard'll make me His weapon. He's whisperin'--He's +whisperin'!" + +There was something horribly akin to genuine madness in the frenzy of this +utterance. Mrs. Tregenza screamed; Joan struggled to her feet in some +terror and her head swam. She turned to get her hat from the dresser-ledge, +and, as she did so, the little blue plate, tied up in paper beside it, fell +and broke, like the last link of a snapping chain. Gray Michael was making +a snorting in his nostrils and his head seemed to grow lower on his +shoulders. Then Mr. Chirgwin found his opportunity and spoke. + +"I've heard you, an' it ban't human nachur to knuckle down dumb, so I be +gwaine to speak, an' you can mind or not as you please." + +He flung his old hat upon the ground and walked without fear close beside +the fisherman who towered above him. + +"God be with 'e, I sez, for you need En fine an' bad for sartain--worse'n +that poor 'mazed lamb shakin' theer. _You_ talk o' the ways o' God to +men an' knaw no more 'bout 'em than the feesh what you draw from the sea! +You'm choustin' yourself cruel wi' your self-righteousness--take it from +me. _You'm_ saved, be you? _You_ be gwaine to heaven, are 'e? Who +tawld 'e so, Michael Tregenza? Did God A'mighty send a flyin' angel to tell +'e a purpose? Look in your heart, man, an' see how much o' Christ be in it. +Christ, I tell 'e, Christ--Christ--Jesus Christ. It's _Him_ as'll +smuggle us all into heaven, not your psalm-smitin', knock-me-down, +ten-commandment, cussin' God. I'm grawin' very auld an' I knaw what I knaw. +Your God's a _devil_, fisherman--a graspin', cruel devil; an' them the +devil saves is damned. 'Tis Christ as you've turned your stiff back +'pon--Christ as'll let this poor lass into heaven afore ever you gets +theer! You ban't in sight o' the gates o' pearl, not you, for all your cold +prayers. You'm young in well-doin'; an' 'tis a 'ard road you'll fetch home +by, I'll swear; an' 'tis more'n granite the Lard'll use to make your heart +bleed. He'll break you, Tregenza--you, so bold, as looks dry-eyed 'pon the +sun an' reckons your throne'll wan day be as bright. He'll break you, an' +bring you to your knees, an' that 'fore your gray hairs be turned, as mine, +to white. Oh, Christ Jesus, look you at this blind sawl an' give en +somethin' better to lay hold 'pon than his poor bally-muck o' religion +what's nort but a gert livin' lie!" + +Thomas Chirgwin seemed mightily transfigured as he spoke. The words came +without an effort, but he uttered them with pauses and in a loud voice not +lacking solemnity. His head shook, yet he stood firm and motionless upon +his feet; and he made his points with a gesture, often repeated, of his +open right hand. + +As for Tregenza, the man listened through all, though he heard but little. +His head was full of blood; there was a weight on his tongue striking it +silent and forcing his mouth open at the same moment. The world looked red +as he saw it; his limbs were not bearing him stiffly. Thomasin had her eye +upon him, for she was quite prepared to throw over her previous statements +and support her husband against an attack so astounding and unexpected. And +the more so that he had not himself hurled an immediate and crushing +answer. + +Meantime the old farmer's sudden fires died within him; he shrank to his +true self, and the voice in which he now spoke seemed that of another man. + +"Give heed to what I've said to 'e, Michael, an' be humble afore the Lard +same as your darter be. Go in fear, as you be forever biddin' all flaish to +go. Never say no sawl's lost while you give all power to the Maker o' +sawls. Go in fear, I sez, else theer'll come a whirlwind o' God-sent sorrer +to strike wheer your heart's desire be rooted. 'Tis allus so--allus--" + +Tom entered upon these words, and Uncle Chirgwin's eyes dropping upon him +as he spoke, his utterance sounded like a prophecy. So the boy's mother +read it, and with a half sob, half shriek, she turned in all the frenzy of +sudden maternal wrath. Her sharp tongue dropped mere vituperation, but did +so with boundless vigor, and the woman's torrent of unbridled curses and +threats swept that scene of storm to its close. Joan went first from the +door, while Mr. Chirgwin, picking up his hat and buttoning his coat, +retreated after her before the volume of Thomasin's virago attack. Tom +stood open-mouthed and silent, dumfounded at the tremendous spectacle of +his mother's rage and his father's stricken silence. Then, as Mrs. Tregenza +slammed the door and wept, her husband sunk slowly down with something +strangely like terror in his eyes. The man in truth had just passed through +a physical crisis of alarming nature. He sat in his easy-chair now, removed +his hat, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with hands that +shook. It was not what he had heard or beheld that woke alarm in a spirit +which had never known it till then, but what he had felt: a horror which +crowded down upon every sense, gripped his volition with unseen hands, +blinded him, stopped his ears, held his limbs, stirred his brains into a +whirling waste. He knew now that in his moment of passion he had stood upon +the very brink of some terrific, shattering evil, possibly of death itself. +Body or brain or both had passed through a great, unknown danger; and now, +dazed and for the time much aged, he looked about him with slow +eyes--mastered the situation, and realized the incident was ended. + +"The Lard--'the Lard is King,'" he said, and stopped a moment. Then he +slowly rose to his feet and with the old voice, though it shook and slurred +somewhat upon his tongue, spoke that text which served him in all occasions +of unusual stress and significance. + +"'The Lard is King, be the people never so impatient; He sitteth between +the cherubims, be the airth never so unquiet'!" + +Then he sat again and long remained motionless with his face buried in his +hands. + +Meantime the old horse dragged Uncle Chirgwin and his niece away along the +level road to Mousehole. Joan was wrapped in a tarpaulin and they proceeded +silently a while under cold rains, which swept up from a leaden south over +the sea. The wind blew strong, tore green leaves from the hedges, and +chimed with the thoughts of the man and his niece. + +"How did you come to speak so big an' braave, Uncle Thomas? I couldn' say +no more to en, for the lights rose up in my throat an' choked me; but you +swelled out somethin' grand to see, an' spawk as no man ever yet spawk to +faither afore." + +"'Twas put in me to say; I doan't knaw how ever I done it, but my tongue +weern't my awn for the time. Pull that thing tighter about 'e. This rain +would go through a barn door." + +At the steep hill rising from Mousehole to Paul, Uncle Chirgwin got out and +walked, while the horse, with his shoulders to the collar, plodded forward. +Then, down the road came the laboring man, Billy Jago, mentioned aforetime +as one who had worked for Mr. Chirgwin in the past. He touched his hat to +his old master and greeted him with respect and regard. For a moment the +farmer also stopped. No false sentiment tied Billy's tongue and he spoke of +matters personal to those before him, having first mournfully described his +own state of health. + +"But theer, us gaws down to the tomb to make way for the new born. I do +say, an' swear tu, that the butivulest things in all wild nachur be a ship +in full sail an' a wummon in the fam'ly way. Ban't nothin' to beat 'em. An' +I'll say it here, 'pon this spot, though the rain's bitin' into my bones +like teeth. So long to 'e, maaster, an' good cheeldin' to 'e, miss!" + +The man rolled with loutish gait down the hill; the darkness gathered; the +wind whistled through high hedges on the left; farmer Chirgwin made sounds +of encouragement to his horse, which moved onward; and Joan thought with +curious interest of those things that Billy Jago had said. + +"'Tis straange us met that poor, croony antic at sich a moment," mused +Uncle Thomas; "the words of en jag sore 'pon a body's mind, comin' arter +what's in our thots like." + +"Maybe 'tis paart o' the queerness o' things as us should fall 'pon en +now," answered Joan. + +Then, through a stormy gloaming, they returned in sadness to the high lands +of Drift. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +A GLEN-ADER + + +"A new broom sweeps clean, but 'tis the auld wan as is good for corners," +said Uncle Chirgwin, when with his nieces he sat beside the kitchen fire +that night and discussed the events of the day. + +"By which I means," he added, "that these new-fangled ways of approaching +the A'mighty may go to branch and trunk an' make a clean sweep o' evil, but +they leaves the root o' pride stickin' in a man's sawl. 'Tis the auld broom +as Christ brought in the world as routs into the dark corners like nothin' +else." + +"I be glad you spawk to en," said Mary. "Seed sawed do bring forth fruit in +a 'mazin'' way." + +"I reckoned he'd a smote me, but he dedn'. He just turned rosy red an' +stood glazin' at me as if I was a ghost." + +"I never see en look like that afore," declared Joan; "he 'peared to be +afeared. But the door's shut 'gainst me now. I caan't do no more'n I have +done. He'll never forgive." + +"As to that, Joan, I won't say. You bide quiet till the seed sprouts. I lay +now as you'll hear tell about your faither an' maybe get a message from en +'fore the year's a month older." + +With which hopeful prediction Uncle Chirgwin ended the discussion. + +That night the circular storm, which had died away at dark, turned upon +itself and the wind moaned at window latches and down chimneys, prophesying +autumn. Dawn broke on a drenched, gray world, but the storm had clean +passed, and at noon the gray brightened to silver and burned to gold when +the sun came out. The wind wore to the west, and on to northwest; the +weather settled down and days of a rare late summer pursued their even way. + +A fortnight passed, and the farmer's belief that Gray Michael would +communicate with his daughter began to waver. + +"Pharaoh's a soft-'earted twoad to this wan," he declared gloomily. "It do +beat me to picksher sich a man. I've piped to en hot an' strong, as Joan +knaws, but he ban't gwaine to dance 'tall seemin'ly. Poor sawl! When the +hand o' the Lard do fall, God send 'twon't crush en all in all. +'Saved'--_him_--dear, dear!" + +"The likes of Tregenza be saved 'pon St. Tibbs Eve, [Footnote: _St. Tibbs +Eve_--Equivalent to the "Greek Calends."] I reckon, an' no sooner," +answered Mary scornfully. Then she modified her fiery statement according +to her custom, for the woman's zeal always had first call upon her tongue, +and her judgment usually took off the edge of every harsh statement +immediately upon its utterance. + +"Leastways 'tis hard to see how sich bowldashious standin' up in the eye o' +God should prosper. But us can be saved even from our awnselves, I s'pose. +So Tregenza have got his chance along o' the best." + +Joan never resented the outspoken criticisms on her parent. She listened, +but rarely joined the discussion. The whole matter speedily sank to a +position of insignificance. Her own mind was clear, and the deadlock only +cut off one more outer interest and reduced Life's existing influences to a +smaller field. She drew more and more into herself, slipped more and more +from out the routine life of Drift. She became self-centered, and when her +body was not absent, as happened upon most fine days, her mind abstracted +itself to extreme limits. She grew shy of fellow-creatures, found no day +happy of which a part had not been spent beside a cross, showed a gradual +indifference to the services of the church which not long since had +attracted her so strongly and braced the foundations of her soul. There +came at last a black Sunday when Joan refused to accompany Mary and the +farmer to morning worship at Sancreed. She made no excuse, but designed a +pilgrimage of more than usual length, and, having driven as far as the +church with her uncle and cousin, left them there and walked on her way. +Even the fascinations of a harvest festival failed to charm her; and the +spectacle of fat roots, mighty marrows, yellow corn and red apples on the +window-ledges, of grapes and tomatoes, flowers and loaves upon the altar, +pulpit and font, did not appeal overmuch to Joana--a fact perhaps +surprising. + +With a plump pasty of meat and flour in her pocket and one of Uncle +Chirgwin's walking-sticks to help her footsteps, Joan went on her way, +passed the Wesleyan Chapel of Sancreed, and then maintained a reasonably +direct line to her destination by short cuts and field paths. She intended +to visit Men Scryfa, that famous "long stone" which stands away in a moor +croft beyond Lanyon. She knew that it was no right cross, but she +remembered it well, having visited the monument frequently in the past. It +was holy with infinite age, and the writing upon it fascinated her as a +mystery fascinates most of us. + +The words, "_Rialobrani Cunovali Fili_," which probably mark the fact +that Rialobran, son of Cunoval, some Brito-Celtic chieftain of eld, lies +buried not far distant, meant nothing to Joan, but the old gray-headed +stone, perhaps the loneliest in all Cornwall, was pleasant to her thoughts, +and she trudged forward gladly with her eyes open for all the beauties of +a smiling world. + +Summer clouds, sunny-hearted and towering against the blue, dropped immense +shadows on the glimmering gold of much stubble and on the wastes of the +moor rising above them. In the cornfields, visible now that the crops were +cut and gathered into mows, stood little gray-green islands--a mark +distinctive of Cornish husbandry. Here grew cow-cabbages in rank +luxuriance, on mounds of manure which would be presently scattered over the +exhausted land. The little oases in the deserts of the fields were too +familiar to arrest Joan's eye. She merely glanced at the garnered wheat and +thought what a brief time the arrish geese, stuffing themselves in the +stubble, had yet to live. A solemn, splendid peace held the country-side, +and hardly a soul was abroad where the road led upward to wild moor and +waste. Sometimes a group of calves crowding under the shady side of hedges +regarded Joan with youthful interest; sometimes, in a distant coomb-bottom, +where blackberries grew, little sunbonnets bobbed above the fern and a +child's shrill voice came clear to her upon the wind. But the loneliness +grew, and, anon, turning from her way a while, the traveler sat on the gray +crown of Trengwainton Carn to rest and look at the wide world. + +From the little tor, over undulations of broad light and blue shadow, Joan +could see afar to Buryan's lofty tower, to Paul above the sea, to +Sancreed's sycamores and to Drift beyond them. Wild sweeps of fell and +field faded on the sight to those dim and remote hues of distance only +visible upon days of exceeding aerial brilliancy. Immediately beneath the +eminence subtended ragged expanses of rainbow-colored heath and fern and +furze spotted with small fir trees which showed blue against the tones of +the moor. The heather's pink clearly contrasted with the paler shades of +the ling, and an additional silvery twinkle of light inhabited the latter +plant, its cause last year's dead white branches and twigs still scattered +through the living foliage and flower. Out of a myriad bells that wild +world spoke, and the murmur of the heath came as the murmur of a wise voice +to the ear on which it fell. There was a soul in the day; it lived, and +Joan looked into the eyes of a glorious, conscious entity, herself a little +part of the space-filling whole. + +Presently, refreshed by brief rest, the pilgrim journeyed on over a road +which climbs the moor above deep fox-covers of rhododendron, already +mentioned as visible from Madron chapel. The way dipped presently, crossed +a rivulet and mounted again past the famous cromlech of Lanyon. But Joan +passed the quoit unheeding, and kept upon flint roads through Lanyon farm, +where its irregular buildings stretch across the hill-crest. She saw the +stacks roped strangely in nets with heavy stones to secure them against +winter gales; she observed the various familiar objects of Drift repeated +on a greater scale; then, going down hill yet again, Joan struck up the +course of another stream and passed steadily over broad, granite-dotted +tangles of whin, heather and rank grasses to her destination. Here the +heath was blasted and scarred with summer fires. Great patches of the waste +had been eaten naked by past flames, and Men-an-tol--the +"crick-stone"--past which she progressed, stood with its lesser granite +pillars in a dark bed of scorched earth and blackened furze-stems stripped +bare by the fire. She stood in a wide, desolate cup of the Cornish moor. To +the south Ding-Dong Mine reared its shattered chimney-stack, toward the +northwest Carn Galvas--that rock-piled fastness of dead giants--reared a +gray head against the blue. A curlew piped; a lizard rustled into a tussock +of grass where pink bog-heather and seeding cotton grasses splashed the +sodden ground; a dragon-fly from the marsh stayed a moment upon Men-an-tol, +and the jewel of his eyes was a little world holding all the colors of the +larger. + +Joan, keeping her way to where Carn Galvas rose over the next ridge, walked +another few hundred yards, crossed a disused road, climbed a stony bank, +and then stood in the little croft sacred to Men Scryfa. At the center, +above a land almost barren save for stunted heath and wind-beaten fern it +rose--a tall stone of rough and irregular shape. The bare black earth, in +which shone quartz crystals, stretched at hand in squares. From these raw +spaces, peat had been cut, to be subsequently burned for manure; and it +stood hard by stacked in a row of beat-burrows or little piles of +overlapping pieces, the cut side out. Near the famous old stone itself, +surmounting a barrow-like tumulus, grew stunted bracken; and here Joan +presently sat down full of happiness in that her pilgrimage had been +achieved. The granite pillar of Men Scryfa was crested with that fine +yellow-gray lichen which finds life on exposed stones; upon the windward +side clung a few atoms of golden growth; and its rude carved inscription +straggled down the northern face. The monument rose sheer above black +corpses of crooked furze, for fire had swept this region also, adding not a +little to the prevailing sobriety of it, and only the elemental splendor of +weather and the canopy of blue and gold beneath which spread this +desolation rendered it less than mournful. Even under these circumstances +imagination, as though rebelling against the conditions of sunshine and +summer then maintaining, leaped to picture Men Scryfa under the black +screaming of winter storm or rising darkly upon deep snows; casting a +transitory shadow over a waste ghastly blue under flashes of lightning, or +throbbing to its deep roots when thunder roared over the moor and the levin +brand hissed unseen into quag and fen. + +The double crown of Carn Galvas fronted Joan as she presently sat with her +back resting against the stone; and a medley of the old thoughts rose not +unwelcome in her mind. Giant mythology seemed a true thing in sight of +these vast regular piles of granite; and the thought of the kind simple +monsters who had raised that earn led to musings on the "little people." +Her mind brooded over the fairies and their strange ways with young human +mothers. She remembered the stories of changelings, and vowed to herself +that her own babe should never be out of sight. These reflections found no +adverse criticism in faith. The Bible was full of giants; and if no fairies +were mentioned therein, she had read nothing aimed against them. Presently +she prayed for the coming child. Her soul went with the words; and they +were addressed with vagueness as became her vague thoughts, half to Men +Scryfa, half to God, all in the name of Christ. + +Going home again, after noon, Joan found a glen-ader, [Footnote: +_Glen-ader_--The cast skin of an adder. Once accounted a powerful +amulet, and still sometimes secretly preserved by the ignorant, as sailors +treasure a caul.] which circumstance is here mentioned to illustrate the +conflicting nature of those many forces still active in her mind. That they +should have coexisted and not destroyed each other is the point of most +peculiarity. But it seemed for a moment as though the girl had +intellectually passed at least that form of superstition embraced by +coveted possession of a glen-ader; for, upon finding the thing lying +extended like a snake's ghost, she hesitated before picking it up. The old +tradition, however, sucked in from a credulous parent with much similar +folly at a time when the mind accepts impressions most readily, was too +strong for Joan. Qualms she had, and some whisper at the bottom of her mind +was heard with a clearness sufficient to make her uncomfortable, but reason +held a feeble citadel at best in Joan's mind. The whisper died, memory +spoke of the notable value which wise men through long past years had +placed upon this charm, and in the face of the future it seemed wicked to +reject a thing of such proven efficacy. So she picked up the adder's +slough, designing to sew it upon a piece of flannel and henceforth wear it +against her skin until her baby should be born. But she determined to tell +neither Mary nor her uncle, though she did not stop to ask why secrecy thus +commended itself to her. + +That evening Mary came primed from church-going with grave admonition, Mr. +Chirgwin was tearful, and hinted at his own sorrow arising from Joan's +backsliding, but Mary did not mince language and spoke what she thought. + +"You'm wrong, an' you knaw you'm wrong," she said. "The crosses be very +well, an' coorious, butivul things to see 'pon the land tu, but they'm poor +food to a body's sawl. They caan't shaw wheer you'm out; they caan't lead +'e right." + +"Iss they can, then, an' they do," declared Joan. "The more I bide along +wi' 'em the better I feel an' the nearer to God A'mighty, so theer! They'm +allus the same, an' they puts thots in my head that's good to think; an' I +must go my ways, Polly, same as you go yours." + +When night came Joan slept within the mystic circumference of the +glen-ader; and that she derived a growing measure of mental satisfaction +from its embrace is unquestionable. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +"COME TO ME!" + + +A space of time six weeks in duration may be hastily dismissed as producing +no alteration in Joan's method of thought and life. It swept her swiftly +through shortening days and the last of the summer weather to the climax of +her fortunes. As the season waned she kept nearer home, going not much +further than Tremathick Cross on the St. Just road or to that relic already +mentioned as lying outside Sancreed churchyard. These, in time, she +associated as much with her child as with herself. The baby had now taken +its natural place in her mind, and she prayed every day that it might +presently forgive her for bringing it into the world at all. Misty-eyed, +not unhappy, with her beauty still a startling fact, Joan mused away long +hours at the feet of her granite friends through the waning splendors of +many an autumn noon. Then, within the brief space of two weeks, a period of +weather almost unexampled in the memory of the oldest agriculturists drew +to its close. + +That mighty rains must surely come all knew, but none foretold their +tremendous volume or foresaw the havoc, ruin and destruction to follow upon +their outpouring. Meantime, with late September, the leaves began to hustle +early to earth under great winds. Rain fell at times, but not heavily at +first, and a thirsty world drank open-mouthed through deep sun-cracks in +field and moor and dried-up marsh. But bedraggled autumn's robes were soon +washed colorless; the heath turned pallid before it faded to sere brown; +rotten banks of decaying leaves rose high under the hedges. There was no +dry, crisp whirl of gold on the wind, but a sodden condition gradually +overspread the land. The earth grew drunken with the later rains and could +hold no more. October saw the last of the purple and crimson, the tawny +browns and royal yellows. Only beeches, their wet leaves by many shades a +darker auburn than is customary, still retained lower foliage. The trees +put on their winter shapes unduly early. The world was dark and sweated +fungus. Uncouth children of the earth, whose hour is that which sees the +leaf fall, sprang into short-lived being. Black goblins and gray, white +goblins and brown, spread weird life abroad. With fleshy gills, squat and +lean, fat and thin, bursting through the grass in companies and circles, +lurking livid, gigantic and alone on the trunks of forest trees, gemming +the rotten bough with crimson, twinkling like topaz on the crooked stems of +the furze, battening upon death, rising into transitory vigor from the rack +and rot of a festering earth, they flourished. Heavy mists now stretched +their draperies over the high lands; and exhalations from the corpse of the +summer hung bluish under the rain in the valleys. One night a full moon +shone clearly, and through the ambient light ominous sheets and splashes of +silver glimmered in the low fields. Here they had slowly and silently +spread into existence, their birth hidden under the mists, their +significance marked by none but anxious farmers. All men hoped that the +full moon would bring cessation of this rainfall; but another gray dawn +faced them on the morrow and a thousand busy rills murmured and babbled +down the lanes round Drift. Here and there unsuspected springs burst their +hidden chambers and swept by steep courses over the green grass to join +these main waters which now raced through the valley. The light of day was +heavy and pressed upon the sight. It acted like a telescope in the +intervals of no rain and brought distant objects into strange distinctness. +The weather was much too warm even for "Western Cornwall. A few leaves +still hung on the crown of the apple trees, and such scanty peach and +nectarine foliage as yet remained was green. The red currants flaunted a +gold leaf or two and the remaining leaves of the black currant were purple +after his fashion. Joan marveled to see sundry of her favorites thrusting +forth tokens of spring almost before autumn was ended. Lilac buds swelled +to bursting; a peony pushed many pink points upward through the brown ruins +of the past; bulbs were growing rapidly; Nature had forgotten winter for +once, thought Joan. Thus the sodden, sunless, steaming days followed each +on the last until farming folk began to grow grave before a steady increase +of water on the land. Much hay stood in danger and some ricks had been +already ruined. Many theories were rife, Uncle Chirgwin's being, upon the +whole, the most fatuous. + +"Tis a thunder-planet," he told his nieces, "an' till us get a rousin' +storm o' crooked forks an' heavy thunder this rain'll go on fallin'. But +not so much as a flap o' the collybran [Footnote: _Collybran_--Sheet +lightning.] do us get for all the heat o' the air. I should knaw, if any, +for I be out turnin' night into day an' markin' the water in the valley +every evenin' long after dark now. I'm fearin' graave for the big stack; +an' theer's three paarts o' last year's hay beside, an' two tidy lil mows +of the aftermath. So sure's the waters do rise another foot and a half, +'tis 'good-by' to the whole boilin'. Not but 'twill be a miracle for the +stream to get much higher. The moor's burstin' wi' rain, but the coffins +[Footnote: _Coffins_--Ancient mining excavations.] do hold it up, I s'pose, +an' keep it aloft. A penn'orth o' frost now would save a pound of +produce from wan end o' Carnwall to t'other." + +Joan spent many long days in the house at this time and practiced an +unskillful needle, while her thoughts wandered far and near through the +sullen weather to this old cross and that. Then came a night of rainless +darkness through which past augmentations of water still thundered. Nature +rested for some hours before her final, shattering deluge, but the brief +peace was more tremendous than rain or wind, for a mighty foreboding +permeated it, and all men felt the end was not yet, though none could say +why they feared the silence more than storm. + +It happened upon this black night that Joan was alone in the kitchen. +Supper had been but a scrambling meal and her uncle with Amos Bartlett and +all the men on the farm were now somewhere in the valley under the darkness +fighting for the hay with rising water. Where Mary was just then, Joan did +not know. Her thoughts were occupied with her own affairs, and in the +oppressive silence she sat watching some little moving threadlike concerns +which hung in a row through a crack below the mantelpiece above the open +fire. They were the tails of mice which often here congregated nigh the +warmth and sat in a row, themselves invisible. The tails moved, and Joan +noted some shorter tails beside long ones, telling of infant vermin at +their mothers' sides. In the silence she could hear the squeaking of them, +and now and then she talked to them very softly. + +"Thank God, you lil mice, as you abbun got no brains in your heads an' no +call to look far in the future. I lay you'm happier than us, wi' nort to +fear 'bout 'cept crumbs an' a lew snug spot to live in." + +Thus she stumbled on the lowest note of pessimism: that conscious +intelligence is a supreme mistake. But the significance of her idea she +knew not. + +Then Joan rose up, shivered with a sudden sense of chill, stamped her feet, +and caused the row of tails below the mantel to vanish. + +"Goose-flaish down the spine do mean as theer's feet walkin' 'pon my +graave, I s'pose," she thought, as a heavy knock at the front door +interrupted her reflections. Hastening to open it, Joan found the +postman--a rare visitor at Drift. He handed her a letter and prepared to +depart immediately. + +"I'm grievous afeared o' Buryas Bridge tonight," he said; "when I comed +over, two hour back, the water was above the arches, an', so like's not, I +won't get 'cross 'tall if it's riz higher. An' somethin' cruel's comin', +I'll lay my life, 'fore marnin'. This pitch-black silence be worse than the +noise o' the rain." + +He vanished down the hill, and, returning to the kitchen, Joan lighted a +candle and examined the letter. A fit of trembling shook the girl to the +hidden seat of her soul as she did so, for her own name greeted her, in +neat printed letters akin to those on the superscription of another letter +she had received in the past. From John Barron it was that this +communication came, and the reception of it begot a wild chaos of mind +which now carried Joan headlong backward. Images swept through her brain +with the bewildering rapidity and brilliance of lightning flashes; she was +whirled and tossed on a flood of thoughts; a single sad-eyed figure +retained permanency and rose clear and separated itself from the +phantasmagorial procession of personages and events wending through her +mind, dissolving each into the other, stretching the circumstances of eight +short months into an eternity, crowding the solemn aisles of time past with +shadows of those emotions which had reigned over the dead spring time of +the year and were themselves long dead. Thus she stood for a space of vast +apparent duration, but in reality most brief. That trifling standpoint in +time needed for a dream or for the brain-picture of his past which +dominates the mind of the drowning was all that had sped with Joan. Then, +shaking herself clear of thought, she found her candle, which burned dim +when first lighted, was only now melting the wax and rising to its full +flame. A mist of damp had long hung on the inner walls of the kitchen at +Drift, begotten not of faulty building but by the peculiar condition of the +atmosphere; and as the candle flickered up in a chamber dark save for its +light and the subdued glow of a low fire, Joan noticed how the gathering +moisture on the walls had coalesced, run into drops and fallen, streaking +the misty gray with bright bars and networks, silvery' as the slime of +snails. + +With shaking hand, she set the candle upon a table, dropped into a chair +beside it and opened her letter. For a moment the page with its large +printed characters danced before her eyes, then they steadied and she was +able to read. Like a message from one long dead came the words; and in +truth, though the writer lived, he wrote upon the threshold of the grave. +John Barren had put into force his project, which was, as may be +remembered, to write to Joan when the end of his journey came in sight. The +words were carefully chosen, for he remembered her sympathy with suffering +and her extensive ignorance. He wrote in simple language, therefore, and +dwelt on his own helpless condition, exaggerating it to some extent. + +"No. 6 Melbury Gardens, London. + +"My own dear love--What can I say to make you know what has kept me away +from you? There is but one word and that is my poor sick and suffering +body. I wrote to you and tore up what I wrote, for I loved you too much to +ask you to come and share my sad life. It was very, very awful to be away +and know you were waiting and waiting for Jan; yet I could not come, +because Mother Nature was so hard. Then I went far away and hoped you had +forgotten me. Doctors made me go to a place over the sea where tall palm +trees grew up out of a dry yellow desert; but my poor lungs were too sick +to get well again and I came home to die. Yes, sweetheart, you will forgive +me for all when you know poor lonely Jan will soon be gone. He cannot live +much longer, and he is so weak now that he has no more power to fight +against the love of Joan. + +"For your own good, dear one, I made myself keep away and hid myself from +you. Now the little life left to me cries out by night and by day for you. +Joan, my own true love, I cannot die until I have seen you again. Come to +me, Joan, love, if you do not hate me. Come to me; come; and close my eyes +and let poor Jan have the one face that he loves quite near him at the end. +Even your picture has gone, for they came when I was away and took it and +put it in a place with many others for people to see. And all men and women +say it is the best picture. I shall be dead before they send it back to me. +So now I have nothing but the thoughts of my Joan. Oh, come to me, my love, +if you can. It will not be for long, and when Jan lies under the ground all +that he has is yours. I have fought so hard to keep from you and from +praying you to come to me, but I can fight no more. My home is named at the +top of this letter. You have but to enter the train for London and stop in +it until it gets to the end of its journey. My servant shall wait each day +for your coming. I can write no more, I can only pray to the God we both +love to bring you to me. And if you come or do not I shall have the same +great true love for you. I will die alone rather than trouble you to come +if you have forgotten me and not forgiven me for keeping silence. God bless +you, my only love. JAN." + +This feeble stuff rang like a clarion on the ear of the reader, for he who +had written it knew how best to strike, how best to appeal with +overwhelming force to Joan Tregenza. Her mind plunged straight into the +struggle and the billows of the storm, sweeping aside lesser obstructions, +were soon beating against the new-built ramparts of faith. The rush of +thought which had coursed through her brains before reading the letter now +made the task of deciding upon it easier. Indeed it can hardly be said that +any real doubt from first to last assailed Joan's decision. Faith did not +crumble, but, at a second glance, appeared to her wholly compatible with +obedience to this demand. There was an electric force in every word of the +letter. It proved Mister Jan's wondrous nobility of character, his +unselfishness, his love. He had suffered, too, had longed eternally for +her, had denied himself out of consideration for her future happiness, had +struggled with his love, and only broken down and given way to it in the +shadow of death. Grief shook Joan upon this thought, but joy was uppermost. +The long months of weary suffering faded from her recollection as nocturnal +mists vanish at the touch of the sun's first fire. She had no power to +analyze the position or reflect upon the various courses of action the man +might have taken to spare her so much agony. She accepted his bald +utterance word for word, as he knew she would. Every inclination and desire +swept her toward him now. His cry of suffering, his love, his loneliness, +her duty, as it stood blazoned upon her mind ten minutes after reading his +letter; the child to be born within two months--all these considerations +united to establish Joan's mind at this juncture. "Come to me!" Those were +the words echoing within her heart, and her soul cried upon Christ to +shorten time that she might reach him the sooner. Before the world was next +awake, she would be upon her way; before another night fell, Mister Jan's +arms would be round her. The long, dreary nightmare had ended for her at +last. Then came tears of bitter remorse, for she saw how his love had +never left her, how he had been true as steel, while she, misled by +appearances, had lost faith and lapsed into forgetfulness. A wild, +unreasoning yearning superior to time and space and the service of railways +got hold upon her. "Come to me," "Come to me," sounded in Joan's ears in +the live voice she had loved and lost and found again. An hour's delay, a +minute's, a moment's seemed a crime. Yet delay there must be, but the +tension and terrific excitement of her whole being at this period demanded +some immediate outlet in action. She wanted to talk to Uncle Chirgwin, and +she desired instant information upon the subject of her journey. First she +thought of seeking the farmer in the valley; then it struck her, the hour +being not later than eight o'clock, that by going into Penzance she might +learn at what time the morning train departed to London. + +Out of doors it was inky black, very silent, very oppressive. Joan called +Mary twice before departing, but received no answer. Indeed the house was +empty, though she did not know it. Finally, thrusting the letter into her +bosom, taking her hat and cloak from a nail in the kitchen and putting on a +pair of walking shoes, the girl went abroad. Her present medley of thoughts +begot a state of exceeding nervous excitation. For the letter touched the +two poles of extreme happiness and utmost possible sorrow. "Mister Jan" was +calling her to him indeed, but only calling her that she might see him die. +Careless of her steps, soothed unconsciously by rapid motion, she walked +from the farm, her mind full of joy and grief; and the night, silent no +longer for her, was full of a voice crying "Come to me, Joan, love, come!" + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +THE FLOOD + + +In the coomb beneath Drift, flashing as though red-hot from a theater of +Cimmerian blackness, certain figures, flame-lighted, flickered hurriedly +this way and that about a dark and monstrous pile which rose in their +midst. From the adjacent hill, superstitious watchers might have supposed +that they beheld some demoniac throng newly burst oat of the bowels of +earth and to be presently re-engulfed; but seen nearer, the toiling +creatures, fighting with all their hearts and souls to save a haystack from +flood, had merely excited human interest and commiseration. Farmer Chirgwin +and his men were girt as to the legs in old-fashioned hay-bands; some held +torches while others toiled with ropes to anchor the giant rick against the +gathering waters. There was no immediate fear, for the pile still stood a +clear foot above the stream on a gentle undulation distant nearly two yards +from the present boundary of the swollen river. But, on the landward side, +another danger threatened, because in that quarter the meadow sank in a +slight hollow which had now changed to a lake fed by a brisk rivulet from +the main river. The great rick thus stood almost insulated, and much +further uprising of the flood would place it in a position not to be +approached by man without danger. Above the stack, distant about +five-and-twenty yards, stood a couple of stout pollarded willows, and by +these Uncle Chirgwin had decided to moor his hay, trusting that they might +hold the great mass of it secure even though the threatened flood swept +away its foundations. Nine figures worked amain, and to them approached a +tenth, appearing from the darkness, skirting the lake and splashing through +the streamlet which fed it. Mary Chirgwin it was who now arrived--a +grotesque figure with her gown and petticoats fastened high and wearing on +her legs a pair of her uncle's leather gaiters. Mary had been up to the +farm for more rope, but the clothesline was all that she could find, and +this she now returned with. Already three ropes had been passed round the +rick and made fast to the willows, but none among them was of great +stoutness, nor had they been tied at an elevation best calculated to resist +a possible strain. Amos Bartlett took the line from Mary and set to work +with many assistants; while the farmer himself, waving a torch and stumping +hither and thither, now directed Bartlett, now encouraged two men who +worked with all their might at the cutting of a trench from the lake in +order that this dangerous body of water might be drained back to the main +stream. The flame-light danced in many a flash and splash over the smooth +surface of the face of the inland pond. Indeed it reflected like a glass at +present, for no wind fretted it, neither did a drop of rain fall. Intense, +watchful silence held that hour. The squash of men's feet in the mud, the +soft swirl of the water, the cry of voices alone disturbed the night. + +"God be praised! I do think 'tis 'bating," cried the farmer presently. He +ran every few minutes to the water and examined a stake hammered into it a +foot from the edge. It seemed, as far as might be judged by such fitful +light and rough measurement, that the river had sunk an inch or two, but it +was running in undulations, and what its muddy mass had lost in volume was +gained in speed. The water chattered and hissed; and Amos Bartlett, who +next made a survey, declared that the flood had by no means waned, but +rather risen. Then, the last ropes being disposed to the best advantage, +all joined the laborers who were digging. Twenty minutes later, however, +and before the trench was more than three parts finished, there came a +tremendous change. Turning hastily to the river, Bartlett uttered a shout +of alarm and called for light. He had approached the telltale stake, and +suddenly, before he reached it, found his feet in the water. The river was +rising with fierce rapidity at last, and five minutes later began to lick +at the edge of the hay-rick, and churn along with a strange hidden force +and devil in it. The pace increased with the volume, and told of some +prodigious outburst on the moor. The uncanny silence of the swelling water +as it slipped downward was a curious feature of it in this phase. Chirgwin +and his men huddled together at the side of the rick; then Bartlett held up +his hand and spoke. + +"Hark 'e all! 'Tis comin' now, by God!" + +They kept silence and listened with straining ears and frightened eyes, +fire-rimmed by the flickering torchlight. A sound came from afar--a sound +not unmelodious but singular beyond power of language to express--a whisper +of sinister significance to him who knew its meaning, of sheer mystery to +all others. A murmur filled the air, a murmur of undefined noises still far +distant. They might have been human, they might have arisen from the flight +and terror of beasts, from the movement of vast bodies, from the +reverberations of remote music; Earth or Heaven might have bred them, or +the upper chambers of the air midway between. They spoke of terrific +energies, of outpourings of force, of elemental chaos come again, of a +crown of unimagined horror set upon the night. + +All listened fearfully while the solemn cadences crept on their ears, +fascinated them like a siren song, wakened wild dread of tribulations and +terrors unknown till now. It was indeed a sound but seldom heard and wholly +unfamiliar to those beside the stack save one. + +"'Tis the callin' o' the cleeves," said Uncle Chirgwin. + +"Nay, man, 'tis a live, ragin' storm comed off the sea an' tearin' ower the +airth like a legion out o' hell! 'Tis the floodgates o' God opened you'm +hearin'! Ay, an' the four winds at each other's throats, an' a outburst o' +all the springs 'pon the hills! 'Tis death and ruin for the whole +country-side as be yelling up-long now. An' 'tis comin' faster'n thot." + +As Bartlett spoke, the voice of the tempest grew rapidly nearer, all +mystery faded out of it and its murmuring changed to a hoarse rattle. +Thunder growled a bass to the shriek of coming winds and a flash of distant +lightning bridged the head of the coomb with a crooked snake of fire. + +"Us'd best to get 'pon high land out o' this," shouted Bartlett. "All as +men can do us have done. The hay's in the hand o' Providence, but I +wouldn't be perched on top o' that stack not for diamonds all the same." + +A cry cut him short. Mary had turned and found the way to higher ground +already cut off. The lake was rising under their eyes, and that in spite of +the fact that the waters had already reached the trench cut for them, and +now tumbled in a torrent back to the parent stream. Escape in this +direction was clearly impossible. It only remained to wade through the head +of the lake, and that without a moment's delay. Mary herself, holding a +torch, went first through water above her knees and the men hastily +followed, Uncle Chirgwin coming last and being nearly carried off his short +legs as he turned to view the rick. Once through the water, all were in +safety, for the meadow sloped steeply upward. An increasing play of +lightning made the torches useless, and they were dropped, while the party +pressed close beneath an overhanging hedge which ran along the upper +boundary of the meadow. From this vantage-ground they beheld a spectacle +unexampled in the memory of any among them. + +Screaming like some incarnate and mad manifestation of all the elements +massed in one, the hurricane launched itself upon that valley. As a wall +the wind heralded the water, while forked lightnings, flaming above both, +tore the black darkness into jagged rags and lighted a chaos of yellow +foaming torrent which battled with livid front straight down the heart of +the coomb. The swollen river was lost in the torrent of it; and the hiss of +the rain was drowned by its sound. + +So Nature's full, hollowed hand ran over lightning-lighted to the organ +music of the thunder; but for these horror-stricken watchers the majestic +phenomena sweeping before them held no splendor and prompted no admiration. +They only saw ruin tearing at the roots of the land; they only imagined +drowned beasts floating before them belly upward, scattered hay hurried to +the sea, wasted crops, a million tons of precious soil torn off the fields, +orchards desolated, bridges and roads destroyed. For them misery stared out +of the lightning and starvation rode upon the flood. The roar of water +answering the thunder above it was to their ears Earth groaning against the +rod, and right well they knew that the pale torrent was drowning those +summer labors which represented money and food for the on-coming of the +long winter months. They stared, silent and dumb, under the ram; they knew +that the kernel of near a year's toil was riding away upon the livid +torrent; that the higher meadows, held absolutely safe, were half under +water now; that the flood tumbling under the blue fire most surely held +sheep and cattle in its depths; that tons of upland hay swam upon it; that, +like enough, dead men also turned and twisted there in a last mad journey +to the sea. + +A passing belief that their labors might save the stack sprung up in the +breast of one alone. Uncle Chirgwin trusted Providence and his hempen ropes +and clothesline; but it was a childish hope, and, gazing open-mouthed upon +that swelling, hurtling cataract of roaring water, none shared it. An +almost continuous mist of livid light crossed and recrossed, festooned and +cut by its own crinkled sources, revealed the progress of the flood, and, +heedless of themselves, Uncle Chirgwin and his men watched the fate of the +stack, now rising very pale of hue above the water, seen through shining +curtains of rain. First the torrent tumbled and rose about it, and then a +sudden tremor and turning of the mass told that the rick floated. As it +twisted the weak ropes, receiving the strain in turn, snapped one after +another; then the great stack moved solemnly forward, stuck fast, moved +again, lost its center of gravity and foundered like a ship. Under the +lightning they saw it heave upward upon one side, plunge forward against +the torrent which had swept its base from beneath it, and vanish. The +farmer heaved a bitter groan. + +"Dear God, that sich things can be in a Christian land," he cried. "All +gone, this year, an' last, an' the aftermath; an' Lard He knaws what be +doin' in the valley bottom. I wish the light may strike me dead wheer I +stand, for I be a blot afore Him, else I'd never be made to suffer like +this here. Awnly if any man among 'e will up an' tell me what I've done +I'll thank en." + +"'Tis the land as have sinned, not you," said Mary. "This reaches more'n us +o' Drift. Come your ways an' get out o' these clothes, else you'll catch +your death. Come to the house, all of 'e," she cried to the rest. "Theer +ban't no more for us to do till marnin' light." + +"If ever it do come," groaned the man Bartlett. "So like's not the end o' +the world be here; an' I'd be fust to hollo it, awnly theer's more water +than fire here when all's said, an' the airth's to be burned, not drowned." + +"Let a come when a will now," gasped an aged man as the drenched party +moved slowly away upward to the farm; "our ears be tuned to the trump o' +God, for nort--no, not the screech o' horns blawed by all the angels in +heaven--could sound awfuler than the tantarra o' this gert tempest. I, +Gaffer Polglaze, be the auldest piece up Drift, but I never heard tell o' +no sich noise, let alone havin' my awn ears flattened wi' it." + +They climbed the steep lane to the farm, and the wind began to drown the +more distant roar of the water. Rain fell more heavily than before, and the +full heart of the storm crashed and flamed over their heads as Drift was +reached. + +Dawn trembled out upon a tremendous chapter of disasters, still fresh in +the memory of many who witnessed it. A gray, sullen morning, with +sky-glimpses of blue, hastily shown and greedily hidden, broke over Western +Cornwall and uncovered the handiwork of a flood more savage in its fury and +far-reaching in its effects than man's memory could parallel--a flood which +already shrunk fast backward from its own havoc. To describe a single one +of those valleys through which small rivers usually ran to the sea is to +describe them all. Thus the torrent which raved down the coomb beneath +Drift, and carried Uncle Chirgwin's massive hayrick with it like a child's +toy-boat, had also uprooted acres of gooseberry bushes and raspberry canes, +torn apple trees from the ground, laid waste extensive tracts of ripe +produce and carried ripening roots by thousands into the sea. Beneath the +orchards, as the flood subsided, there appeared great tracts of nakedness +where banks of stone had been torn out of the land and scattered upon it; +dead beasts stuck jammed in the low forks of trees; swine, sheep and calves +appeared, cast up in fantastic places, strangled by the water; sandy +wastes, stripped of every living leaf and blade, ran like banks where no +banks formerly existed, and here and there from their midst stuck out naked +boughs of upturned trees, fragments of man's contrivances, or the legs of +dead beasts. Looking up the coomb, desolation was writ large and the utmost +margins of the flood clearly recorded on branch and bough, where rubbish +which had floated to the fringe of the flood was caught and hung aloft. +Below, as the waters gained volume and force, Buryas Bridge, an ancient +structure of three arches beneath which the trout-stream peacefully babbled +under ordinary conditions, was swept headlong away and the houses hard by +flooded; while the greatest desolation had fallen on those orchards lying +lowest in the valley. Indeed the nearer the flood approached Newlyn the +more tremendous had been the ravage wrought by it. The orchards of Talcarne +valley were ruined as though artillery had swept them, and of the lesser +crops scarce any at all remained. Then, bursting down Street-an-nowan, as +that lane is called, the waters running high where their courses narrowed, +swamped sundry cottages and leaped like a wolf on the low-lying portion of +Newlyn. Here it burst through the alleys and narrow passages, drowned the +basements of many tenements, isolated cottages, stores and granaries, +threatened nearly a hundred lives startled from sleep by its sudden +assault. Then, under the raging weather and in that babel of angry waters, +brave deeds were done by the fisher folk, who chanced to be ashore. Grave +personal risks were hazarded by many a man in that turbid flood, and not a +few women and children were rescued with utmost danger to their saviors' +lives. Yet the petty rivalry of split and riven creeds actuated not a few +even at that time of peril, and while life was allowed sacred and no man +turned a deaf ear to the cry of woman or child, with property the case was +altered and sects lifted not a finger each to help the other in the saving +of furniture and effects. + +Newlyn furnished but one theater of a desolation which covered wide +regions. At Penzance, the Laregan River flooded all the lowlands as it +swept with prodigious cataracts to the sea; mighty lakes stretched between +Penzance and Gulval; the brooklets of Ponsandine and Coombe, swollen to +torrents, bore crushing destruction upon the valleys through which they +fell. Bleu Bridge with its ancient inscribed "long stone" was swept into +the bed of the Ponsandine, and here, as in other low-lying lands, many tons +of hay were torn from their foundations and set adrift. At Churchtown the +rainfall precipitated off the slopes of Castle-an-dinas begot vast torrents +which, upon their roaring way, tore the very heart out of steep and stony +lanes, flooded farmyards, plowed up miles of hillside, leaped the wall of +the cemetery below and spread twining yellow fingers among the graves. + +Three hundred tons of rain fell to the acre in the immediate tract of that +terrific storm, and the world of misery, loss and suffering poured forth on +the humble dwellers of the land only came to be estimated in its bitter +magnitude during the course of the winter which followed. + +Ashore it was not immediately known whether any loss of human life had +added crowning horror to the catastrophe, but evil news came quickly off +the sea. Mourning fell upon Mousehole for the crews of two among its fisher +fleet who were lost that night upon the way toward Plymouth waters to join +the herring fishery; and Newlyn heard the wail of a robbed mother. + +At Drift the farmhouse was found to hold a mystery soon after the day had +broken. Joan Tregenza, whose condition rendered it impossible for her to +actively assist at the struggle in the coomb, did not retire early on the +previous night, as her family supposed, and Mary, entering her room at +breakfast-time, found it empty. There was no sign of the girl and no +indication of anything which could explain her absence. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +OUT OF THE DEEP + + +At the dawn of the day which followed upon the great storm, while yet the +sea ran high and the gale died hard, many tumbling luggers, some maimed, +began to dot the wind-torn waters of Mounts Bay. The tide was out, but +within the shelter of the shore which rose between Newlyn and the course of +the wind, the returning boats found safety at their accustomed anchorage; +and as one by one they made the little roads, as boat after boat came +ashore from the fleet, tears, hysteric screams and deep-voiced thanks to +the Almighty arose from the crowd of men and women massed at the extremity +of Newlyn pier beneath the lighthouse. Cheers and many a shake of hand +greeted every party as, weary-eyed and worn, it landed and climbed the +slippery steps. From such moments even those still in the shadow of +terrible fear plucked a little courage and brightened hopes. Then each of +the returned fishermen, with his own clinging to him, set face homeward--a +rejoicing stream of little separate processions, every one heralding a +saved life. There crept thus inland wives smiling through the mist of dead +tears, old mothers hobbling beside their bearded sons, young mothers +pouring blessing on proud sailor boys, sweethearts, withered ancients, +daughters, sons, little children. Sad beyond power of thought were the +hearts of all as they had hastened to the pierhead at early morning light; +now the sorrowful still remained there, but those who came away rejoiced, +for none returned without their treasures. + +Thomasin stood with many another care-stricken soul, but her fears grew +greater as the delay increased; for the Tregenza lugger was big and fast, +yet many boats of less fame had already come home. All the fishermen told +the same story. Bursting out of an ominous peace the storm had fallen +suddenly upon them when westward of the Scilly Islands. One or two were +believed to have made neighboring ports in the isles, but the fleet was +driven before the gale and had experienced those grave hazards reserved for +small vessels in a heavy sea. That all had weathered the night seemed a +circumstance too happy to hope for, but Newlyn hearts rose high as boat +after boat came back in safety. Then a dozen men hastened to Mrs. Tregenza +with the good news that her husband's vessel was in sight. + +"She've lost her mizzen by the looks on it," said a fisherman, "an' that's +more'n good reason for her bein' 'mong the last to make home." + +But Thomasin's hysterical joy was cut short by the most unexpected +appearance of Mary Chirgwin on the pier. She had visited the white cottage +to find it locked up and empty; she had then joined the concourse at the +pierhead, feeling certain that the Tregenza boat must still be at sea; and +she now added her congratulations to the rest, then told Mrs. Tregenza her +news. + +"I be comed to knaw if you've heard or seen anything o' Joan. 'Tis 'mazin' +straange, but her've gone, like a dream, an' us caan't find a sign of her. +What wi' she an' terrible doin's 'pon the land last night, uncle's 'bout +beside hisself. Us left her in the kitchen, an' when we comed back from +tryin' to save the hay she was nowheer. Of coorse, us thot she'd gone to +her bed. But she weern't, an' this mornin' we doan't see a atom of her, but +finds a envelope empty 'pon the kitchen floor. 'Twas addressed to Joan an' +comed from Lunnon." + +"Aw jimmery! She've gone to en arter all, then--an' in her state." + +"The floods was out, you see. Her might have marched off to Penzance to +larn 'bout the manner o' gwaine to Lunnon an' bin stopped in home-comin'; +or her might have slept in Penzance to catch a early train away." + +"Iss, or her might a got in the water, poor lamb," said Thomasin, who never +left the dark side of a position unconsidered. Mary's face showed that the +same idea had struck her. + +"God grant 'tedn' nothin' like that, though maybe 'twould be better than +t'other. Us caan't say she've run away, but I thot I'd tell 'e how things +is so's you could spread it abroad that she'm lost. Maybe us'll hear +somethin' 'fore the day's much aulder. I be gwaine to Penzance now an' I'll +let 'e knaw if theer's anything to tell. Good-by, an' I be right glad all's +well wi' your husband, though I don't hold wi' his 'pinions." + +But Mrs. Tregenza did not answer. Her eyes were fixed on the lugger which +had now got to its anchorage and looked strange and unnatural shorn of its +lesser mast. She saw the moorings dragged up; and a few minutes later the +boat, which had rolled and tumbled at them all night, was baled. Thereupon +men took their seats in her and began to row toward the harbor. It seemed +that Gray Michael was steering, and his crew clearly pulled very weak and +short, for their strength was spent. + +Then, as they came between the arms of the harbor, as they shipped oars and +glided to the steps, Tregenza's hybrid yellow dog, who accompanied the +fisherman in all his goings, jumped ashore barking and galloped up the +slippery steps with joy; while, at the same moment, a woman's sharp cry cut +the air like a knife and two wild eyes looked down into the boat. + +"Wheer'm the bwoy, Michael? Oh, my good God, wheer'm Tom?" + +Everybody strained silently to hear the answer, but though the fisherman +looked up, he made no reply. The boat steadied and one after another the +men in her went ashore, Tregenza mounting the steps last. His wife broke +the silence. Only a murmur of thankfulness had greeted the other men, for +their faces showed a tragedy. They regarded their leader fearfully, and +there was something more than death in their eyes. + +"Wheer'm the bwoy--Tom? For the love of God, speak, caan't 'e? Why be you +all dumb an' glazin' that awful!" cried the woman, knowing the truth before +she heard it. Then she listened to the elder Pritchard, who whispered his +wife, and so fell into a great convulsion of raving, dry-eyed sorrow. + +"Oh, my bwoy! Drownded--my awn lil precious Tom! God a mercy! Dead! Then +let me die tu!" + +She gave vent to extravagant and savage grief after the manner of her kind. +She would have torn her hair and thrown herself off the quay but for kindly +hands which restrained. + +"God rot you, an' blast you, an' burn you up!" she screamed, shaking her +fists at the sea. "I knawed this would be the end. I dreamed it 'fore 'e +was born. Doan't 'e hold me back, you poor fools. Let me gaw an' bury +myself in the same graave along wi' en. My Tom, my Tom! I awnly had but +wan--awnly wan, an' now--" + +She wailed and wrung her hands, while rough voices filled her ears with +such comfort as words could bring to her. + +"Rest easy, bide at peace, dear sawl." "'Tis the Lard's doin', mother; an' +the lil bwoy's better off now." "Take it calm, my poor good creature." "Try +an' bring tears to your eyes, theer's a dear wummon." + +Tears finally came to her relief, and she wept and moaned while friends +supported her, looking with wonder upon Michael, her husband. He stood +aloof with the men about him. But never a word he spoke to his wife or any +other. His eyes dilated and had lost their steady forward glance, though a +mad misery lighted them with flashes that came and went; his face was a +very burrow of time, seared and trenched with pits and wrinkles. His hat +was gone, his hair blew wild, the strong set of his mouth had vanished; his +head, usually held so high, hung forward on a shrunken neck. + +The brothers Pritchard told their story as a party conducted Thomasin back +to her home. For the moment Gray Michael stood irresolute and alone, save +for his dog, which ran round him. + +"Us was tackin' when it fust began to blaw, an' all bustlin' 'bout in the +dark, when the mainsail went lerrickin' 'cross an' knocked the poor dam +bwoy owerboard into as ugly a rage o' water as ever I seed. Tom had his +sea-boots on, an' every sawl 'pon the bwoat knawed 'twas all up as soon as +we lost en. We shawed a light an' tumbled 'bout for quarter o' an hour wi' +the weather gettin' wicked. Then comed a scat as mighty near thrawed us +'pon our beam-ends, an' took the mizzen 'long wi' it. 'Tis terrible bad +luck, sure 'nough, for never a tidier bwoy went feeshin'; but theer's worse +to tell 'e. Look at that gert, good man, Tregenza. Oh, my God, my blood do +creem when I think on't!" + +The man stopped and his brother took up the story. + +"'Twas arterwards, when us had weathered the worst an' was tryin' to fetch +home, Michael failed forward on's faace arter the bwoy was drownded; an' us +had to do all for the bwoat wi'out en. But he comed to bimebye an' didn't +take on much, awnly kept so dumb as a adder. Not a word did er say till +marnin' light; then a 'orrible thing fell 'pon en. You knaw that yaller dog +as sails wi' us most times? He turned 'pon en sudden an' sez: 'Praise God, +praise the Lard o' Hosts, my sons, here's Tom, here's my lad as us thot +weer drownded!' Then he kissed that beast, an' it licked his faace, an' he +cried--that iron sawl cried like a wummon! Then he thundered out as the +crew was to give God the praise, an' said the man as weern't on's knees in +a twinklin' should be thrawed out the bwoat to Jonah's whale. God's truth! +I never seed nothin' so awful as skipper's eyes 'pon airth! Then er calmed +down, an' the back of en grawed humpetty an' his head failed a bit forrard +an' he sat strokin' of the dog. Arter that, when us seed Newlyn, it 'peared +to bring en to his senses a bit, an' he knawed Tom was drownded. He rambled +in his speech a while; then went mute again, wi' a new look in his eyes as +though he'd grawed so auld as history in a single night. Theer he do stand +bedoled wi' all manner o' airthly sufferin', poor creature. Him wi' all his +righteousness behind en tu! But the thinkin' paarts of en be drownded wheer +his bwoy was, an' I lay theer ban't no druggister, nor doctor neither, +as'll bring 'em back to en." + +"Look at that now!" exclaimed another man. "See who's a talkin' to +Tregenza! If that ban't terrible coorious! 'Tis Billy Jago, the softy!" + +Billy was indeed addressing Gray Michael and getting an answer to his +remarks. The laborer's brains might be addled, but they still contained +sane patches. He had heard of the fisherman's loss and now touched his hat +and expressed regret. + +"Ay, the young be snatched, same as a build-in' craw will pick sprigs o' +green wood for her nest an' leave the dead twig to rot. Here I be, rotten +an' coffin-ripe any time this two year, yet I'm passed awver for that +braave young youth. An' how is it wi' you, Mr. Tregenza? I s'pose the Lard +do look to His awn in such a pass?" + +Gray Michael regarded the speaker a moment and then made answer. + +"I be that sleepy, my son, an' hungry wi' it. Iss fay, I could eat a bloody +raw dog-fish an' think it no sin. See to this, but doan't say nothin' 'bout +it. The bwoat went down wi' all hands, but us flinged a bottle to Bucca for +en to wash ashore wi' the news. But it never comed, for why? 'Cause that +damnation devil bringed the bottle 'gainst granite rocks, an' the message +was washed away for mermaids to read an' laugh at; an' the grass-green +splinters o' glass as held the last cry o' drownin' men--why, lil childern +plays wi' 'em now 'pon the sand. 'Sing to the Lard, ye that gaw down to the +sea.' An' I'll sing--trust me for that, but I must eat fust. I speaks to +you, Billy, 'cause you be wan o' God's chosen fools." + +He stopped abruptly, pressed his hand over his forehead, said something +about breaking the news to his wife, and then walked slowly down the quay. +The manner of his locomotion had wholly changed, and he moved like one +whose life was a failure. + +Meantime Jago, full of the great discovery, hastened to the Pritchards and +other men who were now following Gray Michael at a distance. Them be told +that the fisherman had taken leave of his senses, that he had actually +called Billy himself one of God's chosen fools. + +Several more boats had come in, and as it was certainly known that some had +taken refuge at Scilly, those vitally interested in the few remaining +vessels withdrew from the quay comforting each other and putting a hopeful +face on the position. Gray Michael followed his wife home. As yet she had +not learned of his state; but, although his conduct on returning was +somewhat singular, no word which fell now from him spoke clearly of a +disordered mind. He clamored first for food, and, while he ate, gave a +clear if callous account of his son's death and the lugger's danger. Having +eaten, he went to his bedroom, dragged off his boots, flung himself down +and was soon sleeping heavily; while Thomasin, marveling at his stolidity +and resenting it not a little, gave way to utter grief. During an interval +between storms of tears the woman put on a black gown, then went to her +work. The day had now advanced. On seeing her again downstairs, two or +three friends, including the Pritchards, entered the house and asked +anxiously after Michael, without, however, stating the nature of their +fears. She answered querulously that the man was asleep and showed no more +sorrow than a brute beast. She was very red-eyed and bedraggled. Every +utterance was an excuse for a fresh outburst of weeping, her breast heaved, +her hands moved spasmodically, her nerves were at extreme tension and she +could not stay long in one place. Seeing that she was nearly lightheaded +with much grief, and hoping that her husband's disorder would vanish after +his slumber was ended, her friends forbore to hint at what had happened to +him. They comforted her to the best of their power; then, knowing that long +hours of bitter sorrow must surely pass over the mother's head before such +grief could grow less, departed one by one, leaving her at last alone. She +moved restlessly about from room to room, carrying in one hand a photograph +of Tom, in the other a handkerchief. Now and then she sat down, looked at +the picture and wept anew. She tried to eat some supper presently but could +not. It is seldom a sudden loss strikes home so speedily as had her +tribulation sunk into Thomasin Tregenza's soul. She drank some brandy and +water which a friend had poured out for her and left standing on the +mantel--shelf. Then she went up to bed--a stricken ruin of the woman who +had risen from it in the morning. Her husband still slept, and Thomasin, +her grief being of a nature which required spectators for its fullest and +most soothing expression, felt irritated alike with him and with those +friends who had all departed, and, from the best motives, left her thus. +She flung herself into bed and anger obscured her misery--anger with her +husband. His heavy breathing worked her to a frenzy at last, and she sat +up, took him by the shoulder and tried to shake him. + +"Wake up, for God's sake, an' speak to me, caan't 'e? You eat an' drink an' +sleep like a gert hog--you new--come from your awnly son's drownin'! Oh, +Christ, caan't 'e think o' me, as have lived a hunderd cruel years since +you went to sleep? Ain't you got a word for me? An' you, as had your sawl +centered 'pon en--how comes it you can--" + +She stopped abruptly, for he lay motionless and made no sort of response to +her shrill complaining. She had yet to learn the cause; she had yet to know +that Michael had drifted beyond the reach of all further mental suffering +whatsoever. No religious anxieties, no mundane trials, none of the million +lesser carking troubles that fret the sane brain and stamp care on the face +of conscious intelligence would plague him more. Henceforth he was dead to +the changes and chances of human life. + +At midnight there came the awful waking. Thomasin slept at last and +slumbered dream-tossed in a shadow-world of fantastic troubles. Then a +sound roused her--the sound of a voice speaking loudly, breaking off to +laugh, and speaking again. The voice she knew, but the laugh she had never +heard. She started up and listened. It was her husband who had wakened her. + +"How do it go then? Lard! my memory be like a fishin' net, as holds the +gert things an' lets the little 'uns creep through. 'Twas a braave song as +faither singed, though maybe for God fearers it ban't a likely song." + +Then the bed trembled and the man reared up violently and roared out an +order in such words as he had never used till then. + +"Port! Port your God-damned helm if you don't want 'em to sink us." + +Thomasin, of whose presence her husband appeared unconscious, crept +trembling from the bed. Then his voice changed and he whispered: + +"Port, my son, 'cause of that 'pon the waters. Caan't 'e see--they bubbles +a glimmerin' on the foam? That's the last life of my lil Tom; an' the +foam-wreath's put theer by God's awn right hand. He'm saved, if 'twasn't +that down at the bottom o' the sea a man be twenty fathom nearer hell than +them as lies in graaves ashore. But let en wait for the last trump as'll +rip the deep oceans. An' the feesh--damn 'em--if I thot they'd nose Tom, by +God I'd catch every feesh as ever swum. But shall feesh be 'lowed to eat +what's had a everlasting sawl in it? God forbid. He'm theer, I doubt, wi' +seaweed round en an' sea-maids a cryin' awver his lil white faace an' +keepin' the crabs away. Hell take crabs--they'd a ate Christ 'isself if so +be He'd falled in the water. Pearls--pearls--pearls is on Tom, an' the sea +creatures gives what they can, 'cause they knaw as he'd a grawed to be a +man an' theer master. God bless 'em, they gives the best they can, 'cause +they knawed how us loved en. 'The awnly son o' his mother.' Well, well, +sleep's better'n medicine; but no sleepin' this weather if us wants to make +home again. Steady! 'Tis freshenin' fast!" + +He was busy about some matter and she heard him breathing in the darkness +and stirring himself. Thomasin, her heart near standing still before this +awful discovery, hesitated between stopping and flying from the room before +he should discover her. But she felt no fear of the man himself, and +bracing her nerves, struck a light. It showed Gray Michael sitting up and +evidently under the impression he was at sea. He grasped the bed-head as a +tiller and peered anxiously ahead. + +"Theer's light shawin' forrard!" he cried. Then he laughed, and Thomasin +saw his face was but the caricature of what it had been, with all the iron +lines blotted out and a strange, feeble expression about eyes and mouth. He +nodded his head, looked up at the ceiling from time to time, and presently +began to sing. + +It was the old rhyme he had been trying to recollect, and it now came, +tossed uppermost in the mind-quake which had shattered his intellect, +buried matters of moment, and flung to the surface long hidden events and +words of his youth. + + "'Bucca's a churnin' the waves of the sea, + Bucca's a darkenin' the sky wi' his frown, + His voice is the roll o' the thunder. + The lightnin' do shaw us the land on our lee, + An' do point to the plaace wheer our bodies shall drown + When the bwoat gaws down from under.' + +"Ha, ha, ha, missis! So you'm aboard, eh? Well, 'tis a funny picksher you +makes, an' if tweern't murder an' hell-fire to do it, blamed if I wouldn't +thraw 'e out the ship. 'Thou mad'st him lower than the angels,' but not +much lower, I'm thinkin'. 'Tis all play an' no work wi' them. They ought to +take a back seat 'fore the likes o' us. They abbun no devil at theer tails +all times. + + "'But I'll tame the wild devil afore very long. + If I caan't wi' my feests, I will wi' my tongue!'" + +Thomasin Tregenza scuffled into her clothes while he babbled, and now, +bidding him sleep in a shaking voice, putting out the candle and taking the +matches with her, she fled into the night to rouse her neighbors and summon +a doctor. She forgot all her other troubles before this overwhelming +tragedy. And the man driveled on in the dark, concerning himself for the +most part with those interests which had occupied his life when he was a +boy. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +THE DESTINATION OF JOAN + + +Mary Chirgwin did not return to Newlyn after making inquiries at Penzance. +There indeed she learned one fact which might prove important, but the +possibilities to be read from it were various. Joan had been at the +Penzance railway station, and chance made Mary question the identical +porter who had studied the timetable for her cousin. + +"She was anxious 'bout the Lunnon trains an' tawld me she was travelin' up +to town to-morrow," explained the man. "I weer 'pon the lookout this +marnin', but she dedn' come again." + +"What time did you see her last night?" + +"'Bout nine or earlier. I mind the time 'cause the storm burst not so very +long arter, an' I wondered if the gal had got to her home." + +"No, she didn't. Might she have gone by any other train?" + +"She might, but I'm everywheers, an' 'tedn' likely as I shouldn't have seed +her." + +This much Mary heard, and then went home. Her news made Mr. Chirgwin very +anxious, for supposing that Joan had returned from Penzance on the previous +evening, or attempted to do so, it was probable that she had been in the +lowest part of the valley, at or near Buryas Bridge, about the time of the +flood. The waters still ran high, but Uncle Thomas sent out search parties +through the afternoon of that day, and himself plodded not a few miles in +the lower part of the coomb. + +Meantime the truth must be stated. On the night of the storm Joan had gone +to Penzance, ascertained the first train which she could catch next day, +and then returned as quickly as she could toward Drift. But at Buryas +Bridge she remembered that her uncle was in the coomb with the farm hands, +and might be there all night. It was necessary that he should know her +intentions and direct her in several particulars. A farm vehicle must also +be ordered, for Joan would have to leave the farm at a very early hour. +Strung to a tension of nerves above all power of fatigue, in a whirl of +excitement and wholly heedless of the mysterious nocturnal conditions +around her, Joan determined to seek Uncle Thomas directly, and with that +intention, instead of climbing the hill to Drift and so placing herself in +a position of safety, passed the smithy and cots which lie by Buryas Bridge +and prepared to ascend the coomb in this fashion and so reach her friends +the quicker. She knew her road blindfold, but was quite ignorant of the +altered character of the stream. Joan had not, however, traveled above a +quarter of a mile through the orchard lands when she began to realize the +difficulties. Once well out of the orchards, she believed that the meadows +would offer an easier path, and thus, buried in her own thoughts, proceeded +with many stumblings and splashings over the wet grasses and earth, under a +darkness that made progress very slow despite her familiarity with the way. + +Then it was that, deep hidden in the night and all alone, where the stream +ran into a pool above big bowlders which banked it--at the spot, indeed, +where she had reigned over the milky meadowsweets seated on a granite +throne--the vibrating thread of Joan Tregenza's little life was sharply +severed and she died with none to see or hear, in that tumult of rising +waters which splashed and gurgled and rose on the skirts of the coming +storm. A pathway ran here at the edge of the river, and the girl stepped +upon it to find the swollen current suddenly up to her knees. Bewildered +she turned, slipped, turned again, and then, under the impression that she +faced toward the meadow-bank, put up her hands to grapple safety, set her +foot forward and, in a moment, was drowning. Distant not half a mile, +laboring like giants to save a thing far less precious than this life, +toiled Uncle Thomas and his men. Had silence prevailed among them the +single cry which echoed up the valley might well have reached their ears; +but all were laboring amain, and Joan was at that moment the last thought +in the minds of any among them. + +So she died; for the gathering waters soon beat out her life and silenced +her feeble struggle to save it. A short agony ended the nine months of +experience through which Joan's life has been followed; her fires were +quenched, and that most roughly; her fears, hopes, sorrows, joys were all +swept away; and Nature stood defeated by herself, to see a young life +strangled on the threshold of motherhood, and an infant being drowned so +near to birth that its small heart had already begun to beat. + +Two men, tramping through the desolation of the ruined valley at Uncle +Chirgwin's command, discovered Joan's body. The elder was Amos Bartlett, +and he fell back a step at the spectacle with a sorrowful oath on his lip; +the younger searcher turned white and showed fear. The dead girl lay on her +back, so left by the water. Her dress had been caught between two great +bowlders near the pool of her drowning and the flood had thus caused her no +injury. + +"God's goodness! how comed she here!" cried out Bartlett. "Oh, but this'll +be black news--black news; an' her brother drowned at sea likewise! Theer's +a hidden meanin' in it, I lay, if us awnly knawed." The lad who accompanied +Bartlett was shaking, and did not dare to look at the still figure which +lay so stiff and straight at their feet. Amos therefore bid him use his +legs, hasten to the farm, break the news, and dispatch a couple of men to +the coomb. + +"I can pull up a hurdle an' wattle it with withys meantime," he said; "for +'tis allus well to have work for the hand in such a pass as this. Ban't no +good for me to sit an' look at her, poor fond wummon." + +He busied himself with the hurdle accordingly, and when two of the hands +presently came down from Drift they found their burden ready for them. + +The old, silent man called Gaffer Polglaze found sufficient excitement in +the tragedy to loosen a tongue which seldom wagged. He spat on his hands +and rubbed them together before seizing his end of the hurdle. Then he +spoke: + +"My stars! to see maaster when he heard! He rolled all about as if he was +drunk. An' yet 'tis the bestest thing as could fall 'pon the gal. 'Er was +lookin' for the cheel in a month or so, they do say. Poor sawl--so cold as +a quilkin [Footnote: _Quilkin_--A frog.] now, and the unborn baaby +tu." Then Mr. Bartlett answered: + +"The unhappy creature was fine an' emperent to me 'bout a matter o' +drownin' chets in the spring. Yet here she'm drowned herself sure 'nough. +Well, well, God's will be done." + +"'Tis coorious, to be sure, how bazzomy [Footnote: _Bazzomy_--Blue or +livid.] a corpse do get 'bout the faace arter a water death," said the +first speaker, regarding the dead with frank interest. + +"Her eyes do make me wimbly-wambly in the stomach," declared the second +laborer; "when you've done talkin', Gaffer Polglaze, us'll go up-long, an' +the sooner the better." + +"Butivul eyes, tu, they was--wance. Sky-color an' no less. What I'm +wonderin' is as to however she comed here 'tall." + +"Piskey-led, I'll warrant 'e," said the ancient. + +"Nay, man-led, which is worse. You mind that printed envelope us found in +the kitchen. 'Twas some dark doin' of that anointed vellun as brot her in +trouble. Ay, an' if I could do en a graave hurt I would, Methodist or no +Methodist." + +"He'm away," answered Bartlett. "'Tedn' no call for you nor yet me to +meddle wi' the devil's awn business. The man'll roast for't when his time +do come. You'd best to take your coats off an' cover this poor clay, lest +the wummen should catch a sight an' go soundin'." + +They did as he bid them, and Mr. Bartlett laid his own coat upon the body +likewise. Then slowly up the hill they passed, and rested now and again +above the steep places. + +"A wisht home-comin' as ever a body heard tell on," commented Gaffer +Polglaze; "an' yet the Lard's good pleasure's allus right if you lives long +enough to look back an' see how things was from His bird's-eye view of 'em. +A tidy skuat [Footnote: Windfall, legacy.] o' money tu they tells me. Who +Be gwaine to come by that?" + +"Her give it under hand an' seal to her brother." + +"Theer's another 'mazin' thing for 'e! Him drownded in salt an' her in +fraish! We lives in coorious times to be sure, an' theer's more in such +happenings than meets the eye." + +"Bear yourself more sorrow-stricken, Gaffer. Us be in sight of the house." + +Mary Chirgwin met the mournful train, directed them to bring the body of +Joan into the parlor where a place was prepared for it, and then turned to +Bartlett. She was trembling and very pale for one of her complexion, but +the woman's self-command had not left her. + +"The auld man's like wan daft," she said hurriedly. "He must be doin', so +he rushed away to Newlyn to tell 'em theer. He ban't himself 'tall. You'd +best to go arter en now this minute. An' theer's things to be done in +Penzance--the doctor an' the crowner an'--an' the coffin-maker. Do what you +can to take trouble off the auld man." + +"Get me my coat an' I'll go straight 'way. 'Tis thrawed awver the poor +faace of her." + +Two minutes later Mr. Bartlett followed his master, but Uncle Chirgwin had +taken a considerable start of him. The old man was terribly shocked to hear +the news, for he had clung to a theory that Joan was long since in London. +Dread and fear came over him. The thought of facing this particular corpse +was more than he could contemplate with self-control. A great nervous +terror mingled with his grief. He wished to avoid the return from the +valley, and the first excuse for so doing which came to his mind he +hurriedly acted upon. He declared it essential that the Tregenzas should be +told instantly, and hastened away before Mary could argue with him. Only +that morning they had heard of Gray Michael's condition, but Uncle Chirgwin +forgot it when the blasting news of his niece's death fell upon him. He +hurried snuffling and weeping along as fast as his legs would bear him, and +not until he stood at their cottage door did he recollect the calamities +which had overtaken the fisherman and those of his household. + +Uncle Chirgwin began to speak hastily the moment Mrs. Tregenza opened the +door. He choked and gurgled over his news. + +"She'm dead--Joan. They've found her in the brook as the waters went down. +Drownded theer--the awnly sunshine as ever smiled at Drift. Oh, my good +God!--'tis a miz-maze to drive us all out of our senses. An' you, mother +--my dear, dear sawl, my heart bleeds for 'e." + +"I caan't cry for her--my tears be dried at the roots o' my eyes. I be +down-danted to the edge o' my awn graave. If my man wasn't gone daft +hisself, I reckon I should a gone. Come in--come in. Joan an' Tom dead in a +night, an' the faither of 'em worse than dead. I shall knaw it is so +bimebye. 'Tis awnly vain words yet. Iss, you'd best to see en now you'm +here. He may knaw 'e or he may not. He sits craakin' beside the fire, full +o' wild, mad, awful words. Doctor sez theer ban't no bettering of it. But +he may live years an' years, though 'tedn' likely. Tell en as Joan's dead. +Theer edn' no call to be afeared. He's grawed quite calm--a poor droolin' +gaby." + +Uncle Chirgwin approached Gray Michael and the fisherman held out his hand +and smiled. + +"'Tis farmer Chirgwin, to be sure. An' how is it with 'e, uncle?" + +"Bad, bad, Tregenza. Your lil darter, your Joan, be dead--drownded in the +flood, poor sweet lamb." + +"You'm wrong, my son. Joan's bin dead these years 'pon years. She was +damned afore 'er mother conceived her. Hell-meat in the womb. But the 'Lard +is King,' you mind. Joan--iss fay, her mother was a Hittite--a lioness o' +the Hittites, an' the mother's sins be visited 'pon the childern, 'cordin' +to the dark ways o' the livin' God." + +"Doan't 'e say it, Michael! She died lovin' Christ. Be sure o' that." + +The other laughed loudly, and burst into mindless profanity and obscenity. +So the purest liver and most cleanly thinker has often cursed and uttered +horrible imprecations and profanations under the knife, being chloroformed +and unconscious the while. Uncle Chirgwin gazed and listened open mouthed. +This spectacle of a shattered intellect came upon him as an absolutely new +manifestation. Any novel experience is rare when a man has passed the age +of seventy, and the farmer was profoundly agitated. Then a solemn fit fell +upon Gray Michael, and as his visitor rose to depart he quoted from words +long familiar to the speaker--weird utterances, and doubly weird from a +madman's mouth in Uncle Chirgwin's opinion. Out of the wreck and ruin of +quite youthful memories, Michael's maimed mind had now passed to these +later, strenuous days of his early religious existence, when he fought for +his soul, and lived with the Bible in his hand. + +"Hark to me, will 'e? Hark to the word o' God echoed by His worm. 'He that +heareth let en hear, an' he that forbeareth let en forbear, for they are a +rebellious house.' An' what shall us do then? Theer was a man as builded a +heydge around a guckoo, thinkin', poor fool, to catch the bird; but her +flew off. That edn' the Lard's way. 'Make a chain, for the land is full o' +bloody crimes an' the city is full o' violence!' 'An' all that handle the +oar, the mariners, an' all the pilots o' the sea, shall come down from +theer ships,' an' me amongst the rest. That's why I be here now, wi' +bitterness o' heart an' bitter wailin' for my dead bwoy. 'As for theer +rings, they was (were) so high that they was (were) dreadful; an' theer +rings were full of eyes round about.' Huntin' damned sawls, my son--a +braave sight for godly folks. That's why the rings of 'em be so full of +eyes! They need be. An' theer wings whistle like a hawk arter a pigeon. +'Because o' the mountain of Zion, which is desolate, the foxes walk upon +it.'" + +He relapsed into absolute silence and sat with his eyes on the fire. +Sometimes he shook, sometimes he nodded his head; now he frowned, then +grinned vacuously at the current of his thoughts. + +Mr. Chirgwin took his leave of Thomasin, prayed that she might be supported +in her tribulation, and so departing met Amos Bartlett who was standing +outside the cottage awaiting him. The man gave a forcible and blunt +description of his morning's work which brought many tears to Uncle +Chirgwin's eyes; then, together, they walked to Penzance, there to +chronicle the sudden death of Joan Tregenza and arrange for those necessary +formalities which must precede her burial. + +The spectacle of Tregenza's insanity, which to an educated observer had +perhaps presented features of some scientific interest and appeared +grotesque rather than tremendous, fell upon the ignorant soul of Uncle +Chirgwin in a manner far different. The mystery of madness, the sublimity +and horror of it, rise only to tragic heights in the untutored minds of +such beholders as the farmer, for no mere scientific manifestation of +mental disease is presented to their intelligence. Instead they stand face +to face with the infinitely more terrific apparition of God speaking direct +through the mouth of one among His chosen insane. In their estimation a +madman's utterance is pregnant, oracular, a subject worthy of most grave +consideration and appraisement. And after Gray Michael's mental downfall +many humble folks, incited by the remarkable religious fame of his past +life, begged permission to approach within sound of his voice at those +moments when the desire for utterance was upon him. This, indeed, came to +be a privilege not a little sought after. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +AT SANCREED + + Mary Chirgwin would allow none but herself to perform the last offices of +kindness for her cousin. In poor Joan's pocket she found a wet, crumpled +mass of paper which might have been dried and read without difficulty, but +Mary lacked curiosity to approach the matter. She debated with herself as +to how her duty stood in connection with the communication from John +Barron, then took it in her hand, not without a sensation of much loathing, +and burned it to ashes. The act produced considerable and unforeseen +consequences. Her own mundane happiness was wholly dependent on the burning +of the letter, and a man's life likewise hung upon the incident; but these +results of her conduct were only brought to the woman's understanding in +the light of subsequent events. Then, and with just if superficial cause, +she directly read God's hand in the circumstance. Another discovery +saddened Mary far more than that of the letter, which had caused her little +surprise. Around Joan's white body was a strange amulet--the glen-ader. She +had sewed it upon flannel, then fastened the ends about herself, and so +worn the snake skin at all seasons since the finding of it. The fact was +nothing, the condition of mind which it indicated brought great grief to +the discoverer. She judged that Joan was little better than heathen after +all; she greatly feared that the girl had perished but half-believing. Any +soul which could thus cherish the slough of a serpent must most surely have +been wandering afar out of the road of faith. The all-embracing credulity +of Joan was, in fact, a phenomenon beyond Mary's power to estimate or +translate; and her present discovery, therefore, caused her both pain and +consternation. But as she had burned the letter, so she likewise destroyed +all evidence of her cousin's superstitious weakness; and of neither one nor +the other did she speak when the farmer returned to his home. + +He was sadly crushed and broken; and the spectacle of his loved one, lying +silent and peaceful, brought with it deep grief for him. Not until he had +seen her and held her dead hand did he begin slowly to realize the truth. + +"Her mother do lie at Paul 'cordin' to the wish o' Michael, but I seem as +Joan had best be laid 'long wi' the Chirgwins at Sancreed. If you'll awnly +give your mind to the matter an' settle it, I'll go this evenin' to wan +plaace or t'other an' see the diggers," said Mary. + +"Sancreed for sartain. Her'll be nearer to us, an' us can see wheer she be +restin' 'pon Sundays. Sancreed's best an' fittest, for she was Chirgwin +all. They be comin' to sit 'pon her tomorrow marnin'. Please God He'll hold +me up agin it, but I feels as if I'd welcome death to be 'long-side my lil +Joan again." + +He wept an old man's scanty tears, and Mary comforted him, while she +smothered her own real sorrows entirely before his. She spoke coldly and +practically; she fetched him a stiff dose of spirits and a mutton-chop +freshly cooked. These things she made him drink and eat, and she spoke to +the old man while he did so, larding the discussion of necessary details +with expressions of hope for the dead. + +"Be strong, an' faace it, uncle. God knaws best. I lay the poor lovey was +took from gert evil to come. You knaw so well as me. You can guess wheer +her'd be now if livin'. She'm in a better home than that. I s'pose the +bury-in' might be two days off, or three. I'll step awver to Sancreed +bimebye, an' if the undertaker come, Mrs. Bartlett can be with him when he +do his work." + +"Iss, an' I've said as 'tis to be oak--braave, bold, seasoned oak, an' +polished, wi' silvered handles to it. Her should lie in gawld, my awn Joan, +if I could bring it about." + +"Ellum be more--" began Mary, then held her tongue upon that detail and +approached another. + +"Shall us ask Mrs. Tregenza? Sorrer be gripping her heart just now, but a +buryin's a soothin' circumstance to such as she. An' she could carry her +son in the mind. Poor young Tom won't get no good words said above his +dust; us can awnly think 'em for him." + +"She might like to come if her could get some o' the neighbors to bide +along wi' Michael. He'm daft for all time, but 'tis said as he'll be +childlike wi' it, thank God. I let en knaw 'bout the lass an' he rolled his +head an' dropped his jaw, like to a feesh, an' said as 'tweern't no news to +en. Which maybe it weern't, for the Lard's got His awn way wi' the idiot. +The sayin's of en! Like as not Thomasin'll be here if 'tis awnly to get the +rids of Michael for a while." + +The coroner's inquest found that Joan Tregenza had come by her death from +drowning upon the night of the flood; the tragedy filled an obscure +paragraph or two in local journals; Joan's funeral was fixed for two days +later, and Mrs. Tregenza decided that she would attend it. + +At a spot where fell the shadow of the church when the sun sank far +westerly on summer days, they dug the grave in Sancreed churchyard. Round +about it on slate slabs and upright stones appeared the names of Chirgwins +not a few. Her maternal grandparents lay there, her uncle, Mary's father, +and many others. Some of the graves dated back for a hundred and more +years. + +On the morning of the funeral, Uncle Thomas himself tied scraps of crape +around the stems of his tall geraniums, according to an ancient custom; and +Mrs. Tregenza arrived at Drift in good time to join the few who mourned. +Six men bore Joan's oaken coffin to Sancreed, while there walked behind +her, Uncle Chirgwin, Mary and Thomasin, Mr. Bartlett, his wife, Gaffer +Polglaze, and two farm maidens. A few of the Drift folk and half a dozen +young children came in the wake of the procession proper; and that was all. +The mourners and their dead proceeded along the high lanes to Sancreed, and +conversation was general. Uncle Chirgwin tugged at his black gloves and +snuffled, then snuffled and tugged again; Mary walked on one side of him; +and Mrs. Tregenza, in new and heavy black bought for another, found the +opportunity convenient for the display of varied grief, as she marched +along on the farmer's right hand. Her condition indeed became hysterical, +and Mary only soothed her with difficulty. So the party crawled within +sound of the minute bell and presently reached the church. The undertaker +buzzed here and there issuing directions, an old clergyman met the dead at +the lych-gate and walked before her up the aisle; while those who had a +right to attend the service, clustered in the pews to right and left of the +trestles. Upon them lay Joan. The words of the service sounded with +mournful reverberations through the chill echoes of an unwarmed and almost +empty church; and then the little sister, sleeping peacefully enough after +her one short year of storm, was carried to the last abode of silence. Then +followed an old man's voice, sounding strangely thin in the open air, the +straining of cords, the sweating and hard breathing and shuffling of men, +the grating of oak on a grave-bottom, the updrawing of the ropes that had +lowered the coffin. Genuine grief accompanied the obsequies of Joan +Tregenza, and her uncle's sorrow touched even men to visible grief and +sympathy; but there was no heart to break for the heart which had itself +come so near to breaking, there was no mighty wellspring of love to be +choked with tears for one who had herself loved so much. A feeling, hidden +in some minds, expressed by others, latent in all, pervaded that throng; +and there was not one among those present, save Thomas Chirgwin, but felt +that Providence, harsh till now, had dealt kindly by Joan in dealing death +to her. + +Upon the flowerless, shiny coffin-lid a staring plate of white metal +gleamed up at the world above like an eye and met the gaze of the mourners, +as each in turn, with Mrs. Tregenza first, peered down into Joan's grave +before departing. After which all went away; the children were shut out of +the churchyard; the old clergyman disappeared to the vestry; a young florid +man, with pale hair, tightened his leather belt, turned up his sleeves, +watched a grand pair of biceps roll up as he crooked his elbows, then, +taking a spade, set to work upon the wet mound he had dug from the earth +the day before to clear those few square feet of space below. As he worked, +he whistled, for his occupation held no more significance to him than an +alternative employment: the breaking of stones by the highway side. He +could see the black heads of the mourners bobbing away upon the road to +Drift, and stopped to watch them for a moment. But soon he returned to his +labor; the earth rose foot by foot, and the strong young man stamped it +down. Then it bulged and overflowed the full hole; whereupon he patted and +hammered it into the customary mound and slapped upon it sundry pieces of +sodden turf with gaping gashes between their edges. The surplus soil he +removed in a wheelbarrow, the boards he also took away, then raked over the +earth-smeared, bruised grass about the grave and so made an end of his +work. + +"Blamed if I ever filled wan quicker'n that," he thought, with some +satisfaction; "I reckoned the rain must fall afore I'd done, but it do hold +off yet seemin'ly." + +The man departed, gray twilight fell, and out from the gathering darkness, +like a wound on the hand of Time, that new-made grave and its fringe of +muddy grass stood forth, crude of color, raw, unsightly in the deepening +monochrome of the gloaming. + +At Drift the important meal which follows a funeral was enjoyed with sober +satisfaction by about fifteen persons. Cold fowls and a round of cold beef +formed the main features of the repast; Mary poured out tea for the women +at her end of the table, while the men drank two or three bottles of +grocer's sherry among them. The undertaker and his assistants followed when +the funeral assembly dispersed. Mrs. Tregenza was about to depart in the +fly specially ordered to take her home when a lawyer, who was of the +company, begged she would stay a little longer. + +"I learn that you are the deceased's stepmother, madam, and as you stand +related to the parties both now unhappily swept away by Providence--I mean +Thomas Tregenza and Joan--it is sufficiently clear that you inherit +directly the bequest left by the poor girl to her brother. I framed her +little will myself; failing her own child, her property went to Thomas +Tregenza, his heirs and assigns--those were the words. The paper is here; +the sum mentioned lies at interest of three per cent. Let me know when +convenient what you would wish to be done." + +So the pile of money, at a cost terrible enough, had reached Mrs. Tregenza +after all. She had been drinking brown sherry as well as tea, and was in a +condition of renewed tears approaching to maudlin, when the announcement +reached her. It steadied the woman. Then the thought that this wealth would +have been her son's made her weep again, until the fact that it was now her +own became grasped in her mind. There is a sort of people who find money a +reasonably good support in all human misfortune, and if Mrs. Tregenza did +not entirely belong to that callous company, yet it is certain that this +sudden afflux of gold was more likely to assuage her grief than most +things. She presently retired, all tears and care; but at intervals, when +sorrow rested to regain its strength, the lawyer's information recurred and +the distractions of mind caused by the contemplation of a future brightened +by this wealth soothed Thomasin's nerves to an extent beyond the power of +religion or any other force which could possibly have been brought to bear +upon them. She felt that her own position must henceforth be exalted in +Newlyn, for the effects of the combination of catastrophes led to that end. +Her husband was the sole care she had left, and physicians foretold no +great length of days for him. The lugger would be put up to auction, with +the drift nets and all pertaining thereto. The cottage was already Tregenza +property. Thomasin therefore looked through the overwhelming misery of the +time, counted her moneys and felt comforted without knowing it. As for her +insane husband, his very sufferings magnified him into a man of importance, +and she enjoyed the reflected glory of being his keeper. People came from +remote villages to listen to him, and it was held a privilege among the +humbler sort to view the ruin of Michael Tregenza and hark to the chaotic +ravings of a mind overthrown. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +THE HOME-COMING OF JOE + + +A fortnight and four days after the funeral of Joan Tregenza there blew a +southwest wind over Newlyn, from out a gray sky, dotted with watery blots +of darker gray. No added light marked the western horizon at sunset, but +the short, dull day simply fell headlong into night; and with darkness came +the rain. + +About five o'clock in the afternoon, when the flicker and shine of many +lamps in little shop windows brightened the tortuous streets, a man clad in +tarpaulins, and carrying a big canvas bag on his back, passed rapidly +through the village. He had come that day from London upon the paying off +of his vessel; and while he left his two chests at the railway station, he +made shift to bring his sea-bag along himself; and that because he was +bound for the white cottage on the cliff, and the bag held many precious +foreign concerns for Joan Tregenza. It had been impossible to communicate +with the sailor; and he did not write from London to tell any of his +return, that their pleasure and surprise on his appearance might be the +more complete. Now a greater shock than that in his power to give waited +the man himself. The sailor's parents lived at Mousehole, but Michael's +cottage lay upon the way, and there he first designed to appear. + +Joe Noy was a very big man, loosely but strongly set together, a Celt to +the backbone, hard, narrow of mind, but possessing rare determination. His +tanned, clean-shaven face was broader at the jaw than the eyes, and a +lowering heaviness of aspect, almost ape-like, resulted when his features +remained in repose. The effect, however, vanished when he spoke or listened +to the speech of another. That such a man had proved fickle in love was a +thing difficult to credit to the mind familiar with his character. Solid, +sober, simple, fearing God and lacking humor, the jilting of a woman was an +offense of all others least likely to have been associated with him. Yet +circumstances and some unsuspected secrets of disposition had brought about +that event; and now, as he hastened along, the vision of the dark woman he +once loved at Drift did not for an instant cross his thoughts, for they +were full of the fair girl he meant to marry at Newlyn. To her, at least, +he had kept faithful enough; she had been the guiding-star of his life for +hard upon a year of absence; not one morning, not one night, in fair +weather or foul, had he omitted to pray God's blessing upon her. A +fatalism, which his Luke Gospel tenets did not modify, was strong in the +sailor. He had seen death often enough in his business; and his instincts +told him, apart from all religious teaching, that those who died ripe for +salvation were but few. Every man appeared to be an instrument in God's +hand, and human free-will represented a condition quite beyond the scope of +his intelligence to estimate or even conceive. Had any justified in so +doing asked of him his reasons for desertion of Mary Chirgwin, Noy would +have explained that when inviting her to be his wife he took a wrong step +in darkness; that light had since suddenly shone upon him, as upon Saul, +and that Mary, choosing rather to remain outside the sure fold of Luke +Gospeldom, by so doing made it impossible for him to love her longer. He +would have added that the match was doubtless foredoomed according to the +arrangements of the Almighty. + +Now Joe came back to his own; and his heart beat faster by several pulses, +and his steps quickened and lengthened, as, through darkness and rain, he +sighted the lamp-lighted cottage window of the Tregenzas. Thereupon he +stopped a moment, brought his bag to the ground, mopped his forehead, then, +raising the latch, strode straight into the kitchen without a knock of +warning. For a moment he imagined the room, lighted only by a dull glow of +firelight, to be empty; but then, amid familiar objects, he noted one not +familiar--a tall and roomy armchair. This stood beside the fireplace, and +in it sat Gray Michael. + +"Why, so 'tis! Mr. Tregenza sure 'nough!" the traveler exclaimed, setting +down his bag and coming forward with hand outstretched. "Here I be at last +arter nine months o' salt water! An' Newlyn do smell pleasant in my nose as +I come back to it, I tell 'e!" + +The other did not take Joe's hand; he looked up vaguely, with an open mouth +and no recognition in his expression; but Noy as yet failed to note how +insanity had robbed the great face of its power, had stamped out the +strength of it, had left it a mindless vague of limp features. + +"Who be you then?" asked Mr. Tregenza. + +"Why, blamed if you abbun forgot me! I be Joe--Joe Noy comed back-along at +last. My ivers! You, as doan't forget nothin', to forget me! Yet, maybe, +'tis the low light of the fire as hides me from 'e." + +"You'm a mariner, I reckon?" + +"I reckon so, if ever theer was wan. An' I'll be the richer by a mate's +ticket 'fore the year's dead. But never mind me. How be you all--all well? +I thot I'd pop in an' surprise 'e." + +"Cruel fashion weather for pilchur fishin' us have had--cruel fashion +weather. I knawed 'tweer comin', same as Noah knawed 'fore the flood, +'cause the Lard tawld me. 'Forty years long was I grieved wi' this +generation.' But man tries the patience o' God these days. We'm like the +Ruan Vean men: 'doan't knaw an' won't larn.'" + +"Iss fay, mister, true 'nough; but tell me 'bout 'e all an'--an' my Joan. +She've been the cherub aloft for me ever since I strained my eyes glazin' +for the last peep o' Carnwall when us sailed. How be my lil Joan?" + +The other started, sat up in his chair and gripped the left arm of it, +while his right hand extended before him and he jolted it curiously with +all the fingers pointing down. + +"Joan--Joan? In hell--ragin', roastin' hell--screechin', I lay, like a cat +in a bonfire. 'Tis lies they'll tell 'e 'bout her. She weern't +drownded--never. The devil set sail 'pon auld Chirgwin's hayrick, so they +sez, an' her sailed 'long wi' en. But 'theer rings, they was so high that +they was dreadful, an' theer rings weer full o' eyes round about.' She'm +damned, my son--called, not chosen. 'The crop o' the bunch' they called +her--the crop o' the devil's bunch she was--no cheel o' my gettin'. Her'll +burn for a million years or better--all along o' free-traadin'. +Free-traadin'! curse 'em--why doan't they call it smugglin' an' have done?" + +Joe Noy had fallen back. He forgot to breathe, then Nature performed the +necessary act, and in a moment of the madman's silence his listener sucked +a long loud breath. + +"Oh, my gracious Powers, what's fallen 'pon en?" he groaned aloud. + +"God's strong, but the devil's stronger, you mind. Us must pray to the pit +now. 'Our devil which art in hell'--Ha! ha! ha! He hears fast enough, an' +pokes up the black horns of en at the first smell o' prayer. Not but what +my Tom's aloft, in the main-top o' paradise. I seed en pass 'pon a black +wave wi' a gray foamin' crest. An' the white sawl o' my bwoy went mountin' +and mountin' in shape o' a seabird. Men dies hard in salt water, you mind. +It plays wi' 'em like a cat wi' a mouse. But 'tis all wan: 'The Lard is +King an' sitteth 'tween the cherubims,' though the airth's twitchin', same +as a crab bein' boiled alive, all the time." + +Noy looked round him wildly and was about to leave the cottage. Then it +struck him that the man's wife and daughter could not be far off. What +blasting catastrophe had robbed him of his mind the sailor knew not; but +once assured of the fact that Michael Tregenza was hopelessly insane, Noy +lent no credit to any of his utterances, and of course failed to dimly +guess at those facts upon which his ravings were based. Indeed he heard +little after the first rambling outburst, for his own thoughts were busy +with the problems of Tregenza's fate. + +"Sit down, mariner. I shan't sail till marnin' an' you'm welcome. Theer be +thots in me so deep as Levant mine, but I doan't speak 'em for anybody's +hearin'. Joan weern't none o' mine, an' I knawed it, thanks be to God, +'fore ever she played loose. What do 'e think o' a thousand pound for a +sawl? Cheap as dirt--eh? 'Thou hast covered thyself with a cloud that our +prayer should not pass through.' Not as prayers can save what's lost for +all eternity 'fore 'tis born into time. He ruined her; he left her wi' +cheel; but ban't likely the unborn clay counts. God Hisself edn' gwaine to +damn a thing as never drawed breath. Who'd a thot the like o' her had got a +whore's forehead? An' tokened at that--tokened to a sailor-man by name o' +Noy. Let'n come home, let'n come home an' call the devil as did it to his +account. Let the Lard see to't so that man edn' 'lowed to flourish no more. +I be tu auld an' broken for any sich task. 'For the hurt o' the darter o' +my people I am hurt.'" + +He spoke no more upon that head, though Noy, now awake to fear and horridly +conscious that he stood in the shadow of some tremendous ill, reaching far +beyond the madman, asked him frantically what he meant. But Michael's mind +had wandered off the subject again. + +"I seed en cast forth a net, same as us does for macker'l, but 'twas sawls, +not feesh, they dragged in the bwoat; but braave an' few of 'em. The +devil's nets was the full wans, 'cause--" + +At this moment Thomasin came in, saw a man by Mr. Tregenza, but did not +realize who had returned until she struck a light. Then, approaching, she +gasped her surprise and stood for a moment dumb, looking from her husband +to the sailor, from the sailor back to her husband. The horror on Noy's +face frightened her; indeed he was now strung to a pitch of frantic +excitement. He saw that the woman was altogether clad in black, that her +garments were new, that even her bonnet had a black flower in it; and, +despite his concern, he observed an appearance of prosperity about her, +though her face belied it, for Mrs. Tregenza was very thin, and far grayer +and older too than when he saw her last. He took the hand she stretched +shaking toward him; then a question burst from his lips. + +"For God's sake speak an' tell me the worst on it. What terrible evil be +here? He'm--he'm daft seemin'ly; he's spawk the awfulest mad words as ever +comed from lips. An' Joan--doan't 'e say it--doan't 'e say 'tis true she'm +dead--not my lil treasure gone dead; an' me, ever since I went, countin' +the days an' hours 'gainst when I should come back?" + +"Ay, my poor lad, 'tis true--all true. An' worse behind, Joe. Hip an' thigh +us be smitten--all gone from us; my awnly wan drownded--my awn bwoy; an' +Michael's brain brawk down along o' it. An' the bwoat an' nets be all sold; +though, thanks to God, they fetched good money. An' poor Joan tu--'pon the +same night as my Tom--drownded--in the gert land-flood up-long." + +Gray Michael had been nodding his head and smiling as each item of the +mournful category was named. At Thomasin's last words he interrupted +angrily, and something of the old, deep tones of his voice echoed again. + +"'Tis a lie! Dedn' I tell 'e, wummon, 'tweern't so? The devil took +her--body an' bones an' unborn baaby. They say she was found by the +meadowsweets; an' I say 'tis false. You may groan an' you may weep blood, +but you caan't chaange the things that have happened in time past--no; nor +more can God A'mighty." + +His wife looked to see how Joe viewed this statement. A great local +superstition was growing up round Gray Michael, and his wild utterances +(sometimes profanely fearful beyond the possibility of setting down) were +listened to greedily as inspirations and oracles. Mrs. Tregenza herself +became presently imbued with something of this morbid and ignorant opinion. +Her deep wounds time promised to heal at the first intention, and the +significance now attributed to her insane husband grew to be a source of +real satisfaction to her. She dispensed the honor of interviews with +Michael as one distributes great gifts. + +The force of circumstances and the futility of fighting against fate +impressed Thomasin mightily now, as Noy's wild eyes asked the question his +lips could not force themselves to frame. She sighed and bent her head and +turned her eyes away from him, then spoke hurriedly: + +"I doan't knaw how to tell 'e, an' us reckoned theer weern't no call to, +an' us weern't gwaine to tell; but these things be in the Lard's hand an' +theer edn' no hidin' what He means to let out. A sorry, cruel home-comin' +for 'e, Joe. Poor lass, her's done wi' all her troubles now, an' the unborn +cheel tu. 'Tis very hard to stand up 'gainst, but the longest life's awnly +short, an' us ban't called 'pon to live it more'n wance, thank God." + +Here she gave way to tears, and dried the same on a white +pocket-handkerchief with a black border. + +"'Tis all so true as gospel," declared Gray Michael, rolling his head round +on his neck and laughing. "An' my auld wummon's fine an' braave, edn' her? +That's cause I cleared a thousan' pound in wan trip. Christ was aboard, an' +He bid me shoot the nets by munelight off the islands. He do look arter His +awn somethin' butivul, as I tawld En. An' now I be a feesher o' men, which +is better, an' high 'mong the salt o' the airth, bein' called to walk along +wi' James an' John an' the rest." + +"He sits theer chitterin', ding dong, ding dong, all the wisht day. Tom's +death drove en cracked, but 'e ban't no trouble, 'cept at feedin' times. +Besides, I keeps a paid servant girl now," said Mrs. Tregenza. + +Joe Noy had heard neither the man nor the woman. From the moment that he +knew the truth concerning Joan his own thoughts barred his ears to all +utterances. + +"Who weer it? Tell me the name. I want no more'n that," he said. + +"'Tis Anne Bundle's darter," answered Mrs. Tregenza, her mind on her maid. + +"The man!" thundered Noy, "the man who brot the thing about--the man what +ruined--O God o' Hosts, be on my side now! Who weer 'e? Give me the name of +en. That's all as I wants." + +"Us doan't knaw. You see, Joan was away up Drift wi' the Chirgwins, an' +theer she was took when they found her arter the drownin'. She never knawed +the true name of en herself, poor dear. But 'twas a paintin' man--a artist. +It comed out arter as he'd made a picksher of her, an' promised to marry +her, an' stawl all she'd got to give 'pon the strength of the lie. Then +theer was a letter--" + +"From the man?" + +Mrs. Tregenza grew frightened at the thought of mentioning the money, and +now adroitly changed the first letter from Barron, which was in her mind +when she spoke, to the second, which Joan had received from him on the +night of her death. + +"Iss, from him; an' Mary Chirgwin found it 'pon the dead frame o' the poor +gal, but 'twas partly pulp, along o' the water; an' Mary burned it wi'out +readin' a word--so she said, at least, though that's difficult to credit, +human nature bein' as 'tis." + +"Then my work's the harder; but I'll find en, s'elp me God, even if us be +grawed gray afore we meet." + +"Think twice, Joe; you caan't bring back your lass, nor wash her sins +white. 'Tis tu late." + +"No, not that, but I can--I'm in God's hand for this. Us be tools, an' He +uses all for His awn ends. I sees whereto I was born now, an' the future be +writ clear afore my eyes. Thicky madman theer said the word; an' I lay the +Lard put it in en for my better light. Er said 'Let'n come home an' call +the devil as did it to account.' He was thinkin' o' me when he said it, +though he dedn' knaw me." + +"Iss fay, 'tis generally allowed he be the lips o' God A'mighty now. But +you, Joe--doan't 'e waste life an' hard-won money huntin' down a damned +man. Leave en to his deserts." + +"'Tis I that be his deserts, wummon--'tis I, in the hand o' the God o' +Vengeance. That's my duty now standin' stark ahead o' me. The Lard's +pleased to pay all my prayers an' good livin' like this here. His will be +done, an' so it shall to the dregs of it; an' if I be for the pit arter +all, theer's wan livin' as gaws along wi' me." + +"That's worse than a fool's thot. Bide till you'm grawed cool anyways. 'Tis +very hard this fallin' 'pon a virtuous member like what you be; but 'tedn' +a straange tale 'tall. The man was like other men, I doubt; the maid was +like other maids. You thot differ'nt. You was wrong; an' you'll be wrong +again to break your heart now. Let en go--'tis best." + +"Let en go! Blast en--I'll let heaven go fust! Us'll see what a wronged +sawl's patience can do now. Us'll see what the end of the road'll shaw! O +God o' the Righteous, fester this here man's bones in his body, an' eat his +life out of en wi' fiery worms! Tear his heartstrings, God o' Hosts, rob en +of all he loves, stamp his foul mind wi' memories till he shrieks for death +an' judgment; punish his seed forever; turn his prayers into swearin'; +torture en, rot en sawl an' body till you brings me to en. Shaw no mercy, +God o' Heaven, but pile agony 'pon agony mountains high for en; an' let +mine be the hand to send his cussed sawl to hell, for Christ's sake, Amen!" + +"Oh, my Guy Faux! theer's cussin'! An' yet 'tedn' gwaine to do a happard +[Footnote: _Happard_--Halfpennyworth.] o' good; an' you wouldn' be no +happier for knawin' sich a prayer was granted," said Thomasin; but Gray +Michael applauded the outburst, and his words ended that strange spectacle +of two men, for the time both mad. + +"Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Braave prayin'! Braave savor for the Lard's +nose--sweeter than the blood o' beasts. You'm a shinin' light, cap'n--a +trumpet in the battle, like the sound o' the sea-wind when it begins to +sting afore heavy weather, an' the waters roll to the top o' the bulwarks +an' awver. 'The snorting of his horses was heard from Dan'--sea-horses us +calls 'em nowadays. Mount an' ride, mount an' ride! 'Cursed be the man that +trusteth in man,' saith the Lard; but the beasts be truer, thanks to the +wickedness o' God, who's spared 'em the curse o' brain paarts, but stricken +man wi' a mighty intelligence. 'Twas a fine an' cruel act, for the more +mind the more misery. 'Twas a damned act sure 'nough! Doan't 'e let on +'bout it, mate, but theer'll be clever surprises at Judgment, an' the fust +to be damned'll be the God o' the Hebrews Hisself for givin' o' brains to +weak heads. Then the thrawn o' heaven'll stand empty--empty--the plaace +'tween the cherubims empty; an' they'll call 'pon me to fill it so like's +not. Tarraway, I shall be named, same as the devil in the droll--a purty +word enough tu." + +He broke into laughter, and Joe Noy, saying a few hasty words to Thomasin, +departed. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +A NIGHT VISIT + + +He who less than an hour before had hastened hot-footed through the Newlyn +streets, whose habitual stern expression had softened before the well-known +sights and smells of the gray village, whose earnest soul was full of +happiness under the rain of the night, now turned back upon his way and +skulked through the darkness with a murderer's heart in him. The clear +spectacle of his revenge blinded lesser presentations and even distracted +his sorrow. There was no space now vacant in Noy's brain to hold the full +extent of his loss; and the fabric of happiness which for weary months on +various seas he had been building up in imagination, and which a madman's +word had now sent spinning to chaos, yet remained curiously with him, as an +impression stamped by steadfast gazing remains upon the eye. It recurred as +of old: a joy; and not till the former emotion of happiness had again and +again reappeared to be blunted, as a dream, at waking, by the new +knowledge, did truth sink into this man's mind and become part of memory. +Now he was dazed, as one who has run hard and well to a goal, and who, +reaching it, finds his prize stolen. Under these circumstances, Joe Noy's +natural fatalism--an instinct beyond the power of any religion to +destroy--appeared instant and strong. Chance had now fed these +characteristics, and they grew gigantic in an hour. But the religious habit +made him turn to his Maker in this pass, and the merely primitive passions, +which were now breaking loose within him, he regarded as the direct voices +of God. They proclaimed that solitary duty the world still held for him; +they marked out his road to the lurid end of it. + +Thus Noy's own furious lust for revenge was easily and naturally elevated +into a mandate from the Highest--into a message echoed and reiterated upon +his ear by the multitudinous voices of that wild night. The rain whispered +it on the roof-trees, the wind and sea thundered it; out of elemental chaos +the awful command came, as from primal lips which had spoken since creation +to find at last the ultimate destination of their message within a human +ear. To Noy, his purpose, not yet an hour old, seemed ancient as eternity, +a fixed and deliberate impression which had been stamped upon his mind at a +period far earlier than his life in time. For one end had he been created; +that by some sudden short cut he should hurry to its close a vile life, +fill up God's bitter curse upon this man, destroy the destroyer, and speed +a black soul into the torment awaiting it. + +Irresolute and deep in thought as to his future actions, Joe Noy walked +unconsciously forward. He felt unequal to returning to his home in +Mousehole after what he had learned at Newlyn; and he wandered back, +therefore, toward Penzance. A glare of gas lamps splashed the wet surface +of the parade with fire; while below him, against the sea wall, a high tide +spouted and roared. Now and again, after a heavy muffled thud of sea +against stone, columns of glimmering, gray foam shot upward, like gigantic +ghosts out of the water. For a moment they towered in the air, then, +wind-driven, swept hissing across the black and shining surfaces of the +deserted parade. + +Noy stood here a moment, and the cold wind cooled him, and the riot and +agony of the sea boiling against the granite face of the breakwater chimed +with the riot and agony of his mind, whose hopes were now rent in tatters, +riven, splintered and disannulled by chance. He turned a moment where the +Newlyn harbor light flashed across the darkness to him. From his standpoint +he knew that a line drawn through that light must fall upon the cottage of +the Tregenzas beyond it on the shore, and, fixing his eyes where the +building lay hidden, he stretched out his hand and spoke aloud. + +"May God strike me blind and daft if ever I looks 'pon yon light an' yonder +cot again till the man be dead." + +Then he turned, and was about to seek the station, with a vague purpose to +go straight to London at the earliest opportunity, when a wiser thought +arrested this determination. He must learn all that it was possible to +learn concerning the last days of Joan. Mrs. Tregenza had explained her +stepdaughter's life at Drift. To Drift, therefore, the sailor determined to +go; and the stress upon his mind was such that even the prospect of +conversation with Mary Chirgwin--a thing he had certainly shrunk from under +other circumstances--caused him no uneasiness. + +Over the last road that Joan had ever walked, and under similar conditions +of night and storm, he tramped up to Drift, entered through the side gate, +and surprised Mr. Chirgwin and his niece at their supper. As before with +the Tregenzas, so now again in company of Uncle Thomas and Mary, Joe Noy +formed the third in a trio of curious significance. Though aware that the +sailor was due from his voyage, this sudden apparition of him at such a +time startled his former friends not a little. Mary indeed was unnerved in +a manner foreign to her nature, and the candle-lighted kitchen whirled in +her eyes as she felt her hand in his. Save for an ejaculation from the old +man, which conveyed nothing beyond his astonishment, Noy was the first to +speak; and his earliest words relieved the minds of his listeners in one +great particular; he already knew the worst that had happened. + +"I be come from Newlyn, from the Tregenzas. Thomasin have tawld me of all +that's falled out; but I couldn't bide in my awful trouble wi'out comin' +up-long. I reckon you'll let the past be forgot now. I'm punished ugly +enough. You seed her last, dead an' alive; you heard the last words ever +she spoke to any of her awn folks. That drawed me. If I must ax pardon for +comin', then I will." + +"Nay, nay, my poor sawl; sit you down an' eat, Joe, an' take they wet boots +off a while. Our hearts have bled for 'e this many days, Joe Noy, an' never +more'n now." + +"I thank you, uncle; an' you, Mary Chirgwin--will 'e say as much? 'Tis you +I wants to speak with, 'cause you--you seed Joan arter 'twas awver." + +"I wish you well, Joe Noy, an' if I ever done differ'nt 'tis past an' +forgot. What I can tell 'e 'bout our poor lass, as lived the end of her +days along wi' me an' uncle, you've a right to knaw." + +"An' God bless 'e for sayin' so. I comed rough an' ready, an' thrust in +'pon you; but this news be but two hour auld in my heart, you see, an' +'tedn' easy for such as me to make choice o' words at a time like this." + +"Eat, my son, an' doan't 'e fancy theer's any here but them as be friends. +Polly an' me seed more o' Joan through her last days than any; an' I do say +as she was a lamb o' God's foldin', beyond all manner o' doubt; an' Polly, +as feared it mightn't 'sactly be so, be of my 'pinion now. Them as suffered +for the sins o' other folk, like what she done, has theer hell-fire 'pon +this side o' the graave, not t'other." + +"I lay that's a true sayin'," declared Noy shortly. "I won't keep 'e +ower-long from your beds," he added. "If you got a drink o' spirits I'll +thank you for it; then I'll put a question or two to she--to Mary Chirgwin, +if she'll allow; an' then I'll get going." + +The woman was self-possessed again now, although Joe's voice and +well-remembered gestures moved her powerfully and made it difficult to keep +her voice within absolute control. + +"All you can ax that I knaw, I'll tell 'e, though Joan shut her thots purty +close most times. Us awnly got side views of her mind, and them not often." + +"The man," he said. "Tell me all--every-thin' you can call home--all what +her said of him." + +"Fust she thot a 'mazin' deal 'bout en," explained the farmer; "then time +made her mind get stale of en, an' she begin to see us was right. He sent +money--a thousand pound, an' I--poor fool--thot Joan weern't mistook at +fust. But 'twas awnly conscience money; an' now Thomasin's the better for't +by will." + +But this sensational statement was not appreciated, Joe's mind being +elsewhere. + +"You never heard the name of en?" + +"Awnly the christening name, as was 'Jan.' You may have heard tell she got +a letter the night she passed. Us found the coverin' under the table next +day, an' Mary comed across the letter itself in her pocket at the last." + +"'Tis that I be comed for. If you could tell so much as a word or two out +of it, Mary? They said you burned it an' the crowner was mighty angry, but +I thot as p'raps you'd looked at it all the same, awnly weern't pleased to +say so." + +"No," she answered. "Tis true I found a letter, an' I might a read some of +it if I would, but I judged better not. 'Tweern't fair to her like." + +"Was theer anything else as shawed anything 'bout en?" + +"No--awnly a picksher of a ship he painted for her. I burned that tu; an' +I'd a burned his money if I could. He painted her--I knaw that much. She +tawld us wan night--a gert picksher near as large as life. He took it to +Lunnon--for a shaw, I s'pose." + +"I'd think of en no more if I was you, Joe," said Uncle Chirgwin. "Leave +the likes of en to the God of en. Brace yourself agin this sore onset an' +pray to Heaven to forgive all sinners." + +Noy looked at the old man and his great jaw seemed to spread laterally with +his thought. + +"God have gived the man to me! that's why I be here: to knaw all any can +teach me. I've got to be the undoin' o' that devil--the undoin' an' death +of en. I'll be upsides wi' the man if it takes me fifty year to do it. +Awnly 'more haste, more let.' I shall go slow an' sure. That's why I comed +here fust thing." + +Mr. Chirgwin looked extremely alarmed, and Mary spoke. + +"This be wild, wicked talkin', Joe Noy, an' no mort o' sorrer as ever was +can excuse sich words as them. 'Tedn' no task o' yourn to take the Lard's +work out His hand that way. He'll pay the evil-doer his just dues wi'out no +help from you." + +"I've got a voice in my ear, Mary--a voice louder'n any human voice; an' it +bids me be doin' as the instrument of God A'mighty's just rage. If you can +help me, then I bid you do it, if not, let me be away. Did you read any o' +that theer letter--so much as a word, or did 'e larn wheer 'twas writ +from?" + +"If I knawed, I shouldn't tell 'e, not now. I'd sooner cut my tongue out +than aid 'e 'pon the road you'm set. An' you a righteous thinkin' man +wance!" + +He looked at her and there was that in his face which showed a mind busy +with time past. His voice had changed and his eyes softened. + +"I be punished for much, Mary Chirgwin. I be punished wi' loss an' wi' sich +work put on me as may lead to a terrible ugly plaace at the end. But theer +'tis. Like the chisel in the hand o' the carpenter, so I be a sharp tool in +the Lard's grip." + +"Never! You be a poor, dazed worm in the grip o' your awn evil thots! You'm +foxing [Footnote: _Foxing_--Deceiving.] yourself, Joe; you'm listenin' +to the devil an' tellin' yourself 'tis God--knawin' 'tedn' so all the +while. Theer's no religion as would put you in the right wi' sich notions +as them. Listen to your awn small guidin' voice, Joe Noy; listen to me, or +to Luke Gosp'lers or any sober-thinkin', God-fearin' sawl. All the world +would tell 'e you was wrong--all the wisdom o' the airth be agin you, let +alone heaven." + +"If 'twas any smaller thing I'd listen to 'e, Mary, for I knaw you to be a +wise, strong wummon; but theer ban't no mistakin' the message I got +down-long when they told me what's fallen 'pon Joan Tregenza. No fay; my +way be clear afore me; an' the angel o' God will lead my footsteps nearer +an' nearer till I faace the man. Windin' ways or short 'tis all wan in the +end, 'tis all set down in the Book o' the Lard." + +"How can the likes o' you dare to up an' say what be in the Book o' the +Lard, Joe?" asked Uncle Chirgwin, roused to words by the other's +sentiments. "You've got a gashly, bloody-minded fit on you along of all +your troubles. But doan't 'e let it fasten into your heart. Pray to God to +wipe away these here awful opinions. Else they'll be the ruin of 'e, body +an' sawl. If Luke Gosp'ling brot 'e to this pass in time o' darkness an' +tribulation, 'tis a cruel pity you didn't bide a church member." + +"I wish I thot you was in the right, uncle," said the sailor calmly, "but I +knaws you ban't. All the hidden powers of the airth an' the sea edn' gwaine +to keep me from that man. Now I'll leave 'e; an' I'm sorry, Mary Chirgwin, +as you caan't find it in your heart to help me, but so the Lard wills it. I +won't ax 'e to shake my hand, for theer'll be blood on it sooner or +later--the damnedest blood as ever a angry God called 'pon wan o' His +creatures to spill out." + +"Joe, Joe, stay an' listen to me! For the sake of the past, listen!" + +But Noy rose as Mary cried these words, and before she had finished +speaking he was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +THE SEEKING OF THE MAN + + +Thus the sailor, Noy, wholly imbued with one idea, absolutely convinced +that to this end it had pleased Providence to give him life, went forth +into the world that he might seek and slay the seducer of Joan. After +leaving Drift he returned to Penzance, lay there that night, and upon the +following morning began a methodical visitation of the Newlyn studios. Five +he called at and to five artists he stated something of his case in general +terms; but none of those who heard him were familiar with any of the facts, +and none could offer him either information or assistance. Edmund Murdoch +was not in Newlyn, Brady had gone to Brittany; but at the seventh studio +which he visited, Joe Noy substantiated some of his facts. Paul Tarrant +chanced to be at home and at work when he called; and the artist would have +told Joe everything which he wished to learn, but that Noy was cautious and +reserved, not guessing that he stood before one who knew his enemy and +entertained no admiration for him. + +"Axing pardon for taking up any of your time, sir," he began, "but theer'm +a matter concerning a party in your business as painted a maiden here, by +name o' Joan Tregenza. She weern't nobody--awnly a fisherman's darter, but +the picksher was said to be done in these paarts, an' I thot, maybe, you'd +knaw who drawed it." + +Tarrant had not heard of Joan's death, and, indeed, possessed no +information concerning her, save that Barron had prevailed upon the girl to +sit for a portrait. The question, therefore, struck him as curious; and one +which he put in return, merely to satisfy his own curiosity, impressed Joe +in a similar way. His suspicious nature took fright and Tarrant's dark, +bright eyes seemed to read his secret and search his soul. + +"Yes, a portrait of Joan Tregenza was painted here last spring, but not by +a Newlyn man. How does that interest you?" + +"Awnly sideways. 'Tedn' nothin' to me. I knaws the parties an' wanted to +see the picksher if theer weern't no objection." + +"That's impossible, I fear, unless you go to London. I cannot help you +further than to say the artist lives there and his picture is being +exhibited at an art gallery. Somebody told me that much; but which it is I +don't know." + +This was enough for Noy. Ignorant of the metropolis or the vague import of +the words "a picture gallery," he deemed these directions amply sufficient, +and, being anxious to escape further questioning, now thanked Tarrant and +speedily departed. Not until half way back again to Penzance did he realize +how slight was the nature of this information and how ill-calculated to +bring him to his object; the man he wanted lived in London and had a +painting of Joan Tregenza in a picture gallery there. + +Yet upon these directions Joe Noy resolved to begin his search, and as the +train anon bore him away to the field of the great quest he weighed the +chances and considered a course of action. Allowing the ample margin of ten +picture galleries to London, and assuming that the portrait of Joan once +found would be easily recognized by him, the sailor considered that a +fortnight of work should bring him face to face with the picture. That +done, he imagined that it would not be difficult to learn the name and +address of the painter. He had indeed asked Tarrant this question +pointblank, but the artist's accidental curiosity and Joe's own caution +combined to prevent any extension of the interview, or a repetition of the +question. A word had at least placed him in possession of John Barron's +name, but Chance prevented it from being spoken, as Chance had burned +Barron's letter and prevented his name appearing at the inquest. Now Noy +viewed the task before him with equanimity. The end was already assured, +for, in his own opinion, he walked God-guided; but the means lay with him, +and he felt that it was his duty to spare no pains or labors and not to +hesitate from the terrible action marked for him when he should reach the +end of his journey. Mary's last words came to his ear like a whisper which +mingled with the jolt and rattle of the railway train; but they held no +power to upset his purpose or force to modify his rooted determination. Her +image occupied his thoughts, however, for a lengthy period. Then, with some +effort, he banished it and entered upon a calculation of ways and means, +estimating the capabilities of his money. + +Entering the great hive to accomplish that assassination as he supposed +both planned and predestined for him before God made the sun, Noy set about +his business in a deliberate and careful manner. He hired a bedroom in a +mean street near Paddington, and, on the day after his arrival in London, +purchased a large map and index of the city which gave ample particulars of +public buildings and mentioned the names and positions of the great +permanent homes of art. By the help of newspaper advertisements he also +ascertained where to find some of the numerous private dealers' galleries +and likewise learned what public annual exhibitions chanced to be at that +time open. Whereupon, though the circumstance failed to quicken his pulse, +he discovered that the extent of his labors would prove far greater than he +at first imagined. He made careful lists of the places where pictures were +to be seen, and the number quickly ran up to fifty, sixty, seventy +exhibitions. That he would be able to visit all these Joe knew was +impossible, but the fact caused him no disquiet. The picture he sought and +the name of the man who painted it must be presented to him in due season. +For him it only remained to toil systematically at the search and allow no +clew to escape him. As for the issue, it was with the Lord. + +London swept and surged about Joe Noy unheeded. He cared for nothing but +canvases and the places where they might be seen. Day by day he worked and +went early to rest, weary and worn by occupation of a nature so foreign to +his experience. Nightly his last act was to delete one or sometimes two of +the exhibitions figured upon his lists. Thus a week passed by and he had +visited ten galleries and seen upward of five thousand pictures. Not one +painting or drawing of them all was missed or hurried over; he compared +each with its number in the catalogue, then studied it carefully to see if +any hint or suggestion of Joan appeared in it. Her Christian name often met +his scrutiny in titles, and those works thus designated he regarded with +greater attention than any others; but the week passed fruitlessly, and +Joe, making a calculation at the termination of it, discovered that, at his +present rate of progression, it would be possible to inspect no more than +half of the galleries set down before his funds were exhausted. The +knowledge quickened his ingenuity and he discovered a means by which future +labors might be vastly modified and much time saved. He already knew that +the man responsible for Joan's destruction was called John; his mind now +quickened with the recollection of this important fact, and henceforth he +did a thing which any man less unintelligent had done from the first: he +scanned his catalogues without troubling about the pictures, and only +concerned himself with those canvases whose painters had "John" for their +Christian names. He thanked God on his knees that the idea should have +entered his mind, for his labors were thereby enormously lightened. +Notwithstanding, through ignorance of his subject, Joe wasted a great deal +of time and money. Thus he visited the National Gallery, the Old Masters at +the Academy and various dealers' exhibitions where collections of the +pictures of foreign men were at that season being displayed. + +The brown sailor created some interest viewed in an environment so +peculiar. His picturesque face might well have graced a frame and looked +down upon the artistic throngs who swept among the pictures, but the living +man, full of almost tragic interest in what he saw, laboring along +catalogue in hand, dead to everything but the art around him, seemed wholly +out of place. He looked what he was: the detached thread of some story from +which the spectator only saw this chapter broken away and standing without +its context. Nine persons out of ten dismissed him with a smile; but +occasionally a thoughtful mind would view the man and occupy itself with +the problem of his affairs. Such built up imaginary histories of him and +his actions, which only resembled each other in the quality of remoteness +from truth. + +Once it happened that at a small gallery, off Bond Street, the sudden sight +of precious things brought new emotions to Joe Noy--sentiments and +sensations of a sort more human and more natural than those under which he +was at present pursuing his purpose. Before this spectacle, suddenly +presented in the quietness and loneliness of the little exhibition, that +stern spirit of revenge which had actuated him since the knowledge of his +loss, and which, gripping his mind like a frost from the outset, had +congested the gentler emotions of sorrow for poor Joan and for +himself--before this display of a familiar scene, hallowed beyond all +others in memory, the man's relentless mood rose off his mind for a brief +moment like a cloud, and he stood, with aching heartstrings, gazing at a +great canvas. Sweet to him it was as the unexpected face of one dearly +loved to the wanderer; and startling in a measure also, for, remembering +his oath, to see Newlyn no more until his enemy was dead, it seemed as +though the vow was broken by some miracle and that from the heart of the +roaring city he had magically plunged through space to the threshold of the +home of Joan. + +Before him loomed a picture like a window opening upon Newlyn. The village +lay there in all the flame and glory of sunset lights. The gray and black +roofs clustered up the great dark hill and the gloaming fell out of a +primrose sky over sea and land. The waters twinkled full of light to the +very foreground of the canvas, and between the piers of the harbor a +fisher-boy was sculling his boat. Between the masts of stone-schooners at +the quay, Joe saw the white cottage of the Tregenzas, and there his survey +stopped, for at this spectacle thought broke loose. No man ever paid a +nobler tribute to a good picture. Very long he gazed motionless, then, with +a great sigh, moved slowly forward, his eyes still turning back. + +The day and the experience which it brought him marked a considerable flux +of new impressions in Joe's mind--impressions which, without softening the +rugged aspect of his determination, yet added other lines of reflection. +Sorrow for what was lost fastened upon him, and an indignation burned his +soul that such things could be in a world designed and ordered by the +Almighty. Revenge, however, grew no less desirable in the light of sorrow. +He looked to it more and more eagerly as the only food which could lead to +peace of mind. His road probably embraced the circumstances of an +ignominious death; but none the less peace would follow--a peace beyond the +power of future life on earth to supply. Thus, at least, did his project +then present itself to him. Thought of the meeting with his enemy grew to +be a luxury which he feasted upon in the night watches after fruitless days +and the investigation of endless miles of pictures. Then he would lie awake +and imagine the inevitable climax. He saw himself standing before the man +who had ruined two lives; he felt his hand close over a knife or a pistol, +and wondered which it should be; he heard his own voice, slow and steady, +pronounce sentence of death, and he saw terror light that other man's face +as the blood fled from it. He rehearsed the words he should utter at that +great juncture and speculated as to what manner of answer would come; then +the last scene of all represented his enemy stretched dead at his feet and +himself with his hands linked in iron. There yet remained the end of the +tragedy for him--a spectacle horrible enough in the eyes of those still +left to love him, but for himself empty of terror, innocent of power to +alarm. Clean-living men would pity him, religious men would see in him an +instrument used by God to strike at a sinner. His death would probably +bring some wanderers to the fold; it must of a surety be long remembered as +the greatest sermon lived and preached by a Luke Gospeler. Lulled by the +humming woof and warp of such reflections, his mind nightly passed into the +unconsciousness of sleep; and quickened by subsequent visions, the brain +enacted these imaginings with an added gloom and that tremendous appearance +of reality proper to the domain of dreams. + +Thus the days sped and grew shorter as December waned. Then, at the end of +the second week of his work, Noy chanced to read that an Exhibition at the +Institute of Painters in Oils was about to close; and not yet having +visited that collection he set out on the morning of the following day to +do so. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +"JOE'S SHIP" + + +According to his custom, Noy worked through the exhibition catalogue for +each room before entering it. The hour was an early one, and but few +persons had as yet penetrated to the central part of the gallery. For +these, however, an experience of a singular character was now in store. +Wandering hither and thither in groups and talking in subdued voices after +the manner of persons in such a place, all were suddenly conscious of a +loud inarticulate cry. The sudden volume of sound denoted mixed emotions, +but amazement and grief were throned upon it, and the exclamation came from +a man standing now stiff and spellbound before "Joe's Ship," the famous +masterpiece of John Barron. The beholders viewed an amazed figure which +seemed petrified even to an expression on his face. There are countenances +which display the ordinary emotions of humanity in a fashion unusual and +peculiar to themselves. Thus, while the customary and conventional signs of +sorrow are a down-drawing slant to the corners of mouth and eye, yet it +sometimes happens that the lines more usually associated with gratification +are donned in grief. Of this freakish character was the face of Joe Noy. +His muscles seemed to follow the bones underneath them; and now beholding +him, the surprised spectators saw a man of gigantic proportions +gigantically moved. Yet, while sorrow was discernible in his voice, the +corners of his mouth were dragged up till his lips resembled a half-moon on +its back, and the lids and corners of his eyes were full of laughter +wrinkles, while the eyes themselves were starting and agonized. The man's +catalogue had fallen to the ground; his hands were clinched; now, as others +watched him, he came step by step nearer to the picture. + +To estimate the force of the thing upon Noy's hungry heart, to present the +chaos of emotions which now gripped him at the goal of his pilgrimage, is +impossible. Here, restored to him by art, was his dead sweetheart, the sum +and total of all the beauty he had worshiped and which for nearly a year of +absence had been his guiding star. He knew that she was in her grave, yet +she stood before him sweet and fresh, with the moisture of life in her eyes +and on her lips. He recognized everything, to the windy spot where the +gorse flourished on the crown of the cliff. The clean sky told him from +whence the wind blew; the gray gull above was flying with it upon slanting +wings. And Joan stood below in a blaze of sunshine and yellow blossom. A +reflection from the corner of her sunbonnet brightened her face, though it +was shaded from direct sunlight by her hand; her blue eyes mirrored the sea +and the sky; and they met Joe's, like a question. She was looking away to +the edge of the world; and he knew from the name of the picture, which he +had read before he saw it, the object regarded. He glared on, and his +breath came quicker. The brown petticoat with the black patch was familiar +to him; but he had never seen the gleam of her white neck below the collar +where it was hidden from the sun. In the picture an unfastened button +showed this. The rest he knew: her hair, turning at the flapping edge of +the sunbonnet; her slight figure, round waist, and the shoes, whose strings +he had been privileged to tie more than once. Then he remembered her last +promise: to see his ship go down Channel from their old meeting-place upon +Gorse Point; and the memory, thus revived by the actual spectacle of Joan +Tregenza looking her last at his vanishing vessel, brought the wild cry to +Noy's lip with the wringing of his heart. He was absolutely dead to his +environment, and his long days of silence suddenly ended in a futile +outpouring of words addressed to any who might care to listen. Passion +surged to the top of his mind--rage for his loss, indignation that the +unutterably fair thing before them had been blotted out of the world while +he was far away, without power to protect her. For a few moments only was +the man beyond his own self-control, but in that brief time he spoke; and +his listeners enjoyed a sensation of a nature outside their widest +experiences. + +"Oh, Christ Jesus! 'tis Joan--my awn lil Joan, as I left her, as I seed her +alive!" + +He had reached the rail separating the pictures from the public. Here he +stood and spoke again, now conscious that there were people round about +him. + +"She'm dead--dead an' buried--my Joan--killed by the devil as drawed her +theer in that picksher. As large as life; an' yet she'm under ground wi' a +brawken heart. An' me, new-comed off the sea, hears of it fust thing." + +"It's 'Joe's Ship' he means," whispered somebody, and Noy heard him. + +"Iss fay, so 'tis, an' I be Joe--I talkin' to 'e; an' she'm shadin' her +eyes theer to see my vessel a-sailin' away to furrin paarts! 'Tis a story +that's true, an' the God-blasted limb what drawed this knawed I was gone to +the ends o' the airth outward bound." + +A man from the turnstile came up here and inquired what was the matter. His +voice and tone of authority brought the sailor back to the position he +occupied; he restrained himself, therefore, and spoke no more. Already Noy +feared that his passion might have raised suspicions, and now, turning and +picking up his catalogue, he made hasty departure before those present had +opportunity to take much further notice of him. The man hurried off into +the rattle of the busy thoroughfare, and in a moment he and his sorrows and +his deadly purpose had vanished away. + +Meantime the curator of the gallery, a man of intelligence, improved the +moment and addressed some apposite reflections to those spectators who +still clustered around John Barron's picture. + +"It isn't often we get such a sight as that. Many people have wondered why +this great work was called as it is. The man who has gone explains it, and +you have had a glimpse of the picture's history--the inner history of it. +The painting has made a great sensation ever since it was first exhibited, +but never such a sensation as it made to-day." + +"The beggar looked as though he meant mischief," said somebody. + +"He knows the model is dead apparently, but there's another mystery there +too, for Mr. Barron himself isn't aware of the fact. He was here only the +day before yesterday--a little pale shadow of a man, like a ghost in a fur +coat. He came to see his picture and stopped ten minutes. Two gentlemen +were with him, and I heard him say, in answer to one of them as he left the +gallery, that he had quite recently endeavored to learn some particulars of +Joan Tregenza, his model, but had failed to do so as yet." + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +THE FINDING OF THE MAN + + +The gratification of his desire and the fulfillment of his revenge, though +steadfastly foreseen by Joe Noy from the moment when first he set foot in +London and began his search, now for a moment overwhelmed him at the +prospect of their extreme propinquity. Had anything been needed to +strengthen his determination on the threshold of a meeting with Joan's +destroyer, it was the startling vision of Joan herself from which he had +just departed. No event had brought the magnitude of his loss more cruelly +to the core of his heart than the sudden splendid representation of what he +had left behind him in her innocence and beauty; and, for the same reason, +nothing could have more thoroughly fortified his mind to the deed now lying +in his immediate future. + +Noy's first act was to turn again to the gallery with a purpose to inquire +where John Barron might be found; but he recollected that many picture +catalogues contained the private addresses of the exhibitors, and +accordingly consulted the list he had brought with him. There he found the +name and also the house in which the owner of it dwelt-- + +JOHN BARRON, No. 6 Melbury Gardens, S. W. + +Only hours now separated him from his goal, and it seemed strange to Noy +that he should have thus come in sight of it so suddenly. But his wits +cooled and with steady system he followed the path long marked out. He +stood and looked in at a gunsmith's window for ten minutes, then moved +forward to another. At the shop-fronts of cutlers he also dawdled, but +finally returned to the first establishment which had attracted him, +entered, and, for the sum of two pounds, purchased a small, five-chambered +revolver with a box of cartridges. He then went back to his lodging, and +set to work to find the position of Melbury Gardens upon his map. This done +the man marked his road to that region, outlining with a red chalk pencil +the streets through which he would have to walk before reaching it. +Throughout the afternoon he continued his preparations, acting very +methodically, and setting his house in order with the deliberation of one +who knows that he is going to die, but not immediately. Sometimes he rested +from the labor of letter-writing to think and rehearse again the scene +which was to close that day. A thousand times he had already done so; a +thousand times the imaginary interview had been the last thought in his +waking brain; but now the approach of reality swept away those unreal +dialogues, dramatic entrances, exits and events of the great scene as he +had pictured it. The present moment found Noy's brain blank as to +everything but the issue; and he surprised himself by discovering that his +mind now continually recurred to those events which would follow the +climax, while yet the death of John Barron was unaccomplished. His active +thoughts, under conditions of such excitation as the day had brought upon +the top of his discovery, traveled with astounding speed, and it was not +John Barron's end but his own which filled the imagination of the sailor as +he wrote. The shadow of the gallows was on the paper, though the event +which was to bring this consummation still lay some hours deep in +unrecorded time. But, for Noy, John Barron was as good as dead, and himself +as good as under sentence of death. + +Grown quite calm, fixed in mind, and immovable as the black sea cliffs of +his mother-land, he wrote steadily on until thought sped whirling forward +to a new aspect of his future: the last. He saw himself in eternity, tossed +to everlasting flames by his Maker, as a man tosses an empty match-box, +after it has done its work, into the fire. He put down his pen and pictured +it. The terrific force of that conviction cannot fairly be set before the +intelligence of average cultured people, because, whatever they profess to +believe in their hearts, the truth is that, even with forty-nine Christians +out of fifty, hell appears a mere vague conceit meaning nothing. They +affirm that they believe in eternal torment; they confess all humanity is +ripe for it; but their pulses are unquickened by the assertion or +admission; they do _not_ believe in it. Nor can educated man so +believe, for that way madness lies, and he who dwells long and closely upon +this unutterable dogma, anon himself feels the first flickering of the +undying flame. It scorches, not his body, but his brain, and a lunatic +asylum presently shuts him from a sane world unless medical aid quickly +brings healthy relief. + +But with primitive opinions, narrow beliefs and narrow intelligences, hell +can be a live conceit enough. Among Luke Gospelers and kindred sects there +shall be found such genuine fear and such trembling as the church called +orthodox never knows; and to Noy the tremendous spectacle of his +everlasting punishment now made itself actively felt. A life beyond +death--a life to be spent in one of two places and to endure eternally was +to Joe as certain as the knowledge that he lived; and that his destination +must be determined by the work yet lying between him and death appeared +equally sure. Further, that work must be performed. There was no loophole +of escape from it, and had there been such he would have blocked it against +himself resolutely. Moreover, as the will and desire to do the deed was an +action as definite in the eye of Heaven as the accomplishment of the deed +itself, he reckoned himself already damned. He had long since counted the +whole cost, and now it only seemed more vast and awful than upon past +surveys by reason of its nearer approach. Now he speculated curiously upon +the meetings which must follow upon the world's dissolution; and wondered +if those who kill do ever meet and hold converse in hell-fire with their +victims. Then again he fell to writing, and presently completed letters to +his father, his mother, to Mrs. Tregenza and to Mary Chirgwin. These he +left in his apartment, and presently going out into the air, walked, with +no particular aim, until darkness fell. Hunger now prompted him, and he ate +a big meal at a restaurant and drank with his food a pint of ale. +Physically fortified, he returned to his lodging, left upon the table in +his solitary room the sum he would that night owe for the hire of the +chamber, and, then, taking his letters, went out to return no more. A few +clothes, a brush and comb and a small wooden trunk was all he left behind +him. Joe Noy purchased four stamps for his letters and posted them. They +were written as though the murder of John Barron had been already +accomplished, and he thus completed and dispatched them before the event, +because he imagined that, afterward, the power of communicating with his +parents or friends would be denied him. That they might be spared the +horror of learning the news through a public source he wrote it thus, and +knew, as he did so, that to two of his correspondents the intelligence +would come without the full force of a novelty. Thomasin Tregenza and Mary +Chirgwin alike were familiar with his intention at the time of his +departure, and to them he therefore wrote but briefly; his parents, on the +other hand, for all Joe knew to the contrary, might still be ignorant of +the fact that he had come off his cruise. His letters to them were +accordingly of great length; and he set forth therein with the nervous +lucidity of a meager vocabulary the nature of his wrongs and the action +which he had taken under Heaven's guidance to revenge them. He stated +plainly in all four of his missives to Newlyn, Drift and Mousehole that the +artist, John Barron, was shot dead by his hand and that he himself intended +suffering the consequent punishment as became a brave man and the weapon of +the Lord. These notes then he posted, and so went upon his way that he +might fulfill to the letter his written words. + +Following the roads he had studied upon his map and committed to memory, +Noy soon reached Melbury Gardens and presently stood opposite No, 6 and +scanned it. The hour was then ten o'clock and lights were in some of the +windows, but not many. Looking over the area railings, the sailor saw four +servants--two men and two women--eating their supper. He noted, as a +singular circumstance, that there were wineglasses upon the kitchen table +and that they held red liquor and white. + +Noy's design was simple enough. He meant to stand face to face with John +Barron, to explain the nature of the events which had occurred, to tell +him, what it was possible he might not know: that Joan was dead; and then +to inform him that his own days were numbered. Upon these words Joe +designed to shoot the other down like a dog, and to make absolutely certain +of his death by firing the entire contents of the revolver. He expected +that a private interview would be vouchsafed to him if he desired it; and +his intention, after his victim should fall, was to blow the man's brains +out at close quarters before even those nearest at hand could prevent it. +At half-past ten Noy felt that his weapon was in the left breast pocket of +his coat ready for the drawing; then ascended the steps which rose to the +front door of John Barron's dwelling and rang the bell. + +The man-servant whom he had seen through the area railings in the kitchen +came to the door, and, much to Noy's astonishment, accosted him before he +had time to say that he wished to see the master of the house. + +"You've come at last, then," said the man. + +Joe regarded him with surprise, then spoke. + +"I want to see Mr. John Barron, please." + +The other laughed, as if this was an admirable jest. + +"I suppose you do, though that's a queer way to put it. You talk as though +you had come to smoke a cigar along with him." + +In growing amazement and suspicion, Noy listened to this most curious +statement. Fears suddenly awoke that, by some mysterious circumstance, +Barron had learned of his contemplated action and was prepared for it. He +stopped, therefore, looked about him sharply to avoid any sudden surprise, +and put a question to the footman. + +"You spoke as though I was wanted," he said. "What do you mean by that?" + +"Blessed if you're not a rum 'un!" answered the man. "Of course you was +wanted, else you wouldn't be here, would you? You're not a party as calls +promiscuous, I should hope. Else it would be rather trying to delicate +nerves. You're the gentleman as everybody requires some time, though nobody +ever sends for himself." + +Failing to gather the other's meaning, Noy only realized that John Barron +expected some visitor and felt, therefore, the more determined to hasten +his own actions. He saw the footman was endeavoring to be jocose, and +therefore humored him, pretending at the same time to be the individual who +was expected. + +"You're a funny fellow and must often make your master laugh, I should +reckon, Iss, I be the chap what you thought I was. An' I should like to see +him--the guv'nor--at once if he'll see me." + +The footman chuckled again. + +"He'll see you all right. He's been wantin' of you all day, and he'd have +been that dreadful disapp'inted if you 'adn't come. Always awful particular +about his clothes, you know, so mind you're jolly careful about the +measuring 'cause this overcoat will have to last him a long time." + +Taking his cue from these words Noy, still ignorant of the truth, made +answer: "Iss, I'll measure en all right. Wheer is he to?" + +"In the studio--there you are, right ahead. Knock at that baize door and +then walk straight in, 'cause he'll very likely be too much occupied to +answer you. He's quite alone--leastways I believe so. I'll come back in +quarter'n hour; and mind you don't talk no secrets or tell him how I +laughed at him behind his back, else he'd give me the sack for certain." + +The man withdrew, sniggering at his own humor, and Noy, quite unable to see +rhyme or reason in his remarks, stood with an expression of bewilderment +upon his broad face and watched the servant disappear. Then his countenance +changed, and he approached a door covered with red baize at which the +passage terminated. He knocked, waited, and knocked again, straining his +ear to hear the voice he had labored so long to silence. Then he put his +revolver into the side pocket of his coat, and, afterward, following the +footman's directions, pushed open the swing door, which yielded to his +hand. A curtain hung inside it, and, pulling this aside, he entered a +spacious apartment with a glass roof. But scanty light illuminated the +studio from one oil lamp which hung by a chain from a bracket in the wall, +and the rays of which were much dimmed by a red glass shade. Some easels, +mostly empty, stood about the sides of the great chamber; here and there on +the white walls were sketches in charcoal and daubs of paint. A German +stove appeared in the middle of the room, but it was not burning; skins of +beasts scattered the floor; upon one wall hung the "Negresses Bathing at +Tobago." For the rest the room appeared empty. Then, growing accustomed to +the dim red light, Noy made a closer examination until he caught sight of +an object which made him catch his breath violently and hurry forward. +Under the lofty open windows which rose on the northern side of the studio, +remote from all other objects, was a couch, and upon it lay a small, +straight figure shrouded in white sheets save for its face. + +John Barron had been dead twenty-four hours, and he had hastened his own +end, by a space of time impossible to determine, through leaving his +sick-room two days previously, that he might visit the picture gallery +wherein hung "Joe's Ship." It was a step taken in absolute defiance of his +medical men. The day of that excursion had chanced to be a very cold one, +and during the night which followed it John Barron broke a blood vessel and +precipitated his death. Now, in the hands of hirelings, without a friend to +put one flower on his breast or close his dim eyes, the man lay waiting for +an undertaker; and while Joe Noy glared at him, unconsciously gripping the +weapon he had brought, it seemed as though the dead smiled under the red +flicker of the lamp--as though he smiled and prepared to come back into +life to answer this supreme accuser. + +As by an educated mind Joe Noy's estimate and assurance of the eternal +tortures of hell cannot be adequately grasped in its full force, so now it +is hard to set forth with a power sufficiently luminous and terrific the +effect of this discovery upon him. He, the weapon of the Almighty, found +his work finished and the fruits of his labors snatched from his hand. His +enemy had escaped, and the fact that he was dead only made the case harder. +Had Barron hastened from him and avoided his revolver, he could have +suffered it, knowing that the end lay in the future at the determination of +God; but now the end appeared before him accomplished; and it had been +attained without his assistance. His labor was lost and his longed-for, +prayed-for achievement rendered impossible. He stood and scanned the small, +marble-white face, then drew a box of matches from his pocket, lighted one +and looked closer. Worn by disease to mere skin and skull, there was +nothing left to suggest the dead man's wasted powers; and generation of +their own destroyers was the only task now left for his brains. The end of +Noy's match fell red-hot on John Barron's face. Then he turned as footsteps +sounded; the curtains were moved aside and the footman reappeared, followed +by another person. + +"Why, you wasn't the undertaker after all!" he explained. "Did you think +the man was alive? Good Lord! But you've found him anyway." + +"Iss, I thot he was alive. I wanted to see en livin' an' leave en--" he +stopped. Common sense for once had a word with him and convinced him of the +folly of saying anything now concerning his frustrated projects. + +"He died night 'fore last--consumption--and he's left money enough to build +a brace of ironclads, they say, and never no will, and not a soul on God's +earth is there with any legal claim upon him. To tell the truth, we none of +us never liked him." + +"If you'll shaw me the way out into the street, I'll thank 'e," said Noy. +The undertaker was already busy making measurements. Then, a minute later, +Joe found himself standing under the sky again; and the darkness was full +of laughter and of voices, of gibing, jeering noises in unseen throats, of +rapid utterances on invisible tongues. The supernatural things screamed +into his ears that he was damned for a wish and for an intention; then they +shrieked and yelled their derision, and he understood well enough, for the +point of view was not a new one. Given the accomplishment of his desire, he +was prepared to suffer eternally; now eternal suffering must follow on a +wish barren of fruit, and hell for him would be hell indeed, with no +accomplished revenge in memory to lessen the torment. When the voices at +length died and a clock struck one, Noy came to himself, and realized that, +in so far as the present affected him, Fate had brought him back to life +and liberty by a short cut. Then, seeing his position, he asked himself +whether life was long enough to make atonement and even allow of ultimate +escape after death. But the fierce disappointment which beat upon his soul +like a recurring wave, as thought drifted back and back, told him that he +had fairly won hell-fire and must abide by it. + +So thinking, he returned to his lodging, entered unobserved and prowled the +small chamber till dawn. By morning light all his life appeared +transfigured and a ghastly anti-climax faced the man. Presently he +remembered the letters he had posted overnight, and the recollection of +them brought with it sudden resolves and a course of action. + +Half an hour later he had reached Paddington Station, and was soon on his +way back to Cornwall. + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +STARLIGHT AND FROST + + +Born of the sunshine, on a morning in late December, gray ephemerae danced +and dipped and fashioned vanishing patterns against the green of the great +laurel at the corner of Drift farmyard. The mildness of the day had wakened +them into brief life, but even as they twinkled their wings of gauze death +was abroad. A sky of unusual clearness crowned the Cornish moorland, and +Uncle Chirgwin, standing at his kitchen door, already foretold frost, +though the morning was still young. + +"The air's like milk just now, sure 'nough, an' 'twill bide so till noon; +then, when the sun begins to slope, the cold will graw an' graw to frost. +An' no harm done, thank God." + +He spoke to his niece, who was in the room behind him; and as he did so a +circumstance of very unusual nature happened. Two persons reached the front +door of the farm simultaneously, and a maid, answering the double knock, +returned a moment later with two communications, both for Mary Chirgwin. + +"Postman, he brot this here, miss, an' a bwoy from Mouzle brot t'other." + +The first letter came from London, the second, directed in a similar hand, +reached Mary from the adjacent fishing hamlet. She knew the big writing +well enough, but showed no emotion before the maid. In fact her self +command was remarkable, for she put both letters into her pocket and made +some show of continuing her labors for another five minutes before +departing to her room that she might read the news from Joe Noy. + +He, it may be said, had reached Penzance by the same train which conveyed +his various missives, all posted too late for the mail upon the previous +night. Thus he reached the white cottage on the cliff in time to see Mrs. +Tregenza and bid her destroy unread the letter she would presently receive; +and, on returning to his parents, himself took from the letter-carrier his +own communications to them and burned both immediately. He had also +dispatched a boy to Drift that Mary might be warned as to the letter she +would receive by the morning post, but the lad, though ample time was given +him to reach Drift before the postman, loitered by the way. Thus the +letters had arrived simultaneously, and it was quite an open question which +the receiver of them would open first. + +Chance decided: Mary's hand, thrust haphazard into her pocket, came forth +with Hoy's epistle recently dispatched from Mousehole; and that she read, +the accident saving her at least some moments of bitter suffering. + +"Dear Mary," wrote Noy, "you will get this by hand afore the coming in of +the penny post. When that comes in, there will be another letter for you +from me, sent off from London. It is all wrong, so burn it, and don't you +read it on no account. Burn it to ashes, for theer's a many reasons why you +should. I be coming up-long to see you arter dinner, and if you can walk +out in the air with me for a bit I'll thank you so to do. Your friend, J. +Noy. Burn the letter to dust 'fore anything else. Don't let it bide a +minute and doan't tell none you had it." + +Curiosity was no part of Mary Chirgwin's nature. Now she merely thanked +Heaven which had led to the right letter and so enabled her unconsciously +to obey Joe's urgent command. Then she returned to the kitchen, placed his +earlier communication in the heart of the fire and watched while it +blackened, curled, blazed, and finally shuddered down into a red-hot ash. +She determined to see him and walk with him, as he asked, if he returned +with clean hands. While the letter which she had read neither proved nor +disproved such a supposition, the woman yet felt a secret and sure +conviction in her heart that Noy was coming back innocent at least of any +desperate action. That he was in Cornwall again and a free man appeared to +her proof sufficient that he had not committed violence. + +Mary allowed her anxiety to interfere with no duty. By three o'clock she +was ready to set out, and, looking from her bedroom window as she tied on +her hat, she saw Joe Noy approaching up the hill. A minute later she was at +the door, and stood there waiting with her eyes upon him as he came up the +path. Then she looked down, and to the man it seemed as though she was +gazing at his right hand which held a stick. + +"'Tis as it was, Mary Chirgwin--my hands be white," he said. "You needn't +fear, though I promised if you ever seed 'em agin as they'd be red. 'Tedn' +so. I was robbed of my hope, Mary. The Lard took Joan fust; then he took my +revenge from me. His will be done. The man died four-an'-twenty hours 'fore +I found en--just four-an'-twenty lil hours--that was all." + +"Thank the Almighty God for it, Joe, as I shall till the day of my death. +Never was no prayer answered so surely as mine for you." + +"Why, maybe I'll graw to thank God tu when 'tis farther to look back 'pon. +I caan't feel 'tis so yet. I caan't feel as he'm truly dead. An' yet 'twas +no lie, for I seed en, an' stood 'longside of en." + +"God's Hand be everywheer in it. Think if I'd read poor Joan's letter an' +tawld 'e wheer the man's plaace of livin' was!" + +"Iss, then I'd have slain en. 'Tis such lil things do mark out our paths. A +gert pichsher o' Joan he drawed--all done out so large as life; an' I found +it, an' it 'peared as if the dead was riz up again an' staring at me. If +'tis all the saame to you, Mary, us'll go an' look 'pon her graave now, for +I abbun seen it yet." + +They walked in silence for some hundred yards along the lanes to Sancreed. +Then Noy spoke again. + +"How be uncle?" + +"Betwix' an' between. The trouble an' loss o' Joan aged en cruel, an' the +floods has brot things to a close pass. 'Twas the harder for en 'cause all +looked so more'n common healthy an' promisin' right up to the rain. But +he's got the faith as moves mountains; he do knaw that sorrer ban't sent +for nort." + +"An' you? I wonder I'm bowldacious 'nough to look 'e in the faace, but +sorrer's not forgot me neither." + +"'Tis a thing what awver-passes none. I've forgived 'e, Joe Noy, many a +long month past, an' I've prayed to God to lead 'e through this strait, an' +He have." + +"'Tis main hard to knaw what road's the right wan, Mary." + +"Iss fay, an' it is; an' harder yet to follow 'pon it when found." + +"I judged as God was leadin' me against this here evil-doer to destroy en." + +"'Twas the devil misleadin' 'e an' takin' 'e along on his awn dance, till +God saw, an' sent death." + +"Thanks to your prayin', I'll lay." + +"Thanks to the mightiness of His mercy, Joe. 'Twas the God us worships, you +mind, not Him of the Luke Gosp'lers nor any other 'tall. Theer's awnly wan +real, livin' God; an' you left Him for a sham." + +"An' I'm punished for't. Wheer should I turn now? I've thrawed awver your +manner o' worship an' I'm sick o' the Gosp'lers, for 'twas theer God as led +me to this an' brot all my trouble 'pon me. He caan't be no God worth +namin', else how should He a treated that poor limb, Michael Tregenza, same +as He has. That man had sweated for his God day an' night for fifty years. +An' see his reward." + +"Come back, come back to the auld road again, Joe, an' leave the ways o' +God to God. The butivul, braave thing 'bout our road be that wance lost +'tedn' allus lost. You may get night-foundered by the way, yet wi' the +comin' o' light, theer's allus a chance to make up lost ground agin an' +keep gwaine on." + +"A body must b'lieve in somethin', else he'm a rudderless vessel seemin'ly, +but wi' sich a flood of 'pinions 'bout the airth, how's wan sailorman to +knaw what be safe anchorage and what ban't?" + +Mary argued with him in strenuous fashion and increased her vehemence as he +showed signs of yielding. She knew well enough that religion was as +necessary to him in some shape as to herself. + +Already a pageant of winter sunset began to unfold fantastic sheaves of +splendor, and over the horizon line of the western moors the air was +wondrously clear. It faded to intense white light where the uplands cut it, +while, above, the background of the sky was a pure beryl gradually burning +aloft into orange. Here waves of fire beat over golden shores and red +clouds extended as an army in regular column upon column. At the zenith, +billows of scarlet leaped in feathery foam against a purple continent and +the flaming tide extended from reef to reef among a thousand aerial bays +and estuaries of alternating gloom and glow until shrouded and dimmed in an +orange tawny haze of infinite distance. In the immediate foreground of this +majestic display, like a handful of rose-leaves fallen out of heaven, small +clouds floated directly downward, withering to blackness as they neared the +earth and lost the dying fires. Beneath the splendor of the sky the land +likewise flamed, the winding roadways glimmered, and many pools and ditches +reflected back the circumambient glory of the air. + +In a few more minutes, Mary and Joe reached Sancreed churchyard and soon +stood beside the grave of Joan Tregenza. + +"The grass won't close proper till the spring come," said Mary; "then the +turf will grow an' make it vitty; an' uncle's gwaine to set up a good slate +stone wi' the name an' date an' some verses. I planted them primroses 'long +the top myself. If wan abbun gone an' blossomed tu!" + +She stooped to pick a primrose and an opening bud; but Joe stopped her. + +"Doan't 'e pluck 'em. Never take no flowers off of a graave. They'm all the +dead have got." + +"But they'll die, Joe. Theer's frost bitin' in the air already. They'll be +withered come marnin'." + +"No matter for that," he said; "let 'em bide wheer they be." + +The man was silent a while as he looked at the mound. Then he spoke again. + +"Tell me about her. Talk 'bout her doin's an' sayin's. Did she forgive that +man afore she died or dedn' she?" + +"Iss, I reckon so." + +Mary mentioned those things best calculated in her opinion to lighten the +other's sorrow. He nodded from time to time as she spoke, and walked up and +down with his hands behind, him. When she stopped, he asked her to tell him +further facts. Then the light waned under the sycamore trees and only a red +fire still touched their topmost boughs. + +"We'll go now," Noy said. "An' she died believin' just the same as what you +do--eh, Mary?" + +"Uncle's sure of it--positive sartain 'twas so." + +"An' you?" + +"I pray that he was right. Iss fay, I've grawed to b'lieve truly our Joan +was saved, spite of all. I never 'sactly understood her thots, nor she +mine; but she'm in heaven now I do think." + +"If bitterness an' sorrer counts she should be. An' you may take it from me +she is. An' I'll come back, tu, if I may hope for awnly the lowest plaace. +I'll come back an' walk along to church wance agin wi' you, wance 'fore I +goes back to sea. Will 'e let me do that, Mary Chirgwin?" + +"I thank God to hear you say so. You'm welcome to come along wi' me next +Sunday if you mind to." + +"An' now us'll go up the Carn an' look out 'pon the land and see the sun +sink." + +They left the churchyard together, climbed the neighboring eminence and +stood silently at the top, their faces to the West. + +A great pervasive calm and stillness in the air heralded frost. The sky had +grown strangely clear, and only the rack and ruin of the recent imposing +display now huddled into the arms of night on the eastern horizon. The sun, +quickly dropping, loomed mighty and fiery red. Presently it touched the +horizon, and its progress, unappreciated in the sky, became accentuated by +the rim of the world. A semi-circle of fire, a narrowing segment, a splash, +throbbing like a flame--then it had vanished, and light waned until there +trembled out the radiance of a brief after-glow. Already the voices of the +frost began to break the earth's silence. In the darkness of woods it was +busy casing the damp mosses in ice, binding the dripping outlets of hidden +water, whispering with infinitely delicate sound as it flung forth its +needles, the mother of ice, and suffered them to spread like tiny sudden +fingers on the face of freezing water. From the horizon the brightness of +the zodiacal light streamed mysteriously upward into the depth of heaven, +dimming the stars. But the brightness of them grew in splendor and +brilliancy as increasing cold gripped the world; and while the stealthy +feet of the frost raced and tinkled like a fairy tune, the starlight +flashed upon its magic silver, powdered its fabrics with light and pointed +its crystal triumphs with fire. Thus starlight and frost fell upon the +forest and the Cornish moor, beneath the long avenues of silence, and over +all the unutterable blackness of granite and dead heather. The earth slept +and dreamed dreams, as the chain of the cold tightened; all the earth +dreamed fair dreams, in night and nakedness; dreams such as forest trees +and lone elms, meadows and hills, moors and valleys, great heaths and the +waste, secret habitations of Nature, one and all do dream: of the passing +of another winter and the on-coming of another spring. + + + + +THE END. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lying Prophets, by Eden Phillpotts + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYING PROPHETS *** + +This file should be named 7lpro10.txt or 7lpro10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7lpro11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7lpro10a.txt + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Eric Casteleijn +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Lying Prophets + +Author: Eden Phillpotts + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7968] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on June 7, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-Latin-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYING PROPHETS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Eric Casteleijn +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +LYING PROPHETS + +_A NOVEL_ + +BY EDEN PHILLPOTTS + +_Author of "Down Dartmoor Way," "Some Everyday Folks" "The End of a +Life," etc. + +"'Tis like this: your man did take plain Nature for God, an' he did talk +fulishness 'bout finding Him in the scent o' flowers, the hum o' bees an' +sichlike. Mayhap Nature's a gude working God for a selfish man but she ed'n +wan for a maid, as you knaws by now. Then your faither--his God do sit +everlastingly alongside hell-mouth, an' do laugh an' girn to see all the +world a walkin' in, same as the beasts walked in the Ark. Theer's another +picksher of a God for 'e; but mark this, gal, they be lying prophets--lying +prophets both!"--Book II., Chapter XI._ + + + + + + +BOOK ONE + +_ART_ + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +NEWLYN + + +Away beyond the village stands a white cottage with the sea lapping at low +cliffs beneath it. Plum and apple orchards slope upward behind this +building, and already, upon the former trees, there trembles a snowy gauze +where blossom buds are breaking. Higher yet, dark plowed fields, with +hedges whereon grow straight elms, cover the undulations of a great hill +even to its windy crest, and below, at the water line, lies Newlyn--a +village of gray stone and blue, with slate roofs now shining silver-bright +under morning sunlight and easterly wind. Smoke softens every outline; +red-brick walls and tanned sails bring warmth and color through the blue +vapor of many chimneys; a sun-flash glitters at this point and that, +denoting here a conservatory, there a studio. Enter this hive and you shall +find a network of narrow stone streets; a flutter of flannel underwear, or +blue stockings, and tawny garments drying upon lines; little windows, some +with rows of oranges and ginger-beer bottles in them; little shops; little +doors, at which cluster little children and many cats, the latter mostly +tortoise-shell and white. Infants watch their elders playing marbles in the +roadway, and the cats stretch lazy bodies on the mats, made of old +fishing-net, which lie at every cottage door. Newlyn stands on slight +elevations above the sea level, and at one point the road bends downward, +breaks and fringes the tide, leading among broken iron, rusty anchors, and +dismantled fishing-boats, past an ancient buoy whose sides now serve the +purposes of advertisement and tell of prayer-meetings, cheap tea, and so +forth. Hard by, the mighty blocks of the old breakwater stand, their fabric +dating from the reign of James I., and taking the place of one still older. +But the old breakwater is no more than a rialto for ancient gossips now; +and far beyond it new piers stretch encircling arms of granite round a new +harbor, southward of which the lighthouse stands and winks his sleepless +golden eye from dusk to dawn. Within this harbor, when the fishing fleet is +at home, lie jungles of stout masts, row upon row, with here and there a +sail, carrying on the color of the plowed fields above the village, and +elsewhere, scraps of flaming bunting flashing like flowers in a reed bed. +Behind the masts, along the barbican, the cottages stand close and thick, +then clamber and straggle up the acclivities behind, decreasing in their +numbers as they ascend. Smoke trails inland on the wind--black as a thin +crepe veil, from the funnel of a coal "tramp" about to leave the harbor, +blue from the dry wood burning on a hundred cottage hearths. A smell of +fish--where great split pollocks hang drying in the sun--of tar and tan and +twine--where nets and cordage lie spread upon low walls and open +spaces--gives to Newlyn an odor all its own; but aloft, above the village +air, spring is dancing, sweet-scented, light-footed in the hedgerows, +through the woods and on the wild moors which stretch inland away. There +the gold of the gorse flames in many a sudden sheet and splash over the +wastes whereon last year's ling-bloom, all sere and gray, makes a +sad-colored world. But the season's change is coming fast. Celandines +twinkle everywhere, and primroses, more tardy and more coy, already open +wondering eyes. The sea lies smooth with a surface just wind-kissed and +strewed with a glory of sun-stars. Away to the east, at a point from which +brown hills, dotted with white dwellings, tend in long undulations to the +cliffs of the Lizard, under fair clouds all banked and sunny white against +the blue, rises St. Michael's Mount, with a man's little castle capping +Nature's gaunt escarpments and rugged walls. Between Marazion and Newlyn +stretches Mount's Bay; while a mile or two of flat sea-front, over which, +like a string of pearls, roll steam clouds, from a train, bring us to +Penzance. Then--noting centers of industry where freezing works rise and +smelting of ore occupies many men (for Newlyn labors at the two extremes of +fire and ice)--we are back in the fishing village again and upon the +winding road which leads therefrom, first to Penlee Point and the +blue-stone quarry, anon to the little hamlet of Mousehole beyond. + +Beside this road lay our white cottage, with the sunshine lighting up a +piece of new golden thatch let into the old gray, and the plum-trees behind +it bursting into new-born foam of flowers. Just outside it, above the low +cliff, stood two men looking down into the water, seen dark green below +through a tangle of brier and blackthorn and emerald foliage of budding +elder. The sea served base uses here, for the dust and dirt of many a +cottage was daily cast into the lap of the great scavenger who carried all +away. The low cliffs were indeed spattered with filth, and the coltsfoot, +already opening yellow blossoms below, found itself rudely saluted with +cinders and potato-peelings, fishes' entrails, and suchlike unlovely +matter. + +The men were watching a white fleet of bird boats paddling on the sea, +hurrying this way and that, struggling--with many a plunge and flutter and +plaintive cry--for the food a retreating tide was bearing from the shore. + +"'White spirits and gray,' I call them," said the younger of the two +spectators. "The gulls fascinate me always. They are beautiful to see and +hear and paint. Swimming there, and wheeling between the seas in rough +weather, or hanging almost motionless in midair with their heads turning +first this way, then that, and their breasts pressed against the wind-- +why, they are perfect always, the little winged gods of the sea." + +"Gods kissing carrion," sneered the other. "Beautiful enough, no doubt, but +their music holds no charm for me. Nothing is quite beautiful which has for +its cause something ugly. Those echoing cries down there are the expression +of a greedy struggle, no more. I hate your Newlyn gulls. They are ruined, +like a thousand other wild things, by civilization. I see them scouring the +fields and hopping after the plowman like upland crows. A Cornish seabird +should fight its battle with the sea and find its home in the heart of the +dizzy cliffs, sharing them with the samphire. But your 'white spirits and +gray' behave like gutter-fed ducks." + +The first speaker laughed and both strolled upon their way. They were +artists, but while Edmund Murdoch dwelt at Newlyn and lived by his +profession, the older man, John Barron, was merely on a visit to the place. +He had come down for change and with no particular intention to work. +Barron was wealthy and wasted rare talents. He did not paint much, and the +few who knew his pictures deplored the fact that no temporal inducement +called upon him to handle his brush oftener. A few excused him on the plea +of his health, which was at all times indifferent, but he never excused +himself. It needed something far from the beaten track to inspire him, and +inspiration was rare. But let a subject once grip him and the artist's life +centered and fastened upon it until his work was done. He sacrificed +everything at such a time; he slaved; labor was to him as a debauch to the +drunkard, and he wearied body and mind and counted his health nothing while +the frenzy held him. Then, his picture finished, at the cost of the man's +whole store of nervous energy and skill, he would probably paint no more +for many months. His subject was always some transcript from nature, +wrought out with almost brutal vigor and disregard of everything but truth. +His looks belied his work curiously. A small, slight man he was, with +sloping shoulders and the consumptive build. But the breadth of his head +above the ears showed brain, and his gray eyes spoke a strength of purpose +upon which a hard, finely-modeled mouth set the seal. Once he had painted +in the West Indies: a picture of two negresses bathing at Tobago. Behind +them hung low tangles of cactus, melo-cactus and white-blossomed orchid; +while on the tawny rocks glimmered snowy cotton splashed with a crimson +turban; but the marvel of the work lay in the figures and the refraction of +their brown limbs seen through crystal-clear water. The picture brought +reputation to a man who cared nothing for it; and Barron's "Bathing +Negresses" are only quoted here because they illustrate his method of work. +He had painted from the sea in a boat moored fore and aft; he had kept the +two women shivering and whining in the water for two hours at a time. They +could not indeed refuse the gold he offered for their services, but one +never lived to enjoy the money, for her prolonged ablutions in the cause of +art killed her a week after her work was done. + +John Barren was a lonely sybarite with a real love for Nature and +absolutely primitive instincts with regard to his fellow-creatures. The +Land's End had disappointed him; he had found Nature neither grand nor +terrific there, but sleepy and tame as a cat after a full meal. Nor did he +derive any pleasure from the society of his craft at Newlyn. He hated the +clatter of art jargon, he flouted all schools, and pointed out what nobody +doubts now: that the artists of the Cornish village in reality represented +nothing but a community of fellow-workers, all actuated indeed by love of +art, but each developing his own bent without thought for his neighbor's +theory. Barron indeed made some enemies before he had been in the place a +week, and the greater lights liked him none the better for vehemently +disclaiming the honor when they told him he was one of themselves. "The +shape of a brush does not make men paint alike," he said, "else we were all +equal and should only differ in color. Some of you can no more paint with a +square brush than you can with a knife. Some of you could not paint though +your palettes were set with Nature's own sunset colors. And others of you, +if you had a rabbit's scut at the end of a hop-pole and the gray mud from a +rain puddle, would produce work worth considering. You are a community of +painters--some clever, some hopeless--but you are not a school, and you may +thank God for it." + +John Barron was rough tonic, but the fearless little man generally found an +audience at the end of the day in this studio or that. The truth of much +that he said appealed to the lofty-minded and serious; his dry cynicism, +savage dislike of civilization, and frank affection for Nature, attracted +others. He hit hard, but he never resented rough knocks in return, and no +man had seen him out of temper with anything but mysticism and the art bred +therefrom. Upon the whole, however, his materialism annoyed more than his +wit amused. + +Upon the evening which followed his insult to the Newlyn gulls, Barron, +with Edmund Murdoch and some other men, was talking in the studio of one +Brady, known to fame as the "Wrecker," from his love for the artistic +representation of maritime disaster. Barron liked this man, for he was +outspoken and held vigorous views, but the two quarreled freely. + +"Fate was a fool when she chucked her presents into the lap of a lazy +beggar like you," said Brady, addressing the visitor. "And thrice a fool," +he added, "to assort her gifts so ill." + +"Fate is a knave, a mad thing playing at cat's cradle with the threads of +our wretched little lives," answered John Barron, "she is a coward--a +bully. She hits the hungry below the belt; she heaps gold into the lap of +the old man, but not till he has already dug his own grave to come at it; +she gives health to those who must needs waste all their splendid strength +on work; and wealth to worthless beings like myself who are always ailing +and who never spend a pound with wisdom. Make no dark cryptic mystery of +Fate when you paint her. She looks to me like a mischievous monkey poking +sticks into an ant-hill." + +"She's a woman," said Murdoch. + +"She's three," corrected Brady; "what can you expect from three women +rolled into one?" + +"Away with her! Waste no incense at her shrine. She'll cut the thread no +sooner because you turn your back on her." Fling overboard your +mythologies, dead and alive, and kneel to Nature. A budding spike of wild +hyacinth is worth all the gods put together. Go hand in hand with Nature, I +say. Ask nothing from her; walk humbly; be well content if she lets you but +turn the corner of one page none else have read. That's how I live. My life +is not a prayer exactly--" + +"I should say not," interrupted Brady. + +"But a hymn of praise--a purely impersonal existence, lived all alone, like +a man at a prison window. This carcass, with its shaky machinery and +defective breathing apparatus, is the prison. I look out of the window till +the walls crumble away--" + +"And then?" asked one Paul Tarrant, a painter who prided himself on being a +Christian as well. + +"Then, the spark which I call myself, goes back to Nature, as the cloud +gives the raindrop back to the sea from whence the sun drew it." + +"A lie, man!" answered the other hotly. + +"Perhaps. It matters nothing. God--if there be a God--will not blame me for +making a mistake. Meantime I live like the rook and the thrush. They never +pray, they praise, they sing 'grace before meat' and after it, as Nature +taught them." + +"A simple child of Nature--beautiful spectacle," said Brady. "But I'm sorry +all the same," he continued, "that you've found nothing in Cornwall to keep +you here and make you do some work. You talk an awful deal of rot, but we +want to see you paint. Isn't there anything or anybody worthy of you here?" + +"As a matter of face, I've found a girl," said Barron. + +There was a clamor of excitement at this news, above which Brady's bull +voice roared approval. + +"Proud girl, proud parents, proud Newlyn!" he bellowed. + +"The mood ripens too," continued Barren quietly. "'Sacrifice all the world +to mood' is my motto. So I shall stop and paint." + +A moment later derisive laughter greeted Barron's decision, for Murdoch, in +answer to a hail of questions, announced the subject of his friend's +inspiration. + +"We strolled round this morning and saw Joan Tregenza in an iron hoop with +a pail of water slung at either hand." + +"So your picture begins and ends where it is, Barron, my friend; in your +imagination. Did it strike you when you first saw that vision of loveliness +in dirty drab that she was hardly the girl to have gone unpainted till +now?" asked Brady. + +"The possibility of previous pictures is hardly likely to weigh with me. +Why, I would paint a drowned sailor if the subject attracted me, and that +though you have done it," answered the other, nodding toward a big canvas +in the corner, where Brady's picture for the year approached completion. + +"My dear chap, we all worship Joan--at a distance. She is not to be +painted. Tears and prayers are useless. She has a flinty father--a +fisherman, who looks upon painting as a snare of the devil and sees every +artist already wriggling on the trident in his mind's eye. Joan has also a +lover, who would rather behold her dead than on canvas." + +"In fact these Methodist folk take us to be what you really are," said +Brady bluntly. "Old Tregenza tars us every one with the same brush. We are +lost sinners all." + +"Well, why trouble him? A fisherman would have his business on the sea. +Candidly, I must paint her. The wish grows upon me." + +"Even money you don't get as much as a, sketch," said Murdoch. + +"Have any of you tried approaching her directly, instead of her relations?" + +"She's as shy as a hawk, man." + +"That makes me the more hopeful. You fellows, with your Tam o' Shanters and +aggressive neckties and knickerbockers and calves, would frighten the +devil. I'm shy myself. If she's natural, then we shall possibly understand +each other." + +"I'll bet you ten to one in pounds you won't have your wish," said Brady. + +"No, shan't bet. You're all so certain. Probably I shall find myself beaten +like the rest of you. But it's worth trying. She's a pretty thing." + +"How will you paint her if you get the chance?" + +"Don't know yet. I should like to paint her in a wolf-skin with a thread of +wolf's teeth round her neck and a celt-headed spear in her hand." + +"Art will be a loser by the pending repulse," declared Brady. "And now, as +my whisky-bottle's empty and my lamp going out, you chaps can follow its +example whenever you please." + +So the men scattered into a starry night, and went, each his way, through +the streets of the sleeping village. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +IN A HALO OF GOLD + + +Edmund Murdoch's studio stood high on Newlyn hill, and Barron had taken +comfortable rooms in a little lodging-house close beside it. The men often +enjoyed breakfast in each other's company, but on the following morning, +when Murdoch strolled over to see his friend, he found that his rooms were +empty. + +Barron, in fact, was already nearly a mile from Newlyn, and, at the moment +when the younger artist sought him, he stood upon a footpath which ran +through plowed fields to the village of Paul. In the bottom of his mind ran +a current of thought occupied with the problem of Joan Tregenza, but, +superficially, he was concerned with the spring world in which he walked. +He stood where Nature, like Artemis, appeared as a mother of many breasts. +Brown and solemn in their undulations, they rose about and around him to +the sky-line, where the land cut sharply against a pale blue heaven from +which tinkled the music of larks. He watched a bird wind upward in a spiral +to its song throne; he noted the young wheat brushing the earth with a veil +of green; he dawdled where elms stood, their high tops thick with blossom; +and he delayed for full fifteen minutes to see the felling of one giant +tree. A wedge-shaped cut had been made upon the side where the great elm +was to fall, and, upon the other side, two men were sawing through the +trunk. There was no sound but the steady hiss of steel teeth gnawing inch +by inch to the wine-red heart of the tree. Sunshine glimmered on its leafy +crown, and as yet distant branch and bough knew nothing of the midgets and +Death below. + +Barron took pleasure in seeing the great god Change at work, but he mourned +in that a masterpiece, on which Nature had bestowed half a century and more +of love, must now vanish. + +"A pity," he said, while the executioners rested a few moments from their +labors, "a pity to cut down such a noble tree." + +One woodman laughed, and the other--an old rustic, brown and bent--made +answer: + +"I sez 'dang the tree!' Us doan't take no joy in thrawin' en, mister. I be +bedoled wi' pain, an' this 'ere sawin's just food for rheumatiz. My back's +that bad. But Squire must 'ave money, an' theer's five hundred pounds' +value o' ellum comin' down 'fore us done wi' it." + +The saw won its way; and between each spell of labor, the ancient man held +his back and grumbled. + +"Er's Billy Jago," confided the second laborer to Barron, when his +companion had turned aside to get some steel wedges and a sledge-hammer. +"Er's well-knawn in these paarts--a reg'lar cure. Er used tu work up Drift +wi' Mister Chirgwin." + +Billy added two wedges to those already hammered into the saw-cut, then, +with the sledge, he drove them home and finished his task. The sorrowful +strokes rang hollow and mournful over the land, sadder to Barron's ear than +fall of earth-clod on coffin-lid. And, upon the sound, a responsive shiver +and uneasy tremor ran through trunk and bough to topmost twig of the elm--a +sudden sense, as it seemed, of awful evil and ruin undreamed of, but now +imminent. Then the monster staggered and the midget struck his last blow +and removed himself and his rheumatism. Whereupon began that magnificent +descent. Slowly, with infinitely solemn sweep, the elm's vast height swung +away from its place, described a wide aerial arc, and so, with the jolting +crash and rattle of close thunder, roared headlong to the earth, casting up +a cloud of dust, plowing the grass with splintered limbs, then lying very +still. From glorious tree to battered log it sank. No man ever saw more +instant wreck and ruin fall lightning-like on a fair thing. The mass was +crushed flat and shapeless by its own vast weight, and the larger boughs, +which did not touch the earth, were snapped short off by the concussion of +their fall. + +Billy Jago held his back and whined while Barron spoke, as much to himself +as the woodman. + +"Dear God!" he said, "to think that this glory of the hedge-row--this +kingdom of song birds--should come to the making of pauper coffins and +lodging-house furniture!" + +"Squire must have money; an' folks must have coffins," said Billy. "You can +sleep your last sleep so sound in ellum as you can in oak, for that +matter." + +Feeling the truth of the assertion, Barron admitted it, then turned his +back on the fallen king and pursued his way with thoughts reverting to the +proposed picture. There was nothing to alarm Joan Tregenza about him; which +seemed well, as he meant to approach the girl herself at the first +opportunity, and not her parents. Barron did not carry "artist" stamped +upon him. He was plainly attired in a thick tweed suit and wore a cap of +the same material. The man appeared insignificantly small. He was +clean-shaved and looked younger than his five-and-thirty years seen a short +distance off, but older when you stood beside him. He strolled now onward +toward the sea, and his cheeks took some color from the fine air. He walked +with a stick and carried a pair of field-glasses in a case slung over his +shoulder. The field-glasses had become a habit with him, but he rarely used +them, for his small slate-colored eyes were keen. + +Once and again John Barron turned to look at St. Michael's Mount, seen afar +across the bay. The magic of morning made it beautiful and the great pile +towered grandly through a sunny haze. No detail disturbed the eye under +this effect of light, and the mount stood vast, dim, golden, magnified and +glorified into a fairy palace of romance built by immortal things in a +night. Seen thus, it even challenged the beholder's admiration, of which he +was at all times sparing. Until that hour, he had found nothing but +laughter for this same mount, likening the spectacle of it, with its castle +and cottages, now to a senile monarch with moth-eaten ermine about his toes +and a lop-sided crown on his head, now to a monstrous sea-snail creeping +shoreward. + +Barron, having walked down the hill to Mouse-hole, breasted slowly the +steep acclivity which leads therefrom toward the west. Presently he turned, +where a plateau of grass sloped above the cliffs into a little theater of +banks ablaze with gorse. And here his thoughts and the image they were +concerned with perished before reality. Framed in a halo of golden furze, +her hands making a little penthouse above her brow, and in her blue eyes +the mingled hue of sea and sky, stood a girl looking out at the horizon. +The bud of a wondrous fair woman she was, and Barron saw her slim yet +vigorous figure accentuated under its drab-brown draperies by a kindly +breeze. He noted the sweet, childish freshness of her face, her plump arms +filling the sleeves of rusty black, and her feet in shoes too big for them. +Her hair was hidden under a linen sun-bonnet, but one lock had escaped, and +he noted that it was the color of wheat ripe for the reaping. He regretted +it had not been darker, but observed that it chimed well enough with the +flaming flowers behind it. And then he frankly praised Nature in his heart +for sending her servant such a splendid harmony in gold and brown. There +stood his picture in front of him. He gazed a brief second only, and then +his quick mind worked to find what human interest had brought Joan Tregenza +to this place and turned her eyes to the sea. It might be that herein +existed the possibility of the introduction he desired. He felt that +victory probably depended on the events of the next two or three minutes. +He owed a supreme effort of skill and tact to Fate, which had thus +befriended him, and he rose to the occasion. + +The girl looked up as he came suddenly upon her, but his eyes were already +away and fixed upon the horizon before she turned. Observing that he was +not regarding her, she put up her hands again and continued to scan the +remote sea-line where a thin trail of dark smoke told of a steamer, itself +apparently invisible. Barron took his glasses from their case, and seeing +that the girl made no movement of departure, acted deliberately, and +presently began to watch a fleet of brown sails and black hulls putting +forth from the little harbor below. Then, without looking at her or taking +his eyes from the glasses, he spoke. + +"Would you kindly tell me what those small vessels are below there just +setting out to sea?" he asked. + +The girl started, looked round, and, realizing that he had addressed her, +made answer: + +"They'm Mouzle [Footnote: _Mouzle_--Mousehole.] luggers, sir." + +"Luggers, are they? Thank you. And where are they sailing to? Do you know?" + +"Away down-long, south'ard o' the Scillies mostly, arter mackerl. Theer's a +power o' mackerl bein' catched just now--thousands an' thousands--but some +o' they booats be laskin'--that's just fishin' off shore." + +"Ah, a busy time for the fishermen." + +"Iss, 'tis." + +"Thank you. Good-morning." + +"Good-marnin', sir." + +He started as though to continue his walk along the cliffs beyond the +plateau and the gorse; then he stopped suddenly, actuated, as it seemed, by +a chance thought, and turned back to the girl. She was looking out to sea +again. + +"By the way," he said, unconcernedly, and with no suggestion that anything +in particular was responsible for his politeness. "I see you are on the +lookout there for something. You may have my glass a moment, if you like, +before I go on. They bring the ships very close." + +The girl flushed with shy pleasure and seemed a little uncertain what to +answer. Barron, meanwhile, showed no trace of a smile, but looked bored if +anything, and, with a serious face, handed her the glass, then walked a +little way off. He was grave and courteous, but made no attempt at +friendship. He had noticed when Joan smiled that her teeth were fine, and +that her full face, though sweet enough, was a shade too plump. + +"Thank 'e kindly, sir," she said, taking the glass. "You see theer's a gert +ship passin' down Channel, an'--an' my Joe's aboard 'er, an' they'm bound +for furrin' paarts, an' I promised as I'd come to this here horny-winky +[Footnote: _Horny-winky_--Lonely. Fit place for horny-winks.] plaace to get +a last sight o' the vessel if I could." He made no answer, and, after a +pause, she spoke again. + +"I caan't see naught, but that's my fault, p'raps, not bein' used to sich +things." + +"Let me try and find the ship," he said, taking the glass, which he had put +out of focus purposely. Then, while scanning the horizon where he had noted +the smoke-trail, he spoke, his head turned from her. + +"Who's Joe, if I may ask? Your brother, I daresay?" + +"No, sir; Joe'm my sweetheart." + +"There's a big three-masted ship being taken down the Channel by a small +steamer." + +"Ah! then I reckon that's the 'Anna,' 'cause Joe said 'twas tolerable +certain they'd be in tow of a tug." + +"You can see the smoke on the edge of the sea. Look below it." + +He handed the glasses to her again and heard a little laugh of delight +break from her lips. The surprise of the suddenly-magnified spectacle, +visible only as a shadow to the naked eye, brought laughter; and Barron, +now that the girl's attention was occupied, had leisure to look at her. She +was more than a pretty cottage maid, and possessed some distinction and +charm. There was a delicacy about her too--a sweet turn of lip, a purity of +skin, a set of limb--which gave the lie to her rough speech. She was all +Saxon to look at, with nothing of the Celt about her excepting her name and +the old Cornish words upon her lips. Those he rejoiced in, for they showed +that she still remained a free thing, primitive, innocent of School Boards, +or like frost-biting influences. + +Barron took mental notes. Joan Tregenza was a careless young woman, it +seemed. Her dress had a button or two missing in front, and a safety-pin +had taken their place. Her drab skirt was frayed a little and patched in +one corner with a square of another material. But the colors were well +enough, from the artist's point of view. He noted also that the girl's +stockings were darned and badly needed further attention, for above her +right shoe-heel a white scrap of Joan was visible. Her hands were a little +large, but well shaped; her pose was free and fine, though the +field-glasses spoiled the picture and the sun-bonnet hid the contour of her +head. + +"So you walked out from Mouzle to see the last of Joe's ship?" he asked, +quite seriously and with no light note in his voice. + +"From Newlyn. I ed'n a Mouzle maid," she answered. + +"Is the 'Anna' coming home again soon?" + +"No, sir. Her's bound for the Gulf of Californy, round t'other side the +world, Joe sez. He reckons to be back agin' come winter." + +"That's a long time." + +"Iss, 'tis." + +But there was no sentiment about the answer. Joan gazed without a shadow of +emotion at the vanishing ship, and alluded to the duration of her +sweetheart's absence in a voice that never trembled. Then she gave the +glass back to Barron with many thanks, and evidently wanted to be gone, but +stopped awkwardly, not quite knowing how to depart. + +Meanwhile, showing no further cognizance of her, Barron took the glasses +himself and looked at the distant ship. + +"A splendid vessel," he said. "I expect you have a picture of her, haven't +you?" + +"No," she answered, "but I've got a lil ship Joe cut out o' wood an' +painted butivul. Awnly that's another vessel what Joe sailed in afore." + +"I'll tell you what I'll do," he said, "because you were good enough to +explain all about the fishing-boats. I'll make a tiny picture of the 'Anna' +and paint it and give it to you." + +But the girl took fright instantly. + +"You'm a artist, then?" she said, with alarm in her face and voice. + +He shook his head. + +"No, no. Do I look like an artist? I'm only a stranger down here for a day +or two. I paint things sometimes for my own amusement, that's all." + +"Pickshers?" + +"They are not worth calling pictures. Just scraps of the sea and trees and +cliffs and sky, to while away the time and remind me of beautiful things +after I have left them." + +"You ban't a artist ezacally, then?" + +"Certainly not. Don't you like artists?" + +"Faither don't. He'm a fisherman an' caan't abear many things as happens in +the world. An' not artists. Genlemen have arsked him to let 'em take my +picksher, 'cause they've painted a good few maidens to Newlyn; an' some of +'em wanted to paint faither as well; but he up an' sez 'No!' short. +Paintin's vanity 'cordin' to faither, same as they flags an' cannels an' +moosic to Newlyn church is vanity. Most purty things is vanity, faither +reckons." + +"I'm sure he's a wise man. And I think he's right, especially about the +candles and flags in church. And now I must go on my walk. Let me see, +shall I bring you the little picture of Joe's ship here? I often walk out +this way." + +He assumed she would take the picture, and now she feared to object. +Moreover, such a sketch would be precious in her eyes. + +"Maybe 'tis troublin' of 'e, sir?" + +"I've promised you. I always keep my word. I shall be here to-morrow about +mid-afternoon, because it is lonely and quiet and beautiful. I'm going to +try and paint the gorse, all blazing so brightly against the sky." + +"Them prickly fuzz-bushes?" + +"Yes; because they are very beautiful." + +"But they'm everywheres. You might so well paint the bannel [Footnote: +_Bannel_--Broom.] or the yether on the moors, mightn't 'e?" + +"They are beautiful, too. Remember, I shall have Joe's ship for you +to-morrow." + +He nodded without smiling, and turned away until a point of the gorse had +hidden her from sight. Then he sat down, loaded his pipe, and reflected. + +"'Joe's ship,'" he said to himself, "a happy title enough." + +And meantime the girl had looked after him with wonder and some amusement +in her eyes, had rubbed her chin reflectively--a habit caught from her +father--and had then scampered off smiling to herself. + +"What a funny gent," she thought, "never laughs nor nothin'. An' I judged +he was a artist! But wonnerful kind, an' wonnerful queer, wi' it, sure +'nough." + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +THE TREGENZAS + + +Joan Tregenza lived in a white cottage already mentioned: that standing +just beyond Newlyn upon a road above the sea. The cot was larger than it +appeared from the road and extended backward into an orchard of plum and +apple-trees. The kitchen which opened into this garden was stone-paved, +cool, comfortable, sweet at all times with the scent of wood smoke, and +frequently not innocent of varied fishy odors. But Newlyn folk suck in a +smell of fish with their mothers' milk. 'Tis part of the atmosphere of +home. + +When Joan returned from her visit to Gorse Point, she found a hard-faced +woman, thin of figure, with untidy hair, wrinkled brow and sharp features, +engaged about a pile of washing in the garden at the kitchen-door. Mrs. +Tregenza heard the girl arrive, and spoke without lifting her little gray +eyes from the clothes. Her voice was hard and high and discontented, like +that of one who has long bawled into a deaf man's ear and is weary of it. + +"Drabbit you! Wheer you bin? Allus trapsing out when you'm wanted; allus +caddlin' round doin' nothin' when you ban't. I s'pose you think breakfus' +can be kep' on the table till dinner, washing-day or no?" + +"I don't want no breakfus', then. I tuke some bread an' drippin' long with +me. Wheer's Tom to?" + +"Gone to schule this half-hour. 'Tis nine o'clock an' past. Wheer you bin, +I sez? 'Tain't much in your way to rise afore me of a marnin'." + +"Out through Mouzle to Gorse P'int to see Joe's ship pass by; an' I seen en +butivul." + +"Thank the Lard he's gone. Now, I s'pose, theer'll be a bit peace in the +house, an' you'll bide home an' work. My fingers is to the bone day an' +night." + +"He'll be gone a year purty nigh." + +"Well, the harder you works, the quicker the time'll pass by. Theer's +nuthin' to grizzle at. Sea-farin' fellers must be away most times. But he'm +a good, straight man, an' you'm tokened to en, an' that's enough. Bide +cheerful an' get the water for washin'. If they things of faither's bant +dry come to-morrer, he'll knaw the reason why." + +Joan accepted Mrs. Tregenza's comfort philosophically, though her +sweetheart's departure had not really caused her any emotion. She visited +the larder, drank a cup of milk, and then, fetching an iron hoop and +buckets, went to a sunken barrel outside the cottage door, into which, from +a pipe through the road-bank, tumbled a silver thread of spring water. + +Of the Tregenza household a word must needs be spoken. Joan's own mother +had died twelve years ago, and the anxious-natured woman who took her place +proved herself a good step-parent enough. Despite a disposition prone to +worry and to dwell upon the small tribulations of life, Thomasin Tregenza +was not unhappy, for her husband enjoyed prosperity and a reputation for +godliness unequaled in Newlyn. A great, weather-worn, gray, hairy man was +he, with a big head and a furrowed cliff of a forehead that looked as +though it had been carved by its Creator from Cornish granite. Tregenza +indeed might have stood for a typical Cornish fisher--or a Breton. Like +enough, indeed, he had old Armorican blood in his veins, for many hundreds +of Britons betook themselves to ancient Brittany when the Saxon invasion +swept the West, and many afterward returned, with foreign wives, to the +homes of their fathers. Michael Tregenza had found religion, of a sort +fiery and unlovely enough, but his convictions were definite, with +iron-hard limitations, and he looked coldly and without pity on a damned +world, himself saved. Gray Michael had no sympathy with sin and less with +sinners. He found the devil in most unexpected quarters and was always +dragging him out of surprising hiding-places and exhibiting him +triumphantly, as a boy might show a bird's egg or butterfly. His devil +dwelt at penny readings, at fairs and festivals, in the brushes of the +artists, in a walk on a Sunday afternoon undertaken without a definite +object, sometimes in a primrose given by a boy to a girl. Of all these +bitter, self-righteous, censorious little sects which raise each its own +ladder to the Throne of Grace at Newlyn, the Luke Gospelers was the most +bitter, most self-righteous, most censorious. And of all those burning +lights which reflected the primitive savagery of the Pentateuch from that +fold, Gray Michael's beacon flamed the fiercest and most bloody red. There +was not a Gospeler, including the pastor of the flock, but feared the +austere fisherman while admiring him. + +Concerning his creed, at the risk of wearying you, it must be permitted to +speak here; for only by grasping its leading features and its vast +unlikeness to the parent tree can a just estimate of Michael Tregenza be +arrived at. Luke Gospeldom had mighty little to do with the Gospel of Luke. +The sect numbered one hundred and thirty-four just persons, at war with +principalities and powers. They were saturated with the spirit of Israel in +the Wilderness, of Esau, when every man's hand was against him. At their +chapel one heard much of Jehovah, the jealous God, of the burning lakes and +the damnation reserved for mankind, as a whole. Every Luke Gospeler was a +Jehovah in his own right. They walked hand in hand with God; they realized +the dismay and indignation Newlyn must occasion in His breast; they +sympathized heartily with the Everlasting and would have called down fire +from Heaven themselves if they could. Many openly wondered that He delayed +so long, for, from a Luke Gospeler's point of view, the place with its +dozen other chapels--each held in error by the rest, and all at deadly war +among themselves--its most vile ritualistic church of St. Peter, its +public-houses, scandals, and strifes, was riper for destruction than Sodom. +However, the hundred and thirty-four served to stave off celestial +brimstone, as it seemed. + +It is pitiable, in the face of the majestic work of John Wesley in +Cornwall, to see the shattered ruins of it which remain. When the Wesleys +achieved their notable revival and swept off the dust of a dead Anglicanism +which covered religious Cornwall like a pall in the days of the Georges, +the old Celtic spirit, though these heroes found it hard enough to +rekindle, burst from its banked-up furnaces at last and blazed abroad once +more. That spirit had been bred by the saint bishops of Brito-Celtic days, +and Wesley's ultimate success was a grand repetition of history, as extant +records of the ancient use of the Church in Cornwall prove. Its principle +was that he who filled a bishop's office should, before all things, conduct +and develop missionary enterprise; and the moral and physical courage of +the Brito-Celtic bishops, having long slumbered, awoke again in John +Wesley. He built on the old foundations, he gave to the laymen a power at +that time blindly denied them by the Church--the power which Irish and +Welsh and Breton missionary saints of old had vested in them. +Wesley--himself a giant--made wise use of the strong where he found them, +and if a man--tinker or tinner, fisher or jowster--could preach and grip an +audience, that man might do so. Thus had the founders of the new creed +developed it; thus does the Church to-day; but when John Wesley filled his +empty belly with blackberries at St. Hilary, in 1743; when he thundered +what he deemed eternal truth through Cornwall, year after year for half a +century; when he faced a thousand perils by sea and land and spent his +arduous days "in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fasting often, +in cold and nakedness"; when, in fine, this stupendous man achieved the +foundations of Methodism, the harvest was overripe, at any rate, in +Cornwall. No Nonconformist was he, though few enough of his followers +to-day remember that, if they ever knew it. He worked for his church; he +was a link between it and his party; his last prayer was for church and +king--a fact which might have greatly shocked the Luke Gospelers had such +come to their ears. For John Wesley was their only saint, and they honestly +believed that they alone of all Methodist communities were following in his +footsteps. Poor souls! they lived as far from what Wesley taught as it is +easily possible to conceive. As for Gray Michael, he was under the +impression that he and his sect worthily held aloft the true light which +Wesley brought in person to Newlyn, and he talked with authority upon the +subject of his master and his master's doings. But he knew little about the +founder of Methodism in reality, and still less about the history of the +Methodist movement. Had he learned that John Wesley himself was once +accused of Popish practices; had he known that not until some years after +the great preacher's death did his party, in conference assembled, separate +itself from the Church of England, he had doubtless been much amazed. +Though saturated with religious feeling, the man was wholly ignorant of +religious history in so far as it affected his own country. To him all +saints not mentioned in Scripture were an abomination and invention of +Rome. Had he been informed that the venerable missionary saints of his +mother land were in no case Romish, another vast surprise must have awaited +him. + +Let it not for an instant be supposed that the Luke Gospelers represented +right Methodism. But they fairly exemplified a sorry side of it; those +little offshoots of which dozens have separated from the parent tree; and +they exhibited most abundantly in themselves that canker-worm of Pharisaism +which gnaws at the root of all Nonconformity. This offense, combined with +such intolerance and profound ignorance as was to be found amid the Luke +Gospelers, produced a community merely sad or comic to consider according +to the point of view. + +An instance of Michael Tregenza's attitude to the Church will illustrate +better than analysis the lines of thought on which he served his Creator. + +Once, when she was thirteen, Joan had gone to an evening service at St. +Peter's, because a friend had dared her to do so. Her father was at sea and +she believed the delinquency could by no possibility reach his ears. But a +Luke Gospeler heard the dread tidings and Michael Tregenza was quickly +informed of his daughter's lapse. He accused Joan quietly enough, and she +confessed. + +"Then you'm a damned maiden," he said, "'cause you sinned open-eyed." + +He thought the matter over for a week, and finally an idea occurred to him. + +"'Tis wi'in the power o' God to reach even you back," he declared to Joan, +"an' He's put in my mind that chastenin' might do it. A sore body's saved +many sowls 'fore now." + +Whereupon he took his daughter into the little parlor, shut the door, and +then flogged her as he would have flogged a boy--only using his hard hand +instead of a stick. "Get thee behind her, Satan! Get thee behind her, +Satan! Get thee behind her, Satan!" he groaned with every blow, while Joan +grit her teeth and bore it as long as she could, then screamed and fainted. +That was how the truth about heaven and hell came to her. She had never +felt physical pain before, and eternal torment was merely an idea. From +that day, however, she was frightened and listened to her father gladly and +wept tears of thankfulness when, a month after her flogging, he explained +that he had wrestled with the Lord for her soul and how it had been borne +in upon him that she was saved alive. She had reached the age of seventeen +now, and felt quite confident upon the subject of eternity as became a +right Luke Gospeler. Unlike other women of the sect, however, and despite +extreme ignorance on all subjects, the girl had a seed of humor in her +nature only waiting circumstances to ripen. She felt pity, too, for the +great damned world, and though religion turned life sad-colored, her own +simple, healthy, animal nature and high spirits brought ample share of +sunshine and delight. She was, in fact, her mother's child rather than her +father's. His ancestors before him had fought the devil and lived honest +lives under a cloud of fear; Michael's own brother had gone religious mad, +when still a young man, and died in a lunatic asylum; indeed the awful +difficulty of saving his soul had been in the blood of every true Tregenza +for generations. But Joan's mother came of different stock. The Chirgwins +were upland people. They dwelt at Drift and elsewhere, went to the nearest +church, held simple views, and were content with orthodox religion. Mr. +Tregenza said of them that they always wanted and expected God to do more +than His share. But he married Joan Chirgwin, nevertheless; and now he saw +her again, fair, trustful, light-hearted, in his daughter. The girl indeed +had more of her mother in her than Gray Michael liked. She was +superstitious, not after the manner of the Tregenzas, but in a direction +that must have brought her father's loudest thunders upon her head if the +matter had come to his ears. She loved the old stories of the saints and +spirits, she gloried secretly in the splendid wealth of folklore and +tradition her mother's people and those like them possessed at command. Her +dead parent had whispered and sung these matters into Joan's baby ears +until her father stopped it. She remembered how black he looked when she +lisped about the piskeys; and though to-day she half believed in demon and +fairy, goblin and giant, and quite believed in the saints and their +miracles, she kept this side of her intelligence close locked when at home, +and only nodded very gravely when her father roared against the blighting +credulity of men's minds and the follies for which fishers and miners, and +indeed the bulk of the human family in Cornwall, must some day burn. + +People outside the fold said that the Luke Gospelers killed Tregenza's +first wife. She, of course, accepted her husband's convictions, but it had +never been in her tender heart to catch the true Luke Gospel spirit. She +was too full of the milk of human kindness, too prone to forgive and +forget, too tolerant and ready to see good in all men. The fiery sustenance +of the new tenets withered her away like a scorched flower, and she died +five years after her child was born. For a space of two years the widower +remained one; then he married again, being at that time a hale man of +forty, the owner of his own fishing-boat, and at once the strongest +personality and handsomest person in Newlyn. Thomasin Strick, his second +wife, was already a Luke Gospeler and needed no conversion. People laughed +in secret at their wooing, and likened it to the rubbing of granite rocks +or a miner's pick striking fire from tin ore. A boy presently came to them; +and now he was ten and his mother forty. She passed rightly for a careful, +money-loving soul, and a good wife, with the wit to be also a good Luke +Gospeler. But her tongue was harder than her heart. Father and mother alike +thought the wide world of their boy, though the child was brought up under +an iron rod. Joan, too, loved her half-brother, Tom, very dearly, and took +a pride only second to her stepmother's in the lad's progress and +achievements. More than once, though only Joan and he knew it, she had +saved his skin from punishment, and she worshiped him with a frank +admiration which was bound to win Mrs. Tregenza's regard. Joan quite +understood the careful and troubled matron, never attached undue importance +to her sharp words, and was usually at her elbow with an ear for all +grievances and even a sympathetic word if the same seemed called for. Mrs. +Tregenza had to grumble to live, and Joan was the safety-valve, for when +her husband came off the sea he would have none of it. + +Life moved uniformly for these people, being varied only by the seasons of +the year and the different harvests from the sea which each brought with +it. Pollock, mackerel, pilchards, herrings--all had their appointed time, +and the years rolled on, marked by events connected with the secular +business of life on one hand and that greater matter of eternity upon the +other. Thus mighty catches of fish held the memory with mighty catches of +men. One year the take of mackerel had been beyond all previous +recollection; on another occasion three entire families had joined the Luke +Gospelers, and so promised to increase the scanty numbers of the chosen. +There were black memories, too, and black years, casting gloomy shadows. +Widows and orphans knew what it was to watch for brown sails that came into +the harbor's sheltering arms no more; and spiritual death had overtaken +more than one Luke Gospeler. Such turned their backs upon the light and +exchanged Truth for the benighted parody of religion displayed by Bible +Christians, by Plymouth Brethren or by the Church of England. + +Six months before the day on which she saw his ship through Barron's +glasses, Joan had been formally affianced to Joe Noy, with her father's +permission and approval. The circumstances of the event demand a word, for +Joe had already been engaged once before: to Mary Chirgwin, a young woman +who was first cousin to Joan and a good deal older. She was an orphan and +dwelt at Drift with Thomas Chirgwin, her uncle. The sailor had thereby +brightened an unutterably lonely life and brought earthly joy to one who +had never known it. Then Gray Michael got hold of the lad, who was +naturally of a solid and religious temperament, and up to that time of the +order of the Rechabites. As a result, Joe Noy joined the Luke Gospelers and +called upon his sweetheart to do likewise. But she recollected her aunt, +Joan's mother, and being made of stern stuff, stuck to the Church of +England as she knew it, counting salvation a greater thing than even a home +of her own. The struggle was sharp between them; neither would give way; +their engagement was therefore broken, and the girl's solitary golden +glimpse of happiness in this world shattered. She found it hard to forgive +the Tregenzas, and when, six months afterward, the sleepy farm life at +Drift was startled by news of Joan's love affair, Mary, in the first flush +of her reawakened agony, spoke bitterly enough; and even that most +mild-mannered of men, her uncle, said that Michael Tregenza had done an +ugly act. + +But the fisherman was at no time concerned with Mary or with Joan. The +opportunity to get a soul into the fold had offered and been accepted. Any +matter of earthly love-making counted little beside this. When Joe broke +with Mary, his mentor declared the action inevitable, as the girl would not +alter her opinions, and when, presently, young Noy fell in love with Joan, +her father saw no objection, for the sailor was honest, already a stanch +Luke Gospeler and a clean liver. + +Perhaps at that moment there was hardly another eligible youth in Newlyn +from Tregenza's point of view. He held Joan a girl to be put under stern +marital rule as soon as possible, and Joe promised to make a godly husband +with a strong will, while his convictions and view of life were altogether +satisfactory, being modeled on Michael's own. The arrangement suited Joan. +She believed she loved Joe very dearly, and she looked forward with +satisfaction to marrying him in about a year's time, when he should have +won a ship-master's certificate. But she viewed his departure without +suffering and would not have willingly foregone her remaining year of +freedom. She respected Joe very much and knew he would make a good partner +and give her a position above the everyday wives of Newlyn; moreover, he +was a fine figure of a man. But he lacked mental breadth, and that fact +sometimes tickled her dormant sense of humor. He copied her father so +exactly, and she, who lived with the real thunder, never could show +sufficient gravity or conviction in the presence of the youthful and +narrow-minded Noy's second-hand echoes. Mary Chirgwin was naturally a +thousand times more religious-minded than Joan, and sometimes Joe wished +the sober mind of his first love could be transported to the beautiful body +of his second; but he kept this notion to himself, studied to please his +future father-in-law, which he succeeded in doing handsomely, and contented +himself, in so far as his lady was concerned, by reflecting that the +necessary control over her somewhat light mind would be his in due season. + +To return from this tedious but necessary glimpse at the position and +belief of these people to Joan and the washing, it is to be noted that she +quickly made up for lost time, and, without further mentioning the +incidents of her morning's excursion, began to work. She pulled up her +sleeves, dragged her dress about her waist, then started to cleanse the +thick flannels her father wore at sea, his long-tailed shirts and woolen +stockings. The Tregenzas were well-to-do folk, and did not need to use the +open spaces of the village for drying of clothes. Joan presently set up a +line among the plum-trees, and dawdled over the hanging out of wet +garments, for it was now noon, sunny, mild, and fresh, with a cool salt +breeze off the sea. The winter repose of the bee-butts had been broken at +last, and the insects were busy with the plum-blossom and among the little +green flowerets on the gooseberry bushes. Beyond, sun-streaked and bright, +extended apple-trees with whitewashed stems and a twinkle of crimson on +their boughs, where buds grew ripe for the blowing. + +Joan yawned and blinked up at the sun to see if it was dinner time. Then +she watched a kitten hunting the bees in the gooseberry bushes. Presently +the little creature knocked one to the ground and began to pat it and +pounce upon it. Then the bee, using Nature's weapon to preserve precious +life, stung the kitten; and the kitten hopped into the air much amazed. It +shook its paw, licked it, shook it again. Joan laughed, and two pigs at the +bottom of the garden heard her and grunted and squealed as they thrust +expectant noses through the palings of their sty. They connected the laugh +with their dinner, but Joan's thoughts were all upon her own. + +A few minutes later Thomasin Tregenza called her, and, as they sat down, +Tom arrived from school. He was a brown-faced, dark-eyed, black-haired +youngster, good-looking enough, but not at that moment. + +"Aw! Jimmery! fightin' agin," said his mother, viewing two swollen lips, a +bulged ear, and an eye half closed. + +"I've downed Matthew Bent, Joan! Ten fair rounds, then he gived up." + +"Fight, fight, fight--'tis all you think of," said his parent, while Joan +poured congratulations on the conqueror. + +"'Tweer bound to come arter the football, when he played foul, an' I tawld +en so. Now, we'm friends." + +"Be he bruised same as you?" + +"A sight worse; he's a braave picksher, I tell 'e! I doubt he won't come to +schule this arternoon. That'll shaw. I be gwaine, if I got to crawl theer." + +"An' him a year older than what you be!" said Joan. + +"Iss, Mat's 'leben year old. I'll have some vinegar an' brown paper to this +here eye, mother." + +"Ait your mayte, ait your mayte fust," she answered. "Plague 'pon your +fightin'!" + +"But that Bent bwoy's bin at en for months; an' a year older too," said +Joan. + +"Iss, the bwoy's got no more'n what 'e desarved. For that matter, they +Bents be all puffed up, though they'm so poor as rats, an' wi'out 'nough +religion to save the sawl of a new-born babe 'mongst the lot of 'em." + +Tom, with his mouth full of fish and potato pie, told the story of his +victory, and the women made a big, hearty meal and listened. + +"He cockled up to me, an' us beginned fightin' right away, an' in the third +round I scat en on the mouth an' knocked wan 'is teeth out. An' in the +fifth round he dropped me a whister-cuff 'pon the eye as made me blink +proper." + +"Us doan't want to knaw no more 'bout it," declared his mother after dinner +was over. "You've laced en an' that's enough. You knaw what faither'll say. +You did ought to fight no battle but the Lard's. Now clap this here over +your eye for a bit, then be off with 'e." + +Tom marched away to school earlier than usual that afternoon, while the +women went to the door and watched him trudge off, both mightily proud of +his performance and his battered brown face. + +"He be a reg'lar lil apty-cock, [Footnote: _Apty-cock_--Brave, plucky +youngster.] sure 'nough!" said Joan. + +Mrs. Tregenza answered with a nod and looked along the road after her son. +There was a softer expression in her eyes as she watched him. Besides, she +had eaten well and was comfortable. Now she picked her teeth with a pin, +and snuffed the sea air, and gave a passing neighbor "good-afternoon" with +greater warmth of manner than usual. Presently her mood changed; she +noisily rated herself and her stepdaughter for standing idling; then both +went back to their work. + + + + CHAPTER FOUR + +BARRON BEGINS TO LEARN THE GORSE + + +Between four and five o'clock in the morning of the following day the +master of the white cottage came home. His wife expected him and was +getting breakfast when Michael tramped in--a very tall, square-built man, +clad to the eye in tanned oilskin overalls, sou'wester, and jackboots. The +fisherman returned to his family in high good temper; for the sea had +yielded silvery thousands to his drift-nets, and the catch had already been +sold in the harbor for a handsome figure. The brown sails of Tregenza's +lugger flapped in the bay among a crowd of others, and every man was in a +hurry to be off again at the earliest opportunity. Already the first boats +home were putting to sea once more, making a wide tack across the mouth of +the bay until nearly abreast of St. Michael's Mount, then tearing away like +race horses with foam flying as they sailed before the eastern wind for the +Scilly Islands and the mackerel. + +Michael kissed his wife and Joan also, as she came to the kitchen +sleepy-eyed in the soft light to welcome him. Then, while Mrs. Tregenza was +busied with breakfast and the girl cleaned some fish, he went to his own +small room off the kitchen and changed his clothes--all silvery, +scale-spotted and blood-smeared--for the clean garments which were spread +and waiting. First the man indulged in luxuries. He poured out a large tub +of fresh water and washed himself; he even cleaned his nails and +teeth--hyberbolic refinements that made the baser sort laugh at him behind +his back. + +At the meal which followed his toilet Tregenza talked to his wife and +daughter upon various subjects. He spoke slowly and from the lungs with the +deep echoing voice of one used to vocal exercise in the open air. + +"I seed the 'Anna' yesterday, Joan," he said, "a proud ship, full-rigged +wi' butivul lines. Her passed wi'in three mile of us or less off the +islands." + +Joan did not hint at her visit to Gorse Point of the previous day, but her +stepmother mentioned it, and her father felt called upon to reprimand his +daughter, though not very seriously. + +"'Twas a empty, vain thing to do," he said. + +"I promised Joe, faither." + +"Why, then you was right to go, though a fulish thing to promise en. +Wheer's Tom to?" + +Tom came down a minute later. The swelling of his lips was lessened, but +his ear had not returned to a normal size and his eye was black. + +"Fighting again?" Michael began, looking up from his saucer and fixing his +eyes on his son. + +"Please, faither, I--" + +"Doan't say naught. You'm so fond of it that I judges you'd best begin +fightin' the battle o' life right on end. 'Tain't no use keepin' you to +schule no more. 'Tis time you comed aboard." + +Tom crowed with satisfaction, and Mrs. Tregenza sighed and stopped eating. +This event had been hanging over her head for many a long day now; but she +had put the thing away, and secretly hoped that after all Tregenza would +change his mind and apprentice the boy to a shore trade. However, Tom had +made his choice, and his father meant him to abide by it. No other life +appealed to the boy; heredity marked him for the sea, and he longed for the +hard business to begin. + +"I'll larn you something besides fisticuffs, my beauty. 'Tis all +well-a-fine, this batterin' an' bruisin', but it awnly breeds the savage in +'e, same as raw meat do in a dog. No more fightin' 'cept wi' dirty weather +an' high seas an' contrary winds, an' the world, the flaish an' the devil. +I went to sea as a lugger-bwoy when I was eight year old, an' ain't bin off +the water more'n a month to wance ever since. This day two week you come +along wi' me. That'll give mother full time to see 'bout your kit." + +Joan wept, Thomasin Tregenza whined, and Tom danced a break-down and rolled +away to see some fisher-boy friends in the harbor before school began. Then +Michael, calling his daughter to him, walked with her among his plum-trees, +talked of God with some quotations, and looked at his pigs. Presently he +busied himself and made ready for sea in a little outhouse where paint and +ship's chandlery were stored; and finally, the hour then being half past +seven, he returned to his labors. Joan walked with him to the harbor and +listened while he talked of the goodness of God to the Luke Gospelers at +sea; how the mackerel had been delivered to them in thousands, and how the +Bible Christians and Primitive Methodists had fared by no means so happily. +The tide was high, and Gray Michael's skiff waited for him at the pierhead +beside the lighthouse. He soon climbed down into it, and the little boat, +rowed by two strong pairs of hands, danced away to the fleet. Already the +luggers were stretching off in a long line across the bay; and among them +appeared a number of visitors: Lowestoft yawls come down to the West after +the early mackerel. They were big, stout vessels, and many had steam-power +aboard. Joan watched her father's lugger start and saw it overhaul not a +few smaller ships before she turned from the busy harbor homeward. That +morning she designed to work with a will, for the afternoon was to be spent +on Gorse Point if all went well, and she already looked forward somewhat +curiously to her next meeting with the singular man who had lent her his +field-glass. + +Mrs. Tregenza was in sorry, snappy case all day. The blow had fallen, and +within a fort-night Tom would go to sea. This dismal fact depressed her not +a little, and she snuffled over her ironing, and her voice grated worse +than usual upon the ear. + +"He's such a hot-headed twoad of a bwoy. I knaw he'll never get on 'pon the +water. I doubt us'll hear he's bin knocked overboard or some sich thing +some day; an' them two brothers, they Pritchards, as allus sails 'long wi' +Tregenza, they'm that comical-tempered every one knaws. Oh, my God, why +couldn' he let the bwoy larn a land trade--carpenterin' or sich like?" + +"But, you see, faither's a rich man, an' some time Tom'll fill his shoes. +Faither do awn his bwoat an' the nets tu, which is more'n most Newlyn men +does." + +"Iss, I should think 'twas," said Mrs. Tregenza, forgetting her present +sorrow in the memory of such splendid circumstances. "Theer ban't wan +feller as awns all like what faither do. The Lard helps His chosen, not but +what Tregenza allus helped hisself an' set the example to Newlyn from his +boyhood." + +Mrs. Tregenza always licked her lips when she talked about money or +religion, and she did so now. + +Among Cornish drifters Gray Michael's position was undoubtedly unique, for +under the rules of the Cornish fishery he enjoyed exceptional advantages +owing to his personal possession both of boat and nets. The owner of a +drift-boat takes one-eighth part of the gross proceeds of a catch, and the +remaining seven-eighths are divided into two equal parts of which one part +is subdivided among the crew of the boat, while the other goes to the owner +or owners of the nets used on board. The number of nets to a boat is about +fifty as a rule, and a man to possess his own boat and outfit must be +unusually well-to-do. + +But it was partly for this reason that Mrs. Tregenza refused to be +comforted. She grudged every farthing spent on anything, and much disliked +the notion of tramping to Penzance to expend the greater part of a +five-pound note on Tom's sea outfit. In a better cause she would not have +thought it ill to expend money upon him. His position pointed to something +higher than a fisherman's life. He might have aspired to a shop in the +future together with a measure of worldly prosperity and importance not to +be expected for any mere seafarer. But Tom had settled the matter by +deciding for himself, and his father had approved the ambition, so there +the matter ended, save for grumbling and sighing. Joan, too, felt sore +enough at heart when she heard that the long-dreaded event lay but a +fortnight in the future. But she knew her father, and felt sure that the +certainty of Tom's going to sea at the appointed time would now only be +defeated by death or the Judgment Day. So she did not worry or fret. +Nothing served to soothe her stepmother, however, and the girl was glad to +slip off after dinner, leaving Thomasin with her troubles. + +Joan made brisk way through Mousehole and in less than an hour stood out +among the furzes in the little lonely theater above the cliffs. For a +moment she saw nothing of John Barron, then she found him sitting on a +camp-stool before a light easel which looked all legs with a mere little +square patch of a picture perched upon them. Joan walked to within a few +yards of the artist and waited for him to speak. But eye, hand, brain were +all working together on the sketch before him, and if he saw the visitor at +all, which was doubtful, he took no notice of her. Joan came a little +closer, and still John Barron ignored her presence. Then she grew +uncomfortable, and, feeling she must break the silence, spoke. + +"I be come, sir, 'cordin' to what you said." + +He added a touch and looked up with no recognition in his eyes. His +forehead frowned with doubt apparently, then he seemed to remember. "Ah, +the young woman who told me about the luggers." Suddenly he smiled at her, +the first time she had seen him do so. + +"You never mentioned your name, I think?" + +"Joan Tregenza, sir." + +"I promised you a little picture of that big ship, didn't I?" + +"You was that kind, sir." + +"Well, I haven't forgotten it. I finished the picture this morning and I +think you may like it, but I had to leave it until to-morrow, because the +paints take so long to dry." + +"I'm sure I thank you kindly, sir." + +"No need. To-morrow it will be quite ready for you, with a frame and all +complete. You see I've begun to try and paint the gorse." He invited her by +a gesture to view his work. She came closer, and as she bent he glanced up +at her with his face for a moment close to hers. Then she drew back +quickly, blushing. + +"'Tis butivul--just like them fuzzes." + +He had been working for two hours before she came, painting a small patch +of the gorse. Old gnarled stems wound upward crookedly, and beneath them +lay a dead carpet of gorse needles with a blade or two of grass shooting +through. From the roots and bases of the main stems sprouted many a shoot +of young gorse, their prickles tender as the claws of a new-born kitten, +their shape, color, and foliage of thorns quite different to the mature +plant above. There, in the main masses of the shrub, mossy brown buds in +clumps foretold future splendor. But already much gold had burst the sheath +and was ablaze, scenting the pure air, murmured over by many bees. + +"You could a'most pick thicky theer flowers," declared Joan of the picture. + +"Perhaps presently, when they are painted as I hope to paint them. This is +only a rough bit of work to occupy my hand and eye while I am learning the +gorse. Men who paint seriously have to learn trees and blossoms just as +they have to learn faces. And we are never satisfied. When I have painted +this gorse, with its thorns and buds, I shall sigh for more truth. I cannot +paint the soul of each little yellow flower that opens to the sun; I cannot +paint the sunny smell that is sweet in our nostrils now. God's gorse scents +the air; mine will only smell of fat oil. What shall I do?" + +"I dunnaw." + +"No more does anybody. It can't be helped. But I must try my best and make +it real--each spike, as I see it--the dead gray ones on the ground and the +live green ones on the tree, and the baby ones and the old gray-pointed +ones, which have seen their best days and will presently die and fall--I +must paint them all, Joan." + +She laughed. + +"Don't laugh," he said, very seriously. "Only an artist would laugh at me, +not you who love Nature. There lives a great painter, Joan, who paints +pictures that nobody else in the wide world can paint. He is growing old, +but he is not too old to take trouble still. Once, when he was a young man, +he drew a lemon-tree far away in Italy. It was only a little lemon-tree, +but the artist rose morning after morning and drew it leaf by leaf, twig by +twig, until every leaf and bud and lemon and bough had appeared. It was not +labored and false; it was grand because it was true: a joy forever; work +Old Masters had loved; full of distinction and power and patience almost +Oriental. A thing, Joan Tregenza, worth a wilderness of 'harmonies' and +'impressions,' 'nocturnes' and 'notes,' smudges and audacities. But I +suppose that is all gibberish to you?" + +"Iss, so it be," she admitted. + +"Learn to love everything that is beautiful, my good child. But I think you +do, unconsciously perhaps." + +"I don't take much 'count of things." + "Yes, unconsciously. You have a cowslip there stuck in your frock, though +where you got it from I can't imagine. The flower is a month too early." + +"Iss, 'tis, I found en in a lew, sunshiny plaace. Us have got a frame for +growin' things under glass, an' it had bin put down 'pon top this cowslip +an' drawed 'en up." + +"Will you give it to me?" + +She did so, and he smelled it. + +"D'you know that the green of the cowslip is the most beautiful green in +all Nature, Joan? Here, I have a flower, too; we will exchange if you +like." + +He took a scrap of blackthorn bloom from his coat and held it out to her, +but she shrank backward and he learned something. + +"Please not that--truly 'tis the dreadfulest wicked flower. Doan't 'e arsk +I to take en." + +"Unlucky?" + +"Iss fay! Him or her as first brings blackthorn in the house dies afore it +blows again. Truth--solemn--us all knaws it down in these paarts. 'Tis a +bewitched thing--a wicked plant, an' you can see it grawin' all +humpetty-backed an' bent an' crooked. Wance, when a man killed hisself, +they did use to bury en wheer roads met an' put a blackthorn stake through +en; an' it all us grawed arter; an' that's the worstest sort o' all." + +"Dear, dear, I'm glad you told me, Joan; I will not wear it, nor shall +you," he said, and flung it down and stamped on it very seriously. + +The girl was gratified. + +"I judge you'm a furriner, else you'd knawn 'bout the wickedness o' +blackthorn." + +"I am. Thank you very much. But for you I should have gone home wearing it. +That puts me in your debt, Joan." + +"'Tain't nothin', awnly there's a many coorious Carnish things like that. +An' coorious customs what some doan't hold with an' some does." + +She sat down near the cliff edge with her back to him, and he smiled to +himself to find how quickly his mild manners and reserve had put the girl +at her ease. She looked perfect that afternoon and he yearned to begin +painting her; but his scheme of action demanded time for its perfect +fulfillment and ultimate success. He let the little timorous chatterbox +talk. Her voice was soft and musical as the cooing of a wood-dove, and the +sweet full notes chimed in striking contrast to her uncouth speech. But +Joan's diction gave pleasure to the listener. It had freedom and wildness, +and was almost wholly innocent of any petrifying educational influences. + +Joan, for her part, felt at ease. The man was so polite and so humble. He +thanked her for her information so gratefully. Moreover, he evidently cared +so little about her or her looks. She felt perfectly safe, for it was easy +to see that he thought more of the gorse than anything. + +"My faither's agin such things an' sayin's," she babbled on, "but I dunnaw. +They seems truth to me, an' to many as is wiser than what I be. My mother +b'lieved in 'em, an' Joe did, till faither turned en away from 'em. But +when us plighted troth, I made en jine hands wi' me under a livin' spring +o' water, though he said 'twas heathenish. Awnly, somehow, I knawed 'twas a +proper thing to do." + +"I should like to hear more about these old customs some day," he said, as +though Joan and he were to meet often in the future, "and I should be +obliged to you for telling me about them, because I always delight in such +matters." + +She was quicker of mind than he thought, and rose, taking his last remark +as a hint that he wished to be alone. + +"Don't go, Joan, unless you must. I'm a very lonely man, and it is a great +pleasure to me to hear you talk. Look here." + +She approached him, and he showed her a pencil sketch now perched on the +easel--a drawing considerably larger than that upon which he had been +working when she arrived. + +"This is a rough idea of my picture. It is going to be much larger though, +and I have sent all the way to London for a canvas on which to paint it." + +'"Twill be a gert big picksher then?" + +"So big that I think I must try and get something into it besides the +gorse. I want something or other in the middle, just for a change. What +could I paint there?" + +"I dunnaw." + +"No more do I. I wonder how that little white pony tethered yonder would +do?" + +Joan laughed. + +"You'd never get the likes o' him to bide still for 'e." + +"No, I'm afraid not; and I doubt if I'm clever enough to paint him either. +You see, I'm only a beginner--not like these clever artists who can draw +anything. Well, I must think: to-morrow is Sunday. I shall begin my big +picture on Monday if the weather keeps kind. I shall paint here, in the +open air. And I will bring your ship, too, if you care to take the trouble +to come for it." + +"Yes, an' thank 'e, sir." + +"Not at all. I owe you thanks. Just think if I had gone home with that +horrid blackthorn." + +He turned to his work as though she were no longer present and the girl +prepared to depart. + +"I'll bid you good-arternoon now, sir," she said timidly. + +He looked up with surprise. + +"Haven't you gone, Joan? I thought you had started. Good-by until Monday. +Remember, if it is cold or rainy I shall not be here." + +The girl trotted off; and when she had gone Barren drew her from memory in +the center of his sketch. The golden glories of the gorse were destined to +be no more than a frame for something fairer. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +COLD COMFORT + + +John Barron made other preparations for his picture besides those detailed +to Joan Tregenza. He designed a large canvas and proposed to paint it in +the open air according to his custom. His health had improved, and the +sustained splendor of the spring weather flattered hopes that, his model +once won, the work he proposed would grow into an accomplished fact. There +was no cottage where he might house his picture and materials within half a +mile of Gorse Point, but a granite cow-byre rose considerably nearer, at a +corner of an upland field. Wind-worn and lichen-stained it stood, situated +not more than two hundred yards from the spot on which Barron's picture was +to be painted. A pathway to outlying farms cut the fields hard by the byre, +and about it lay implements of husbandry--a chain harrow and a rusty plow. +Black, tar-pitched double doors gave entrance to the shed, and light +entered from a solitary window now roughly nailed up from the outside with +boards. A padlock fastened the door, but, by wrenching down the covering of +the window, Barron got sight of the interior. A smell of vermin and decay +rose from the inner darkness; then, as his eyes focused the gloom, he noted +a dry, spacious chamber likely enough to answer his purpose. Brown litter +of last year's fern filled one corner, and in it was marked a lair as of +some medium-sized beast; elsewhere a few sacks with spades and picks and a +small pile of potatoes appeared: the roots were all sprouting feebly from +white eyes, as though they knew spring held the world, though neither +sunshine warmed them nor soft earth aided their struggle for life. Here the +man might well keep his canvas and other matters. Assuming that temporary +possession of the shed was possible, his property would certainly be safe +enough there; for artists are respected in and about Newlyn, and their +needs considered when possible. A farm, known as Middle Hemyll, showed gray +chimneys above the fields, half a mile distant, and, after finding the +shed, Barron proceeded thither to learn its ownership. The master of Middle +Hemyll speedily enlightened him, and the visitor learned that not only did +he speak to the possessor of the cow-byre, but that Farmer Ford was a keen +supporter of art, and would be happy to rent his outhouse for a moderate +consideration. + +"The land ban't under pasture now, an' the plaace ed'n much used just this +minute, so you'm welcome if you mind to. My auld goat did live theer wance, +but er's dead this long time. Maybe you seed the carcass of en, outside? +I'll have the byre cleared come to-morrer; an' if so be you wants winders +in the roof, same as other paintin' gents, you'll have to put 'em theer wi' +your awn money." + +Barron explained that he only needed the shed as a storehouse for his +picture and tools. + +"Just so, just so. Then you'll find a bwoy wi' the key theer to-morrer, an' +all vitty; an' you can pay in advancement or arter, as you please to. Us'll +say half-a-crown a week, if that'll soot 'e." + +The listener produced half-a-sovereign, much to Farmer Ford's +gratification, and asked that a lad or man might be found to return with +him there and then to the shed. + +"I am anxious to see the place and have it in order before I go back to +Newlyn," he explained. "I will pay you extra for the necessary labor, and +it should not take above an hour." + +"No more 'twill, an' I'll come 'long with 'e myself this minute," answered +the other. + +Getting a key to the padlock, and a big birch broom, he returned with +Barron, and soon had the doors of the disused byre thrown open to the air. + +"I shut en up when the auld goat went dead. Theer a used to lie in the +corner, but now he'm outside, an' I doubt the piskeys, what they talks +'bout, be mighty savage wi' me for not buryin' the beast, 'cause all +fairies is 'dicted to goats, they do say, an' mighty fond o' the milk of +'em." + +Farmer Ford soon cleared the place of potatoes, sacks, and tools. Then, +taking his broom, he made a clean sweep of dust and dirt. + +"Theer's a many more rats here than I knawed seemin'ly," he said, as he +examined a sink in the stones of the floor, used for draining the stalls; +"they come up here for sartain, an' runs out 'long the heydge to the +mangel-wurzel mound, I lay." + +Without, evidences of the vermin were clear enough. Long hardened tracks, +patted down by many paws, ran this way and that; and the main rat +thoroughfare extended, as the farmer foretold, to a great mound where, +stowed snugly in straw under earth, lay packed the remains of a +mangel-wurzel crop. At one end the store had been opened and drawn upon for +winter use; but a goodly pile of the great tawny globes still remained, +small lemon-colored leaves sprouting from them. Farmer Ford, however, +viewed the treasure without satisfaction. + +"Us killed a power o' sheep wi' they blarsted roots last winter," he said. +"You'd never think now as the frost could touch 'em, but it did though, +awin' to the wicked long winter. It got to 'em, sure 'nough, an' theer was +frost in 'em when us gived 'em to the sheep, an' it rotted theer innards, +poor twoads, an' they died, more'n a score." + +Barron listened thoughtfully to these details, then pointed to an ugly +sight beyond the wurzel mound. + +"I should like that removed," he said. + +It was the dead goat, withered to a mummy almost, with horns and hide +intact, and a rat-way bored through the body of the beast under a tunnel of +its ribs. + +"Jimmery! to see what them varmints have done to 'en! But I'll bury what's +left right on en; an' I'll stop the sink in the house, then you'll be free +of 'em." + +These things the farmer did, and presently departed, promising to revisit +the spot ere long with some dogs and a ferret or two. So Barron was left +master of the place. He found it dry, weather-proof and well suited to his +requirements in every respect. The concerns which he had ordered from +London would be with him by Saturday night if all went well, and he decided +that they should be conveyed to the byre at an early hour on Monday +morning. + +The next day was Sunday, and half a dozen men, with Barron and Murdoch +among them, strolled into Brady's great whitewashed studio to see and +criticise his academy picture which was finished. Everybody declared that +the artist had excelled himself in "The End of the Voyage." It represented +a sweep of the rocky coast by the Lizard, a wide gray sand, left naked by +the tide, with the fringe of a heavy sea churning on it, and sea-fowl +strutting here and there. In the foreground, half buried under tangles of +brown weed torn from the rocks by past storms, lay a dead sailor, and a big +herring-gull, with its head on one side and a world of inquiry in its +yellow eyes, was looking at him. Tremendous vigor marked the work, and only +a Brady could have come safely through the difficulties which had been +surmounted in its creation. Everybody sang praises, and Barron nodded warm +approval, but said nothing until challenged. + +"Now, find the faults, then tell me what's good," said the gigantic +painter. He stood there, burly, hearty, physically splendid--the man of all +others in that throng who might have been pointed to as the creator of the +solemn gray picture before them. + +"Leave fault-finding to Fleet Street," said Barron; "let the press people +tell you where you are wrong. I am no critic and I know what a mountain of +hard work went to this." + +"That's all right, old man; never mind the work--or me. Be impartial." + +"Why should I? To be impartial, as this world wags, is to be friendless." + +"Good Lord! d'you think I mind mauling? There's something wrong or you +wouldn't be so deucedly evasive. Out with it!" + +"Well, your sailor's not dead." + +Brady roared with laughter. + +"Man! the poor devil's been in the water a week!" + +"Not he. 'Tis a mistake in nine painted corpses out of ten. If you want to +paint a drowned man, wait till you've seen one close. That sailor in the +seaweed's asleep. Sleep is graceful, remember; death by drowning is +generally ugly--stiff, stark, hideous, eyeless, fish-gnawed a week after +the event. But what does it matter? You've painted a great picture. That +sea, with the circular swirl, as each wave goes back into the belly of the +next, is well done; and those lumps of spume fluttering above +watermark--that was finely noted. Easy to write down in print, but +difficult as the fiend to paint. And the picture is full of wind too. Your +troubles are amply repaid and I congratulate you. A man who could paint +that will go as far as he likes." + +The simple Brady forgot the powder in swallowing the jam. Barron had +touched those things in his work which were precious to him. His impulsive +nature took fire, and there was almost a quiver of emotion in his big voice +as he answered: + +"Damn it, you're a brick! I'd sooner hear you praise those lumps of +sea-spume, racing over the sand there, than see my picture on the line." + +But sentiment was strange to John Barron's impersonal nature, and he froze. + +"Another fault exists which probably nobody will tell you but me. Your +seaweed's great, and you knew it by heart before you painted it--that I'll +swear to, but your sleeper there would never lie in the line of it as you +have him. Reflect: the sea must float the light weed after it could move +him no more. He should be stogged in the sand nearer the sea." + +Brady, however, contested this criticism, and so the talk wore on until the +men separated. But the Irishman called on Barron after midday dinner and +together they strolled through Newlyn toward the neighboring village. +Chance brought them face to face with two persons more vital to the +narrative than themselves, and, pausing to chronicle the event of the +meeting, we may leave the artists and follow those whom they encountered. + +Gray Michael kept ashore on Sundays, and today, having come off the sea at +dawn, was not again putting forth until next morning. He had attended +meeting with his wife, his daughter and his son; he had dined also, and was +now walking over to Mousehole that he might bring some religious comfort to +a sorely stricken Luke Gospeler--a young sheep but lately won to the fold +and who now lay at the point of death. Joan accompanied him, and upon the +way they met John Barron and his companion. The girl blushed hotly and then +chilled with a great disappointment, for Barron's eyes were on the sea; he +was talking as he passed by, and he apparently saw neither her nor her +Sunday gown; which circumstance was a sorrow to Joan. But in reality Barron +missed nothing. He had shivered at her green dress and poor finery long +before she reached him. Her garb ruffled his senses and left him wounded. + +"There goes your beauty," laughed Brady; "how would you like to paint her +in that frock with those sinful blue flowers in her hat?" + +"Nature must weep to see the bizarre carnival these people enjoy on the +Seventh Day," answered the other. "Their duns and drabs, their russets and +tawny tones of red and orange, are of their environment, the proper skins +for their bodies; but to think of that girl brightening the eyes of a +hundred louts by virtue of those fine feathers! Dream of her in the Stone +Age, clad in a petticoat torn from a wolf, with her straw-colored hair to +her waist and a necklace of shells or wild beasts' teeth between her +breasts! And the man--her father, I suppose--what a picture his cursed +broadcloth and soft black hat make of him--like the head of a patriarch +stuck on a tailor's dummy." + +Meanwhile, ignorant of these startling criticisms, Mr. Tregenza and his +daughter pursued their road, and presently stopped before a cottage in one +of the cobble-paved alley-ways of Mousehole. A worn old woman opened the +door and courtesied to Gray Michael. He wished her good-afternoon, then +entered the cottage, first bidding Joan return in an hour. She had friends +near at hand, and hurried off, glad to escape the sight of sickness and the +prayers she knew that her father would presently deliver. + +"How be en?" inquired the fisherman, and the widowed mother of the patient +answered: + +"Better, I do pray. Er was in the doldrums issterday an' bad by night also, +a dwaling an' moaning gashly, but, the Lard be praised, he'm better in mind +by now, an' I do think 'tis more along of Bible-readin' than all the +doctor's traade [Footnote: _Traade_--Physic.] he've took. I read to en +'bout that theer bwoy, the awnly son o' his mother, an' her a +widder-wumman, an' how as the Lard brought en round arter he'd gone dead." + +Gray Michael sniffed and made no comment. + +"I'll see en an' put up a prayer or so," he said. + +"An' the Lard'll reward it, Mr. Tregenza." + +Young Albert Vallack greeted the visitor with even greater reverence than +his mother had done. He and the old woman were Falmouth folks and had +drifted Westerly upon the father's death, until chance anchored them in +Newlyn. Now the lad--a dissolute youth enough, until sudden illness had +frightened him to religion--was dying of consumption, and dying fast, +though as yet he knew it not. + +"'Tis handsome in you, a comin' to see the likes o' me," said the patient, +flushing with satisfaction. "You'm like the stickler at a wras'lin' match, +Mister Tregenza, sir; you sees fair play betwixt God an' man." + +"So you'm better, Albert, your mother sez." + +"Iss, a bit. Theer's more kick an' sprawl [Footnote: _Kick an' +sprawl_--Strength, vitality.] in me than theer 'ave bin; an' I feels +more hopeful like 'bout the future." + +Self-righteousness in a new-fledged Luke Gospeler, who had been of the fold +but three months and whose previous record was extremely unsatisfactory, +irritated Gray Michael not a little. + +"Bwoy!" he said loudly, "doan't 'e be deceived that way. 'Gird 'e wi' +sackcloth, lament and howl; for the fierce anger o' the Lard is _not_ +turned back from us.' Three months o' righteousness is a purty bad set off +'gainst twenty years o' sin, an' it doan't become 'e to feel hopeful, I +'sure ye." + +The sick man's color paled, and a certain note as of triumph in his voice +died out of it. His mother had left them, feeling that her presence might +hinder conversation and lessen the comfort which Mr. Tregenza had brought. + +"I did ought to be chap-fall'n, I s'pose." + +"Iss, you did, my son, nobody more'n you. Maybe you'll live; maybe you'll +die; but keep humble. I doan't wish to deceive 'e. Us ain't had time to +make no certainty 'bout things. You'm in the Lard's hand, an' it becomes 'e +to sing small, an' remember what your life's bin." + +The other grew uneasy and his voice faltered while he still fought for a +happy eternity. + +"I'd felt like 'twas all right arter what mother read." + +"Not so. God's a just God 'fore everything. Theer ed'n no favorin' wi' Him. +I hopes you'll live this many a day, Vallack; an' then, when your hour +comes, you'll have piled up a tidy record an' can go wi' a certainty +faacin' you. Seems you'm better, an' us at chapel's prayed hot an' strong +to the Throne that you might be left to work out your salvation now your +foot's 'pon the right road." + +"But if I dies, mister?" + +"'The prayer of the righteous man availeth much,'" answered Gray Michael +evasively. "I be come," he added, "to read the Scriptures to 'e." + +"You all prayed for me, sir?" + +"Iss, every man, but theer was no mincin' matters, Albert. Us was arskin' +for a miserable sinner, a lost sheep awnly just strayed back, an' we put it +plain as that was so." + +"'Tweer mighty kind o' the Luke Gosp'lers, sir." + +"'Twas their dooty. Now I be gwaine to read the Book." + +"I feels that uneasy now," whined the sufferer, in a voice where fear spoke +instead of hope, "but I s'pose 'tis a sign o' graace I should be?" + +"Iss, 'tis. I've comed to tell 'e the truth, for 'tis ill as a man should +be blind to facts on what may be his last bed 'bove the airth. Listen to +this, my son, an' if theer's anything you doan't onderstand, arsk me an' +I'll thraw light 'pon it." + +He read, with loud, slow voice, the fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiah, and that +glorious clarion of great promise gave Michael the lie and drowned his own +religious opinions as thunder drowns the croaking of marsh frogs; but he +knew it not. The brighter burned his own shining light, the blacker the +shadows it threw upon the future of all sinners. + +As Tregenza finished and put down his Bible, the other spoke and quoted +eagerly: + +"'Incline your ear an' come unto Me; fear, an' your sawl shall live!' Theer +do seem a hope in that if it ed'n awver-bold me thinkin' so?" he asked. + +"That's like them Church o' Englanders, a tearin' wan text away from +t'others an' readin' it accordin' as they pleases. I'll expound it all to +wance, as a God-fearin' man did ought to treat the Scriptures." + +Gray Michael's exposition illustrated nothing beyond his own narrow +intellectual limitations. His cold cloud of words obscured the prophet's +sunshine, and the light went out of the dying man's eyes, leaving only +alarm. He trembled on the brink of the horrid truth; he heard it thinly +veiled in the other's stern utterance, saw it looking from his hard blue +eyes. After the sermon, silence followed, broken by Vallack, who coughed +once and again, then raised himself and braced his heart to the tremendous +question that demanded answering. + +"I wants your awn feelin' like, mister. I must have it. I caan't sleep no +more wi'out knawin' the best or worst. You be the justest man ever I seed +or heard tell on out the Scriptures. An' I wants 'e to gimme your opinion +like. S'pose you was the Judge an' I comed afore 'e an' the Books was theer +and you'd read 'em an' had to conclude 'pon 'em--?" + +The fisherman reflected. Vallack's proposition did not strike him as +particularly grotesque. He felt it was a natural question, and he only +regretted that it had been put, because, though he had driven more than one +young man to righteousness along the path of terror, in this present case +the truth came too late save to add another horror to death. He believed in +all sincerity that as surely as the young man before him presently died, so +surely would he be damned, but he saw no particular object in stating the +fact. Such intelligence might tell upon Vallack's physical condition--a +thing of all others to be avoided, for Gray Michael held that the +sufferer's only chance of a happy eternity was increased and lengthened +opportunity in time. + +"It ed'n for me to sit in the Judgment Seat, Albert. 'Vengeance is mine, +sayeth the Lard.' You must allus hold in mind that theer's mighty few saved +alive, best o' times. Many be called, but few chosen. Men go down to the +graave every second o' the day an' night, but if you could see the sawls a +streamin' away, thicker'n a cloud of starlings, you'd find a mass, black as +a storm, went down long, an' awnly just a summer cloud like o' the blessed +riz up. Hell's bigger'n Heaven; an' er's need to be, for Heaven's like to +be a lonely plaace, when all's said. I won't speak no more 'bout that +subjec'. 'Tis good fashion weather for 'e just now, an us'll hope as you +ban't gwaine to die for many a day." + +"Say it out, mister, say it out. I knaws what you means. You reckons if I +gaws I'm lost." + +"My poor sawl, justice is justice; an' the Lard's all for justice an' no +less. Theer's no favorin' wi' Him, Albert." + +"But mightn't He favor the whole bilin' of us--good'n bad--cause He made +us?" + +"Surely not. Wheer's the justice o' that? If He done that, how'd the godly +get their fair dues--eh? Be the righteous man to share God's Heaven wi' +publicans an' sinners? That ed'n justice anyhow. Don't fret, lad; tears +won't mend bad years. Bide quiet an' listen to me whiles I pray for 'e." + +The man in the bed had grown very white, his eyes burned wildly out of a +shrunken face, and he gripped the sheets and shivered in pure physical +terror. + +"I caan't die, I caan't die, not yet," he groaned, "pray to the Lard to +keep me from dyin' yet a while, mister. Arsk en to give me just a lil time, +'cause I'm that sorry for my scarlet sins." + +Thereupon Michael knelt, clasped his hands so close that the bent +finger-joints grew white, raised his massive head upward and prayed with +his eyes closed. The intercession for life ended, he rose up, shook Vallack +by the hand, and so departed. + +"Allus, when you've got the chance, bear the balm o' Gilead to a sinner's +couch," he said to his daughter as they walked home. "'Tis the duty of man +an' maid to spread the truth an' bring peace to the troubled, an' strength +to the weak-hearted, an' rise up them that fall." + +A week later Mr. Tregenza heard how Albert Vallack had burst a blood-vessel +and died, fighting horribly with awful invisible terrors. + +"Another sawl gone down into the Pit," he said. "I reckon fewer an' fewer +be chosen every year as the world do grow older an' riper for the last +fires." + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +FAIRY STORIES + + +Joan found her sketch waiting for her the next day when she reached Gorse +Point about eleven o'clock; and she also discovered John Barron with a +large canvas before him. He had constructed his picture and already made +many drawings for it. Now he knew exactly what he wanted, and he designed +to paint Joan standing looking out at a distant sea which would be far +behind the spectator of the picture. When she arrived, on a fine morning +and mild, Barron rose from his camp-stool, lifted up a little canvas which +stood framed at his side and presented it to her. The sketch in oils of the +"Anna" was cleverer than Joan could possibly know, but she took no small +delight in it and in the setting of rough deal brightly gilded. + +"Sure 'tis truly good of 'e, sir!" + +"You are more than welcome. Only let me say one word, Joan. Keep your +picture hidden away until Joe comes back from sea and marries you. From +what you tell me, your father might not like you to have this trifle, and I +should be very sorry to annoy him." + +"I waddun' gwaine to show en," she confessed. "I shall store the picksher +away as you sez." + +"You are wise. Now look here, doesn't this promise to be a big affair? The +gorse will be nearly as large as life, and I've been wondering ever so long +what I shall put in the middle; and whatever do you think I've thought of?" + +"I dunnaw. That white pony us saw, p'raps?" + +"No; something much prettier. How would it do, d'you think, if _you_ +stood here in front of the gorse, just to fill up the middle piece of the +picture?" + +"Oh, no, no! My faither--" + +"You misunderstand, Joan. I don't want a picture of _you_, you know; +I'm going to paint the gorse. But if you just stood here, you'd make a sort +of contrast with your brown frock. Not a portrait at all, only just a +figure to help the color. Besides, you mustn't think I'm an artist, I +shouldn't go selling the picture or hanging it up for everybody to stare at +it. I'm certain your father wouldn't mind, and I'll tell him all about it +afterward, if you like." + +She hesitated and reflected with trouble in her eyes, while Barron quietly +took the picture he had brought her and wrapped it up in a piece of paper. +His object was to remind her without appearing to do so of her obligation +to him, and Joan was clever enough to take the hint, though not clever +enough to see that it was an intentional one. + +"Would it be a long job, sir?" she asked at length. + +"Yes, it would; because I'm a slow painter and rather stupid. But I should +think it very, very kind of you. I'm not strong, you know, and I daresay +this is the last picture I shall ever paint." + +"You ed'n strong, sir?" + +"Not at all." + +She was silent, and a great sympathy rose in her girl's heart, for frail +health always made her sad. + +"You don't judge 'tis wrong then for a maiden to be painted in a picksher?" + +"Certainly not, Joan. I should never suggest such a thing to you if I +thought it was in the least wrong. I _know_ it isn't wrong." + +"I seed you issterday," she said, changing the subject suddenly, "but you +dedn see me, did 'e?" + +"Yes, I did, and your father. He is a grand-looking man. By the way, Joan, +I think I never told you my name. I'm called John; that's short and simple, +isn't it?" + +"Mister Jan," she said. + +"No, not 'mister'--just 'Jan,'" he answered, adopting her pronunciation. "I +don't call you 'Miss' Joan." + +She looked at once uncomfortable and pleased. + +"We must be friends," the man continued calmly, "now you have promised to +let me put you here among the gorse bushes." + +"Sure, I dunnaw 'bout the picksher, Mister Jan." + +"Well, you would be doing me a great service. I want to paint you very much +and I think you will be kind." + +He looked into her eyes with a steady, inquiring glance, and Joan +experienced a new emotion. Joe had never looked like that; nor yet her +father. She felt a will stronger than her own was busy with her +inclinations. Volition remained free, and yet she doubted whether under any +circumstances could she refuse his petition. As it happened, however, she +already liked the man. He was so respectful and polite. Moreover, she felt +sad to hear that he suffered in health. He would not ask her to do wrong +and she felt certain that she might trust him. A trembling wish and a +longing to comply with his request already mastered her mind. + +"You'm sure--gospel truth--theer ed'n no harm in it?" + +"Trust me." + +In five minutes he had posed her as he wished and was drawing, while every +word he spoke put Joan more at her ease. The spice of adventure and secrecy +fired her and she felt the spirit of romance in her blood, though she knew +no name for it. Here was a secret delight knocking at the gray threshold of +every-day life--an adventure which might last for many days. + +Barron, to touch the woman in her if he could, harped upon her gown and the +color of it, on her shoes and sun-bonnet--on everything but herself. +Presently he reaped his reward. + +"Ban't you gwaine to paint my faace as well, Mister Jan." + +"Yes, if I can. But your eyes are blue, and blue eyes are hard to paint +well. Yours are so very blue, Joan. Didn't Joe ever tell you that?" + +"No--that's all fulishness." + +"Nothing that's true is foolish. Now I'm going to make some little sketches +of you, so as to get each fold and shadow in your dress right." + +Barron drew rapidly, and Joan--ever ready to talk to a willing listener +when her confidence was won--prattled on, turning the conversation as usual +to the matters she loved. Upon her favorite subjects she dared not open her +mouth at home, and even her lover refused to listen to the legends of the +land, but they were part of the girl's life notwithstanding, drawn into her +blood from her mother, a thousand times more real and precious than even +the promised heaven of Luke Gospeldom, not to be wholly smothered at any +time. Occasionally, indeed, uneasy fears that discussion of such concerns +was absolutely sinful kept her dumb for a week, then the religious wave +swept on, and Cornish folk-lore, with its splendor and romance, again +filled her heart and bubbled from her lips. Her little stories pleased +Barron mightily. Excitement heightened Joan's beauty. Her absolute +innocence at the age of seventeen struck him as remarkable. It seemed +curious that a child born in a cottage, where realities and facts are apt +to roughly front boy and girl alike, should know so little. She was a +beautiful, primitive creature, with strange store of fairy fable in her +mind; a treasury which brought color and joy into life. So she prattled, +and the man painted. + +Pure artistic interest filled Barron's brain at this season; not a shadow +of passion made his pencil shaky or his eye dim; he began to learn the girl +with as little emotion as he had learned the gorse. He asked her to +unfasten the top button of her dress that he might see the lines of her +plump throat, and she complied without hesitation or ceasing from her +chatter. He noted where the tan on her neck faded to white under her dress, +and occupied himself with all the artistic problems she unconsciously +spread before him; while she merely talked, garnered in his questions and +comments on all she said, and found delight in the apparent interest and +entertainment her conversation afforded him. + +"I seed a maggotty-pie [Footnote: _Maggotty-pie_--Magpie.] comin' +along this marnin'," she said. "Wan's bad an' a sign o' sorrer; but if you +spits twice over your left shoulder it doan't matter so much. But I be +better off than many maidens, 'cause I be saint-protected like." + +"That's interesting, Joan." + +"Faither'd be mad if I let on 'bout it to him, so I doesn't. He doan't +b'lieve much in dead saints, though Carnwall's full of 'em. Have 'e heard +tell 'bout Saint Madern?" + +"Ah, the saint of the well?" + +"Iss, an' the brook as runs by the Madern chapel." + +"I sketched the little ruin of the baptistery some time ago." + +"'Twas tho't a deal of wance, an' the holy water theer was reckoned better +for childern than any doctor's traade as ever was. My mother weer a Madern +cheel; an' 'er ordained I should be as well, an' when faither was to sea, +as fell out just 'pon the right day, mother took me up theer. That was my +awn mother as is dead. More folks b'lieved in the spring then than what do +now, 'cause that was sebenteen year agone. An' from bein' a puny cheel I +grawed a bonny wan arter dipping. But some liked the crick-stone better for +lil baabies than even the Madern brook." + +"Mên-an-tol that stone is called?" + +"So 'tis, awnly us knaws it as the crick-stone. Theer's a big hole in en, +an' if a cheel was passed through nine times runnin', gwaine 'gainst the +way of the sun every time, it made en as strong as a lion. An' 'tis good +for grawn people tu, awnly folks is afeared to try now 'cause t'others +laugh at en. But I reckon the Madern brook's holy water still. An' theer's +wonnerful things said 'bout the crick-stones an' long stones tu. A many of +'em stands round 'bout these paarts." + +"D'you know Mên Scryfa--the stone with the writing on it? That's a famous +long stone, up beyond Lanyon Farmhouse." + +"I've seed en, 'pon the heath. 'Tis butivul an' solemn an' still, all aloan +out theer in a croft to itself. I trapsed up-long wan day an' got beside of +en an' ate a pasty wi' Joe. But Joe chid me, an' said 'tweer a heathenish +thing sticked theer by the Phoenicians, as comed for tin in Solomon's +times." + +"Don't you believe that, Joan. Mên Scryfa marks the memory of a good +Briton--one who knew King Arthur, very likely. I love the old stones too. +You are right to love them. They are landmarks in time, books from which we +may read something of a far, fascinating past." + +"Iss, but I ded'n tell 'e all 'bout the Madern waters. The best day for 'em +be the fust Sunday in May; an' come that, the mothers did use to gaw up to +the chapel--dozens of 'em--wi' poor lil baabies. They dipped 'em naked in +the brook, an' 'twas just a miracle for rashes and braggety legs and sich +like. An', arterward, the mothers made offerin's to the saint. 'Twas awnly +the thot like, but folks reckoned the saint 'ud take the will for the act, +'cause poor people couldn' give a saint nothin' worth namin'." + +Barren had heard of the votive offerings left by the faithful in past days +at St. Madron's shrine, but felt somewhat surprised to find the practice +dated back to a time so recent as Joan's infancy. He let her talk on, for +the subject was evidently dear to the girl. + +"And what did the mothers give the saint?" + +"Why, rags mostly. Just a rag tored off a petticoat, or some sich thing. +They hanged 'em up around about on the thorn bushes to shaw as they'd a +done more for the good saint if they'd had the power. An' theer's another +marvelous thing as washin' in thicky waters done: it kep' the fairies +off--the bad fairies, I mean. 'Cause theer'm gude an' bad piskeys, same as +gude an' bad men folks." + +"You believe in fairies, Joan?" + +She looked at him shyly, but he had apparently asked for information and +was not in the least amused. + +"I dunnaw. P'raps. Iss, I do, then! Many wiser'n me do b'lieve in 'em. You +arsk the tinners--them as works deep. They knaws; they've 'eard the +knackers an' gathorns many a time, an' some's seen 'em. But the mine +fairies be mostly wicked lil humpetty-backed twoads as'll do harm if they +can; an' the buccas is onkind to fishermen most times; an' 'tis said they +used to bide in the shape of a cat by day. But theer be land fairies as is +mighty good-hearted if a body behaves seemly." + +"I believe in the fairies too," said Barren gravely, "but I've never seen +one." + +"Do 'e now, Mister Jan! Then I'm sure theer is sich things. I ne'er seed +wan neither; but I'd love to. Some maids has vanished away an' dwelt 'mong +'em for many days an' then comed home. Theer's Robin o' the Carn as had a +maiden to work for en. You may have heard the tale?" + +"No, never." + +"'Tis a fine tale; an' the gal had a braave time 'mongst the lil people +till she disobeyed 'em an' found herself back 'mongst men folk agin. But in +coorse some of them--the piskeys, I mean--works for men folk themselves. My +gran'mother Chirgwin, when she was very auld, seed 'em a threshin' corn in +a barn up Drift. They was tiny fellers wi' beards an' red faaces, an' they +handled the flails cruel clever. Then, arter a bit, they done the threshin' +an' was kickin' the short straw out the grain, which riz a gert dust; an' +the piskeys all beginned sneezin'. An' my gran'mother, as was peepin' +through the door unbeknown to 'em, forgot you must never speak to a piskey, +an' sez, 'God bless 'e, hi men!' 'cause that's what us allus sez if a body +sneezes. Then they all took fright an' vanished away in the twinkle of a +eye. Which must be true, 'cause my awn gran'mother tawld it. But they ded'n +leave the farm, though nobody seed 'em again, for arter that 'tis said as +the cows gived a wonnerful shower o' milk, better'n ever was knawn before. +An' I 'sure 'e I'd dearly like to be maiden to good piskeys if they'd let +me work for 'em." + +"Ah, I'm certain you would suit them well, Joan; and they would be lucky to +get you, I think; but I hope they won't go and carry you off until I've +done with you, at any rate." + +She laughed, and he bid her put down her hand from her eyes and rest. He +had brought some oranges for her, but judged the friendship had gone far +enough, and first decided not to produce them. Half an hour later, however, +when the sitting was ended, he changed his mind. + +"Can you come to-morrow, Joan? I am entirely in your hands, remember, and +must consider your convenience always. In fact, I am your servant and shall +wait your pleasure at all times." + +Joan felt proud and rather important. + +"I'll come at 'leben o'clock to-morrow, but I doubt I caan't be here next +day, Mister Jan." + +"Thank you very much. To-morrow at eleven will do splendidly. By the way, I +have an orange here--two, in fact. I thought we might be thirsty. Will you +take one to eat going home?" + +He held out the fruit and she took it. + +"My! What a butivul orange!" + +"Good-by until to-morrow, Joan; and thank you for your great kindness to a +very friendless man. You'll never be sorry for it, I'm sure." + +He bowed gravely and took off his cap, then turned to his easel; and she +blushed with a lively pleasure. She had seen gentlemen take off their hats +to ladies, but no man had ever paid her that respect until then, and it +seemed good to her. She marched off with her picture and her orange, but +did not eat the fruit until out of sight of Gorse Point. + +The man painting there already began to fill a space in Joan's thoughts. He +knew so much and yet was glad to learn from her. He never laughed or talked +lightly. He put her in mind of her father for that reason, but then his +heart was soft, and he loved Nature and beautiful things, and believed in +fairies and spoke no ill of anybody. Joan speculated as to how these +meetings could be kept a secret and came to the conclusion it would not be +difficult to hide them. Then, reaching home, she hid her picture behind the +pig-sty until opportunity offered for taking it indoors to her own bedroom +unobserved. + +As for John Barren, he felt kindly enough toward his model. He could hold +himself with an iron hand when he pleased, and proposed that the growing +friendship should ripen into a fine work of art and no more. But what might +go to the making of the picture could not be foretold. He would certainly +allow nothing to check inspiration or stand between him and the very best +he had power to achieve. No sacrifice could be too great for Art, and +Barron, who was now awake and alive for an achievement, would, according to +his rule, count nothing hard, nothing impossible that might add a grain of +value to the work. His own skill and Joan's beauty were brought in contact +and he meant to do everything a man might do to make the result immortal. +But the human instruments necessary to such work counted for nothing, and +their personal prosperity and welfare would weigh no more with him than the +future of the brushes which he might use, after he had done with them. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +UNCLE CHIRGWIN + + +Joan's first announcement upon the following morning was a regret that the +sitting must be short. + +"We'm mighty busy, come wan thing an' another," she said. "Mother's gwaine +to Penzance wi' my brother to buy his seafarin' kit; and Uncle Chirgwin, as +keeps a farm up Drift, be comin' to dinner, which he ain't done this long +time; an' faither may by chance be home tu, so like as not, for the first +bwoats be tackin' back from the islands a'ready." + +"You shall stop just as short a time as you choose, Joan. It was very good +of you to come at all under these circumstances," declared the artist. + +"Us be fine an' busy when uncle comes down-long, an' partickler this time, +'cause theer've bin a differ'nce of 'pinion 'bout--'bout a matter betwixt +him and faither, but now he's wrote through the post to say as he'm comin', +so 'tis all right, I s'pose, an' us'll have to give en a good dinner +anyways." + +"Of course you must," admitted Barren, working steadily the while. + +"He'm a dear sawl, an' I likes en better'n anybody in the world, I think, +'cept faither. But he's easier to please than faither, an' so humble as a +beggar-man. An' I wants to make some cakes for en against tea-time, 'cause +when he comes, he bides till candle-lighting or later." + +Presently the artist bid her rest for a short while, and her thoughts +reverted to him and the picture. + +"I hope as you'm feelin' strong an' no worser, Mister Jan," she said +timidly. + +He was puzzled for a moment, then recollected that he had mentioned his +health to her. + +"Thank you very much for asking, Joan. It was good and thoughtful. I am no +worse--rather better if anything, now I come to think about it. Your +Cornish air is kind to me, and when the sun shines I am happy." + +"How be the picksher farin'?" + +"I get on well, I think." + +"'Tis cruel clever of 'e, Mister Jan. An' you'll paint me wi' the fuzz all +around?" + +"That is what I hope to do; a harmony in brown and gold." + +"You'll get my likeness tu, I s'pose, same as the photograph man done it +last winter to Penzance? Me an' Joe was took side by side, an' folks +reckoned 'twas the moral of us, specially when the gen'leman painted Joe's +hair black an' mine yeller for another shillin' cost." + +"It must have been very excellent." + +"Iss, 'twas for sartain." + +"What did Mr. Tregenza say of it?" + +"Well, faither, he'm contrary to sich things, as I tawld 'e, Mister Jan. +Faither said Joe'd better by a deal keep his money in his purse; but he let +me have the picksher, an' 'tis nailed up in a lil frame, what Joe made, at +home in the parlor." + +She stopped a moment and sighed, then spoke again. + +"Faither's a wonnerful God-fearin' man, sure 'nough." + +"Is he a God-loving man too, Joan?" + +"I dunnaw. That ed'n 'sackly the same, I s'pose?" + +"As different as fear and love. I'm not an atom frightened of God +myself--no more than I am of you." + +"Lard! Mister Jan." + +"Why should I be? You are not frightened of the air you breathe--yet that +is part of God; you are not frightened of the gold gorse or the blue +sky--yet they are part of God too. God made you--you are part of God--a +deliberate manifestation of Him. What's the use of being frightened? You +and I can only know God by the shapes He takes--by the bluebells and the +ferns and the larks in the sky, and the rabbits and wild things." + +His effort to inspire the girl with Nature-worship, though crudely cast in +a fashion most likely to attract her, yet failed just then, and failed +ludicrously. Her mind comprehended barely enough to accept his idea in a +sense suggested by her acquaintance with fable, and when he instanced a +rabbit as an earthly manifestation of the Everlasting, she felt she could +cap the example from her own store of knowledge. + +"I reckon I sees what you'm meanin', Mister Jan. Theer's things us calls +witch-hares in these paarts up-long. The higher-quarter people have seed +'em 'fore now; nothin' but siller bullets will kill 'em. They goes +loppettin' about down lawnly lanes on moonlight nights, an' they draws +folks arter 'em. But if you could kill wan of 'em 'tis said as they'd turn +into witches theer an' then. So you means that God A'-mighty' takes shaapes +sometimes same as they witches do, doan't 'e?" + +"Not quite that, Joan. What I want you to know is that the great Being you +call God is nearer to you here, on Gorse Point, than in the Luke Gospelers' +meeting-house, and He takes greater delight in a bird's song than in all +your father's prayers and sermons put together. That is because the great +Being taught the bird to sing Himself, but He never taught your father to +pray." + +"I dunnaw 'sackly what you means, Mister Jan, but I judges you ban't so +religious like as what faither is." + +"Religion came from God to man, Joan, because man wanted it and couldn't +get on comfortably without it; but theology--if you know what that +means--man invented for himself. Religion is the light; theology is the +candlestick. Never quarrel with any man's candlestick as long as you can +see his light burning bravely. Mr. Tregenza thinks all men are mistaken but +the Luke Gospelers--so you told me. But if that is the case, what becomes +of all your good Cornish saints? They were not Luke Gospelers--at least I +don't think they were." + +Joan frowned over this tremendous problem, then dismissed it for the +pleasanter and simpler theme John Barron's last remark suggested. + +"Them saints was righteous men anyhow, an' they worked miracles tu, so it +ban't no gude sayin' they wasn't godly in their ways, the whole boilin' of +'em. Theer's St. Piran, St. Michael, St. Austell, St. Blazey, St. Buryan, +St. Ives, St. Sennen, St. Levan, an' a many more, I could call home if I +was to think. Did 'e ever hear tell 'bout St. Neot, Mister Jan?" + +"'No, Joan; I'm afraid I don't know much about him." + +"Not 'bout they feesh?" + +"Tell me, while you rest a minute or two." + +"'Tis a holy story, an' true as any Bible tale, I should guess. St. Neot +had a well, an' wan day he seed three feesh a swimmin' in it an' he was +'mazed to knaw how they comed theer. So a angel flew down an' tawld en +that they was put theer for his eatin', but he must never draw out more'n +wan at a time. Then he'd all us find three when he comed again. An' so he +did; but wance he failed sick an' his servant had to look arter his vittles +meantime. He was a man by the name of Barius, an' he judged as maybe a +change of eatin' might do the saint good. So he goes an' takes two o' them +feesh 'stead o' wan as the angel said. An' he b'iled wan feesh, an' fried +t'other, an' took 'em to St. Neot; an' when he seed what his man been +'bout, he was flustered, I tell 'e. Then the saint up and done a marvelous +straange thing, for he flinged them feesh back in the well, just as they +was, and began praayin' to the Lard to forgive his man. An' the feesh +comed alive ag'in and swimmed around, though Barius had cleaned 'em, I +s'pose, an' took the guts out of 'em an' everything. Then the chap just +catched wan feesh proper, an' St. Neot ate en, an' grawed well by sundown. +So he was a saint anyways." + +"You can't have a miracle without a saint, of course, Joan?" + +"Or else the Lard. But I'll hold in mind what you sez 'bout Him bein' hid +in flowers an' birds an' sich like, 'cause that's a butivul thing to knaw." + +"And in the stars and the sun and the moon, Joan; and in the winds and +clouds. See how I've got on to-day. I don't think I ever did so much work +in an hour before." + +She looked and blushed to note her brown frock and shoes. + +"You've done a deal more to them fuzzes than what you have to me, +seemin'ly," she said. + +"That's because the gorse is always here and you are not. I work at the +gorse morning after morning, when the sun is up, until my fingers ache. +You'll see great changes in the picture of yourself soon though." + +But she was not satisfied, of course misunderstanding the unfinished work. + +"You mustn't say anything yet, you know, Joan," added the artist, seeing +her pouting lips. + +"But--but you've drawed me as flat as a cheeld, an' I be round as a wummon, +ban't I?" she said, holding out her hands that he might see her slight +figure. Her blue eyes were clouded, for she deemed that he had put an +insult upon her budding womanhood. Barren showed no sign of his enjoyment, +but explained as clearly as possible that she was looking at a thing wholly +unfinished, indeed scarce begun. + +"You might as well grumble with me for not painting your fingers or your +face, Joan. I told you I was a slow artist; only be patient; I'm going to +do all fitting honor to every scrap of you, if only you will let me." + +"Warmer words had come to his lips, but he did not suffer them to pass. +Then the girl's beautiful face broke into a smile again. + +"I be nigher eighteen than sebenteen, you knaw, Mister Jan. But, coorse, I +hadn't no bizness to talk like that to 'e, 'cause what do I knaw 'bout sich +things?" + +"You shan't see the picture again till it is finished, Joan. It was my +fault for showing it to you like that, and you had every right to protest. +Now you must go, for it's long past twelve o'clock." + +"I'm afeared I caan't come to-morrer." + +"As you please. I shall be here every day, ready and only too glad to see +you." + +"An'--an' you ban't cross wi' me for speakin' so rude, Mister Jan?" + +"Cross, Joan? No, I'm never cross with anybody but myself. I couldn't be +cross with my kind little friend if I tried to be." + +He shook hands; it was the first occasion that he had done so, and she +blushed. His hand was cold and thin, and she heard one of the bones in it +give a little crack as he held her palm within his own for the briefest +space of time. Then, as usual, the moment after he had said "good-by," he +appeared to become absolutely unconscious of her presence, and returned to +his picture. + +Joan's mind dwelt much upon the artist after she had departed, and every +train of reflection came back to the last words Barron spoke that morning. +He had called her his kind little friend. It was very wonderful, Joan +thought, and a statement not to be explained at all. Her stepmother's voice +cut these pleasant memories sharply, and she returned home to find that +Uncle Chirgwin had already arrived--a fact his old gray horse, tethered in +the orchard, and his two-wheeled market cart, drawn up in the side-lane, +testified to before Mrs. Tregenza announced it. + +"Out again, of coorse, just because you knawed I was to be drove off my +blessed legs to-day. I'll tell your faither of 'e, so I will. Gals like you +did ought to be chained 'longside theer work till 'tis done." + +Uncle Chirgwin sat by the fireside with a placid if bored expression on his +round face. His hands were folded on his stomach; his short legs were stuck +out before him; his head was quite bald, his color high, his gray eyes +weak, though they had some laughter hidden in them. His double chin was +shaved, but a very white bristle of stubbly whisker surrounded it and +ascended to where all that remained of his hair stuck, like two patches of +cotton wool, above his ears. The old man wore a suit of gray tweed and +blinked benignly through a pair of spectacles. He had already heard enough +of Mrs. Tregenza's troubles to last some time, and turned with pleasure to +Joan as she entered. So hearty indeed was the greeting and a kiss which +accompanied it that his niece felt the displeasure which her uncle had +recorded by post upon the occasion of her engagement to Mary Chirgwin's +former sweetheart existed no more. + +"My ivers! a braave, bowerly maid you'm grawin', sure 'nough! Joan'll be a +wummon 'fore us can look round, mother." + +"Iss--an' a fine an' lazy wummon tu. I wish you could make her work like +what Mary does up Drift." + +"Well, I dunnaw. You see there's all sorts of girls, same as plants an' +'osses an' cetera. Some's for work, some's for shaw. You 'specks a flower +to be purty, but you doan't blame a 'tater plant 'cause 'e ed'n particular +butivul. Same wi' 'osses, an' wi' gals. Joan's like that chinee plate 'pon +the bracket, wi' the pickshers o' Saltash Burdge 'pon en, an' gold writin' +under; an' Mary's like that pie-dish, what you put in the ubben a while +back. Wan's for shaw, t'other's for use--eh?" + +"Gwan! you'm jokin', Uncle Thomas!" said Joan. + +"An' a poor joke tu, so 'tis. You'd turn any gal's 'ead wi' your stuff, +Chirgwin. Wheer's the gude of a fuzz-pole o' yeller hair an' a pair o' blue +eyes stuck 'pon top of a idle, good-for-nothin' body? Maidens caan't live +by looks in these paarts, an' they'll find theerselves in trouble mighty +quick if they tries to." + +Uncle Chirgwin instantly admitted that Mrs. Tregenza had the better of the +argument. He was a simple man with a soft heart and no brains worth naming. +Most people laughed at him and loved him. As sure as he went to Penzance on +market-day, he was cordially greeted and made much of, and robbed. People +suspected that his shrewd, black-eyed niece stood between him and absolute +misfortune. She never let him go to market without her if she could help +it; for, on those infrequent occasions when he jogged to town with his gray +horse and cart alone, he always went with a great trust of the world in his +heart and endeavored to conduct the sale of farm produce in the spirit of +Christianity, which was magnificent but not business. Mr. Chirgwin's simple +theories had kept him a poor man; yet the discovery, often repeated, that +his knowledge of human nature was bad, never imbittered him, and he mildly +persisted in his pernicious system of trusting everybody until he found he +could not; unlike his neighbors who trusted nobody until they found that +they could. The farmer had blazed with indignation when Joe Noy flung over +Mary Chirgwin because she would not become a Luke Gospeler. But the matter +was now blown over, for the jilted girl, though the secret bitterness of +her sorrow still bred much gall in her bosom, never paraded it or showed a +shadow of it in her dark face. Uncle Thomas greatly admired Mary and even +feared her; but he loved Joan, for she was like her dead mother outwardly +and like himself in character: a right Chirgwin, loving sunshine and +happiness, herself sunshiny and happy. + +"'Pears I've comed the wrong day, Joan," he said presently, when Mrs. +Tregenza's back was turned, "but now I be here, you must do with me as you +can." + +"Mother's gwaine to town wi' Tom bimebye; then me an' you'll have a talk, +uncle, wi'out nothin' to let us. You'm lookin' braave, me auld dear." + +He liked a compliment, and anticipated pleasure from a quiet afternoon with +his niece. She bustled about, as usual, to make up for lost time; and +presently, when the cloth was laid, walked to the cottage door to see if +her father's lugger was at its moorings or in sight. Meantime Mrs. +Tregenza, having brought forth dinner from the oven, called at the back +door to her son in a voice harsh and shrill beyond customary measure, as +became her exceptional tribulations. + +"Come in, will 'e, an' ait your food, bwoy. Theer ed'n no call to kick out +they boots agin' the pig's 'ouse because I be gwaine to buy new wans for 'e +presently." + +Fired by a word which she had heard from John Barron, that flowers became +the house as well as the garden, Joan plucked an early sprig of pink ribe +and the first buds of wall-flower before returning to the kitchen. These +she put in a jug of water and planted boldly upon the dinner-table as Mrs. +Tregenza brought out a pie. + +"Butivul, sure 'nough," said Mr. Chirgwin, drawing in his chair. His eye +was on the pie-dish, but Joan thought he referred to her bouquet. + +"Lard! what'll 'e do next? Take they things off the table to wance, Joan." + +"But Uncle Thomas sez they'm butivul," she pleaded. + +"They be pleasant," admitted Mr. Chirgwin, "but bloody-warriors [Footnote: +_Bloody-warrior_--Wall-flower.] be out o' plaace 'pon the +dinner-table. I was 'ludin' to this here. You do brown a 'tater to rights, +mother." + +Mrs. Tregenza's shepherd's pies had a reputation, and anybody eating of one +without favorable comment was judged to have made a hole in his manners. +Now she helped the steaming delicacy and sighed as she sat down before her +own ample share. + +"Lard knaws how I done it to-day. 'Tis just a enstance how some things +comes nachrul to some people. You wants a light hand wi' herbs an' to knaw +your ubben. Get the brandy, Joan. Uncle allus likes the edge off drinkin' +water." + +The Tregenzas were teetotalers, but a bottle of brandy for medicinal +purposes occupied the corner of a certain cupboard. + +"You puts it right, mother. 'Tis just the sharpness I takes off. I can't +drink no beer nowadays, though fond o' it, 'cause 'tis belly-vengeance +stuff arter you gets past a certain time o' life. But I'd as soon have +tea." + +"That's bad to drink 'long wi' vlaish," said Mrs. Tregenza. "Tea turns +mayte leather-hard an' plagues the stomach cruel, as I knaws to my cost." + +They ate in silence a while, then, having expressed and twice repeated a +wish that Mary could be taught to make shepherd's pies after the rare +fashion of his hostess, Mr. Chirgwin turned to Tom. + +"So you'm off for a sailor bwoy, my lad?" + +"Iss, uncle, an' mother gwaine to spend fi' puns o' money on my kit." + +"By Golles! be she now? I lay you'll be smart an' vitty!" + +"That he will!" said Joan, but Mrs. Tregenza shook her head. + +"I did sadly want en to be a landsman an' 'prenticed to some good body in +bizness. It's runnin' 'gainst dreams as I had 'fore the bwoy was born, an' +the voice I heard speakin' by night arter I were churched by the Luke +Gosp'lers. But you knaw Michael. What's dreams to him, nor yet voices?" + +"The worst paart 'bout 'em, if I may say it, is that they'm so uncommon +well acquainted like wi' theer awn virtues. I mean the Gosp'lers an' all +chapel-members likewise. It blunts my pleasure in a good man to find he +knaws how good he is. Same as wan doan't like to see a purty gal tossin' +her head tu high." + +"You caan't say no sich thing o' Michael, I'm sure," remonstrated Mrs. +Tregenza instantly; "he'm that modest wi' his righteousness as can be. I've +knawn en say open in prayer, 'fore the whole chapel, as he's no better'n a +crawlin' worm. An' if he's a worm, what's common folks like you an' me? +Awnly Michael doan't seem to take 'count in voices an' dreams, but I knaws +they'm sent a purpose an' not for nort." + +Mr. Chirgwin admitted his own ridiculous religious insignificance as +contrasted with Gray Michael. Indeed the comparison, so little in his +favor, amused him extremely. He sipped his brandy and water and enjoyed a +treacle-pudding which followed the pie. Then, when Joan was clearing up and +Mrs. Tregenza had departed to prepare for her visit to Penzance, Uncle +Thomas began to puff out his cheeks, and blow, and frown, and look uneasily +to the right and left--actions invariably performed when he contemplated +certain monetary achievements of which he was only too fond. The sight of +Mary's eyes upon him had often killed such indiscretions in the bud, but +she was not present just then, so, with further furtive glances, he brought +out his purse, opened it, and found a half-sovereign which reposed alone in +the splendor of a separate compartment. Uncle Chirgwin then beckoned to +Tom, who had gone into the garden till his mother should be ready to start. + +"Good speed to 'e, bwoy," he said, "an' may the Lard watch over 'e by land +an' sea. Take you this lil piece o' money to buy what you've a mind to; an' +knaw you've got a auld man's blessin' 'long wi' it." + +"Mother," said Tom, a minute later, "uncle have gived me a bit o' gawld!" + +She took the coin from him and her eyes rested on it lovingly while the +outlines of her face grew softer and she moistened her lips. + +"First gawld's ever I had," commented Tom. + +"You'm 'mazin' generous wi' your moneys, uncle, an' I thank 'e hearty for +the bwoy. Mighty good of 'e--so much money to wance," said Thomasin, +showing more gratification than she knew. + +"I wants en to be thrifty," answered the old man, very wisely. "You knaws +how hard it is to teach young people the worth o' money." + +"Ay, an' some auld wans! Blest if I doan't think you'd give your head away +if 'e could. But I'll take this here half-suvrin' for Tom. 'Tis a nest-egg +as he shall add to as he may." + +Tom did not foresee this arrangement, and had something to say as he +tramped off with his mother to town; but though he could do more with her +and get more out of her than anybody else in the world, money was a subject +concerning which Mrs. Tregenza always had her way. She understood it and +loved it and allowed no interference from anybody, Michael alone excepted. +But he cared not much for money and was well content to let his wife hold +the purse; yet when he did occasionally demand an account, it was always +forthcoming to the uttermost farthing, and he fully believed what other +people told him that Thomasin could make a sixpenny-piece go further than +any other woman in Newlyn. + +Mother and son presently departed; while Mr. Chirgwin took off his coat, +lighted his pipe, and walked with Joan round about the orchard. He foretold +great things for the plums, now in full flower; he poked the pigs with his +stick and spoke encouragingly of their future also. Then he discussed +Joan's prospects and gladdened her heart by telling her the past must be +let alone and need never be reverted to again. + +"Mary's gettin' over it tu," he said, "least-ways I think she is. Her knaws +wheer to look for comfort, bless her. Us must all keep friendly for life's +not long enough to do 'nough good in, I allus says, let alone the doin' o' +bad." + +Then he discussed Joe Noy, and Joan was startled to find, when she came to +think seriously upon the subject, that though but a week and three days had +passed since she bid her lover "good-by," yet the picture of him in her +mind already grew a trifle dim, and the prospect of his absence for a year +held not the least sorrow in it for her. + +Presently, after looking to his horse, Uncle Thomas hinted at forty winks, +if the same would be quite convenient, and Joan, settling him with some +approach to comfort upon n little horsehair sofa in the parlor, turned her +attention to the making of saffron cakes for tea. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +THE MAKING OF PROGRESS + + +John Barron held strong theories about the importance of the mental +condition when work was in hand. Once fairly engaged upon a picture, he +painted very fast, labored without cessation, and separated himself as far +as might be from every outside influence. No new interests were suffered to +intrude upon his mind; no distractions of any sort, intellectual or +otherwise, were permitted to occupy even those leisure intervals which of +necessity lay between the periods of his work. On the present occasion he +merely fed and slept and dwelt solitary, shunning society of every sort and +spending as little time in Newlyn as possible. Fortunately for his +achievement the weather continued wonderfully fine and each successive day +brought like conditions of sunshine and color, light and air. This +circumstance enabled him to proceed rapidly, and another fact also +contributed to progress; the temperature kept high and the cow-byre, +wherein Barren stored his implements and growing picture, proved so +well-built and so snug withal that on more than one occasion he spent the +entire night there. Sweet brown bracken filled a manger, and of this he +pulled down sufficient quantities to make, with railway rugs, an ample bed. +The outdoor life appeared to suit his health well; some color had come to +his pale cheeks; he felt considerably stronger in body and mentally +invigorated by the strain of work now upon him. + +But though he turned his back on his fellow-men they sought him out, and +rumors at length grew to a certainty that Barron was busy painting +somewhere on the cliffs beyond Mousehole. Everybody supposed he had +abandoned his ambition to get a portrait of Joan Tregenza; but one man was +in his confidence: Edmund Murdoch. The young artist had been useful to +Barron. On many occasions he tramped out from Newlyn with additions to the +scanty larder kept at the cow-byre. He would bring hard-boiled eggs, +sandwiches, bottles of soda-water and whisky; and once he arrived at six +o'clock in the morning with a pony cart in which was a little oil stove. +Barron had confided in Murdoch, but begged he would let it be known that he +courted no society for the present. As the work grew he spent more and more +time upon it. He explained to his friend quite seriously that he was +painting the gorse, but that Joan Tregenza had consented to fill a part of +the picture--a statement which amused the younger artist not a little. + +"But the gorse is extraordinary, I'll admit. You must have worked without +ceasing. She will be exquisite. Where shall you get the blue for her eyes?" + +"Out of the sky and the sea." + +"Does the girl inspire you herself, John? I swear something has. This is +going to be great." + +"It's going to be true, that's all. No, Joan is a dear child, but her +body's no more than a perfect casket to a commonplace little soul. She +talks a great deal and I like nothing better than to listen; for although +what she says is naught, yet her manner of saying it does not lack charm. +Her voice is wonderfully sweet--it comes from her throat like a +wood-pigeon's, and education has not ruined her diction." + +"She's as shy as any wood-pigeon, too--we all know that; and you've done a +clever thing to tame her." + +"God forbid that I should tame her. We met and grew friendly as wild things +both. She is a child of Nature, her mind is as pure as the sea. Moreover, +Joan walks saint-guided. Folklore and local twaddle does not appeal +overmuch to me, as you know, yet the stories drop prettily from her lips +and I find pleasure in listening." + +Murdoch whistled. + +"By Jove! I never heard you so enthusiastic, so positive, so personally +alive and awake and interested. Don't fall in love with the girl before you +know it." + +To this warning Barron made a curious reply. + +"Everything depends on my picture. You know my rule of life; to sacrifice +all things to mood. I shall do so here. The best I can do must be done +whatever the cost." + +A shadow almost sinister lay behind the utterance, yet young Murdoch could +not fathom it. Barren spoke in his usual slow, unaffected tones, and +painted all the time; for the conversation took place on Gorse Point. + +"Not sure if I quite understand you, old man," said Murdoch. + +"It doesn't matter in the least if you don't, my dear fellow." + +His words were hardly civil, but the tone in which Barren spoke robbed the +utterance of any offense. + +"All you need do," he continued, "is to keep silent in the interests of art +and of Joan. I don't want her precious visits to me to get back to her +father's ears or they will cease, and I don't wish to do her a bad turn in +her home, for I owe her a great debt of gratitude. If men ask what I'm +doing, lie to them and beg them not to disturb me, for the sake of Art. +What a glint the east wind gives to color! Yet this is hardly to be called +an east wind, so soft and balmy does it keep." + +"Well, you seem to be the better for your work, at any rate. You're getting +absolutely fat. If Newlyn brings you health as well as fame, I hope you'll +retract some of the many hard things you have said about it." + +"It has brought me an interest, and for that at any rate I am grateful. +Good-by. I shall probably come down to-night, despite the fact that you +have replenished my stores so handsomely." + +Murdoch started homeward and met Joan Tregenza upon the way. She had given +Barron one further sitting after Uncle Chirgwin's call at Newlyn, but since +the last occasion, and for a period of two days, chance prevented the girl +from paying him another visit. Now she arrived, however, as early as +half-past ten, and Murdoch, while he passed her on the hill from Mousehole, +envied his friend the morning's work before him. + +Joan was very hot and very apologetic upon her arrival. + +"I began to fear you had forgotten me," the artist said, but she was loud +in protestations to the contrary. + +"No, no, Mister Jan. I've fretted 'bout not comin' up like anything; ay, +an' I've cried of a night 'cause I thot you'd be reckoning I waddun comin' +no more. But 'tweern't my doin' no ways." + +"You hadn't forgotten me?" + +"Indeed an' I hadn't. An' I'd be sorrerful if I thot you thot so." + +She walked to the old position before the gorse and fell naturally into it, +speaking the while. + +"Tis this way: mother's been bad wi' faace ache arter my brother Tom went +to sea wi' faither. An' mother grizzled an' worrited herself reg'lar ill +an' stopped in bed two days an' kep on whinin' 'bout what I was to do if +she died; cause she s'posed she was gwained to. But so soon as Tom comed +off his first trip, mother cheered wonnerful, an' riz up to see to en, an' +hear tell 'bout how he fared on the water." + +"Your head a wee bit higher, Joan. Well, I'm thankful to see you again. I +was getting very, very lonely, I promise you. And the more I thought about +the picture the more unhappy I became. There's such a lot to do and only +such a clumsy hand to do it. The better I know you, Joan, the harder become +the problems you set me. How am I going to get your soul looking out of +your eyes, d'you think? How am I to make those who may see my picture some +day--years after you and I are both dead and gone, Joan--fall in love with +you?" + +"La! I dunnaw, Mister Jan." + +"Nor do I. How shall I make the picture so true that generations unborn +will delight in the portrait and deem it great and fine?" + +"I dunnaw." + +"And yet you deserve it, Joan, for I don't think God ever made anything +prettier." + +She blushed and looked softly at him, but took no alarm; for though such a +compliment had never before been paid her, yet, as Barron spoke the words, +slowly, critically, without enthusiasm or any expression of pleasure on his +face, they had little power to alarm. He merely stated what he seemed to +regard as a fact. There was almost a suggestion of irritation in his +utterance, as though his model's rare beauty only increased his own +artistic difficulties; and, perhaps fearing from her smile that she found +undue pleasure in his statement, he added to it: + +"I don't say that to natter you, Joan. I hate compliments and never pay +them. I told you, remember, that your wrists were a thought too big." + +"You needn't be sayin' it over an' over, Mister Jan," she answered, her +smile changing to a pout. + +"But you wouldn't like me any more if I stopped telling you the truth. We +have agreed to love what is true and to worship Mother Nature because she +always speaks the truth." + +The girl made no answer, and he went on working for a few moments, then +spoke again. + +"I'm selfish, Joan, and think more of my picture than I do of my little +model. Put down your arm and take a good rest. I tried holding my hand over +my eyes yesterday to see how long I could do so without wearying myself. I +found that three minutes was quite enough, but I have often kept you posed +for five." + +"It hurted my arm 'tween the shoulder an' elbow a lil bit at first, but +I've grawed used to it now." + +"How ever shall I repay you, kind Joan, for all your trouble and your long +walks and pretty stories?" + +"I doan't need no pay. If 'twas a matter o' payin', 'twould be a wrong +thing to do, I reckon. Theer's auld Bascombe up Paul--him wi' curls o' long +hair an' gawld rings in's ears. Gents pays en to take his likeness; an' +theer's gals make money so, more'n wan; but faither says 'tis a heathenish +way of livin' an' not honest. An'--an' I'd never let nobody paint me else +but you, Mister Jan, 'cause you'm different." + +"Well, you make me a proud man, Joan. I'm afraid I must be a poor +substitute for Joe." + +He noticed she had never mentioned her sweetheart since their early +interviews, and wanted to ascertain of what nature was Joan's affection for +the sailor. He did not yet dream how faint a thing poor Joe had shrunk to +be in Joan's mind, or how the present episode in her life was dwarfing and +dominating all others, present and past. + +Nor did the girl's answer to his remark enlighten him. + +"In coorse you an' Joe's differ'nt as can be. You knaws everything +seemin'ly an' be a gen'le-man; Joe's only a seafarin' man, an' 'e doan't +knaw much 'cept what he's larned from faither. But Joe used to say a sight +more'n what you do, for all that." + +"I like to hear you talk, Joan; perhaps Joe liked to hear himself talk. +Most men do. But, you see, the things you have told me are pleasant to me +and they were not to Joe, because he didn't believe in them. Don't look at +me, Joan; look right away to the edge of the sea." + +"You'm surprised like as I talks to ye, Mister Jan. Doan't ladies talk so +free as what I do?" + +"Other women talk, but they are very seldom in earnest like you are, Joan. +They don't believe half they say, they pretend and make believe; they've +got to do so, poor things, because the world they live in is all built up +on ancient foundations of great festering lies. The lies are carefully +coated over and disinfected as much as possible and quite hidden out of +sight, but everybody knows they are there--everybody knows the quaking +foundations they tread upon. Civilization means universal civility, I +suppose, Joan; and to be civil to everybody argues a great power of telling +lies. People call it tact. But I don't like polite society myself, because +my nose is sensitive and I smell the stinking basis through all the pretty +paint. You and I, Joan, belong to Nature. She is not always civil, but you +can trust her; she is seldom polite, but she never says what is not true." + +"You talk as though 'e ded'n much like ladies an' gen'lemen, same as you +be." + +"I don't, and I'm not what you understand by 'a gentleman,' Joan. Gentlemen +and ladies let me go among them and mix with them, because I happen to have +a great deal of money--thousands and thousands of pounds. That opens the +door to their drawing-rooms, if I wanted to open it, but I don't. I've seen +them and gone about among them, and I'm sick of them. If a man wishes to +know what polite society is let him go into it as a very wealthy bachelor. +I'm not 'a gentleman,' you know, Joan, fortunately." + +"Surely, Mister Jan!" + +"No more than you're a lady. But I can try to be gentle and manly, which is +better. You and I come from the same class, Joan; from the people. The only +difference is that my father happened to make a huge fortune in London. +Guess what he sold?" + +"I dunnaw." + +"Fish--just plaice and flounders and herrings and so forth. He sold them by +tens of thousands. Your father sells them too. But what d'you think was the +difference? Why, your father is an honest man; mine wasn't. The fishermen +sold their fish, after they had had the trouble and danger of catching +them, to my father; and then my father sold them again to the public; and +the fishermen got too little and the public paid too much, and so--I'm a +very rich man to-day--the son of a thief." + +"Mister Jan!" + +"Nobody ever called him a thief but me. He was a great star in this same +polite society I speak of. He fed hundreds of fat people on the money that +ought to have gone into the fishermen's pockets; and he died after eating +too much salmon and cucumber at his own table. Poetic justice, you know. +There are stained glass windows up to his memory in two churches and tons +of good white marble were wasted when they made his grave. But he was a +thief, just as surely as your father is an honest man; so you have the +advantage of me, Joan. I really doubt if I'm respectable enough for you to +know and trust." + +"I'd trust 'e with anything, Mister Jan, 'cause you'm plain-spoken an' +true." + +"Don't be too sure--the son of a thief may have wrong ideas and lax +principles. Many things not to be bought can easily be stolen." + +Again he struck a sinister note, but this time on an ear wholly unable to +appreciate or suspect it. Joan was occupied with Barron's startling scraps +of biography, and, as usual, when he began talking in a way she could not +understand, turned to her own thoughts. This sudden alteration of his +position she took literally. It struck her in a happy light. + +"If you'm not a gen'leman then you wouldn' look down 'pon me, would 'e?" + +"God forbid! I look up to you, Joan." + +She was silent, trying to master this remarkable assertion. The artist +stood no longer upon that lofty pedestal where she had placed him; but the +change of attitude seemed to bring him a little closer, and Joan forgot the +fall in contemplating the nearer approach. + +"That's why I asked you not to call me 'Mister Jan,"' Barron added after a +pause. "We are, you see, only different because I'm a man and you're a +woman. Money merely makes a difference to outside things, like houses and +clothes. But you've got possessions which no money can bring to me: a happy +home and a lover coming back to you from the sea. Think what it must be to +have nobody in the world to care whether you live or die. Why, I haven't a +relation near enough to be even interested in all my money--there's +loneliness for you!" + +Joan felt full of a great pity, but could not tell how to express it. Even +her dull brains were not slow enough to credit his frank assertion that he +and she were equals; but she accepted the statement in some degree, and +now, with her mind wandering in his lonely existence, wondered if she might +presume to express sympathy for him and proclaim herself his friend. She +hesitated, for such friendship as hers, though it came hot from her little +heart, seemed a ludicrous thing to offer this man. Every day of intercourse +with him filled her more with wonder and with admiration; every day he +occupied a wider place in her thoughts; and at that moment his utterances +and his declaration of a want in life made him more human than ever to her, +more easily to be comprehended, more within the reach of her understanding. +And that was not a circumstance calculated to lessen her regard for him by +any means. Until that day he had appeared a being far apart, whose +interests and main threads of life belonged to another sphere; now he had +deliberately come into her world and declared it his own. + +The silence became painful to Joan, but she could not pluck up courage +enough to tell the artist that she at least was a friend. Finally she +spoke, feeling that he waited for her to do so, and her words led to the +point, for she found, in his answer to them, that he took her goodwill for +granted. + +"Ain't you got no uncles nor nothin' o' that even, Mister Jan?" + +He laughed and shook his head. + +"Not one, Joan--not anybody in all the world to think twice about me but +you." + +Her heart beat hard and her breath quickened, but she did not speak. Then +Barron, putting down his brushes and beginning to load a pipe, that his +next remark might not seem too serious, proceeded: + +"I call you 'friend,' Joan, because I know you are one. And I want you to +think of me sometimes when I am gone, will you?" + +He went on filling his pipe, and then, looking suddenly into her eyes, saw +there a light that was strange--a light that he would have given his soul +to put into paint--a light that Joe's name never had kindled and never +could. Joan wiped her hand across her mouth uneasily; then she twisted her +hands behind her back, like a schoolgirl standing in class, and made answer +with her eyes on the ground. + +"Iss, I will, then, Mister Jan; an' maybe I couldn't help it if I would." + +He lighted his pipe carefully before answering. + +"Then I shall be happy, Joan." + +But while she grew rose-red at the boldness of her sudden announcement, he +took care neither to look at her nor to let her know that he had realized +the earnestness with which she spoke. And when, ten minutes later, she had +departed, he mused speculatively on the course of their conversation, +asking himself what whim had led him to pretend to so much human feeling +and to lament his loneliness. This condition of his life he loved above all +others. No man, woman or child had the right to interfere with his selfish, +impersonal existence, and he gloried in the fact. But to the scraps of his +life's history, which he had spread before Joan in their absolute truth, he +had added this fiction of friendless loneliness, and it had worked a +wonder. He saw that he was growing to be much to her, and the problem lying +in his path rose again, as it had for a moment when Murdoch warned him in +jest against falling in love with Joan Tregenza. Dim suspicions crossed his +mind with greater frequency, and being now a mere remorseless savage, +hunting to its completion a fine picture, he made no effort to shut their +shadows from his calculation. Everything which bore even indirectly upon +his work received its share of attention; to mood must all sacrifices be +made; and now a new mood began to dawn in him. He knew it, he accepted it. +He had not sought it, but the thing was there, and Nature had sent it to +him. To shun it and fly from it meant a lie to his art; to open his arms to +it promised the destruction of a human unit. Barron was not the man to +hesitate between two such courses. If any action could heighten his +inspiration, add a glimmer of glory to his picture, or get a shadow more +soul into the painted blue eyes of the subject, he held such action +justified. For the present his mind was chaos on the subject, and he left +the future to work itself out as chance might determine. + +His painting was all he concerned himself with, and should Nature +ultimately indicate that greater perfection might be achieved through +worship and even sacrifice at her shrine, neither worship nor sacrifice +would be withheld. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + A WEDDING + + +Joan Tregenza went home in a dream that day. She did not know where to +begin thinking. "Mister Jan" had told her so many astounding things; and +her own heart, too, had made bold utterances--concerning matters which she +had crushed out of sight with some shame and many secret blushes until now. +But, seen in the light of John Barron's revelations, this emotion which she +had thrust so resolutely to the back of her mind could remain there no +more. It arose strong, rampant and ridiculous; only from her point of view +no humor distinguished it. This man, then, was like herself, made of the +same flesh and blood, sprung from the people. That fact, though possessing +absolutely no significance whatever in reality, struck Joan with great +force. Her highly primitive instincts stretched a wide gulf between the +thing called "gentleman" and other men; which was the result of training +from parents of the old-fashioned sort, whose world lay outside and behind +the modern spirit; who had reached the highest development of their +intelligence and formed their opinions before the passing of the Education +Act. Gray Michael naturally held the great ones of the earth as objects of +pity from an eternal standpoint, but birth weighed with him, and, in +temporal concerns, he treated his superiors with all respect and civility +when rare chance brought him into contact with them. He viewed uneasily the +last outcome of progress and the vastly increased facilities for +instruction of the juvenile population. The age was sufficiently godless, +in his judgment; and he had found that a Board School education was the +first nail in the coffin of every young man's faith. + +Joan, therefore, allowing nothing for the value of riches, of education, of +intellect, was content to accept Barron's own cynical statement in a spirit +widely different from the speaker's. He had sneered at himself, just as he +had sneered at his own dead father. But Joan missed all the bitterness of +his speech. To her he was simply a wondrously honest man who loved truth +for itself, who could never utter anything not true, who held it no offense +to speak truth even of the dead. Gentle or simple, he seemed infinitely +superior to all men whom she had met with. And yet this beautiful nature +walked through the world quite alone. He had asked her to remember him when +he was gone; he had said that she was his friend. And he cared little for +women--there was perhaps no other woman in the world he had called a +friend. Then the girl's heart fluttered at the presumption of her silly, +soaring thoughts, and she glanced nervously to the right and to the left of +the lonely road, as though fearful that some hidden eavesdropper might peep +into her open mind. The magic spell was upon her. This little, pale, clever +man, so quiet, so strange, so unlike anything else within her seventeen +years of experience, had wrought Nature's vital miracle, and Joan, who, +until then, believed herself in love with her sailor sweetheart, now stood +aghast before the truth, stood bewildered between the tame and bloodless +fantasy of her affection for Joe Noy and this wild, live reality. She +looked far back into a past already dim and remembered that she had told +Joe many times how she loved him with all her heart. But the words were +spoken before she knew that she possessed a heart at all. Yet Joe then +formed no inconsiderable figure in life. She had looked forward to marriage +with him as a comfortable and sufficient background for present existence; +she had viewed Joe as a handsome, solid figure--a man well thought of, one +who would give her a home with bigger rooms and better furniture in it than +most fishermen's daughters might reasonably hope for. But this new blinding +light was more than the memory of Joe could face uninjured. He shriveled +and shrank in it. Like St. Michael's Mount, seen afar, through curtains of +rain, Joe had once bulked large, towering, even grand, but under noonday +sun the great mass dwindles as a whole though every detail becomes more +apparent; and so with poor Joe Noy. Removed to a distance of a thousand +miles though he was, Joan had never known him better, never realized the +height, breadth, depth of him so acutely as now she did. The former +ignorance in such a case had been bliss indeed, for whereunto her present +acquired wisdom might point even she dared not consider. Any other girl +must have remained sufficiently alive to the enormous disparity every way +between herself and the artist; and Joan grasped the difference, but from +the wrong point of view. The man's delicacy of discernment, his wisdom, his +love of the things which she loved, his fine feeling, his humility--all +combined in Joan's judgment to place him far above herself, though she had +not words to name the qualities; but whereas another lowly woman, reaching +this point, must, if she possessed any mother-wit or knowledge of the +world, have awakened to the danger and grown guarded, Joan, claiming little +wit to speak of, and being an empty vessel so far as knowledge of the world +was concerned, saw no danger and allowed her thoughts to run away with her +in a wholly insane direction. This she did for two reasons: because she +felt absolutely safe, and because she suspected that Nature, who was +"Mister Jan's" God, had now come to be her God also. The man was very wise, +and he hated everything which lacked truth: therefore he would always do +what was right, and he would not be less true to her than he was to the +world. Truth was his guiding star, and he had always found Nature true. +Therefore, why should not Joan find it true? Nature was talking to her now +and teaching her rapidly. She must be content to wait and learn. The two +men, Noy and Barren, fairly represented the opposite views of life each +entertained, and Joan felt the new music wake a thousand sleeping echoes in +her heart while the old grew more harsh and unlovely as she considered it. +Joe had so many opinions and so little information; "Mister Jan" knew +everything and asserted nothing save what Nature had taught him. Joe was so +self-righteous and overbearing, so like her father, so convinced that Luke +Gospeldom was the only gate to glory; "Mister Jan" had said there was more +of the Everlasting God in a bluebell than in the whole of the Old +Testament; he had declared that the smell of the gorse and the sunshine on +the deep sea were better things than the incense and banners at St. +Peter's; he had asserted that the purring of kittens was sweeter to the +Father of all than the thunder of a mighty organ played in the noblest +cathedral ever made with hands. All these foolish and inconsequent +comparisons, uttered thoughtlessly by Barron's lips while his mind was on +his picture, seemed very fine to Joan; and the finer because she did not +understand them. Again, Joe rarely listened to her; this man always did, +and he liked to hear her talk: he had declared as much. + +Her brains almost hurt Joan on her way back to the white cottage that +morning. They seemed so loaded; they lifted her up high above the +working-day world and made her feel many years older. Such reflections and +ideas came to grown women doubtless, she thought. A great unrest arose from +the shadows of these varied speculations--a great unrest and disquiet--a +feeling of coming change, like the note in the air when the swallows meet +together in autumn, like the whisper of the leaves on the high tops of the +forest before rain. Her heart was very full. She walked more slowly as the +thoughts weighed heavier; she went back to her home round-eyed and solemn, +wondering at many things, at the extension of the horizon of life, at the +mental picture of Joe standing clearly out of the mists, viewed from a +woman's standpoint. + +That day much serving awaited her; but, at every turn and pause in the +small affairs of her duty, Joan's mind swooped back like a hawk to the +easel on Gorse Point; and when it did, her cheeks flushed and she turned to +bend over sink or pig's trough to hide the new fire that burned in her +heart and lighted her eyes. + +Mrs. Tregenza, who had suffered from neuralgia and profound depression of +spirit upon Tom's departure to the sea, but who comforted herself even in +her darkest hour by reflection that no lugger boy ever joined the fishing +fleet with such an equipment of new clothes as her son, was somewhat better +and more cheerful now that the lad had made his first trip and survived it. +Moreover, Tom would be home again that night in all probability, and, since +Michael was last ashore, the butcher from Paul had called and offered three +shillings and sixpence more for the next pig to be killed than ever a +Tregenza pig had fetched until that day. Life therefore held some +prosperity in it, even for Thomasin. + +After their dinner both women, the elder with a shawl muffled about her +face, went down the road to Newlyn to see a sight. They stopped at George +Trevennick's little house. It had a garden in front of it with a short +flagstaff erected thereon, and all looked neat, trim and ship-shape as +became the home of a retired Royal Navy man. A wedding was afoot, and Mr. +Trevennick, who never lost an opportunity to display his rare store of +bunting, had plentifully shaken out bright reds and yellows, blues and +greens. The little flags fluttered in four streamers from the head of the +flagstaff, and their colors looked harsh and crude until associated with +the human interests they marked. + +Already many children gazed with awe from the road, while a favored few, +including the Tregenzas, stood in Mr. Trevennick's garden, which was raised +above the causeway. Great good-humor prevailed, together with some +questionable jesting, and Joan heard the merriment with a sense of +discomfort. They would talk like this when Joe came back to marry her; but +the great day of a maid's life had lost its greatness for her now. The +rough, good-natured fun grated on her nerves as it had never grated before; +because, though she only guessed at the sly jokes of her elders, something +told her that "Mister Jan" would have found no pleasure in such merriment. +Mrs. Tregenza talked, Mr. Trevennick smoked, and Sally Trevennick, the old +sailor's daughter, entertained the party and had a word for all. She was +not young, and not well-favored, and unduly plump, but a sweet-hearted +woman nevertheless, with a great love for the little children. This indeed +presently appeared, for while the party waited there happened a tragedy in +the street which brought extreme sorrow to a pair of very small people. +They had a big crabshell full of dirt off the road which they drew after +them by a string, and in which they took no small pride and pleasure; but a +young sailor, coming hastily round a corner, trampled upon the shell, +smashed it, and passed laughing on. The infants, overwhelmed by this sudden +disaster to their most cherished earthly possession, crushed to the earth +by this blotting out of the sunshine of the day, lifted up their voices and +wept before the shattered ruins. One, the biggest, dropped the useless +string and put his face against the wall, that his extreme grief might be +hidden; but the smaller hesitated not to make his sorrows widely known. He +bawled, then took a deep breath and bawled again. As the full extent of his +loss was borne in upon him, he absolutely danced with access of frenzied +grief; and everybody laughed but fat Sally Trevennick. Her black eyes grew +clouded, and she went down into the road to bring comfort to the sufferers. + +"Never mind, then; never mind, you bwoys; us'll get 'e another braave +shell, so us will. Theer, theer, give over an' come 'long wi' me an' see +the flags. Theer's many bigger auld crabshells wheer that comed from, I +lay. Your faither'll get 'e another." + +She took a hand of each babe and brought them into the garden, from which +they could look down upon their fellows. Such exaltation naturally soothed +their sufferings, and amid many gasps and gurgles they found a return to +peace in the close contemplation of Mr. Trevennick's flagstaff and the +discussion of a big saffron pasty. + +Presently the bridegroom and his young brother passed on the way to church. +Both looked the reverse of happy; both wore their Sunday broadcloth, and +both swung along as fast as their legs would carry them. They were red hot +and going five miles an hour; but, though Mousehole men, everybody in +Newlyn knew them, and they were forced to run the gauntlet of much chaff. + +"Time was when they did use to thrash a new-married couple to bed," said +Mr. Trevennick. "'Twas an amoosin' carcumstance an' I've 'elped at many, +but them good auld doin's is dyin' out fast." + +Mrs. Tregenza was discussing the bridegroom's family. + +"He be a poor Billy-be-damned sort o' feller, I've allus heard, an' awnly a +common tinner, though his faither were a grass cap'n at Levant Mine." + +"But he's a steady chap," said Sally; "an' them in his awn station sez he's +reg'lar at church-goin' an' well thot 'pon by everybody. 'Tedn' all young +pairs as parson'll ax out, I can tell 'e. He wants to knaw a bit 'fore +'e'll marry bwoys an' gals; but theer weren't no trouble 'bout Mark +Taskes." + +"Sure I'm glad to hear it, Sally, 'cause if he caan't do everything, +everything won't be done. They Penns be a pauper lot--him a fish-jouster as +ain't so much as his awn donkey an' cart, an' lame tu. Not that 'twas his +awn fault, I s'pose, but they do say a lame chap's never caught in a good +trick notwithstandin'." + +"Here comes the weddeners!" said Joan, "but 'tedn' a very braave shaw," she +added. "They'm all a-foot, I do b'lieve." + +"Aw, my dear sawl! look at that now!" cried Mrs. Tregenza. "Walkin', +ackshally walkin'. Well--well!" + +The little bride advanced between her father and mother, while relations +and friends marched two and two behind. A vision it was of age and youth, +of bright spring flowers, of spotless cotton and black broadcloth. A matron +or two marched in flaming colors; a few fishermen wore their blue jerseys +under their reefer jackets; the smaller children were led by hand; and the +whole party numbered twelve all told. Mr. Penn looked up at the flags as he +limped along, and a great delight broke out upon his face; the bride's +mother beamed with satisfaction at a compliment not by any means expected, +for the Penns were a humble folk; and the bride blushed and stole a nervous +peep at the display. Mr. Penn touched his hat to the party in the garden, +and Mr. Trevennick, feeling the eye of the multitude upon him, loudly +wished the wedding party well as it passed by. + +"Good speed to 'e an' to the maid, Bill Penn. May she live 'appy an' be a +credit to all parties consarned." + +"Thank 'e, thank 'e, kindly, Mr. Trevennick. An' us takes it mighty +favorable to see your butivul flags a hangin' out--mighty favorable, I +'sure 'e." + +So the party tramped on and ugly Sally looked after them with dim eyes; but +Mrs. Tregenza's thin voice dried them. + +"A bad come-along o't for a gal to walk 'pon sich a day. They did ought to +a got her a lift to her weddin', come what might." + +"Maybe 'tis all wan to them poor dears. A coach an' four 'orses wouldn' +make that cheel no better pleased. God bless her, did 'e look 'ow she +flickered up when she seed faither's flags a flyin'?" + +"Theer's a right way an' a wrong o' doin' weddin's, Sarah, an' 'tedn' a +question whether a gal's better pleased or no. It's all wan to a dead +corpse whether 'tis took to the yard in a black hearse wi' plumes, same as +what us shall be, or whether 'tis borne 'pon wan o' them four 'anded +stretchers used for carryin' fishin' nets, same as poor Albert Vallack was +a while back--but wan way's proper an' t'other 'edn'." + +"They'm savin' the money for the feed. Theer's gwaine to be a deal o' clome +liftin' at Perm's cottage bimebye," said another of the party. + +"No honeymoon neither, so I hear tell," added Mrs. Tregenza. + +"But Taskes have bought flam-new furniture for his parlor, they sez," +declared the former speaker. + +"Of coorse. Still no honeymoon 'tall! Who ever heard tell of sich a thing +nowadays? I wonder they ban't 'shamed." + +"Less shame, Mrs. Tregenza, than trapsing off to Truro or somewheers an' +wastin' their time an' spendin' money they'll be wanting back agin 'fore +Christmas," retorted Sally, with some warmth. + +But Mrs. Tregenza only shook her head and sighed. + +"You speaks as a onmarried wummon, Sarah; but if you comed to be a bride +you'd sing dif-fer'nt. No honeymoon's wrong, an' your faither'll tell the +same." + +Mr. Trevennick admitted that no honeymoon was bad. He went further and +declared the omission of such an institution to be unprincipled. He even +said that had he known of this serious defect in the ceremonies he should +certainly have abstained from lending the brightness of his bunting to +them. Then he went to eye the flags from different points of view, while +Sally, in a minority of one, turned to Joan. + +"And what do you say?" she asked. "You'm 'mazin' quiet an' tongue-tied for +you. I s'pose you'm thinkin' of the time when Joe Noy comes home. I lay +you'll have a honeymoon anyways." + +"Iss, that you may depend 'pon," said Mrs. Tregenza. + +And Joan, who had in truth been thinking of her sweetheart's return, grew +red, whereat they all laughed. But she felt secretly superior to every one +of them, for the shrinking process began to extend beyond Joe now. A +fortnight before, she had been much gratified by allusions to the future +and felt herself an important individual enough. Then, she must have shared +her stepmother's pity at the poverty of the pageant which had just passed +by. But now the world had changed. Matrimony with Joe Noy was not a subject +which brought present delight to her, but the little bride who had just +gone to her wedding filled Joan's thoughts. What was in that girl's heart, +she greatly wondered. Did Milly Penn feel for long-legged Mark Taskes what +Joan felt for "Mister Jan"? Was it possible that any other woman had ever +experienced similar mysterious splendors of mind? She could not tell, but +it seemed unlikely to her; it appeared improbable that an ordinary man had +power to inspire another heart with such golden magic as glorified her own. + +Presently she departed with her stepmother, whereupon Sally Trevennick +relieved her pent-up feelings. + +"Thank the Lard that chitter-faaced wummon edn' gwaine to the weddin' any +ways! Us knaws she's a dear good sawl 'nough; but what wi' her sour voice, +an' her sour way o' talkin', an' her sour 'pinions, she'm enough to set a +rat-trap's teeth on edge." + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +MOONLIGHT + + +That evening Thomasin had another spasm of face-ache and went to bed soon +after drinking tea. Michael was due at home about ten o'clock or earlier, +and Joan--having set out supper, made all ready, and ascertained that her +stepmother had gone to sleep--walked out to the pierhead, there to wait for +Mr. Tregenza and Tom. Under moonlight, the returning luggers crept +homeward, like inky silhouettes on a background of dull silver. Every +moment added to the forest of masts anchored at the moorings outside the +harbor; every minute another rowing-boat shot between the granite piers, +slid silently into the darkness under shore, leaving moonlit rings widening +out behind at each dip of the oars. Joan sat down under the lighthouse and +waited in the stillness for her father's boat. Yellow flashes, like +fireflies, twinkled along through Newlyn, and above them the moon brought +out square patches of silver-bright roof seen through a blue night. Now and +then a bell rang in the harbor, and lights leaped here and there, mingling +red snakes and streamers of fire with the white moonbeams where they lay on +still water. Then Joan knew the fish were being sold by auction, and she +grew anxious for her father's return, fearing prices might have fallen +before he arrived. Great periods of silence lay between the ringings of the +bell, and at such times only faint laughter floated out from shore, or +blocks chipped and rattled as a sail came down or a concertina squeaked +fitfully where it was played on a Norwegian iceboat at the harbor quay. The +tide ran high, and Joan watched the lights reflected in the harbor and +wondered why the gold of them contrasted so ill with the silver from the +moon. + +Presently two men came along to the pierhead. They smoked, looked at the +sea, and did not notice her where she sat in shadow. One, the larger, wore +knickerbockers, talked loudly, and looked a giant in the vague light; the +other was muffled up in a big ulster, and Joan would not have recognized +Barron had he not spoken. But he answered his friend, and then the girl's +heart leaped to hear that quiet, unimpassioned voice. He spoke of matters +which she did not understand, of pictures and light and all manner of +puzzles set by Nature for the solution of art; but though for the most part +his remarks conveyed no meaning to her, yet he closed a sentence with words +that made her happy, and warmed her heart and left a precious memory behind +them. + +"Moonlight is a problem only less difficult than sunshine," he said to his +friend. "Where are you going to get that?" and he pointed to the sea. + +"It's been jolly well done all the same." + +"Never. It is not to be done. You can suggest by a trick, but God defend us +from tricks and sleight-of-hand in connection with the solemn business of +painting pictures. Let us be true or nothing." + +They walked away together, and Joan pondered over the last words. Truth +seemed an eternal, abiding passion with John Barron, and the contemplation +of this idea gave her considerable pleasure. She did not know that a man +may be at once true to his art and a liar to his fellows. + +Presently her father returned with Tom, and the three walked home together. +Gray Michael appeared quietly satisfied that his son was shaping well and +showing courage and nerve. But he silenced the lad quickly enough when Tom +began to talk with some gasconade concerning greet deeds done westward of +the Scilly Islands. + +"'Let another man praise thee an' not thine awn mouth,' my bwoy," said Mr. +Tregenza. "It ban't the wave as makes most splash what gaws highest up the +beach, mind. You get Joan to teach 'e how to peel 'taties, 'cause 'tis a +job you made a tidy bawk of, not to mention no other. Keep your weather-eye +liftin' an' your tongue still. Then you'll do. An' mind--the bwoat's clean +as a smelt by five o'clock to-morrow marnin', an' no later." + +Tom, dashed by these base details, answered seaman fashion: + +"Ay, ay, faither." + +Then they all tramped home, and the boy enjoyed the glories of a late +supper, though he was half asleep before he had finished it. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +THE KISS + + +By half-past five o'clock, Mr. Tregenza's black lugger was off again in a +gray dawn all tangled with gold on the eastern horizon. + +His mother had given Tom an early breakfast at half-past four, and the +youngster, agape and dim-eyed at first, speedily brightened up, for he had +a willing listener, in the candle-light and poured a tale of moving +incidents into Thomasin's proud but uneasy mind. + +"Them Pritchards sez as they'll make a busker [Footnote: _Busker_--A +rare good fisherman.] of me, 'cause it blawed a bit issterday marnin', but +'twas all wan to me; an' you abbun no call to fret yourself, nohow, mother, +'cause faither's 'lowed to be the best sailor in the fleet an' theer ban't +a better foul-weather boat sails from Newlyn than ourn." + +He chattered on, larding his discourse with new words picked up aboard, and +presently rolled off to get things shipshape just as his father came down +to breakfast. + +When the men had gone, little remained to be done that day, and, by +half-past seven, about which hour Mrs. Tregenza went into the village that +she might whine with a widow who had two boys in the fleet, Joan found +herself free until the afternoon. She determined therefore to reach Gorse +Point before the artist should arrive there, and set off accordingly. + +Early though she was, she had but a short time to wait, for Barron appeared +with his big canvas by nine o'clock. She thought he showed more pleasure +than usual at the sight of her. Certainly he shook hands and congratulated +her upon such early hours. + +"This is an unexpected pleasure, Joan. You must have been up betimes +indeed." + +"Iss fay, us took breakfus' by five, an' faither sailed 'fore half-past. +'Tis busy times for fishin' folk when the mackerl begins shoalin'." + +"I'm glad I came back to my den in the fields yonder and didn't stop in +Newlyn last night. You must see my little cow-byre some day or other, Joan. +I've made it wonderfully snug. Farmer Ford is good enough to let me take +possession of it for the present; and I've got food and drink stowed away, +and a beautiful bed of sweet, withered bracken. I sleep well there, and the +dawn comes in and wakens me." + +"You ban't feared o' piskeys nor nothin' in a lawnsome plaace like thicky +byre?" + +"No, no--the rats are rather intrusive, though." + +"But they'm piskeys or spriggans so like's not! You see, the lil people +takes all manner o' shaapes, Mister Jan; an' they chaanges 'em tu, but +every time they chaanges they've got to alter into somethin' smaller than +what they was before. An' so, in coorse of time, they do say they comes +down into muryans an' such like insects." + +"Piskeys or no piskeys, I've caught several in a trap and killed them." + +"They'm gashly things, rats, an' I shouldn't think as no good piskeys would +turn into varmints like them." + +"More should I. But something better than rats came to see me last night, +Joan. Guess who it was." + +"I dunnaw." + +"Why, you came!" + +"Me, Mister Jan! You must a bin dreamin'!" + +"Yes, of course I was; but such a lovely dream, Joan! You see, men who +paint pictures and love what is beautiful and dream about beautiful things +and beautiful people see all sorts of visions sometimes. I have pictures in +my head a thousand times more splendid than any I shall ever put upon +canvas, because mere paint-brushes cannot do much, even when they are in +the cleverest hands; but a man's brain is not bound down by material, +mechanical matters. My brain made a picture of you last night--a picture +that came and looked at me on my fern bed--a picture so real, so alive that +I could see it move and hear it laugh. You think that wonderful. It isn't +really, because my brain has done nothing but think of you now for nearly +six weeks. My eye studies you and stamps you upon my brain; then, when +night comes, and no man works, and the world is dark and silent, my brain +sets off on its own account and raises up a magic vision just to show me +what you really are--how different to this poor daub here." + +"Lard, Mister Jan! I never heard tell of sich a coorious thing as that." + +"And the pretty dream-Joan can talk almost as well as you can! Why, last +night, while I was half awake and half asleep, she put her hand upon my +shoulder and said kind things, but I dared not move or kiss her hand at +first for fear she would vanish if I did." + +Joan laughed. + +"That is a funny story, sure 'nough," she said. "I 'specs 'twas awnly +another fairy body, arter all." + +"No, it wasn't. She had your voice and your spirit in her; and that picture +which my brain painted for me was so much better than the thing my hand has +painted that, in the morning, I was almost tempted to destroy this +altogether. But I didn't." + +"An' what did this here misty sort o' maid say to 'e?" + +"Strange things, strange things. Things I would give a great deal to hear +you say. It seemed that you had come, Joan, it seemed that you had +purposely come from your little cottage on the cliff through the darkness +before dawn. Why? To share my loneliness, to brighten my poor shadowy life. +Dreams are funny things, are they not? What d'you think you said?" + +"Sure I dunnaw." + +"Why, you said that you were not going to leave me any more; that you +believed in me and that you had come to me because it was bad for a man to +live all alone in the world. You said that you felt alone too--without me. +And it made me feel happy to hear you say that, though I knew, all the +time, that it was not the real beautiful Joan who spoke to me." + +Thereupon the girl asked a question which seemed to argue some sharpening +of intelligence within her. + +"An' when I spoke that, what did you say, Mister Jan?" + +"I didn't say anything at all. I just took that sweet Joan-of-dreams into +my arms and kissed her." + +He was looking listlessly out over the sea as he spoke, and Joan felt +thankful his eyes were turned away from her, for this wonderful dream +incident made her grow hot all over. He seemed to divine by her silence +that his answer to her question had not added to her happiness. + +"I shouldn't have told you that, Joan, only you asked me. You see, in +dreams, we are real in some senses, though unreal in others. In dreams the +savage part of us comes to the top and Nature can whisper to us. She +chooses night to do so and often speaks to men in visions, because by day +the voice of the world is in their ears and they have no attention for any +other. It was strange, too, that I should fancy such a thing--should +imagine I was kissing you--because I never kissed a woman in my life." + +But from her point of view this falsehood was not so alluring as he meant +to make it sound. + +"'Twould be wrong to kiss any maiden, I reckon, onless you was tokened to +her or she were your awn sister." + +"But, as we look at life, we're all brothers and sisters, Joan--with Nature +for our mother. We agreed about that long ago." + +He turned to his easel, and she went and stood where her feet had already +made a brown mark on the grass. + +"I seen you last night, but you dedn' see me," she said, changing the +conversation with abruptness. + +"Yes, I did," he answered, "sitting under the shadow of the lighthouse, +waiting for Mr. Tregenza, I expect." + +"An' you never took no note o' me!" + +He flung down his brushes, turned away from the picture before he had +touched it, and went and lay near the edge of the cliff. + +"Come here, Joan, and I will tell you why I didn't notice you, though I +longed to do so. Come and sit down by me and I'll explain why I seemed so +rude." + +She came slowly and sat down some distance from him, putting her elbows on +her knees and looking away to sea. + +"'Tweern't kind," she said, "but when you'm with other folks, I s'pose +you'm ashamed o' me 'spite what you tawld me 'bout yourself." + +"You mustn't say that, Joan, or you'll make me unhappy. Ashamed of you! Is +it likely I'm ashamed of the only friend I've got in the world? No, I'm +frightened of losing you; I'm selfish; I couldn't make you known to any +other man because I should be afraid you'd like him better than me, and +then I should have no friend at all. So I wouldn't speak and reveal my +treasure to anybody else. I'm very fond of my friend, and very proud of +her, and as greedy as a miser over his gold." + +Joan took a long breath before this tremendous assertion. He had told her +in so many words that he was fond of her; and he had mentioned it most +casually as a point long since decided. Here was the question which she had +asked herself so often answered once for all. Her heart leaped at tidings +of great joy, and as she looked up into his face the man saw infinite +wonder and delight in her own. Mind was adding beauty to flesh, and he, +fast losing the artist's instinct before another, thought she had never +looked so lovely as then. + +"Oh, Mister Jan, you'm fond o' me!" + +"Why, didn't you know it, Joan? Did it want my words to tell you so? Hadn't +you guessed it?" + +He rose slowly and approached his picture. + +"Oh, how I wish this was a little more like my dream and like reality! I +need inspiration, Joan; I have reached a point beyond which I cannot go. My +colors are dead; my soul is dead. Something must happen to me or I shall +never finish this." + +"Ban't you so well as you was?" + +"No, Joan, I'm not. A thing has come between me and my happiness, between +me and my picture. I know not what to call it. Nature has sent it." + +"Then 'tis right an' proper, I s'pose?" + +"I suppose so, but it stops work. It makes my hand shake and my heart throb +fast and my brains grow hot." + +"Can't 'e take no physic for't?" + +"Why, yes, but I hesitate." + +He turned to her and went close to her. + +"Let me look at you, Joan--close--very close--so close that I can feel your +breath. It was so easy to learn the furze; it is so hard to learn you." + +"Sure I've comed out butivul in the picksher." + +"Not yet, not yet." + +He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes until she grew +nervous and brushed her hand across her cheek. Then, without a second's +warning, he bent down and kissed her on the mouth. + +"Mister Jan! How could 'e! 'Tis wrong--wrong of 'e! I'd never a thot--" + +She started from him, wild, alarmed, blushing hotly; and he shook his head +at her dismay and answered very calmly, very seriously: + +"It was not wrong, Joan, or I should not have done it. You heard me ask to +whom I should pray for inspiration, and Nature told me I must seek it from +you. And I have." + +"You shouldn't never a done it. I trusted 'e so!" + +"But I had to do it. Nature said 'Kiss her, and you will find what you +want.' Do you understand that? I have touched you and I am awake and alive +again; I have touched you, Joan, and I am not hopeless and sad, but happy. +Nature thought of me, Joan, when she made you and brought you into the +world; and she thought of sweet Joan when she fashioned Jan. Believe +it--you must believe it." + +"You did ought to a arsked me." + +"Listen. Nature let you live quiet in the country--for me, Joan. She let me +live all lonely in the world--for you. Only for you. Can't you understand?" + +"You did ought to a arsked me. Kissing be wrong 'tween us. You knaws it, +Mr. Jan." + +"It is right and proper and fair and beautiful," he said quietly. "My heart +sang when I kissed you, Joan, and so did yours. D'you know why? Because we +are two halves of a whole. Because the sunshine of your life would go out +without me; because my life, which never had any sunshine in it until now, +has been full of sunshine since I knew Joan." + +"I dunnaw. 'Twadden a proper thing to do, seein' how I trusted 'e." + +"We are children of Nature, Joan. I always do what she tells me. I can't +help it. I have obeyed her all my life. She tells me to love you, Joan, and +I do. I'm very sorry. I thought she had told you to love me, but I suppose +I was wrong. Never mind this once. Forgive me, Joan. I'll even fight Nature +rather than make you angry with me. Let me finish my picture and go away. +Come. I've no business to waste your precious time, though you have been so +kind and generous with it. Only I was tired and hopeless and you came like +a drink of wine to me, Joan; and I drank too much, I suppose." + +He picked up his brushes, spoke in a sad minor key, and seemed crushed and +weary. The flash died from his face and he looked older again. Joan, the +mistress of the situation, found it wholly bitter. She was bewildered, for +affairs had proceeded with such rapidity. He had declared frankly that he +loved her, and yet had stopped there. To her ideas it was impossible that a +man should say as much as that to a woman and no more. Love invariably +meant ultimate union for life, Joan thought. She could not understand any +other end to it. The man talked about Nature as a little child talks of its +mother. He had deemed himself entirely in the right; yet something--not +Nature, she supposed--had told her that he was wrong. But who was she to +judge him? Who was she to say where his conduct erred? He loved truth. It +was not a lie to kiss a girl. He promised nothing. How could he promise +anything or propose anything? Was she not another man's sweetheart? That +doubtless had been the reason why he had said no more than that he loved +her. To love her could be no sin. Nature had told him to; and God knew how +she loved him now. + +But she could not make it up with him. A cold curtain seemed to have fallen +between them. The old reserve which had only melted after many meetings, +was upon him again. He stood, as it seemed, on the former pedestal. A +strange, surging sensation filled her head--a sense of helpless fighting +against a flood of unhappy affairs. All the new glory of life was suddenly +tarnished through her own act, and she felt that things could never be the +same again. + +She thought and thought. Then John Barron saw Joan's blue eyes begin to +wink ominously, the corners of her bonny mouth drag down and something +bright twinkle over her cheek. He took no notice, and when he looked up +again, she had moved away and was sitting on the grass crying bitterly with +her hands over her face. The sun was bright, a lark sang overhead; from +adjacent inland fields came the jolt and clank of a plow with a man's voice +calling to his horses at the turns. The artist put down his palette and +walked over to Joan. + +"My dear, my dear," he said, "d'you know what's making you so unhappy?" + +She sobbed on and did not answer. + +"I can tell you, I think. You don't quite know whether to believe me or +not, Joan. That is very natural. Why should you believe me? And yet if you +knew--" + +She sat up, swallowed some of her tears, and smudged her face with her +knuckles. He took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to +her. It was cool and pleasant, and she went on crying a while, but tears +which were comforting and different to the first stinging drops bred from a +sudden, forlorn survey of life. He talked on, and his voice soothed her. He +kept his distance, and presently, as her ruffled spirit grew calmer, his +remarks assumed a brighter note. + +"Has my poor little Lady of the Gorse forgiven me at last? She won't punish +me any more, I know, and it is a very terrible punishment to see tears in +her eyes." + +Then she found her tongue again and words to answer him, together with +fluttering sighs that told the tears were ended. + +"I dunnaw why for I cried, Mr. Jan, but I seemed 'mazed like. I'm a stupid +fule of a maid, I reckon, an' I s'pose 'tis auld-fashioned notions as I've +got 'bout what be right an' wrong. But, coorse, you knaws better'n what I +can; an' you'd do me no hurt 'cause you loves me--you've said it; +an'--an'--I love 'e tu, Mister Jan, I 'sure 'e--better'n anything in all +the world." + +"Why, that's good, sweet news, Joan; and Nature told me the truth after +all! We're bound to love one another. She made us for that very reason!" + +He knew that her mind was full of the tangles of life and that she wanted +him to solve some of the riddles just then uppermost in her own existence. +He felt that Joe was in her thoughts, and he easily divined her unuttered +question as to why Nature had sent Joe before she had sent him. But, though +answers and explanations of her troubles were not likely to be difficult, +he had no wish to make them or to pursue the subject just then. Indeed, he +bid Joan depart an hour before she need have done so. Her face was spoiled +for that sitting, and matters had progressed up to the threshold of the +barrier. Before that could be broken down, she must be made to feel that +she was necessary to the happiness of his life; as he already felt that she +was necessary to the completion of his picture. She loved him very dearly, +and he, though love was not possible to his nature, could feel the +substitute. He had fairly stepped out of his impersonal shell into reality. +Presently he would return to his shell again. For a moment a model had +grown more to him than a picture; and he told himself that he must obey +Nature in order adequately to serve Art. + +He picked up the handkerchief he had lent Joan, looked at the dampness of +the tear-stains, and then spread it in the sun to dry. + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +JOAN WALKS HOME + + +While John Barren determined that a space of time extending over some days +should now separate him from Joan, she, for her part, had scarce left Gorse +Point after the conversation just chronicled when there came a great +longing in her heart to return thither. As she walked home she viewed +wearily the hours which lay between her and the following morning when she +might go back to him and see his face again. Time promised to drag for the +next day and night. Already she framed in her mind the things her mouth +should say to-morrow; and that almost before she was beyond sight of the +man's easel. Her fears had vanished with her tears. The future was entirely +in his hand now, for she had accepted his teaching, endeavored to look at +life with his eyes, made his God her own, so far as she had wit to gather +what his God was. She accepted the situation with trust, and felt +responsibility shifted on to "Mister Jan's" shoulders with infinite relief. +He was very wise and knew everything and loved the truth. It is desirable +to harp and harp upon this ever-recurring thought: the artist's grand love +for truth; because all channels of Joan's mind flowed into this lake. His +sincerity begat absolute trust. And, as John Barren and his words and +thoughts filled the foreground of life for her, so, correspondingly, did +the affairs of her home, with all the circumstances of existence in the old +environment, peak and dwindle toward shadowy insignificance. Her father +lost his majestic proportions; the Luke Gospelers became mere objects for +compassion; the petty, temporal interests and concerns of the passing hour +appeared mere worthless affairs for the occupation and waste of time. +"Mister Jan" loved her, and she loved him, and what else mattered? Past +hours of unrest and wakefulness were forgotten; her tears washed the dead +anxieties clean away; and the kiss which had caused them, though it +scorched her lip when it fell there, was now set as a seal and a crowning +glory to her life. He never kissed any other woman. That pledge of this +rare man's affection had been won by the magic of love, and Joan welcomed +Nature gladly and called it God with a warm heart and thankful soul; for +Nature had brought about this miracle. Her former religion worked no +wonders; it had only conveyed terror to her and a comprehensive knowledge +of hell. "Mister Jan" smiled at hell and she could laugh at her old fears. +How was it possible to hesitate between two such creeds? She did not do so, +and, with final acceptation of the new, and secret rejection of the old, +came a great peace to Joan's heart with the whisper of many voices telling +her that she had done rightly. + +So the storm gave place to periods of delicious calm and content only +clouded by a longing to be back with the artist again. He loved her; the +voice of his love was the song of the spring weather, and the thrush echoed +it and the early flowers wrote it on the hedgerows. God was everywhere to +her open eyes. Everything that was beautiful, everything that was good, +seemed to have been created for her delight during that homeward walk. She +was mightily lifted up. Nature seemed so strong, so kind, such a guardian +angel for a maiden. And the birds sang out that "Mister Jan" was Nature's +priest and could do no wrong; and that to obey Nature was the highest good. + +From which reflection rose a hazy happiness--dim, beautiful and indefinable +as the twinkling gold upon the sea under the throne of the sun. Joan dwelt +on the memory of the day which was now over for her, and on the thought of +morning hours which to-morrow would bring. But she looked no further; and +backward she did not gaze at all. No thought of Joe Noy dimmed her mental +delight; no shadowy cloud darkened the horizon then. All was bright, all +perfect. Her mind seemed to be breaking its little case, as the butterfly +bursts the chrysalis. Her life till then had been mere grub existence; now +she could fly and had seen the sun drawing the scent from flowers. Great +ideas filled her soul; new emotions awoke; she was like a baby trying to +utter the thing he has no word for; her vocabulary broke down under the +strain, and as she walked she gave thanks to Nature in a mere wordless +song, like the lark, because she could not put her acknowledgment into +language. But the great Mother, to whom Life is all in all, the living +individual nothing, looked on at a world wakening from sleep and viewed the +loves of the flowers and the loves of the birds and beasts and fishes with +concern as keen as the love in the blue eyes of Joan upon her homeward way. + +Busy indeed at this vernal season was the mysterious Nurse of God's little +world. Her hands rested not from her labors. She worked strange wonders on +the waste, by magic of a million breaking buds, by burying of the dead, by +wafting of subtle pollen-life from blossom to blossom. And in cliffs above +the green waters the nests of her wild-fowl were already lined with wool +and feather; neither were her samphires forgotten in their dizzy +habitations; and salt spray sprinkled her uncurling sea ferns in caves and +crannies where they grew. She laughed at the porpoises rolling their fat +sides into sunshine; she brought the sea-otter where it should find fish +for its young; she led giant congers to drowned men; she patted the sleek +head of the sad-eyed seal. Elsewhere she showed the father-hawk a leveret +crouching in his form; she took young rabbits to the new spring grass; the +fox to the fowl, the fly to the spider, the blight to the bud. Her weakly +nestlings fell from tree and cliff to die, but she beheld unmoved; her +weasel sucked the gray-bird's egg, yet no hand was raised against the +thief, no voice comforted the screaming agony of the mother. With the van +of her legions she moved, and the suffering stragglers cried in vain, for +her concerns were not with them. She did no right, she worked no evil; she +was not cruel, neither shall we call her kind. The servant of God was she, +then as always, heedful of His utterances, obedient to His laws. Which +laws, when man better divines, he shall learn thy secret too, Nurse of the +world, but not sooner. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + LONELY DAYS + + +Having already learned from experience that hard work quickens the flight +of time, Joan, returning in happy mood to her home and with no trace of the +past tears upon her cheeks, surprised Mrs. Tregenza by a display of most +unusual energy and activity. She helped the butcher to get the pig into a +low cart built expressly for the conveyance of such unwieldy animals; she +looked mournfully at her departing companion, knowing that the morrow had +nothing for him but a knife, that he had eaten his last meal. And while +Joan listened to the farewell grunts of the fattest pig which had ever +adorned her father's sty, Mrs. Tregenza counted the money and bit a piece +here and there, and wondered if she could get the next young pig from Uncle +Chirgwin for even a lower figure than the last. + +The day which had wrought such wonders for Joan's inner life, and brought +to her eyes a sort of tears unshed till then, ended at last, and for her a +sleepless night followed upon it. Not until long past one o'clock in the +morning did she lose consciousness, and then the thoughts of the day broke +loose again in visions, taking upon themselves fantastic shapes and moving +amid dream scenery of strange splendor. Now it was her turn to conjure +brain pictures out of fevered thoughts, and she woke at last with a start +in the dawn, to see a faint light painting the square of her bedroom +window. Looking out, she found the world dimly visible, a darker shadow +through the gloom where the fishing-boats were gathering in the bay, the +lighthouse lamp still shining, stars twinkling overhead, absolute silence +everywhere, and a cold bite about the air. The girl went back to bed again, +but slept no more and anon arose, dressed, set about morning duties, and, +much to Mrs. Tregenza's astonishment, had the fire burning and breakfast +ready by the time her stepmother appeared. + +"Aw jimmery!" Thomasin exclaimed, as Joan came in from the outhouse to find +her warming cold hands at the fire, "I couldn't b'lieve my eyes at first +an' thot the piskey men had come to do us a turn spite o' what faither sez. +You've turned over a leaf seemin'ly. Workin' out o' core be a new game for +you." + +"I couldn' sleep for thinkin' 'bout--'bout the pig an' wan thing an' +'nother." + +"He's pork now, or nearly. You heard butcher promise me some nattlins, +dedn' 'e? You'd best walk up to Paul bimebye an' fetch, 'em. 'Tis easier to +call to mind other folk's promises than our awn. He said the same last +pig-killin' an' it comed to nort." + +Joan escaped soon after breakfast and set off eagerly enough. She took a +basket with her and designed to call at Paul on the way home again. +Moreover, she chose a longer route to Gorse Point than that through +Mousehole, for her very regular habits of late had caused some comment in +that village, and more than one acquaintance had asked her, half in jest, +half in earnest, who it was she went to see up Mousehole hill. This had +frightened Joan twice already, and to-day, for the first time, she took the +longer route above Paul Church-town. It brought her over fields near the +cow-byre where Barren spent much of his time and kept his picture; and when +she saw her footpath must pass the door of the little house, a flutter +quickened her pulses and she branched away over the field and proceeded to +the cliffs through a gap in the hedge some distance from the byre. + +But as Joan came out upon the sward through the furzes her heart sank in +sight of loneliness. She was not early to-day, but she had come earlier +than "Mister Jan." The gray figure was invisible. There were the marks on +the turf where his easel and camp-stool stood; there was the spot his feet +were wont to press, and her own standing-point against the glimmering +gorse; but that was all. She knew of no reason for his delay. The weather +was splendid, the day was warm, and he had never been so late before within +her recollection. Joan, much wondering, sat down to wait with her eyes upon +the sea, her ears alert for the first footstep, and her mind listening +also. Time passed, and indefinite uneasiness grew into a fear; then that +expanded and multiplied as her mind approached the problem of "Mister +Jan's" non-appearance from a dozen different standpoints. Hope declared +some private concern had kept him and he would not be long in coming; fear +inquired what unforeseen incident was likely to have risen since +yesterday--asked the question and answered it a dozen ways. The girl +waited, walked here and there, scanned the footpath and the road, returned, +sat down in patience, ate a cake she had brought, and so whiled the long +minutes away. The fears grew as hour and half-hour passed--fears for him, +not herself. The crowning despair did not touch her mind till later, and +her first sorrow was a simple terror that harm had fallen upon the man. He +had told her that he valued life but little, that at best no great length +of days awaited him; and now she thought that wandering about the cliffs by +night he might have met the death he did not fear. Then she remembered he +was but a sick man always, with frail breathing parts; and her thoughts +turned to the shed, and she pictured him lying ill there, unable to +communicate with friends, perhaps waiting and praying long hours for her +footfall as she had been waiting and praying for his. Upon this most +plausible possibility striking Joan, her heart beat at her breast and her +cheeks grew white. She rose from her seat upon the cliff, turned her face +to the cow-byre and made a few quick steps in that direction. Then a vague +flutter of sense, as of warning where no danger is visible, slowed her +speed for a moment; but her heart was strung to action, and the strange new +voice did not sound like Nature's, so she put it aside and let it drown +into silence before the clamor of fear for "Mister Jan's" well-being. +Indeed, that dim premonitory whisper excited a moment's anger in the girl +that any distrust could shadow her love for such a one at such a time. She +hated herself, held the thought a sin of her own commission, and sped +onward until she stood upon the northern side of the byre in a shadow cast +from it by the sun. The place was padlocked, and at that sight Joan's +spirits, though they rose in one direction, yet fell in another. One fear +vanished, a second loomed the larger; for the padlock, while it indicated +that the artist had left his lonely habitation for the time, did not +explain his absence now or dispel the possibilities of an accident or +disaster. The tar-pitched double door of the shed was fast and offered no +peep-hole; but Joan went round to the south side, where an aperture +appeared and where a little glass window had taken the place of the wooden +shutters. Sunshine lighted the shed inside; she could see every detail of +the chamber, and she photographed it on her mind with a quick glance. A big +easel with the life-size picture of herself upon it stood in the middle of +the shed, and a smaller easel appeared hard by. The artist's palettes, +brushes and colors littered a bench, and bottles and tumblers were +scattered among them. Two pipes which she had seen in his mouth lay +together upon a box on the floor, and beside them stood a tin of tobacco +wrapped in yellow paper. A white umbrella and some sticks stood in one +corner, and another she saw was filled by some railway rugs spread over +dried bracken. Two coats hung on nails in the wall, and above one was +suspended a Panama hat which Barren often wore when painting. Something +moved suddenly, and, looking upon the stone floor, she saw a rat-trap with +a live rat in it. The beast was running as far as it could this way and +that, poking its nose up and trying the roof of its prison. She noticed its +snout was raw from thrusting between the wire, and she wished she could get +in to kill it. She did not know that it was a mother rat with young ones +outside squeaking faintly in the stack of mangel-wurzels; she did not know, +as it hopped round and round, that its beady eyes were glittering with a +great agony, and that the Mother of all was powerless to break down a mere +wire or two and save it. + +Presently, worn and weary, Joan trudged home again, with no very happy +mind. She found food for comfort in one reflection alone: the artist had +made no special appointment for that day, and it might be that business or +an engagement at Newlyn, Penzance or elsewhere was occupying his time. She +felt it must be so, and tried hard to convince herself that he would surely +be at the usual spot upon the morrow. + +So she walked home unhappy; and time, which had dragged yesterday, to-day +stood still. Before night she had lived an age; the hours of darkness were +endless, but her father's return furnished excuse for another morning of +early rising; and when Gray Michael and Tom had eaten, donned clean raiment +and returned to the sea, Joan, having seen them to the pierhead, did not go +home, but hastened straight away for Gorse Point, and arrived there earlier +than ever she had done before. There was something soothing to her troubled +mind in being upon the spot sacred to him. Though he was not present, she +seemed closer far to him on Gorse Point than anywhere else. His foot had +marked the turf there; his eye had mirrored the furzes a hundred times; she +knew just where his shadow had fallen as be stood painting, and the spot +upon which he was wont to sit by the cliff-edge when came the time for +rest. Beside this holy place she now seated herself and waited with hope +higher in the splendor of morning; for sorrows, fears and ills are always +blackest when the sun has set, and every man or woman can better face +trouble on opening their eyes in a sunny dawn than after midnight has +struck, a sad day left them weakened, and nothing wakes in the world but +Care and themselves. + +The morning wore away, and the old fears returned with greater force to +chill her soul. The sun was burnishing the sea, and she watched Mousehole +luggers putting out and dancing away through the gold. Under the cliffs the +gulls wheeled with sad cries and the long-necked cormorants hastened +backward and forward, now flying fast and low over the water, now fishing +here and there in couples. She saw them rear in the water as they dived, +then go down head first, leaving a rippling circle which widened out and +vanished long before the fishers bobbed up again twenty yards further on. +Time after time she watched them, speculating vaguely after each +disappearance as to how long the bird would remain out of sight. Then she +turned her face to the land, weary of waiting, weary of the bright sea and +sky, and the music of the gulls, and of life. She sat down again presently, +and put her hand over her face and struggled with her thoughts. Manifold +fears compassed her mind about, but one, not felt till then, rose now, a +giant above the rest. Yesterday she had been all alarm for "Mister Jan"; +to-day there came terror for herself. Something said "He has gone, he has +left you." Her brain, without any warning, framed the words and spoke them +to her. It was as though a stranger had brought the news, and she rose up +white and stricken at this fatal explanation of the artist's continued +absence. She put the thought from her as she had put another, but it +returned with pertinacity, and each time larger than before, until the fear +filled all her mind and made her wild and desperate, under the conviction +of a sudden, awful life-quake launched against her existence to shatter all +her new joy and dash the brimming cup of love from her lips. + +Hours passed, and she grew somewhat faint and hollow every way--in head and +heart and stomach. Her eyes ached, her brains were worn out with thinking; +she felt old, and her body was heavy and energy dead. The world changed, +too. The gorse looked strange as the sun went round, the lark sang no more, +the wind blew coldly, and the sea's gold was darkened by a rack of flying +clouds whose shadows fell purple and gray upon the waters. He had gone; he +had left her; perhaps she would never see him or hear of him again. Then +the place grew hateful to her and terrible as a grave. She dragged herself +away, dizzy, weary, wretched; and not until half way home again did she +find power to steady her mind and control thought. Then the old alarm +returned--that first fear which had pictured him dead, perhaps even now +rolling over and over under the precipices, or hid forever in the cranny of +some dark cavern at the root of the cliffs, where high tides spouted and +thundered and battered the flesh off his bones against granite. She +suffered terribly in mind upon that homeward journey. Her own light and +darkness mattered nothing now, and her personal and selfish fears had +vanished before she reached Newlyn. She was thinking how she should raise +an alarm, how she should tell his friends, who possibly imagined "Mister +Jan" safe and comfortable in his cow-byre. But who were his friends and how +should she approach them without such a step becoming known and getting +talked about? Her misery was stamped on her face when she at last returned +to the white cottage at three o'clock in the afternoon of that day, and +Mrs. Tregenza saw it there. + +"God save us! wheer you bin to, an' what you bin 'bout? You'm so pasty an' +round-eyed as if you'd bin piskey-led somewheers. An' me worn to death wi' +work. An' wheer'm the nattlins an' the basket?" + +Joan had quite forgotten her commission and left the basket on Gorse Point. + +"I'll gaw back bimebye," she said. "I bin walkin' 'long the cliffs in the +sun an' forgot the time. Gimme somethin' t'ate, mother; I be hungry an' +fainty like wi' gwaine tu far. I could hardly fetch home." + +"You'm a queer twoad," said Thomasin, "an' I doan't knaw what's come over +'e of late days. 'Pears to me you'm hidin' summat; an' if I thot that, I'd +mighty quick get faither to find out what 'twas, I can tell 'e." + +Then she went off, and brought some cold potatoes and dripping, with bread +and salt, and a cup of milk. + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +LESSONS LEARNED + + +The lesson which he had set for Joan Tregenza's learning taught John Barron +something also. Eight-and-forty hours he stayed in Newlyn, and was +astounded to find during that period what grip this girl had got upon his +mind, how she had dragged him out of himself. His first thought was to +escape all physical excitement and emotion by abandoning his picture almost +upon the moment of its completion and abandoning his model too; but various +considerations cried out against such a course. To go was to escape no +difficulty, but to fly from the spoils of victory. The fruit only wanted +plucking, and, through pleasure, he believed that he would proceed to +speedy, easy and triumphant completion of his picture. No lasting +compunction colored the tenor of his thoughts. Once, indeed, upon the day +when he returned to Gorse Point and saw Joan again, some shadow of regret +for her swept through his brain; but that and the issue of it will be +detailed in their place. + +Time went heavily for him away from Joan. He roamed listlessly here and +there and watched the weather-glass uneasily; for this abstention from work +was a deliberate challenge to Providence to change sunshine for rain and +high temperature for low. Upon the third day therefore he returned at early +morning to his picture in the shed. The greater part was finished, and the +masses of gorse stood out strong, solid and complete with the slender brown +figure before them. The face of it was very sweet, but to Barron it seemed +as the face of a ghost, with no hot blood in its veins, no live interests +in its eyes. + +"'Tis the countenance of a nun," he said sneeringly to himself. "No fire, +no love, no story--a sweet virgin page of life, innocent of history or of +interest as a new-blown lily." The problem was difficult, and he had now +quite convinced himself that solution depended on one course alone. "And +why not?" he asked himself. "Why, when pleasures are offered, shall I +refuse them? God knows Nature is chary enough with her delights. She has +sowed death in me, here in my lungs. I shall bleed away my life some day or +die strangled, unless I anticipate the climax and choose another exit. Why +not take what she throws to me in the meantime?" + +He walked down to the Point, set up his easel and waited, feeling that Joan +had certainly made two pilgrimages since his last visit and little doubting +that she would come a third time. Presently indeed she did, scarcely daring +to raise her eyes, but flushing with great waves of joy when she saw him, +and crying "Mister Jan!" in a triumphant ripple of music from a full heart. +Then the artist rose very boldly and put his arms round her and looked into +her face, while she nestled close to him and shut her eyes with a sigh of +sheer content and thankfulness. She had learned her lesson thoroughly +enough; she felt she could not live without him now, and when he kissed her +she did not start from the caress, but opened her eyes and looked into his +face with great yearning love. + +"Oh, thank the good God you'm comed back agin to me! To think it be awnly +two lil days! An' the time have seemed a hunderd years. I thot 'e was lost +or dead or killed, an' I seed 'e, when I slept, a tossin' over down in the +zawns [Footnote: _Zawns_--Sea caves.] where the sea roars an' makes the +world shake. Oh, Mister Jan, an' I woke screamin', an' mother comed up, an' +I near spoke your name, but not quite." + +"You need not have feared for me, Joan, though I have been very miserable +too, my little sweetheart; I have indeed. I was overworked and worried and +wretched, so I stopped in Newlyn, but being away from you had only taught +me I cannot exist away from you. The time was long and dreary, and it would +have been still worse had I known that you were unhappy." + +"'Tweer wisht days for me, Mister Jan. I be such a poor lass in brains, an' +I could awnly think of trouble 'cause I loved 'e so true. 'Tedn' like the +same plaace when you'm away. Then I thot you'd gone right back to Lunnon, +an' I judged my heart 'ud break for 'e, I did." + +"Poor little blue-eyed woman! Could you really think I was such a brute?" + +"'Twas awnly wan thot among many. I never thot so much afore in my life. +An' I looked 'bout tu; an' I went up to the lil byre, where your things +was, an' peeped in en. But I seed naught of 'e, awnly a gashly auld rat in +a trap. But 'e won't gaw aways like that ag'in, will 'e?" + +"No, no. It was too bad." + +"Coorse I knawed that if all was well with 'e, you'd a done the right +thing, but it 'peared as if the right thing couldn' be to leave me, Mister +Jan--not now, now you be my world like; 'cause theer edn' nothin' or nobody +else in the world but you for me. 'Tis wicked, but t'others be all faded +away; an' faither's nort, an' Joe's nort, alongside o' you." + +He did not answer, and began to paint. Joan's face was far short of looking +its best; there were dark shadows under her eyes and less color than usual +brightened her cheeks. He tried to work, but circumstances and his own +feelings were alike against him. He was restless and lacked patience, nor +could his eye see color aright. In half an hour he had spoiled not a little +of what was already done. Then he took a palette-knife, made a clean sweep +of much previous labor and began again. But the music of her happy voice +was in his blood. The child had come out of the valley of sorrow and she +was boisterously happy and her laughter made him wild. Mists gathered in +his eyes and his breath caught now and again. Passion fairly gripped him by +the throat till even the sound of his own voice was strange to him and he +felt his knees shake. He put down his brushes, turned from the picture, and +went to the cliff-edge, there flinging himself down upon the grass. + +"I cannot paint to-day, Joan; I'm too over-joyed at getting you back to me. +My hand is not steady, and my Joan of paint and canvas seems worse and +feebler than ever beside your flesh and blood. You don't know--you cannot +guess how I have missed you." + +"Iss fay, but I can, Mister Jan, if you felt same as what I done. 'Tweer +cruel, cruel. But then you've got a many things an' folks to fill up your +time along with; I abbun got nothin' now but you." + +"I expect Joe often thinks about you." + +"I dunnaw. 'Tis awful wicked, but Joe he gone clean out my mind now. I thot +I loved en, but I was a cheel then an' I didn't 'sackly knaw what love was; +now I do. 'Twadden what I felt for Joe Noy 'tall; 'tis what I feels for +you, Mister Jan." + +"Ah, I like to hear you say that. Nature has brought you to me, Joan, my +little jewel; and she has brought Jan to you. You could not understand that +last time I told you; now you can and you do. We belong to each other--you +and I--and to nobody else." + +"I'd be well content to belong to 'e, Mister Jan. You'm my good fairy, I +reckon. If I could work for 'e allus an' see 'e an' 'ear 'e every day, I +shouldn' want nothin' better'n that." + +Then it was that the shade of a compunction and the shadow of a regret +touched John Barron; and it cooled his hot blood for a brief moment, and he +swore to himself he would try to paint her again as she was. He would fight +Nature for once and try if pure intellect was strong enough to get the face +he wanted on to the canvas without the gratification of his flesh and +blood. In which determination glimmered something almost approaching to +self-sacrifice in such a man. He did not answer Joan's last remark, but +rose and went to his picture, and she, thinking herself snubbed by his +silence after her avowal, grew hot and uncomfortable. + +"The weather is going to change, sweetheart," he said, allowing himself the +luxury of affectionate words in the moment of his half-hearted struggle; +"the weather-glass creeps back slowly. We must not waste time. Come, Joan; +we are the children of Nature, but the slaves of Art. Let me try again." + +But she, who had spoken in all innocence and with a child's love, was +pained that he should have taken no note of her speech. She was almost +angry that he had power to conjure such words to her lips; and yet the +anger vanished from her mind quickly enough and her thoughts were all happy +as she resumed her pose for him. + +The past few days had vastly deepened and widened her mental horizon; and +now Barron for the first time saw something of what he wanted in her eyes +as she gazed away over the sea and did not look at him as usual. There, +sure enough, was the soul that he knew slept somewhere, but had never seen +until then. And the sight of it came as a shock and swept away his +sophistries and ugly-woven ideas. Inclination had told him that Nature, +through one channel only, would bring the mystery of hidden thought to +Joan's blue eyes, and he had felt well satisfied to believe it was so; but +now even the plea of Art could not excuse the thing which had grown within +him of late, for experiences other than those he dreamed of had glorified +the frank blue eyes and brought mind into them. Now it only remained for +him to paint them if he could. Not wholly untroubled, but never much more +beautiful than that morning, Joan gazed out upon the remote sea. Then the +thoughtful mood passed, and she laughed and babbled again, and the new-born +beauty departed from her eyes for a season, and the warm blood raced +through her veins, and she was all happiness. Meanwhile nothing came of his +painting and he was not sorry when she ended the ordeal. + +"The bwoats be comin' back home along, Mister Jan. I doan't mark faither's +yet, but when 'tis wance in sight he'll be to Newlyn sooner'n me. So I'd +best be gwaine, though it edn' more than noon, I s'pose. An' my heart's a +tidy sight lighter now than 'tweer issterday indeed." + +"I'm almost afraid to let you go, Joan." + +She looked at him curiously, waiting for his bidding, but he seemed moody, +and said no more. + +"When be you comin' next?" + +"To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow, my pearl above price. It is so +hard, so very hard," he answered. "Fine or wet I shall be here to-morrow, +for I am not going back to Newlyn again till my work is done. Three more +sittings, Joan, if you have enough patience--" + +"In coorse, Mister Jan." + +She did not explain to him what difficulties daily grew in the way of her +coming, how rumor was alive, and how her stepmother had threatened more +than once to tell Gray Michael that his wayward daughter was growing a +gadabout. Joan had explained away her roaming with a variety of more or +less ingenious lies, and she always found her brain startlingly fertile +where the artist and his picture were concerned. She felt little doubt that +three more visits to Gorse Point might be achieved--ay, and thirty more if +necessary. But afterward? What would follow the painting of the picture? +She asked herself the question as he kissed her, with a kiss that was +almost rough, while he bid her go quickly; and the former reply to every +doubt made answer. Her fears fled as usual before the invigorating +spectacle of this sterling, truth-loving man. With him all the future +remained and with him only. Hers was the pleasant, passive task of +obedience to one utterly trusted and passionately loved. Her fate lay +hidden in his heart, as the fate of the clay lies hid in the brain of the +potter. + +And so home she went, walking in a sunshine of her own thoughts. The clouds +were gone; they massed gloomily on the horizon of the past; but looking +forward, she saw no more of them. All time to come was at the disposition +of the wisest man she had ever met. She did not know or guess at the battle +which this same wise man had fought and lost under her eyes; she gathered +nothing of the truth from his gloom, his silence, his changed voice, his +sudden farewell. She did not know passion when she saw it; and the ugly +visible signs thereof told no tale to her. + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +STORM + + +That night the change came and the wind veered first to the south, then to +the southwest. By morning, gray clouds hid the sky and hourly grew darker +and lower. As yet no rain fell, but the world had altered, and every +light-value, from an artist's standpoint, was modified. + +John Barren sat by his stove in the byre, made himself a cup of black +coffee, and presently, wrapped in a big mackintosh, walked out to Gorse +Point. His picture he left, of course, at the shed, for painting was out of +the question. + +Nature, who had been smiling so pleasantly in sunshine these many days, now +awoke in a grim gray mood. The sea ran high, its white foam-caps and ridges +fretting the rolling volume of it; the luggers fought their way out with +buried noses and laboring hulls; rain still held off, but it was coming +quickly, and the furze and the young grasses panted for it on Gorse Point. +Below the cliffs a wild spirit inhabited the sea fowl, and they screamed +and wheeled in many an aerial circle, now sliding with motionless +outstretched wing upon the gathering gale, now beating back against it, now +dancing in a fleet and making music far away in the foam. Upon the beach +the dry sand whipped round in little whirls and eddies where wind-gusts +caught it; the naked rocks poked shining weed-covered heads out of a low +tide, and the wet white light of them glimmered raw through the gray tones +of the atmosphere. Now and then a little cloud of dust would puff out from +the cliff-face where the wind dislodged a dry particle of stone or mould; +elsewhere Barren saw the sure-rooted samphire and tufts of sea-pink, +innocent of flowers as yet; and sometimes little squeaking dabs of down +might also be observed below where infant gulls huddled together in the +ledges outside their nests and gazed upon a condition of things as yet +beyond their experience. + +Joan came presently to find the artist looking out at the sea. + +"You ban't gwaine to paint, I s'pose, 'cause o' this ugly fashion weather?" +she said. + +"No, sweetheart! All the gold has gone out of the world, and there is +nothing left but lead and dross. See how sharp the green is under the gray, +and note the clearness of the air. Everything is keen and hard upon the eye +to-day; the sky is full of rain and the sea is a wild harmony in gray and +silver." + +"Iss, the cleeves be callin' this marnin'. 'Tis a sort o' whisper as comes +to a body's ear, an' it means that the high hills knaws the rain is nigh. +An' they tell it wan to t'other, and moans it mournful over the valleys +'pon the wind. 'The storm be comin', the storm be comin',' they sez." + +The south and west regions of distance blackened as they sat there on the +cliff, and upon the sea separate heavy gusts of wind roughened up the +hollows of the waves. Which effect seen from afar flickered weirdly like a +sort of submarine lightning shivering white through dark water. Presently a +cloud broke, showing a bank of paler gray behind, and misty silver arrows +fell in broad bands of light upon the sea. They sped round, each upon the +last, like the spokes of a gigantic wheel trundling over the world; then +the clouds huddled together again and the gleam of brightness died. + +"You'm wisht this marnin', Mister Jan. You abbun so much as two words for +me. 'Tis 'cause you caan't paint your picksher, I reckon." + +He sighed and took her hand in his. + +"Don't think that, my Joan. Once I cared nothing for you, everything for my +picture; now I care nothing for my picture, everything for you. And the +better I love you, the worse I paint you. That's funny, isn't it?" + +"Iss, 'tis coorious. But I'm sure you do draw me a mighty sight finer than +I be. 'Tis wonnerful clever, an' theer edn' no call to be sad, for no man +else could a done better, I lay." + +He did not answer, and still held her hand. Then there came a harder breath +of wind with a sob of sound in it, while already over the distant sea swept +separate gray curtains of rain. + +"It's coming, Joan; the storm. It's everywhere, in earth and air and water; +and in my blood. I am savage to-day, Joan, savage and thirsty. What will be +the end of it?" + +He spoke wildly, like the weather. She did not understand, but she felt his +hand clinch tightly over hers, and, looking at the white thin fingers +crooked round her wrist, they brought to her mind the twisted claws of a +dead sea-gull she remembered to have found upon the beach. + +"What will be the end of it, Joan? Can't you answer me?" + +"Doan't 'e, Mister Jan; you'm hurtin' my hand. I s'pose as a sou'westerly +gale be comin'. Us knaws 'em well enough in these paarts. Faither reckoned +theer was dirty weather blawin' up 'fore he sailed. He was away by +daylight. The gales do bring trouble to somebody most times." + +"What will be the end of us, I mean, not of the weather? The rain will come +and the clouds will melt, and we know, as sure as God's in heaven, that we +shall see sunshine and blue sky again. But what about our storm, Joan; the +storm of love that's burst in my heart for you--what follows that?" + +His question frightened her. She had asked herself the same and been well +content to leave an answer to him. Here he was faced with a like problem +and now invited her to solve it. + +"I dunnaw. I thot such love never comed to no end, Mister Jan. I thot +'tweer good to wear; but--but how do I knaw if you doan't?" + +"You trust me, Joan?" + +"Why, who should I trust, if 'tweern't you? I never knawed any person else +as set such store 'pon the truth. I doan't s'pose the cherrybims in heaven +loves it more'n what you do." + +"Here's the rain on the back of the wind," he said. + +A few heavy drops fell, cold as ice upon his burning face, and Joan laughed +as she held out her hand, on which a great splash as big as a shilling had +spread. + +"That be wan of Tregagle's tears," she said, "an' 'tis the voice of en as +you can hear howlin' in the wind. He's allus a bawlin' an' squealin', poor +sawl, but you can awnly hear en now an' again 'fore a storm when the gale +blaws his hollerin' this way." + +"Who was Tregagle?" + +"He was a lawyer man wance, an' killed a many wives, an' did a many +shameful deeds 'fore he went dead. Then, to Bodmin Court, theer comes a law +case, an' they wanted Tregagle, an' a man said Tregagle was the awnly +witness, and another said he wadden. The second man up an' swore 'If +Tregagle saw it done, then I wish to God he may rise from's graave and come +this minute.' Then, sure enough, the ghost of Tregagle 'peared in the +court-house an' shawed the man was a liar. But they couldn' lay the ghost +no more arter; an' it was a devil-ghost, which is the worstest kind; an' it +stuck close to thicky lyin' man an' wouldn' leave en nohow. But at last a +white witch bound the spirit an' condemned it to empty out Dosmery Pool wi' +a crogan wi' a hole in it. A crogan's a limpet shell, which you mightn't +knaw, Mister Jan. Tregagle, he done that party quick, an' then he was at +the man again; but a passon got the bettermost of en an' tamed en wi' +Scripture till Tregagle was as gentle as a cheel. Then they set en to work +agin an' bid en make a truss o' sand down in Gwenvor Cove, an' carry it +'pon his shoulder up to Carn Olva. Tregagle weer a braave time doin' that, +I can 'sure 'e, but theer comed a gert frost wan winter, an' he got water +from the brook an' poured it 'pon the truss o' sand, so it froze hard. Then +he carried it up Carn Olva; an' then, bein' a free spirit agin, he flew off +quicker'n lightning to that lyin' man to tear en to pieces this time. But +by good chance, when Tregagle comed to en, the man weer carryin' a lil +baaby in's arms--a lil cheel as had never done a single wicked act, bein' +tu young; so Tregagle couldn' do no hurt. An' they caught en again, an' +passon set en 'pon another job: to make a truss o' sand in Whitsand Bay +wi'out usin' any fresh water. But Tregagle caan't never do that; so he +cries bitter sometimes, an' howls; an' when 'e howls you knaw the storm's a +comin' to scatter the truss o' sand he's builded up." + +Barron followed the legend with interest. Tregagle and his victim and the +charm of the pure child that saved one from the other filled his thought +and the event to which Fate was now relentlessly dragging him. He argued +with himself a little; then the rain came down and the wind leaped like a +lion over the edge of the land, and the man's blood boiled as he breathed +ocean air. + +"Us'll be wetted proper. I'll run for it, Mister Jan, an' you'd best to go +up-long to your lil lew house. Wet's bad for 'e, I reckon." + +"No," he said, "I can't let you go, Joan. Look over there. Another flood is +going to burst, I think. Follow me quickly, quickly." + +The rain came slanting over the gorse in earnest, but Joan hesitated and +hung back. Louder than the wind, louder than the cry of the birds, than the +howling of Tregagle, than the calling of the cleeves, spoke something. And +it said "Turn, on the wing of the storm; fly before it, alone. Let this man +walk in the teeth of the gale if he will; but you, Joan Tregenza, follow +the wind and set your face to the east, where the sole brightness now left +in the sky is shining." + +Sheets of gray swept over them; the world was wet in an instant; a little +mist of water splashed up two inches high off the ground; the gorse tossed +and swayed its tough arms; the sea and the struggling craft upon it +vanished like a dream; from the heart of the storm cried gulls, themselves +invisible. + +"Come, Joan, we shall be drowned." + +He had wrapped her in a part of the mackintosh, and laughed as he fastened +them both into it and hugged her close to himself. But she broke away, +greatly fearing, yet knowing not what she feared. + +"I reckon I'd best run down fast. Indeed an' I want to go." + +"Go? Where? Where should you go? Come to me, Joan; you shall; you must. We +two, sweetheart--we two against the rain and the wind and the world. Come! +It will kill me to stand here, and you don't want that." + +"But--" + +"Come, I say. Quicker and quicker! We two--only we two. Don't make me +command you, my priceless treasure of a Joan. Come with me. You are mine +now and always. Quicker and quicker, I say. God! what rain!" + +Still she hesitated and he grew angry. + +"This is folly, madness. Where is your trust and belief? You don't trust, +nor love, nor--" + +"Doan't 'e say that! Never say that! It edn' true. You'm all to me, an' you +knaws it right well, an' I'll gaw to the world's end with 'e, I will--ay, +an' trust 'e wi' my life!" + +He moved away and she followed, hastening as he hastened. Unutterable +desolation marked the spot. Life had vanished save only where sheep +clustered under a bank with their tails to the weather, and long-legged +lambs blinked their yellow eyes and bleated as the couple passed. Despite +their haste the man and the girl were very wet before reaching the shelter +of the byre. Rain-water dribbled off his cap on to his hot face and his +feet were soaking. Joan was breathless with haste; her draggled skirts +clung to her; and the struggle against the storm made her giddy. + +So they reached the place of shelter; and the gale burst over it with a +great, crowning yell of wind and hurtle of rain. Then John Barren opened +the byre door and Joan Tregenza passed in before him; whereupon he followed +and shut the door. + +A loose slate clattered upon the roof, and from inside the byre it sounded +like a hand tapping high above the artist's bed of brown fern--tapping some +message which neither the man nor the girl could read--tapping, tapping, +tapping tirelessly upon ears wholly deaf to it. + + + + + + +BOOK TWO + +NATURE + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +AN INTERVAL + + +For a week the rain came down and it blew hard from the west. Then the +weather moderated, and there were intervals of brightness and mild, damp +warmth that brought a green veil trembling over the world like magic. The +elms broke into a million buds, the pear trees in sunny corners put forth +snowy flowers; the crimson knobs of the apple-blossom prepared to unfold. +In the market gardens around and about Newlyn the plums were already +setting, the wallflowers, which make a carpet of golden-brown beneath the +fruit-trees in many orchards, were velvety with bloom; the raspberry canes, +bent hoop-like in long rows, beautifully brightened the dark earth with +young green; and verdure likewise twinkled even to the heart of the +forests, to the stony nipples of the moor's vast, lonely bosom. So spring +came, heralded by the thrush; borne upon the wings of the western wind. And +then followed a brief change with more heavy rains and lower temperature. + +The furzes on Gorse Point were a scented glory now--a nimbus of gold for +the skull of the lofty cliff. Here John Barren and Joan Tregenza had met +but twice since the beginning of the unsettled weather. For her this period +was in a measure mysterious and strange. Centuries of experience seemed to +separate her from the past, and, looking backward, infinite spaces of time +already stretched between what had been and what was. Now overmuch sorrow +mingled with her reflections, though a leaven of it ran through all--a +sense of loss, of sacrifice, of change, which flits, like the shadow of a +summer cloud, even through the soul of the most deeply loving woman who +ever opened her eyes to smile upon the first day-dawn of married life. But +Joan's sorrow was no greater than that, and little unquiet or uneasiness +went with it. She had his promises; from him they could but be absolute; +and not a hundred attested ceremonies had left her heart more at ease. In +fact she believed that John Barren was presently going to marry her, and +that when he vanished from Newlyn, she, as the better-loved part of +himself, would vanish too. It was the old, stale falsehood which men have +told a hundred thousand times; which men will go on telling and women +believing, because it is the only lie which meets all requirements of the +case and answers its exact purpose effectively. Age cannot wither it, for +experience is no part of the armor of the deceived, and Love and Trust have +never stopped to think since the world began. + +As for the artist, each day now saw him slipping more deeply, more +comfortably back into the convolutions of his old impersonal shell. He had +been dragged out, not unwilling, by a giant passion, and he had sacrificed +to it, sent it to sleep again, and so returned. He felt infinitely kind to +Joan. A week after her visit to the linhay he, while sitting alone there, +had turned her picture about on the easel, withdrawn its face from the wall +and studied his work. And looking, with restored critical faculty and cold +blood, he loved the paint for itself and deemed it very good. The storm was +over, the transitory lightnings drowned lesser lights no more, and that +steady beacon-flame of his life, which had been merged, not lost, in the +fleeting blaze, now shone out again, steadfast and clear. Such a revulsion +of feeling argued well for the completion of his picture, ill for the model +of it. + +They sat one day, as the weather grew more settled, beside a granite +bowlder, which studded the short turf at the extremity of Gorse Point, +where it jutted above the sea. Joan, with her chin upon her hands, looked +out upon the water; Barron, lying on a railway-rug, leaned back and smoked +his pipe and studied her face with the old, keen, passionless eagerness of +their earliest meetings. + +"When'll 'e tell me, Jan love? When'll 'e tell me what 'e be gwaine to do? +Us be wan now--you an' me--but the lines be all the lovin'est wife can +p'int to in proof she _be_ a wife. Couldn't us be axed out in church +purty soon?" + +He did not make immediate answer, but only longed for his easel. There, in +her face, was the wistful, far-away expression he had sighed for; a measure +of thought had come to the little animal--her brains were awake and her +blue eyes had never looked liked this before. Joan asked the question +again, and Barren answered. + +"The same matter was in my own mind, sweetheart. I am in a mighty hurry +too, believe it. You are safe with your husband, Joan. You belong to me +now, and you must trust the future with me. All that law demands to make us +man and wife it shall have; and all religion clamors for as well, if that +is a great matter to you. But not here--in this Newlyn. I think of you when +I say that, Joan, for it matters nothing to me." + +"Iss. I dunnaw what awful sayin's might go abroad. Things is all contrary +to home as 'tis. Mother's guessed part an' she tawld faither I weer gwaine +daft or else in love wi' some pusson else than Joe. An' faither was short +an' sharp, an' took me out walkin', an' bid me bide at home an' give over +trapsin' 'bout. An' 'e said as 'ow I was tokened to Joe Noy an' bound by +God A'mighty to wait for en if 'twas a score years. But if faither had +knawed I weer never for Noy, he'd a' said more'n that. I ban't 'feared o' +faither now I knaws you, Jan, but I be cruel 'feared o' bein' cussed, +'cause theer's times when cusses doan't fall to the ground but sticks. +'Twouldn' be well for the likes o' you to have a ill-wished, awver-luked +body for wife. An' if faither knawed 'bout you, then I lay he'd do more'n +speak. So like's not he'd strike me dead for't, bein' that religious. But +you must take me away, Jan, dear heart. I'm yourn now an' you must go on +lovin' me allus, 'cause theer'll never be nobody else to not now. I've +chose you an' gived 'e myself an' I caan't do no more." + +He listened to her delicious voice, and shut out the crude words as much as +might be while he marked the music. He was thinking that if Joan had +possessed a reasonable measure of intellect, a foundation for an education, +he would have been satisfied to keep her about him during that probably +limited number of years which must span his existence. But the gulf between +them was too wide; and, as for the present position, he considered that no +harm had been done which time would not remedy. Joan was not sufficiently +intelligent to suffer long or much. She would forget quickly. She was very +young. Her sailor must return before the end of the year. Then he began to +think of money, and then sneered at himself. But, after all, it was natural +that he should follow step by step upon the beaten track of similar events. +"Better not attempt originality," he thought, "for the thing I have done is +scarce capable of original treatment. I suppose the curtain always rings +down on a check--either taken or spurned." + +"So you think you can give them all up for poor me, Joan? Your home, your +father, brother, mother--all?" + +"I've gived up a sight more'n them, Jan. I've gived 'e what's all to a +maiden. But my folks weern't hard to give up. 'Tis long since they was +ought to me now. I gaws an' comes from the cottage an' sez, all the time, +'this ban't home no more. Mister Jan's home be mine,' I sez to myself. An' +each time as I breaks bread, an' sleeps, an' wakes, an' looks arter +faither's clothes I feels 'tis wan time nigher the last. They'll look back +an' think what a snake 'twas they had 'bout the house, I s'pose. Mother'll +whine an' say, 'Ah! 'er was a bitter weed for sartain,' an' faither'll +thunder till the crocks rattle an' bid none dare foul the air wi' my name +no more. But I be wearyin' of 'e wi' my clackin', Jan, dear heart?" + +"Not so, Joan--never think that. I could listen to you till Doomsday. Only +we must act now and talk presently. I know you're tired of the picture, and +you were cross last time we met because I could speak of it; but I must for +a moment more. It cries out to be finished. A few hours' good work and +all's done. The weather steadies now and the glass is rising, so our +sittings may begin in a day or two. Let me make one last, grand struggle. +Then, if I fail, I shall fling the picture over this cliff, and my palette +and brushes after it. So we will keep our secret a little longer. Then, +when the picture is made or marred, away we'll go, and by the time they +miss you from your old home you will be half way to your new one." + +But she did not heed the latter part of his remarks, for her thoughts were +occupied with what had gone before. + +"'Pears, when all's said, you'd sooner have the picksher Joan than the real +wan. 'Tis all the picksher an' the picksher an' the picksher." + +This was not less than the truth, but of course he blamed her for so +speaking, and said her words hurt him. + +"'Tis this way," she said, "I've larned so much since I knawed 'e, an' I be +like as if I was woke from a sleep. Things is all differ'nt now; but 'tis +awnly my gert love for 'e as makes me 'feared sometimes 'cause life's too +butivul to last. An' the picksher frights me more'n fancy, 'cause, +seemin'ly, theer's two Joans, an' the picksher Joan's purtier than me. +'Er's me, but better'n me. 'Er's allus bright an' bonny; 'er's never +crossed an' wisht; 'er 'olds 'er tongue an' doan't talk countrified same as +me. Theer'll never be no tears nor trouble in her eyes; she'll bring 'e a +name, an' bide purty an'--an' I hates the picksher now, so I do." + +Barron listened with considerable interest to these remarks. There was +passion in Joan's voice as she concluded, and her emotion presently found +relief in tears. She only uttered thoughts long in her mind, without for an +instant guessing the grim truth or suspecting what his work was to the man; +yet, things being as they were, she felt some real passing pain to find him +devote so much thought to it. Before the storm his painting had sunk to +insignificance, since then it began to grow into a great matter again; and +Joan was honestly jealous of the attention the artist bestowed upon it now. +If she had dared, she would have asked him to destroy it; but something +told her he would refuse. No fear for the future was mingled with this +emotion. Only his mighty interest in the work annoyed her. It was a natural +petty jealousy; and when John Barron laughed at her and kissed her tears +away, she laughed too and felt a little ashamed, though none the less glad +that she had spoken. + +But while he flung jests at her anger, Barron felt secretly surprised to +note the strides his Awdrey's mind was making. Much worth consideration +appeared in her sudden attack upon the picture. She had evidently been +really reflecting, with coherence and lucidity. That astonished him. But +still he answered with a laugh. + +"Jealous, Joan! Jealous of yourself--of the poor painted thing which has +risen from the contents of small tubes smeared over a bit of canvas! My +funny little dear delight! Will you always amuse me, I wonder? I hope you +will. Nobody else can. Why, the gorse there will grumble next and think I +love my poor, daubed burlesque of its gold better than the thing itself. If +I find pleasure in the picture, how much the more must I love the soul of +it? You see, I'm ambitious. You are quite the hardest thing I ever found to +paint, and so I go on trying and trying. Hard to win and hard to paint, +Joan." + +She stretched out her hands to him and shook her head. + +"Not hard to win, Jan. Easy enough to win to you. I ne'er seed the likes o' +you in my small world. Not hard to win I wasn't." + +"You won't refuse me a few more sittings, then, because you have become my +precious wife?" + +"In coorse not. An' I'm so sorry I was cranky. I 'dedn' mean what I said +ezacally." + +To-day, coming fresh to his ear after a week's interval, after several days +spent with cultured friends and acquaintances in Newlyn, Joan's rustic +speech grated more painfully than usual. Once he had found pleasure in it; +but he was not a Cornishman to love the sound of those venerable words +which sprinkled Joan's utterances and which have long since vanished from +all vocabularies save those of the common people; and now her language +began to get upon his nerves and jar them. He was tired of it. Often, while +he painted, she had prattled and he, occupied with his work, had heard +nothing; but to-day he recognized the debt he owed and listened patiently +for a considerable time. Her deep expectancy irritated him too. He had +anticipated that, however, and was aware that her trust and confidence in +him were alike profound. Perhaps a shadow of fear, distrust or uneasiness +had pleased him better. He was snugly back in his tub of impersonality from +which he liked to view the fools' show drift pass. His last experiment in +the actively objective had ruined a girl and promised to produce a fine +picture. And that was the end of it. No fellow-creature could ever share +this cynic's barrel with him. + +Presently Joan departed upon her long tramp home. She had gone to convey a +message to one of Thomasin Tregenza's friends at Paul. And when the girl +left him, with a promise to come at all costs upon the next sunny morning, +Barron began to think about money again. He found that the larger the +imaginary figures, the smaller shadow of discomfort clouded his thoughts. +So he decided upon an act of princely generosity, as the result of which +resolve peace returned and an unruffled mind. For the musty conventionality +of his conclusion, it merely served as a peg upon which to hang thoughts +not necessary to set down here. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +THE PARTING + + +Joan had only told her lover a part of what happened in her home when +Thomasin broke her suspicions to Gray Michael. He had taken the matter very +seriously indeed, delivered a stern homily and commanded his daughter to +read the Book of Ecclesiasticus through thrice. + +"'The gad-about is a vain thing and a mighty cause for stumblin'.' You mind +that, an' take better care hencefarrard to set a right example to other +maids an' not lead 'em wrong. Theer shan't be no froward liver under this +roof, Joan Tregenza, an' you, as be my awn darter's the last I'd count to +find wanderin'." + +She lied as to particulars. She had no fear of her father now as a man, but +hard words always hurt her, and superstition, though she was fast breaking +from many forms of it under Barron's tuition, still chained her soul in +some directions. Did her father know even a shadow of the truth, some dire +and blasting prediction would probably result from it, and though +personally he was little to her now, as a mouthpiece of supernatural powers +he might bring blighting words upon her; for he walked with God. But +Michael's God was Joan's no more. She had fled from that awful divinity to +the more beautiful Creator of John Barron. He was kind and gentle, and she +loved to hear His voice in the hum of the bees upon the gorse and see His +face everywhere in the fair on-coming of spring. Nature, as she understood +it now, chimed with the things her mother had taught Joan. She found room +for all the old, pretty stories in this new creed. The dear saints fitted +in with it, and their wonders and mysteries, and the comprehensive if vague +knowledge that "God is Love." She believed she understood the truth about +religion at last; and Nature smiled very sweetly at her and shared in the +delight of the time. So she walked dreaming on toward the invisible door of +her fool's paradise, and never guessed how near it was or what Nature would +look like from the other side. + +She still dwelt at the little home on the cliff, so unreal and shadowy now; +she built cloud castles ablaze with happiness; she found falsehood not +difficult, for her former absolute truthfulness deadened her stepmother's +suspicion. Certain lies told at home enabled her to keep faith with the +artist; and the weather also befriending him, three more sittings in speedy +succession brought John Barron to the end of his labors. After Joan's +exhibition of jealousy he was careful to say little about his work and +affect no further interest in it. He let her chatter concerning the future, +told her of his big house in London, and presently took care to drop hints +from time to time that the habitation was by no means as yet ready to +receive his bride. She always spoke on the assumption that when the picture +was done he would leave for London and take her with him. She already +imagined herself creeping off to join him at the station, sitting beside +him in the train, and then rolling away, past Marazion, into the great +unfamiliar world which lay beyond. And he knew that no such thing would +happen. He intended that Joan should become a pleasant memory, with the +veil of distance and time over it to beautify what was already beautiful. +He wanted to remember the music of her throbbing voice, and forget the +words it used to utter. The living girl's part was played and ended. Their +lives had crossed at right angles and would never meet again. "Nature makes +a glorious present to Art, and I am privileged to execute the deed of +gift," thought Barron; "that is the position in an epigram." He felt very +grateful to Joan. He knew her arm must have ached often enough, but whether +her heart would presently do so he hardly felt qualified to judge. The +incidents of that stormy day might have been buried in time ten years, so +faint was his recollection of them now. He remembered the matter with no +greater concern than the image of the shivering negresses in the blue water +at Tobago. + +And so the picture, called "Joe's Ship," was finished, and while it fell +far short of what Barron had hoped, yet he knew his work was great and the +best thing he had done. A packing case for the canvas was already ordered +and he expected it upon the identical day that saw his farewell to Joan. + +Bit by bit he had broken to her that it was not his intention to take her +with him, but that he must go to his house alone and order things in +readiness. Then he would come back and fetch her. And she had accepted the +position and felt wondrous sad at the first meeting with Barren after the +completion of the picture. It seemed as though a great link was broken +between them, and she realized now what folly her dislike of his work had +been. + +"I wish I could take you right away with me, Joan, my little love; but a +bachelor's house is a comfortless concern from a woman's point of view. You +will hear from me in a day or two. You must call at the post-office in +Penzance for letters, because I shall not send them here." + +"You'll print out what you writes big, so's I doan't miss nort, won't 'e?" + +"I'll make the meaning as clear as possible, Joan." + +"'Tis wisht to think as theer'll be hunderds o' miles 'twixt us. I doan't +know how I be gwaine to live the days out." + +"Only a fortnight, remember." + +"Fourteen whole days an' nights." + +"Yes, indeed. It seems a terribly long time. You must comfort me, +sweetheart, and tell me that they will be very quickly done with." + +Joan laughed at this turning of the tables. + +"I reckon a man's allus got a plenty things to make time pass for en. But +'tis different wi' a gal." + +She trusted him as she trusted God to lift the sun out of the eastern sea +next morning and swing it in its solemn course over heaven. And as there +was no fear of danger and no shadow of distrust upon her, Joan made a +braver parting than her lover expected. + +"Some men are coming to see my picture presently," he said, very gently. "I +expect my sweet Joan would like to be gone before they arrive." + +She took the hint, braced her heart for the ordeal, and rose from where +they had been sitting on Gorse Point. She looked dreamily a moment at the +furzes and the place whereon she had stood so often, then turned to the man +and came close and held up four little spring lilies which she had brought +with her. Her voice grew unsteady, but she mastered it again and smiled at +him. + +"I brot these for 'e, dear Jan. Us calls 'em butter-an'-eggs, 'cause o' the +colors, I s'pose. They'm awnly four lil flowers. Will 'e keep 'em? An'--an' +give me summat as I can knaw's just bin in your hand, will 'e? 'Tis +fulishness, dear heart, but I'm thinkin' 'twould make the days a dinky bit +shorter." + +He took the gift, thought a moment, and gave her a little silver ring off +his finger. Then he kissed her, pressed her close to him and said +"good-by," asking God to bless her, and so forth. + +With but a few tears rebelling against her determination, Joan prayed good +upon his head, repaid the caress, begged him for his love to come quickly +back again, then tore herself away, turned and hastened off with her head +held bravely up. But the green fields swam and the sea danced for her a +moment later. The world was all splashed and blotched and misty. "I'll be +braave like him," she thought, smothering the great sobs and rubbing her +knuckles into her eyes till she hurt them. But she could not stem the +sorrow in a moment, and, climbing through a gap in the hedge, she sat down, +where only ewes and lambs might see, and cried bitterly a while. And so +weeping, a sensation, strange, vague, tremendous, came into her being; and +she knew not what it meant; but the mystery of it filled her with great +awe. "'Tis God," she said to herself, "'tis God's hand upon me. He've +touched me, He've sealed me to dear, dear Jan. 'Tis a feelin' to bring +happiness along with it, nor sorrer." She battled with herself to read the +wonder aright, and yet at the bottom of her heart was fear. Then physical +sensations distracted her; she found her head was aching and her body +feeling sick. Truly the girl had been through an ordeal that day, and so +she explained her discomfort. "I be wivvery an' wisht along o' leavin' en," +she said; "oh! kind, good God A'mighty, as hears all, send en back to me, +send en back to me very soon, for I caan't live wi'out en no more." + +As for the man, he sighed when Joan disappeared; and the expiration of +breath was short and sharp as the sound of a key in a lock. He had in truth +turned the key upon a diary to be opened no more; for the sweetness of the +closed chapter was embalmed in memory, blazoned on canvas. Yet there was +bitterness, too, of a sort in his sigh, and the result of this sunken +twinge at his heart appeared when Brady, Tarrant and one or two other +artists presently joined him. They saw their companion was perturbed, and +found him plunged into a black, cynic fit more deeply than usual. He spared +no subject, no individual, least of all himself. + +Paul Tarrant--a Christian painter, already mentioned--was the first to +find fault with Barron's picture. The rest had little but praise for it, +and Brady, who grew madly enthusiastic, swore that "Joe's Ship" was the +finest bit of work that ever went out of Cornwall. But Tarrant cherished a +private grievance, and, as his view of art and ethics made it possible for +him, from his standpoint, to criticise the picture unfavorably in some +respects, he did so. It happened that he had recently finished a curious +work for the Academy: a painting called "The Good Shepherd." It represented +a young laboring man with a face of rare beauty but little power, plodding +homeward under setting sunlight. Upon his arm he bore a lamb, and behind +his head the sinking sun made a glorious nimbus. Barron had seen this work, +admired some of the painting, but bluntly sneered at the false sentiment +and vulgar parade of religious conviction which, as he conceived, animated +the whole. And now, the other man, in whose heart those contemptuous words +still rankled, found his turn had come. He had bitterly resented Barron's +sarcastic reference to those holy things which guided his life; there was +something of feminine nature in him too; so he did not much regret the +present opportunity. + +"And you, Tarrant? This gives you scant pleasure--eh?" asked Barron. + +"It is very wonderful painting, but there's nothing under the paint that I +can see." + +"Nothing but the canvas--in so far at least as the spectator is concerned. +Every work of art must have a secret history only known to its creator." + +"What the divil d'you mean, Paul?" asked Brady. + +"You know what I mean well enough," answered the first speaker coldly. "My +views are not unfamiliar to any of you. Here is a thing without a soul--to +me." + +"God! you say that! You can look at those eyes and say that?" + +"I admire the painting, but _cui bono_? Who is the better, the wiser? +There is nothing under the paint." + +"You are one of those who turn shadows into crosses, clouds into angels. Is +it not so?" asked Barron smiling; and the other fired at this allusion to +his best known picture. + +"I am one of those who know that Art is the handmaid of God," he answered +hotly. "I happen to believe in Jesus Christ, and I conceive that no picture +is worthy to be called great or worthy of any Christian's painting unless +it possess some qualities calculated to ennoble the mind of those who see. +Art is the noblest labor man can employ time upon. The thing comes from +God; it is a talent only to be employed in the highest sense when devoted +to His glory." + +"Then what of heathen art? You let your religion distort your view of +Nature. You sacrifice truth to a dogma. Nature has no ethics. You profess +to paint facts and paint them wrong. You are not a mystic; that we could +understand and criticise accordingly. You try to run with the hare and hunt +with the hounds. You talk about truth and paint things not true." + +"From your standpoint possibly. Yours is the truth of naturalism; mine is +the truth of Faith." + +"If you are going to entrench yourself behind Faith, I have done, of +course. Only, don't go about saying, as you did just now, that Art is the +noblest labor man can employ time upon. That's bosh, pure and simple. There +are some occupations not so noble, that is all. Art is a heathen and always +will be, and you missionary-men, with a paint-brush in one hand and a Bible +in the other, are even worse than certain objectionable literary +celebrities, whose novels reek of the 'new journalism' and the Sermon on +the Mount--the ridiculous and sublime in tasteless combination. You +missionaries, I say, sap the primitive strength of Art; you demoralize her. +To dare to make Art pander to a passing creed is vile--worse than the +spectacle of the Salvation Army trying to convert Buddhists. That I saw in +India, and laughed. But we won't quarrel. You paint Faith's jewelry; I'll +amuse myself with Truth's drabs and duns. The point of view is all. I +depict pretty Joan Tregenza looking over the sea to catch a glimpse of her +sweetheart's outward-bound ship. I paint her just as I saw her. There was +no occasion to leave out or put in. I reveled in a mere brutal transcript +of Nature. You would have set her down by one of the old Cornish crosses +praying to Christ to guard her man. And round her you would have wrought a +world of idle significance. You would have twisted dogma into the flowers +and grass-blades. The fact that the girl happened to be practically +brainless and a Luke Gospeler would not have weighed with you a moment." + +"I'm weary of the old cant about Nature," said Tarrant. "You're a +naturalist and a materialist. That ends it. There is no possibility of +argument between us." + +"Would the man who painted that gorse cant?" burst out Brady. "Damn it all, +Tarrant, if a chap can teach us to paint, perhaps he can teach us something +else as well. Look at that gorse, I tell you. That's the truth, won with +many a wrestle and heartache, I'll swear. You know as well as I do what +went to get that, and yet you say there's nothing behind the paint. That's +cant, if you like. And as to your religious spirit, what's the good of +preaching sermons in paint if the paint's false? We're on it now and I'll +say what I believe, which is that your 'Good Shepherd' is all wrong, apart +from any question of sentiment at all. Your own party will probably say +it's blasphemous, and I say it's ridiculous. You've painted a grand sky and +then ruined it with the subject. Did you ever see a man's head bang between +you and a clear setting sun? Any way, that figure of yours was never +painted with a sunset behind him, I'll swear." + +"You can't paint truth as you find it and preach truth as you believe it on +the same canvas if you belong to any creed but mine," said Barron calmly. +"You build on the foundations of Art a series of temples to your religious +convictions. You blaze Christianity on every canvas. I suppose that is +natural in a man of your opinions, but to me it is as painful as the +spectacle of advertisements of quack nostrums planted, as you shall see +them, beside railway lines--here in a golden field of buttercups, there +rising above young barley. Of course, I don't presume to assert that your +faith is a quack nostrum; only real Art and Religion won't run in double +harness for you or anybody. They did once, but the world has passed beyond +that point." + +"Never," answered Tarrant. "We have proof of it. Souls have been saved by +pictures. That is as certain as that God made the earth and everything on +it." + +"There again! Every word you speak only shows how difficult it is for us to +exchange ideas. Why is it so positively certain that God made the earth and +everything on it? To attribute man's origin direct to God is always, in my +mind, the supreme proposition of human conceit. Did it need a God to +manufacture you or me or Brady? I don't think so. Consider creation. I +suppose if an ant could gauge the ingenuity of a steam engine, he would +attribute it without hesitation to God, but it happens that the steam +engine is the work of a creature--a being standing somewhere between God +and the ant, but much nearer the latter than the former. You follow me? +Even Tarrant will admit, for it is an article of his creed, that there +exist many beings nearer to God than man. They have wings, he would tell +us, and are eternal, immortal, everlasting." + +"I see," said Brady, "you're going to say next that faulty concerns like +this particular world are the work of minor intelligences. What rot you can +talk at times, old man!" + +"Yet is it an honor to God Almighty that we attribute the contents of this +poor pill of a planet to Him? I think it would be an insult if you ask me. +Out of respect to the Everlasting, I would rather suppose that the earth, +being by chance a concern too small for His present purposes, He tosses it, +as we toss a dog a bone, to some ingenious archangel with a theory. Then +you enjoy the spectacle of that seraph about as busy over this notable +world as a child with a mud pie. The winged one sets to work with a will. A +little pinch of life; develops under his skillful manipulation; evolution +takes its remorseless course through the wastes of Time until--behold! the +apotheosis of the ape at last. Picture that well-meaning but muddle-headed +archangel's dismay at such a conclusion! All his theories and conceits--his +splendid scheme of evolution and the rest--end in a mean but obstinate +creature with conscious intelligence and an absolute contempt and disregard +for Nature. This poor Frankenstein of a cherub watches the worm he has +produced defy him and refuse absolutely to obey his most fundamental +postulates or accept his axioms. The fittest survive no more; these +gregarious, new-born things presently form themselves into a pestilential +society, they breed rubbish, they--" + +"By God! stop it, John," said Murdoch. "Now you're going too far. Look at +Tarrant. He'd burn you over a slow fire for this if he could. Speak for +yourself at any rate, not for us." + +"I do," answered the other bitterly. "I speak for myself. I know what a +poor, rotten cur I am physically and mentally--not worth the bread I eat to +keep me alive. And shall I dare say that God made me?" + +"But what's the end of this philosophy of despair, old chap?" asked Brady; +"what becomes of your worst of all possible planets?" + +"The end? Dust and ashes. My unfortunate workman, having blundered on for +certain millions of years tinkering and patching and improving his dismal +colony, will give the thing up; and God will laugh and show him the +mistakes and then blot the essay out, as a master runs his pen through the +errors in a pupil's exercise. The earth grows cold at last, and the herds +of humanity die, and the countless ages of agony and misery are over. Yes, +the poor vermin perish to the last one; then their black tomb goes whirling +on until it shall be allowed to meet another like itself, when a new sun +shines in heaven and space is the richer by one more star." + +"May God forgive you for your profanity, John Barren," said Tarrant. "That +He places in your hand such power and suffers your brain to breed the +devil's dung that fills it, is to me a mystery. May you live to learn your +errors and regret them." + +He turned away and two men followed him. Conversation among those who +remained reverted to the picture; and presently all were gone, excepting +only Barren, who had to wait and see his work packed. + +Remorse will take strange shapes. His bitter tirade against his environment +and himself was the direct result of this man's recent experiences. He knew +himself for a mean knave in his dealings with an innocent girl and the +thought turned the aspect of all things into gall. + +Solitude brought back a measure of peace. The picture was packed and +started to Penzance railway-station, while Barron's tools also went, by +pony-cart, back to his rooms in Newlyn. He was to leave upon the following +morning with Murdoch and others who were taking their work to the +Exhibitions. + +Now he looked round the cow-byre before locking it for the last time and +returning the key to Farmer Ford's boy, who waited outside to receive it. +"The chapter is ended," he said to himself. "The chapter which contains the +best thing that ever I did, and, I suppose, the worst, as morals have it. +Yet Art happily rises above those misty abstractions which we call right +and wrong. She resembles Nature herself there. Both demand their +sacrifices. 'The white martyrdom of self-denial, the red martyrdom of +blood--each is a thousand times recorded in the history of painting and +will be a thousand times again." + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +THE ACT OF FAITH + + +So John Barren set forth, well content to believe that he would never again +visit Cornwall, and Joan called at the Penzance post-office on the morning +which followed his departure. Her geographical knowledge was scanty. Truro +and Plymouth, in her belief, lay somewhere upon the edge of the world; and +she scarcely imagined that London could be much more remote. + But no letter awaited her, and life grew to be terribly empty. For a week +she struggled with herself to keep from the post-office, and then, nothing +doubting that her patience would now be well rewarded, Joan marched off +with confidence for the treasure. But only a greater disappointment than +the last resulted; and she went home very sorrowful, building up +explanations of the silence, finding excuses for "Mister Jan." The prefix +to his name, which had dropped during their latter intimacy, returned to +her mind now the man was gone: as "Mister Jan" it was that she thought +about him and prayed for him. + +The days passed quickly, and when a fortnight stood between herself and the +last glimpse of her lover, Joan began to grow very anxious. She wept +through long nights now, and her father, finding the girl changed, guessed +she had a secret and told his wife to find it out. But it was some time +before Thomasin made any discovery, for Joan lied stoutly by day and prayed +to God to pardon by night. She strove hard to follow the teaching of the +artist, to find joy in flowers and leaves, in the spring music of birds, in +the color of the sea. But now she dimly guessed that it was love of him +which went so far to make all things beautiful, that it was the magic and +wisdom of his words which had gilded the world with gold and thrown new +light upon the old familiar objects of life. Nature's organ was dumb now +that the hands which played upon it so skillfully had passed far away. But +she was loyal to her teacher; she remembered many things which he had said +and tried hard to feel as he felt, to put her hand in beautiful Mother +Nature's and walk with her and be at peace. Mister Jan would soon return; +the fortnight was already past; each day as she rose she felt he might come +to claim her before the evening. + +And, meanwhile, other concerns occupied her thoughts. The voice which spoke +to her after she bid John Barren "good-by," had since then similarly +sounded on the ear of her heart. Alike at high noon and in the silence of +the night watches it addressed her; and the mystery of it, taken with her +other sorrows, began to affect her physically. For the first time in her +life the girl felt ill in body. Her appetite failed, dawn found her sick +and weary; her glass told her of a white, unhappy face, of eyes that were +lighted from within and shone with strange thoughts. She was always +listening now--listening for the new voice, that she might hear the word it +uttered. Her physical illness she hid with some cunning and put a bright +face upon life as far as she could do so before those of her home; but the +task grew daily more difficult. Then, with a period of greatly increased +discomfort, Joan grew alarmed and turned to the kind God of "Mister Jan," +and made great, tearful praying for a return of strength. Her petition was +apparently granted, for the girl enjoyed some improvement of health and +spirit. Whereupon she became fired with a notable thought, and determined +to seek her patron saint where still she suspected his power held sway: at +the little brook which tinkles along beside the ruins of St. Madron's +chapel in a fair coomb below the Cornish moorlands. The precious water, as +Joan remembered, had brought strength and health to her when a baby; and +now the girl longed to try its virtues again, and a great conviction grew +upon her that the ancient saint never forgot his own little ones. +Opportunity presently offered, and through the first misty gray of a +morning in early April, she set out upon her long tramp from Newlyn through +Madron to the ruined baptistery. + +St. Madron, or Padern, lived in the sixth century, somewhat earlier than +Augustine. A Breton by birth, he labored chiefly in Wales, established a +monastery on Brito-Celtic lines in Cardiganshire, and became its bishop +when a see was established in that district. He traveled far, visited +Mount's Bay and established the church of Madron, still sacred to his name, +while doubtless the brook and chapel hard by were associated with him from +the same period. In Scawen's time folk were wont to take their hurts +thither on Corpus Christi evening, drink of the water, deposit an offering, +and repose upon the chapel floor till dawn. Then, drinking again, they +departed whole, if faith sufficiently mighty had supported them. Norden +remarks of the water that "its fame was great for the supposed vertue of +healinge, which St. Maderne had thereunto infused; and maine votaries made +anuale pilgrimages unto it...." In connection with the custom of immersion +here indicated, we find there obtained the equally venerable practice of +hanging votive rags upon the thorn bushes round about the chapel. This +conceit is ancient as Japan, and one not only in usage to this day among +the Shintoists of that land, but likewise common throughout Northern Asia +and, nearer home, in the Orkneys, in Scotland, in Ireland. Older far than +Christianity are these customs; the megalithic monuments of the pagan +witness similar practices in remote corners of the earth; rag-trees, +burdened with the tattered offerings of the devout, yet stud the desert of +Suez, and those who seek shall surely find some holy well or grave hard at +hand in every case. To mark and examine the junction of these venerable +fancies with Christian superstition is no part of our present purpose, but +that ideas, pagan in their birth, have lent themselves with sufficient +readiness to successive creeds and been knit into the dogmas of each in +turn, is certain enough. Thus, through Cornwall, the imaginings of wizard +and wonder-worker in hoary time come, centuries later, to be the glory and +special power of a saint. Such fantastic lore was definitely interdicted in +King Edgar's reign, when "stone worshipings, divinations, well worshipings +and necromances" were proclaimed things heathen, and unhallowed; but with +the advent of the Saint-Bishops from Wales, from Ireland, from Brittany, +primitive superstitions were patched upon the new creed, and, to suit +private purposes, the old giants of the Christian faith sanctified holy +well and holy stone, posing by right divine as sure dispensers of the +hidden virtue in stream and granite. But the roots of these fables burrow +back to paganism. Hundreds of weakly infants were passed through +Mên-an-tol--the stone with a hole or the "crick-stone"--in the names of +saints; and hundreds had already been handed through it centuries before +under like appeal to pagan deities. + +Of Madron baptistery, now a picturesque ruin, it seems clear that until the +Reformation regular worship and the service of baptism were therein +celebrated. The place has mercifully escaped all restoration or renovation +and stands at this moment open to the sky in the slow hand of Time. A brook +runs babbling outside, but the holy well or colymbethra is now dry, though +it might easily be filled again. This interesting portion of the chapel +remains intact, and the entrance to it lies upon the level of the floor +according to ancient custom, being so ordered that the adult to undergo +baptism might step down into the water, and that not without dignity. + +Hither came Joan. Her patchwork of faith and Nature-worship was a live +thing to her now, and she found no difficulty in reconciling the sweet +saint-stories heard in childhood from her dead mother's lips, with the +beautiful and fair exposition of truth which "Mister Jan" found written +large upon the world by Nature in spring-time. + +It was half-past four o'clock when she trudged through Madron to see the +gray church and the little gray houses all sleeping under the gray sky. She +plodded on up the hill past the gaunt workhouse which stands at the top of +it; and what had seemed soft, sweet repose among the cottage homes, felt +like cold death beneath these ashy walls. To Joan, the workhouse was a word +of shame unutterable. Those among whom she lived would hurl the word +against enemies as a prophecy of the utmost degradation. She shivered as +she passed, and was sad, knowing that a whole world of poverty, failure, +sorrow, regret, was hidden away in that cold, still pile. But the hand of +sleep lay softly there; only a sick soul or two stirred, the paupers were +the equal of princes till a hoarse bell brought them back out of blessed +unconsciousness. + +Bars of light streaked the east, and Joan, only stopping at the hill crest +to see dawn open silver eyes on the sea, hastened inland through silent, +dewy fields. Presently a fence and wall cut civilization from the wild land +of the coomb, and the girl proceeded where grass-grown cart-ruts wound +among furze and heather and the silver coils of new-born bracken just +beginning to peep up above the dead fern of last year. This hollow ran +between undulations of fallow and meadow; no harrow clinked as yet; only +the cows stood here and there above the dry patches on the dewy fields +where their bodies had lain in sleep. She saw their soft eyes and smelled +the savor of them. Presently the cart-ruts disappeared in fine grass all +bediamonded, knobbed with heather, sprouting rusty-red, and sprinkled with +tussocks of coarser grass, whereon green blades sprang up above the dead +ones, where they struggled, matted and bleached and sere. Rabbits flashed +here and there, the white under-side of their little scuts twinkling +through the gorse; and then the birds woke up; a thrush sang low, sleepy +notes from the heart of a whitethorn; yellowhammers piped their mournful +calls from the furze. On Joan's left hand there now rose a clump of +wind-worn beech-trees, their brown spikes breaking to green, even where +dead red leaves still clung to the parent branches. Beneath them ran a +hedge of earth above a deep pool or two, very clear and fringed with young +rushes, upright and triumphant above the old dead ones. Everywhere Joan saw +Life trampling and leaping, growing and laughing over the ruins of things +that had lived and died. It saddened her a little. Did Nature forget so +soon? Then she told herself that kind Nature had loved them and gloried in +them too; and now she would presently bury all her dead children in +beautiful graves of new green. The mosses and marsh were lovely and the +clear pools full of living creatures. But these things were not +saint-blessed and eternal. No spring fed these silent wells, no holy man of +old had ever smiled upon them. + +A stepping-stone by a wall lay before her now; this she crossed, heard the +stream murmuring peace, and hastened, and presently stood beside it. Here +were holy ground and water; here were peace and a place to pray in. Blue +forget-me-nots looked wondering up, seeing eyes as blue as their own, and +she smiled at them and drank of the ripples that ran at their roots. Gray +through the growing haze of green, a ruined wall showed close to the girl. +The blackthorns' blooms were faded around her, the hawthorn was not yet +powdered with white. She cast one look to right and left before entering +the chapel. A distant view of the moorland rose to the sky, and the ragged +edge of the hills was marked by a gaunt engine-stack noting past +enterprise, triumphs long gone by, ruined hopes but recently dead. Snug +fox-covers of rhododendron swept up toward the head of the coomb; and +below, distant half a mile or more, cottages already showed a glimmer of +gold on their thatches where the increasing splendor of day brightened +them, and morning mists were raising jeweled arms. Then Joan passed into +the ruin through that narrow opening which marks the door of it. The +granite walls now stand about the height of a man's shoulder and the +chamber itself is small. Stone seats still run round two sides of it; ivy +and stone-worts and grasses have picked the mortar from the walls and +clothed them, even as emerald moss and gray lichens and black and gold +glorify each piece of granite; a may-bush, tangled about a great shiny +ivy-tod, surmounts the western walls above the dried well; furzes and +heather and tall grasses soften the jagged outlines of the ruin, and above +a stone altar, at the east end of it, rises another white-thorn. At this +season of the year the subsequent floral glories of the little chapel were +only indicated: young briers already thrust their soft points over the +stone of the altar and the first leaves of foxgloves were unfolding, with +dandelions and docks, biting-stone-crop and ferns, ragged-robins and wild +geraniums. These infant things softened no outline yet. The flat paving of +the floor, where it yet remained, was bedded in grass; a little square +incision upon the stone of the altar glimmered full of water and reflected +the light from fleecy clouds which now climbed into heaven, bearing sunrise +fires upward over a pale blue sky. + +Here, under the circumambient, sparkling clearness, coolness and silence, +Joan stood with strange medley of thoughts upon her soul. The saints and +the fairies mingled there with visions of Nature, always smiling, with a +vague shadow of one great God above the blue, but dim and very far away; +and a nearer picture which quickened her heart-beat: the picture of "Mister +Jan." Here she felt herself at one with the world spread round her. The +mother eyes of a blackbird, sitting upon her eggs in the ivy-tod, kept +their bright gold on Joan, but showed no fear; the young rabbits frisked at +hand; a mole poked his snout and little paddle-paws out of the grass; all +was peace and happiness, it seemed, with the voice of good St. Madron +murmuring love in his brooklet at hand. + +Joan knelt down by the old altar and bowed her head there and prayed to +Nature and to God. At first merely wordless prayers full of passionate +entreaty rose to the Throne; then utterance came in a wild simple throng of +petitions; and all her various knowledge, won from her mother and John +Barren, found a place. Pan and Christ might each have heard and listened, +for she called on the gods of earth and heaven from a heart that was full. + +"Kind Mother o' the flowers, doan't 'e forget a poor maiden what loves 'e +so dear. I be sad an' sore-hearted 'cause things is bad wi' me now Mister +Jan's gone; an' I knaws as I've lied an' bin wicked 'bout Joe, but, kind +Mother, I awnly done what Mister Jan, as was wise an' loved me, bid. Oh, +God A'mighty, doan't 'E let en forget me, 'cause I've gived up all--all the +lil I had for en, an' Nature made me as I be. Oh, kind God, make me happy +an' light-hearted an' strong agin, same as the lil birds an' sich like is +happy an' strong; an' forgive me for all my sins an' make me well for +Mister Jan, an' clever for Mister Jan, so's I'll be a fine an' good wife to +en. An' forgive me for lyin', 'cause what I done was Nature, 'cordin' to +Mister Jan; an' Nature's kind to young things, 'cordin' to Mister Jan; an' +I be young yet. An' make me a better lass, for I caan't abear to feel as I +do; an' make me think o' the next world arter this wan. But, oh, dear God, +make me well an' braave agin, for 'tis awful wisht for me wi'out Mister +Jan; an' make Mister Jan strong too. I be all in a miz-maze and doan't knaw +wheer to turn 'cept to Nature, dear Lard. Oh, kind God A'mighty, lemme have +my angel watchin' over me close, same as what mother used to say he did +allus. An' bring Mister Jan back long very quick, 'cause I'm nothin' but +sadness wi'out en. An', dear St. Madern, I ax 'e to bless me same as you +done when--when I was a lil baaby, 'cause I be gwaine to bathe in your +brook, bein' a St. Madern cheel. Oh, dear, good God o' all things, please +to help me an' look to me, 'cause I be very sad, an' I never done no harm +to none, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen." + +Then she said the Lord's Prayer, because her mother had taught her that no +human petition was ever heard unless accompanied by it. And it seemed as +though the lark, winding upward with wide spiral to his song-throne in the +sky and tinkling thin music on the morning wind, was her messenger: which +thought was beautiful to Joan and made her heart glad. + +Never had she looked fairer. Her blue eyes were misty, but the magic of +prayer, the glory of speaking straight to the Father of all, call Him what +she might, had nobly fortified her sinking spirit. Peace brooded in her +soul then, and faith warmed her blood. She was sure her prayer would be +answered; she was certain that her health and her loved one would both come +back to her. And she stood by the altar and smiled at the golden morning, +herself the fairest thing the sun shone upon. + +Having peeped shyly about her, Joan took off her clothes, placed them on +the altar-stones, shook down her hair, and glided softly to the stream. At +one point its waters caught the sunshine and babbled over white sand +between many budding spikes of wild parsley and young fronds of fern. Naked +and beautiful the girl stood, her bright hair glinting to her waist, all +rippled with the first red gold of the morning, her body very white save +where the sun and western wind had browned both arms and neck; her form +innocent as yet of the mystery hid for her in Time. Joan's fair limbs spoke +of blood not Cornish, of days far past when a race of giants swept up from +behind the North Sea to tread a new earth and take wives of the little dark +women of the land, abating the still prevalent nigrescence of the Celt with +Saxon eyes and hair, adding their stature and their strength to races +unborn. A sweet embodiment of all that was lovely and pure and fresh, she +looked--a human incarnation of youth and springtime. + +There was a pool deeper than the general shallowness of the stream which +served for Joan's bath, and she entered there, where soft white sand made +pleasant footing for her toes, where more forget-me-nots twinkled their +turquoise about the margin, where shining gorse towered like a sentinel +above. + +She suffered the holy water to flow over every inch of her body, and then, +rubbing her white self red and glowing with the dead brake fern of last +year and squeezing the water out of her hair, Joan quickly dressed again +and prepared to depart. She was about to leave a fragment torn from her +skirt hanging by the chapel, but changed her mind, and getting a splinter +of granite, rough-edged, she began to chip away a tress of her own bright +hair, sawing it off upon the stone table as best she could. Like a fallen +star it presently glimmered in the thorn bush above St. Madron's altar +where she wound the little lock, presently to bring gold to the nests and +joy to the heart of small feathered folk. + +Joan walked home with the warm blood racing in her veins, roses on her +cheeks and the glory of hope in her eyes. Already she felt her prayers were +being heard; already she was thanking God for heeding her cry, and St +Madron for the life-giving waters of his holy stream. Thee, where finches +chattered and fluttered forward, breakfasting together in pleasant company, +a shadow and a swift, strong wing flashed across Joan's sight--and a hawk +struck. The little people shrieked, a few gray feathers puffed here and +there, and one spark of life was blown out that other sparks might shine +the brighter. For presently Joan's kind "Mother o' the flowers" watched the +beaks of fledgeling hawks grow red, and the parent bird of prey's cold eyes +brightened with satisfaction; as will every parent eye brighten at the +spectacle of baby things eating wholesome food with hearty appetite. + +The death of the small fowl clouded the pilgrim's thoughts, but only for a +moment. Sentiment and emotion had passed; now she was eager with delicious +physical hunger and longing for her breakfast. The girl had not felt so +well or so happy for a considerable time. Half her prayer, she told +herself, was answered already; and the other half, relating to "Mister +Jan," would doubtless meet with similar merciful response ere many hours +had flown. + +So joyfully homeward out of dreamland into a world of facts Joan hastened. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +A THOUSAND POUNDS + + +A glad heart shortens the longest road, and Joan, whose return journey from +the holy well was for the most part downhill, soon found herself back again +in Penzance. The fire of devotion still actuated her movements, and she +walked fearlessly, doubting nothing, to the post-office. There would be a +letter to-day; she knew it; she felt it in her consciousness, as a +certainty. And when she asked for it and mentioned her name, she put her +hand out and waited until the sleepy-eyed clerk rummaged through a little +pile of letters standing together and tied with a separate string. She +watched him slowly untie them and scan the addresses, grumbling as he did +so. Then he came to the last of all and read out: + +"'Miss Joan Tregenza, Post-Office, Penzance. To be left until called for.'" + +"Mine, mine, sir! I knawed 'e'd have it! I knawed as the kind, good--" + +Then she stopped and grew red, while the clerk looked at her curiously and +then yawned. "What's a draggle-tailed chit like her got to do with such a +thing?" he wondered, and then spoke to Joan: + +"Here you are; and you must sign this paper--it's a registered letter." + +Joan, her hand shaking with excitement, printed her name where he directed, +thanked the man with a smile that softened him, and then hastened away. + +The girl was faint with hunger and happiness before she reached home. She +did not dare to open the letter just then, but took it from her pocket a +dozen times before she reached Newlyn and feasted her eyes on her own name, +very beautifully and legibly printed. He had written it! His precious hand +had held the pen and formed each letter. + +Deep, wordless thanks welled up in Joan's heart, for God was not very far +away, after all. He had heard her prayer already, and answered it within an +hour. No doubt it was easy for Him to grant such a little prayer. It could +be nothing much to God that one small creature should enjoy such happiness; +but what seemed wonderful was that He should have any time to listen at +all, that He should have been able to turn from the mighty business of the +great awakening world and give a thought to her. + +"Sure 'twas the lil lark as the good Lard heard, an' my asking as went +up-long wi' en," said Joan to herself. + +She found her father at home and the family just about to take breakfast. +Gray Michael had returned somewhat unexpectedly, with a fine catch, and did +not intend sailing again before the evening tide. A somewhat ominous +silence greeted the girl, a silence which her father was the first to +break. + +"Ayte your food, my lass, an' then come in the garden 'long with me," he +said. "I do want a word with 'e, an' things must be said which I've put off +the sayin' of tu long. So be quick's you can." + +But this sauce did not spoil the girl's enjoyment of her porridge and +treacle. She ate heartily, and her happy humor seemed catching, at least so +far as Tom was concerned. A bright color warmed Joan's cheek; the cloud +that had dimmed her eyes was there no longer; and more than once Mr. +Tregenza looked at his wife inquiringly, for the tale she had been telling +of Joan's recent moods and disorder was at variance with her present +spirits and appetite. After breakfast she went to her room while her father +waited; and then it was that Joan snatched a moment to open John Barron's +letter. There would be no time to read it then, she knew: that delicious +task must take many hours of loving labor; but she wanted to count the +pages and see "Mister Jan's" name at the end. She knew that crosses meant +kisses, too. There might be crosses somewhere. So she opened the envelope +in a fever of joyous excitement, being careful, however, not to tear a +letter of the superscription. And from it there came a fat, folded pile of +tissue paper. Joan knew it was money, and flung it on her bed and fumbled +with sinking heart for something better. But there was nothing else--only +ten pieces of tissue-paper. She remembered seeing her father with similar +pieces; and her mother saying there was nothing like Bank of England notes. +But they had been crumpled and dirty, these were snowy white. Each had a +hundred pounds marked upon it; and Joan was aware that ten times a hundred +is a thousand. But a thousand pounds possessed no more real meaning for her +than a million of money does for the average man. She could not estimate +its significance in the least or gauge its possibilities. Only she knew +that she would far rather have had a few words from "Mister Jan" than all +the money in the world. + +Mr. Tregenza's voice below broke in upon the girl's disappointment, and, +hastily hiding the money under some linen in a little chest of drawers, +where the picture of Joe's ship was also concealed, she hurried to join her +father. But the empty envelope, with her name printed on it, she put into +her pocket that it might be near her. + +Joan did not for an instant gather what meaning lay under this great gift +of money, and to her the absence of a letter was no more than a passing +sorrow. She read nothing between the lines of this silence; she only saw +that he had not forgotten, and only thought that he perhaps imagined such +vast sums of money would give her pleasure and make the waiting easier. +What were banknotes to Joan? What was life to her away from him? She +sighed, and fell back upon the thought of his wisdom and knowledge. He must +be in the right to delay, because he was always in the right. A letter +would presently come to explain why he had sent the money and to treat of +his return. The girl felt that she had much to thank God for, after all. He +had sent her the letter; He had answered her prayer in His own way. It ill +became her, she thought, to question more deeply. She must wait and be +patient, however hard the waiting. + +So thinking, she joined her father. Tom was away up the village, Mrs. +Tregenza found plenty to occupy her mind and body indoors; Joan and Mr. +Tregenza had the garden to themselves. He was silent until they reached the +wicket, then, going through it, he led the way slowly up a hill which wound +above the neighboring stone quarry; and as he walked he addressed Joan. +She, weary enough already, prayed that her parent intended going no further +than the summit of the hill; but when he spoke she forgot physical fatigue, +for his manner was short and stern. + +"Theer's things bein' hid 'twixt you an' me, darter, an' 'tis time you +spoke up. Every parent's got some responsibility in the matter of his +cheel's sawl, an', if theer's aught to knaw, 'tis I must hear it. 'The +faither waketh for the darter when no man knaweth,' sez the Preacher, an' +he never wrote nothin' truer. I've waked for you, Joan. 'Keep a sure watch +over a shameless darter,' sez the Preacher agin; but God forbid you'm that. +Awnly you'm allus wool-gatherin', an' roamin', an' wastin' time. An' time +wance squandered do never come agin. I hear tell this has been gwaine +forrard since Joe went to sea. What's the matter with 'e? Say it out plain +an' straight an' now this minute." + +Joan had particularly prayed by the Madron altar that the Everlasting would +keep her from lying. She remembered the fact as her father put his +question; and she also recollected that John Barron had told her to say +nothing about their union until he returned to her. So she lied again, and +that the more readily because Gray Michael's manner of asking his question +put a reasonable answer into her head. + +"I s'pose as it might be I'm wisht 'cause o' Joe Noy, faither." + +"Then look 'e to it an' let it cease. Joe's in the hand o' the Lard same as +we be. He's got to work out his salvation in fear an' tremblin' same as us. +Some do the Lard's work ashore, some afloat, some--sich as me--do it by +land an' sea both. You doan't work Joe no good trapsing 'bout inland, here, +theer, an' everywheers; an' you do yourself harm, 'cause it makes 'e oneasy +an' restless. Mendin' holes an' washin' clothes an' prayin' to the Lard to +'a' mercy on your sinful sawl's what you got to do. Also learnin' to cook +'gainst the time you'm a wife an' the mother o' childern, if God so wills. +But this ban't no right way o' life for any wan, gentle or simple, so mend +it. A gad-about, lazy female's hell-meat in any station. Theer's enough of +'em as 'tis, wi'in the edge o' Carnwall tu. What was you doin' this +marnin'? Mother sez 'er heard you stirrin' 'fore the birds." + +"I went out a long walk to think, faither." + +"What 'e want to think 'bout? Your plaace is to du, not to think. God'll +think for 'e if 'e ax; an' the sooner you mind that an' call 'pon the +A'mighty the better; 'cause the Devil's ready an' willin' to think for 'e +tu. Read the Book more an' look about 'e less. Man's eyes, an' likewise +maid's, is best 'pon the ground most time. Theer's no evil writ theer. The +brain of man an' woman imagineth ill nearly allus, for why? 'Cause they +looks about an' sees it. Evil comes in through the eyes of 'em; evil's +pasted large 'pon every dead wall in Newlyn. Read the Book--'tis all summed +up in that. You've gotten a power o' your mother in 'e yet. Not but you've +bin a good darter thus far, save for back-slidin' in the past; but I saved +your sawl then, thanks be to the voice o' God in me, an' I saved your +mother's sawl, though theer was tidy wraslin' for her; an' I'll save yourn +yet if you'll do your paart." + +Here Gray Michael paused and turned homeward, while Joan congratulated +herself upon the fact that a conversation which promised to be difficult +had ended so speedily and without misfortune. Then her father asked her +another question. + +"An' what's this I hear tell 'bout you bein' poorly? You do look so well as +ever I knawed 'e, but mother sez you'm that cranky with vittles as you +never was afore, an' wrong inside likewise." + +"Ban't nothin', faither. 'Tis awver an' done. I ate tu much or some sich +thing an' I be bonny well agin now." + +"Doan't be thinkin' then. 'Tis all brain-sickness, I'll lay. I doan't want +no doctor's traade in my 'ouse if us can keep it outside. The Lard's my +doctor. Keep your sawl clean, an' the Lard'll watch your body. 'E's said as +much. 'E knaws we'm poor trashy worms an' even a breath o' foul air'll take +our lives onless 'E be by to filter it. Faith's the awnly medicine worth +usin'." + +Joan remembered her morning bath and felt comforted by this last +reflection. Had she not already found the magic result? For a moment she +thought of telling her father what she had done, but she changed her mind. +Such faith as that would have brought nothing but wrath upon her. + +While Mr. Tregenza improved the hour and uttered various precepts for his +daughter's help and guidance, Thomasin was occupied at home with grave +thoughts respecting Joan. She more than suspected the truth from signs of +indisposition full of meaning to a mother; but while duly mentioning the +girl's illness, Mrs. Tregenza did not dare to breathe the color of her own +explanation. She prayed to God in all honesty to prove her wrong, but her +lynx eyes waited to read the truth she feared. If things were really so +with Joan, then they could not be hid from her eyes much longer; and in the +event of her suspicions proving correct, Mrs. Tregenza told herself, as a +right Luke Gospeler, she must proclaim her horrid discovery and let the +perdition of her husband's daughter be generally made manifest. She knew so +many were called, so few chosen. No girl had ever been more surely called +than Joan: her father's trumpet tongue had thundered the ways of +righteousness into her ears from her birth; but, after all, it began to +look as though she was not chosen. The circumstance, of course, if proved, +would rob her of every Luke Gospeler's regard. No weak pandering with +sentiment and sin was permitted in that fold. And Mrs. Tregenza had little +pity herself for unfortunate or mistaken women. Let a girl lose her +character and Thomasin usually refused to hear any plea of mercy from any +source. Only once did she find extenuating circumstances: in a case where a +ruined farmer's daughter brought an action for breach of promise and won +it, with heavy damages. But money acted in a peculiar way with this woman. +It put her conscience and her judgment out of focus, softened the outlines +of events, furnished excuses for unusual practices, gilded with a bright +lining even the blackest cloud of wrongdoing. Where Mrs. Tregenza could see +money she could see light. Money made her charitable, broad-minded, even +tolerant. She knew she loved it, and was careful to keep the fact out of +Gray Michael's sight as far as possible. She held the purse, and he felt +that it was in good hands, but cautioned her from time to time against the +awful danger of letting a lust for this world's wealth come between the +soul and God. + +And now a course long indicated in Thomasin's mind was being by her +pursued. Having convinced herself that under the present circumstances any +step to found or dispel her fears concerning Joan would be just and proper, +she took the exceptional one of searching the girl's little room while her +stepdaughter was out with Michael. Even as Mr. Tregenza turned to go +homeward again, his wife stood in the midst of Joan's small sanctuary, and +cast keen, inquiring eyes about her. She rarely visited the apartment, and +had not been in it for six months. Now she came to set doubt at rest if +possible, or confirm it. Her own secret opinion was that Joan had come to +serious trouble with her superiors. In that case letters, presents or +tokens had probably passed into her hands; and, if such existed, in this +room they would be. + +"God send as I'm makin' a mistake an' shaan't find nothin' 'tall," said +Mrs. Tregenza to herself. And then she began her scrutiny. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + THE TRUTH + + +Thomasin saw that all things about Joan's room were neat, spotless, and in +order. For one brief moment a sense of disquiet at the action before her +touched the woman's heart and head; but duty alike to her husband and her +stepdaughter demanded the search in her opinion. Should there be nothing to +find, so much the better; if, on the other hand, matters affecting Joan's +temporal and eternal welfare were here hidden, then they could not be +uncovered too quickly. She looked first through the girl's little wooden +trunk, the key of which was in the lock, but nothing save a childish +treasure or two rewarded Mrs. Tregenza here. In a broken desk, which had +belonged to her mother, Joan kept a few Christmas cards, and two +silhouettes: one of Uncle Thomas, of Drift, one of Mary Chirgwin. Here were +also some cooking recipes copied in her mother's writing, an agate marble +which Joan had found on Penzance beach, lavender tied up in a bag, and an +odd toy that softened Thomasin's heart not a little as she picked it up and +looked at it. The thing brought back to her memory a time four years +earlier. It was a small, grotesque figure on wires, built up of chestnuts +and acorns with a hazel-nut for its head and black pins stuck in for the +eyes. She remembered Tom making it and giving it to Joan on her birthday. +Then the memory of Joan's love for Tom from the time he was born came like +a glow of sunshine into the mother's heart, and for a moment she was minded +to relinquish her unpleasant task upon the spot; but she changed her +intention again and proceeded. The box held little else save a parcel of +old clothes tied up with rosemary in brown paper. These the woman surveyed +curiously, and knew, without being told, that they had belonged to Joan's +mother. For some reason the spectacle killed sentiment and changed her +mood. She shut down the box, and then, going to the chest of drawers, +pulled out each compartment in turn. Nothing but Joan's apparel and her few +brooches and trinkets appeared here. The history of each and all was +familiar to Mrs. Tregenza. But on reaching the bottom drawer of the chest, +she found it locked and the key absent. To continue her search, however, +was not difficult. Nothing separated the drawers, and by removing that +above the last, the contents of the lowest lay at her mercy, It was full of +linen for the most part, but hidden at the bottom, Thomasin made a +discovery, and found certain matters which at once spoke of tremendous +mystery, and, to her mind, indicated the nature of it. First she came upon +the little picture of Joe's ship in its rough gilded frame. This might be +an innocent gift from some of the young men who had asked in the past to be +allowed to paint Joan and received a curt negative from Gray Michael. But +the other discovery meant more. Pushing her hand about the drawer she found +a pile of paper, felt the crackle of it, and pulled it eagerly to the +light. Then, and before she learned the grandeur of the sum, she was seized +with a sudden palpitation and sat down on Joan's bed. Her mouth grew full +as a hungry man's before a feast, her lips were wet, her hand shook as she +opened and spread the notes. Then she counted them and sat gasping like a +landed fish. Thomasin had never seen so much money before in her life. A +thousand pounds! Unlike Joan, to whom the sum conveyed no significance, +Mrs. Tregenza could estimate it. Her mind reached that far, and the +bank-notes, for her, lay just within the estimation of avarice. Every snowy +fragment meant a hundred pounds--a hundred sovereigns--two hundred +ten-shilling pieces. The first shock overpast, and long before she grew +sufficiently calm to associate the treasure with its possessor, Mrs. +Tregenza began spending in her mind's eye. The points in house and garden, +outhouse and sty, whereon money might be advantageously expended, rose up +one after the other. Then she put aside eight hundred and fifty out of the +grand total and pictured herself taking it to the bank. She thought of a +nest-egg that would "goody" against the time Tom should grow into a man; +she saw herself among the neighbors, pointed at, whispered of as a woman +with hundreds and hundreds of pounds put by; she saw the rows of men +sitting basking about in Newlyn, as their custom is when off the sea; and +she heard them drop words of admiration at the sight of her. Presently, +however, this gilded vision vanished, and she began to connect the money +with Joan. She solved the mystery then with a brutal directness which hit +the mark in one direction; as to the source of the money, but went wide of +it in some measure upon the subject of the girl. Thomasin held briefly that +her stepdaughter had fallen, and now, knowing her condition, had informed +some man of it, with the result that from him came this unutterable gift. +That the money made an enormous difference to Mrs. Tregenza's mental +attitude must be confessed. She found herself fashioning absolute excuses +for Joan. Girls so often came to ill through no fault of their own. The man +must at least have been a gentleman to pay for his pleasure in four +figures. Four figures! Here she stopped thinking in order to picture the +vision of a unit followed by three ciphers. Then she marveled as to what +manner of man he was who could send a girl like Joan a thousand pounds. She +never heard of such a price for the value received. Her respect for Joan +began to increase when she realized that the money was hers. Probably there +was even more where that came from. "Anyway," she reflected, "it ban't no +use cryin' ower spilt milk. What's done's done. An' a thousand pounds'll go +long ways to softenin' the road. She might travel up-long to Truro to my +cousin an' bide quiet theer till arter, an' no harm done, poor lass. When +all's said, us knaws the Lard Hissel weer mighty easy wi' the like o' she, +an' worser wenches tu. But Michael--God A'mighty knaws he won't be easy. +She'm a damned wummon, I s'pose, but she's got to live through 'er life +here--damned or saved; an' she's got a thousand pound to do't with. A +terrible braave dollop o' money, sure 'nough. To think 'ow 'ard a man's got +to work 'fore he earns five of 'em!" But her imagination centered upon Gray +Michael now, and she almost forgot the banknotes for a moment. She thought +of his agony and trembled for the result. He might strike Joan down and +kill her. The man's anger against evil-doers was always a terrific thing; +and he had no idea of the value of money. She hazarded guesses at the +course he would pursue, and each idea was blacker than the last. Then +Thomasin fell to wondering what Michael would be likely to do with the +money. She sighed at this thought, and then she grew pale at the imaginary +spectacle of her husband tearing the devil-sent notes to pieces and +scattering them over the cliff to the sea. This horrible possibility stung +her to another train of ideas. Might it be within her power to win Joan's +secret, share it, and keep it from the father? Her pluck, however, gave way +when she looked a little deeper into the future. She would have done most +things in her power for a thousand pounds, but she would not have dared any +treachery to Michael. The woman put the notes together and stroked them and +listened to the rustle of them and rubbed her hard cheek with them. Then, +looking from the little window of Joan's garret, she saw the girl herself +approaching with Mr. Tregenza. They were nearly home again, so Thomasin +returned the money and the picture to their places in the chest of drawers, +smoothed the bed, where she had been sitting for half an hour, and went +downstairs still undetermined as to a course of action. + +Before dinner was eaten, however, she had decided that her husband must +know the truth. Even her desire toward the money cooled before the prospect +of treachery to him. Fear had something to do with this decision, but the +woman's own principles were strong. It is unlikely that in any case they +would have broken down. She sent Joan on an errand to the village after the +meal was ended; and upon her departure addressed her husband hurriedly. + +"You said I was 'mazed to dinner, an' so I was. I've gotten bad news for +'e, Michael, touchin' Joan." + +"No more o' that, mother," he answered, "I've talked wi' she an' said a +word in season. She'm well in body an' be gwaine to turn a new leaf, so +theer's an end o' the matter." + +"'Tedn' so," she declared, "I've bin in the gal's room an' I've found--but +you bide here an' I'll bring 'em to 'e. Hold yourself back, Michael, for us +caan't say nothin' sure till us knaws the truth from Joan." + +"She've tawld me the truth out a walkin' an' I've shawed her the narrer +path. What should you find?" + +"Money--no lil come-by-chance neither; more money than ever you or me seed +in our born days afore or shall agin." + +"You'm dreamin', wummon!" he said. + +"God knaws I wishes it weer so," she answered, and went once more to Joan's +room. + +Gray Michael was walking up and down the kitchen when she returned, and +Thomasin said nothing, but put money and picture upon the table. Her +husband fought with himself a moment, as it appeared, then seemed to pray a +while, standing still with his hand pressed over his eyes, and finally sat +himself down beside the things which Thomasin had brought. + +"I'd no choice but to tell 'e," she said. + +Gray Michael's eyes were on the picture and utter astonishment appeared in +them. + +"Why! 'tis Joe Noy's ship. Us seed her off the islands, outward bound! He +might 'a' gived it her hisself surely?" + +"But t'other thing; the money. Count them notes. Noy never gived Joan +them." + +He spread the parcel, counted the money, and sat back thunderstruck. + +"God in heaven! A thousan' pound, an' notes as never went through no dirty +hands neither! What do it mean?" + +"How should I tell what it means? I found the whole fortune hid beneath her +smickets. Lard knaws how she comed by it. What have the likes o' she to +give for money?" + +"What do 'e mean by that?" he blazed out, rising to his feet and clinching +his fists. + +"Ax your darter. Do 'e think I'd dare to say a word onless I was sartain +sure? You'd smash me, your own wife, if I weer wrong, like enough. I ban't +wrong. Joan's wi' cheel or I never was. Maybe that thraws light on the +money, maybe it doan't. I did pray as it might 'a' comed out to be her man +at sea. But you'll find it weern't. God help 'e, Michael, my heart do bleed +for 'e. Can 'e find it in 'e to be merciful same as the Lard in like case, +or--?" + +He raised his hand to stop her. He was sitting back in his chair with a +face that had grown gray even to the skin, with eyes that looked out at +nothing. There was a moment's silence save for the tall clock in the +corner; then Tregenza brushed beads of water off his forehead and dried his +hand on his trousers. He raised his eyes to the roof and gripped his hands +together on his chest and slowly spoke a text which his wife had heard upon +his lips before, but only at times of deep concern or emotion. + +"'The Lard is king, be the people never so impatient; He sitteth between +the cherubims, be the airth never so unquiet.'" + +Few saw any particular meaning in this quotation applied in moments of +stress, as Michael usually employed it; but to the man it was a supreme +utterance, the last word to be spoken in the face of all the evil and +wickedness of the world. Come what might, God still reigned in heaven. + +He spoke aloud thus far, and afterward, by the movement of his beard and +lip, Thomasin could see he was still talking or praying. + +"Let the Lard lead 'e, husband, in this hard pass," she said. "'Vengeance +is Mine,' the Book sez." + +He turned his eyes upon her. His brows were dragged down upon them; he had +brushed his gray hair like bristles upright on his head; across the mighty +wall of his forehead jagged cross-lines were stamped, like the broken +strata over a cliff-face. + +"Ay, you say it. Vengeance be God's awn, an' mercy be God's awn. 'Tedn' for +no man to meddle wi' them. Us caan't be aught but just. She'll have justice +from me--no more'n that. 'Tis all wan now. Wanton or no wanton, she've +flummoxed me this day. The giglot lied an' said the thing that was not. +She'm not o' the Kingdom--the fust Tregenza as ever lied--the fust." + +"God send it edn' as bad as it do look, master. 'Er caracter belike ban't +gone. S'pose as she'm married?" + +"Hould your clack, wummon. I be thinkin'." + +He was thinking, indeed. In the face of this discovery, the ghost of an +idea, which had haunted Gray Michael's mind more than once during the +upbringing of Joan, returned a greater and more pronounced shadow than ever +before. The conviction carried truth stamped upon it from the standpoint of +his present horrid knowledge. To an outsider his thought had appeared +absolutely devilish, to the man himself it was as a buoy thrown to one +drowning. The belief flooded his mind, swept him away, convinced him. Its +nature presently appeared as he answered Thomasin. She was still thinking +of the thousand pounds. + +"Theer's no word in the Book agin mercy, Michael. Joan's your awn +darter--froward or not froward." + +"You'm wrong theer," he said. He was now cool and quiet. "I did think so +wance; I did tell her so when us walked not two hour agone. Now I sees +differ'nt. She'm none o' mine. She'm no Tregenza. Be Nature, as made us +God-fearin' to a man, to a wummon, to a cheel, gwaine to lie after +generations 'pon generations? Look back at them as bred me, an' them as +bred them--back, an' back, an' back. All Tregenzas was o' the Lard's +harvest; an' should I, as feared God more'n any o' 'em, an' fought for the +Lard of Hosts 'fore I was higher'n this table--should I--Michael Tregenza, +breed a damned sawl? The thot's comed black an' terrible 'pon my mind 'fore +to-day; an' I've put en away from me, judgin' 'twas the devil. Now I knaw +'twas God spoke; now I knaw that her's none o' my gettin'. 'Who honoreth +his faither shall 'a' joy o' his awn childern.' Shall I, as weer a pattern +son, be cussed wi' a strumpet for a darter?" + +"You'm speakin' a hard thing o' dead bones, then. The Chirgwins is upland +folks o' long standin', knawn so far as the Land's End, an' up Drift an' +down Lizard likewise." + +"She've lied to me," was his answer; "she've lied oftentimes; she'm false +to whatever I did teach her; she've sawld herself--she've--no more on +it--no more on it but awnly this: I call 'pon God A'mighty to bear witness +she'm no Tregenza--never--never." + +"'Tweer her mother in the gal; but doan't 'e say more 'bout that, Michael. +Poor dear sawl, she'm dead an' gone, an' she loved 'e wi' all her 'eart, as +I, what knawed her, can testify to." + +"No more o' that," he said, "the gal's comin'. Thank God she ban't no cheel +o' mine--thank God, as 'ave tawld me 'tedn' so. He whispered it, an' I put +it away an' away. Now I knaws. You bide here, Thomasin Tregenza, and I'll +speak what's fittin'." + +Thus in one moment this hideous conviction was stamped upon the man's soul +for life. He judged the dead mother by the daughter and visited the child's +sin upon the parent's memory. Any conclusion more monstrous, more directly +opposed to every natural instinct, can hardly be conceived, but the man had +been strangling natural instincts for fifty years. Only pride of family +remained. There were but few Tregenzas left and soon there would be none +unless Tom carried on the name. Michael was the quintessence of the +Tregenza spirit, the fruit of generations, the high-water mark. He stood on +that giddy pinnacle which has religious mania for its precipice. To damn a +dead woman was easier than to accept a wanton daughter. Better an +unfaithful wife than that any soul born of Tregenza blood should be lost. +So he washed his hands of both, thanking God, who had launched the truth +into his mind at last; and then he rose to his feet as Joan entered the +room. + +She stood for a moment in the doorway with her blue eyes fixed in amazement +upon the kitchen table. Then she grew very red to the roots of her hair and +came forward. There was almost a joy in her mind that the long story of +falsehood must end at last. She did not fear her father now and looked up +into his face quite calmly as she approached the table. + +"These be mine," she said. "Was it you, faither, as took 'em from wheer +they was?" + +"'Twas me, Joan," answered Mrs. Tregenza; "an' I judge the Lard led me." + +The girl stood erect and scornful. + +"I'm glad you found them; now I can tell the truth." + +"Truth!" thundered Michael. "Truth--what do you knaw 'bout Truth, darter o' +Baal? Your life's a lie, your tongue's rotten in your mouth wi' lyin'. +Never look in no honest faace agin!" + +"You'd do best to bide still while I tell 'e what this here means," said +Joan quietly. The man's anger alarmed her no more than the squeak of a +caged rat. "I ban't no darter o' Baal, an' the money's come by honest. I've +lied afore, but never shall again. An' I've let Joe go 'is ways thinkin' I +loved en, which I doan't. I be tokened to a furriner from London, an' he's +took me for his awn, an' he be gwaine to come down-long mighty soon an' +take me away. But I couldn't tell 'e nothin' of that 'cause he bid me keep +my mouth shut. So theer." + +"'Took 'e for 'is awn'! Wheer is he, then? Why be you here?" + +"He'm comin', I tell 'e. He'm a true man, an' he shawed me what 'tis to +love." + +"Bought you, you damned harlot!" + +She knew the word was vile, but a shred of John Barron's philosophy +supported her. + +"My awnly sin is I've lied to you, faither; an' you've no right to call me +evil names." + +"Never call me faither no more, lewd slut! I be no faither o' thine, nor +never was. God A'mighty! a Tregenza a wanton! I'd rather cut my hand off +than b'lieve it so. It's this--this--blood-money--the price o' a damned +sawl! No more lyin'. I knaw--I knaw--an' the picksher--the ship of a true +man. It did ought to break your heart to see it, if you had wan. A +devil-spawned painting feller, in coorse. An' his black heart happy an' +content 'cause he've sent this filth. You stare, wi' your mother's +eyes--you stare, an' stare. Hell's yawning for 'e, wretched wummon, an' for +him as brot 'e to it!" + +"He doan't believe in hell, no more doan't I," said Joan calmly; "an' it +ban't a faither's plaace to damn's awn flaish an' blood no way." + +"Never name me thy faither no more! I ban't your faither, I tell 'e, an' I +do never mean to see thy faace agin. Go wheer you'm minded; but get 'e gone +from here. Tramp the broad road with the crowd--the narrer path's closed +agin 'e. And this--this--let it burn same as him what sent it will." + +He picked up the note nearest to him, crumpled it into a ball and flung it +upon the fire. + +"Michael, Michael!" cried his wife, rushing forward, "for God's love, what +be doin' of? The money ban't damned; the money's honest!" + +But Joan did more than speak. As the gift flamed quickly up, then sunk to +gray ash, a tempest of passion carried her out of herself. She trembled in +her limbs, grew deadly pale, and flew at her father like a tigress. No evil +word had ever crossed her lips till then, though they had echoed in her +ears often enough. But now they jumped to her tongue, and she cursed Gray +Michael and tore the rest of the money out of his hand so quickly that his +intention of burning it was frustrated. + +"It's mine, it's mine, blast you!" she screamed like a fury, "what right +have you to steal it? It's mine--gived me by wan whose shoe you ban't +worthy to latch! He's shawed me what you be, an' the likes o' you, wi' your +hell-fire an' prayin' an' sour looks. I ban't afeared 'o you no more--none +o' you. I be sick o' the smeech o' your God. 'Er's a poor thing alongside +o' mine an' Mister Jan's. I'll gaw, I'll gaw so far away as ever I can; an' +I'll never call 'e my faither agin, s'elp me God!" + +Mrs. Tregenza had thanked Providence under her breath when Joan rescued the +notes, but now, almost for the first time, she realized that her own +interest in this pile of money was as nothing. Every penny belonged to her +stepdaughter, and her stepdaughter evidently meant to keep it. This +discovery hit her hard, and now the bitterness came forth in a flood of +words that tumbled each over the other and stung like hornets as they +settled. + +Gray Michael's broadside had roared harmlessly over Joan's erect head; +Thomasin's small shot did not miss the mark. She was furious; her husband +stood dumb; her virago tongue hissed the truth; and Joan, listening, knew +that it was the truth. + +No matter what the elder woman said. She missed no vile word of them all. +She called Joan every name that chills the ear of the fallen; and she +explained the meaning of her expressions; she bid the girl take herself and +the love-child within her from out the sight of honest folks; she told her +the man had turned his back forever, that only the ashy road of the ruined +remained for her to tread. And that was how the great news that Nature had +looked upon her for a mother came to Joan Tregenza. Here was the riddle of +the mysterious voice unraveled; here was the secret of her physical sorrows +made clear. She looked wildly from one to the other--from the man to the +woman; then she tottered a step away, clutching her money and her little +picture to her breast; and then she rolled over, a huddled, senseless heap, +upon the floor. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +DRIFT + + +When Joan recovered consciousness she found her head and neck wet where her +stepmother had flung cold water over her. Thomasin was at that moment +burning a feather under her nose, but she stopped and withdrew it as the +girl's eyes opened. + +"Theer, now you'll be well by night. He've gone aboard. Best to change your +gownd, for 'tis wetted. Then I'll tell 'e what 'er said. Can 'e get +upstairs?" + +Joan rose slowly and went with swimming brain to her room. She still held +her picture and her money. She took off her wet clothes, then sat down upon +her bed to think; and as her mind grew clear, there crept through the +gloomy shadows of the past tragedy a joy. It lightened her heart a moment, +then vanished again, like the moon blotted suddenly from the sky by a rack +of storm-cloud. Joan was full of the stupendous news. The shock of hearing +her most unsuspected condition had indeed stricken her insensible, but it +was the surprise of it more than the dismay. Now she viewed the +circumstance with uncertainty, not knowing the attitude "Mister Jan" would +adopt toward it. She argued with herself long hours, and peace brooded over +her at the end; for, as his cherished utterances passed in review before +her memory, the sense and sum of them seemed to promise well. He would be +very glad to share in the little life that was upon the way to earth. He +always spoke kindly of children; he had called them the flower-buds in +Nature's lap. Yes, he must be glad; and Nature would smile too. Nature knew +what it was to be a mother, Joan told herself. She was in Nature's hand +henceforth. But her blue eyes grew cold when she thought of the morning. So +much for St. Madron and his holy water; so much for the good angels who her +dead parent had told her were forever stretching loving, invisible hands to +guard and shield. "Mister Jan's be the awnly God," she thought, "an' He'm +tu far aways to mind the likes o' we; so us must trust to the gert Mother +o' the flowers." She accepted the position with an open heart, then turned +her thoughts to her loved one. Having now firmly convinced herself that her +condition would bring him gratification and draw them still nearer each to +the other, Joan yearned unutterably for his presence. She puzzled her +brains to know how she might communicate with him, how hasten his return. +She remembered that he had once told her his surname, but she could not +recollect it now. He had always been "Mister Jan" to her. + +She went down to her supper in the course of the evening, and the great +matter in her mind was for a while put aside before a present necessity. +Action, she found, would be immediately required of her. Her father, before +going from the kitchen after she had fainted, directed Thomasin to bid her +never see his face again. She must depart, according to his direction, on +the following day; for the thatched cottage upon the cliff could be her +home no more. + +"Theer weern't no time for talkin'; but I lay 'er'll sing differ'nt when +next ashore. You bide quiet here till 'er's home agin. 'Tain't nachur to +bid's awn flaish an' blood go its ways like that. An', 'pears to me, as +'tedn' the law neither. But you bide till he'm back. I be sorry as I spawk +so sharp, but you was that bowldacious that my dander brawk loose. Aw +Jimmery! to think as you dedn' knaw you was cheeldin'!" + +"'Twas hearin' so suddint like as made me come over fainty." + +"Ate hearty then. An' mind henceforrard you'm feedin' an' drinkin' for two. +Best get to bed so soon's you can. Us'll talk 'bout this coil in the +marnin'." + +"Us'll talk now. I be off by light. I 'edn' gwaine to stop no more. Faither +sez I ban't no cheel o' his an' he doan't want to see my faace agen. Then +he shaan't. I'll gaw to them as won't be 'shamed o' me: my mother's +people." + +"Doan't 'e be in no tearin' hurry, Joan," said Mrs. Tregenza, thinking of +the money. "Let him, the chap, knaw fust what's come along o' his +carneying, an' maybe he'll marry 'e, as you sez, right away. Bide wi' me +till you tells en. Let en do what's right an' seemly. That's the shortest +road." + +"Iss fay; he'm a true man. But I ban't gwaine to wait for en in this 'ouse. +To-morrow I'll send my box up Drift by the fust omblibus as belongs to +Staaft, an' walk myself, an' tell Uncle Thomas all's there is to tell. +He've got a heart in his breast, an' I'll bide 'long wi' him till Mister +Jan do come back." + +"Wheer's he to now?" + +"To Lunnon. He've gone to make his house vitty for me." + +"Well, best to get Uncle Chirgwin to write to en, onless you'd like me to +do it for 'e." + +"No. He'll do what's right--a proper, braave man." + +"An 'mazin' rich seemin'ly. For the Lard's love, if you'm gwaine up Drift, +take care o' all that blessed money. Doan't say no word 'bout it till you'm +in the farm, for theer's them--the tinners out o' work an' sich--as 'ud +knock 'e on the head for half of it. To think as Michael burned a hunderd +pound! Just a flicker o' purpley fire an' a hunderd pound gone! 'Tis 'nough +to make a body rave." + +The girl flushed, and something of her father's stern look seemed reflected +in her face. + +"He stawl my money. No, I judge his word be truth: he'm no faither o' mine +if the blood in the veins do count for anything." + +Joan went to bed abruptly on this remark, and lay awake thinking and +wondering through a long night--thinking what she should say to Uncle +Chirgwin, wondering when "Mister Jan" was coming back to her, and picturing +his excitement at her intelligence. In the morning she packed her box, ate +her breakfast, and then went into the village to find somebody who would +carry her scanty luggage as far as Penzance. From there, an omnibus ran +through Drift, past Mr. Chirgwin's farmhouse door. Joan herself designed to +walk, the distance by road from Newlyn being but trifling. It chanced that +the girl met Billy Jago, he who in early spring had cut down an elm tree +while John Barron watched. Him Joan knew, for he had worked on her uncle's +farm for many years. Mr. Jago, who could be relied upon to do simple +offices, undertook the task readily enough and presently arrived with a +wheelbarrow. He whined, as ever, about his physical sufferings, but drank a +cup of tea with evident enjoyment, then fetched Joan's box from her room +and set off with it to meet the public vehicle. Her goods were to be left +at Drift, and Joan herself started at an early hour, wishing to be at the +farm before her property. She walked in the garden for the last time, +marked the magic progress of spring, then took an unemotional leave of her +stepmother. + +"There 'edn' no call to leave no message as I can see," said Joan, while +she stood at the door. "He ban't my faither, he sez, so I'll take it for +truth. But I'll ask you to kiss Tom for me. Us was allus good brother an' +sister, whether or no; an' I loves en dearly." + +"Iss, I knaw. He'll grizzle an' fret proper when he finds you'm gone. +Good-by to 'e. May the Lard forgive 'e, an' send your man 'long smart; an' +for heaven's sake doan't lose them notes." + +"They be safe stawed next to my skin. Uncle Chirgwin'll look to them; an' +you needn't be axin' God A'mighty to forgive me, 'cause I abbun done +nothin' to want it. I be Nature's cheel now; an' I be in kindly hands. You +caan't understand that, but I knaws what I knaws through bein' taught. +Good-by to 'e. Maybe us'll see each other bimebye." + +Joan held out her hand and Mrs. Tregenza shook it. Then she stood and +watched her stepdaughter walk away into Newlyn. The day was cold and +unpleasant, with high winds and driving mists. The village looked grayer +than usual; the boats were nearly all away; the gulls fluttered in the +harbor making their eternal music. Seaward, white horses flecked the leaden +water; a steamer hooted hoarsely, looming large under the low, sullen sky, +as it came between the pierheads. Presently a scat of heavy rain on a +squall of wind shut out the harbor for a time. Mrs. Tregenza waited until +Joan had disappeared, then went back to her kitchen, closed the door, sat +in Gray Michael's great chair by the hearth, put her apron over her head +and wept. But the exact reason for her tears she could not have explained, +for she did not know it. Mingled emotions possessed her. Disappointment had +something to do with this present grief; sorrow for Joan was also +responsible for it in a measure. That the girl should have asked her to +kiss Tom was good, Thomasin thought, and the reflection moved her to +further tears; while that Joan was going to put her money into the keeping +of a simple old fool like Uncle Chirgwin seemed a highly pathetic +circumstance to Mrs. Tregenza. Indeed, the more she speculated upon it the +sadder it appeared. + +Meanwhile Joan, leaving Newlyn and turning inland along the little lane +which has St. Peter's church and the Newlyn brook upon its right, escaped +the wind and found herself walking through an emerald woodland world all +wrapped in haze and rain. Past the smelting works, where purple smoke made +wonderful color in rising against the young green, over the brook and under +the avenue of great elms went Joan. Her heart ached this morning, and she +thought of yesterday. It seemed as though a hundred years of experience had +passed over her since she knelt by St. Madron's stone altar. She told +herself bitterly how much wiser she was to-day, and, so thinking strange +thoughts, tramped forward over Buryas Bridge, and faced the winding hill +beyond. Then came doubts. Perhaps after all St. Madron had answered her +prayer. Else why the underlying joy that now fringed her sorrows with +happiness? + +Drift is a place well named, when seen, as then, gray through sad-colored +curtains of rain on the bare hilltop. But the orchard lands of the coomb +below were fair, and many primroses twinkled in the soaking green of the +tall hedge-banks. Joan splashed along through the mud, and presently a lump +rose in her throat, born of thoughts. It had seemed nothing to leave the +nest on the cliff, and she held her head high and thanked God for a great +deliverance. That was less than an hour ago; yet here, on the last hill to +Drift and within sight of the stone houses clustering at the summit, her +head sank lower and lower, and it was not the rain which dimmed her eyes. +She much doubted the value of further prayers now, yet every frantic hope +and aspiration found its vent in a petition to her new God, as Joan mounted +the hill. She prayed, because she could think of no other way to soothe her +heart; but her mind was very weary and sad--not at the spectacle of the +future, for that she knew was going to be fair enough--but at the vision of +the past, at the years ended forever, at the early pages of life closed and +locked, to be opened again no more. A childhood, mostly quite happy, was +over; she would probably visit the house wherein she was born never again. +But even in her sorrow, the girl wondered why she should be sad. + +Mr. Chirgwin's farm fronted the highway, and its gray stone face was +separated therefrom by a small and neat patch of garden. Below the house a +gate opened into the farmyard, and Uncle Chirgwin's land chiefly sloped +away into the coomb behind, though certain fields upon the opposite side of +the highroad also pertained to him. The farmhouse was time-stained, and the +stone had taken some wealth of color where black and golden lichens fretted +it. The slates of the roof shone with wet and reflected a streak of white +light that now broke the clouds near the hidden sun. The drippings from the +eaves had made a neat row of little regular holes among the crocuses in the +garden. Tall jonquils also bent their heads there, heavy with water, and +the white violets which stood in patches upon either side of the front door +had each a raindrop glimmering within its cup. A japonica splashed one gray +wall with crimson blossoms and young green leaves; but, for the rest, this +house-front was quite bare. Joan saw Mary Chirgwin's neat hand in the snowy +short blinds which crossed the upper windows; and she knew that the +geraniums behind the diamond panes of the parlor were her uncle's care. +They dwelt indoors, winter and summer, and their lanky, straggling limbs +shut out much light. + +The visitor did not go to the front door, whither a narrow path, flanked +with handsome masses of "Cornish diamonds," or quartz crystals, directly +led from the wicket, but entered at a larger gate which led into the +farmyard. Here cattle-byres and shippons ranged snugly on three sides of an +open space, their venerable slates yellow with lichens, their thatches +green with moss. In the center of the yard a great manure heap made +comfortable lying for pigs and poultry; while the farmhouse stretched back +upon the fourth side. Another gate opened beyond it, and led to the land +upon the sloping hill and in the valley below. Joan passed a row of cream +pans, shining like frosted silver in the mist, then turned from the bleak +and dripping world. The kitchen door was open, and revealed a large, low +chamber whose rafters were studded with orange-colored hams, whose +fireplace was vast and black save for a small wood fire filling but a +quarter of the hearth. Grocer's almanacs brought brave color to the walls, +sharing the same with a big dresser where the china made a play of +reflected light from the windows. Above the lofty mantel-piece there hung +an old fowling-piece, and a row of faded Daguerreotypes, into most of which +damp had eaten dull yellow patches. The mantel-shelf carried some rough +stoneware ornaments, an eight-day clock, a tobacco jar, and divers small +utensils of polished tin. A big table covered with American cloth filled +the center of the kitchen, a low settle crossed the alcove of the window, +and a leather screen, of four folds and five feet high, surrounded Uncle +Chirgwin's own roomy armchair in the chimney-corner. Strips of cocoanut +fiber lay upon the ground, but between them appeared the bare floor. It was +paved with blue stone for the most part, though here and there a square of +white broke the color; and the white patches had worn lower than the rest +under many generations of hobnailed boots. A faint odor of hams was in the +air, and the slight, stuffy smell of feathers. + +A woman sat in the window as Joan entered. She had her back to the door, +and not hearing the footfall, went on with her work, which was the plucking +of a fowl. A cloth lay spread over the floor at her feet, and each moment +the pile of feathers upon it increased as the plucker worked with rhythmic +regularity and sang to herself the while. + +Mary Chirgwin was a dark, good-looking girl, with a face in which strong +character appeared too prominently shadowed to leave room for absolute +beauty. But her features were regular if swarthy; her eyes were splendid, +and her brow, from which black hair was smoothly and plainly parted away, +rose broad and low. There was nothing to mark kinship between the cousins +save that both held their heads finely and possessed something of the same +distinction of carriage. Mary was eight-and-twenty, and, whatever might be +thought about her face, there could be but one opinion upon her feminine +splendor of figure. Her broad chest produced a strange speaking and singing +voice--mellow as Joan's, but far deeper in the notes. Mary gloried in +congregational melodies, and those who had not before heard her efforts at +church on Sundays would often mistake her voice for a man's. She was +dressed in print with a big apron overall; and her sleeves, turned up to +her elbows, showed a pair of fine arms, perfect as to shape, but brown of +color as the woman's face. + +Joan stood motionless, then her cousin looked round suddenly and started +almost out of her chair at a sight so unexpected. But she composed herself +again instantly, put down the semi-naked fowl and came forward. They had +not seen each other since the time when Joe Noy flung over Mary for Joan; +and the latter, remembering this circumstance very well, had hoped she +might escape from meeting her cousin until after some talk with Uncle +Thomas. But Mary hid her emotion from Joan's sight, and they shook hands +and looked into one another's faces, each noting marked changes there since +the last occasion of their meeting. The elder spoke first, and went +straight to the past. It was her nature to have every connection and +concern of life upon a definite and clear understanding. She hated mystery, +she disliked things hidden, she never allowed the relations between herself +and any living being to stand otherwise than absolutely defined. + +"You'm come, Joan, at last, though 'twas a soft day to choose. Listen +to me, will 'e? Then us can let the past lie, same as us lets sleepin' +dogs. I called 'pon God to blight your life, Joan Tregenza, when--you +knaw. I thot I weer gwaine to die, an' I read the cussin' psalm +[Footnote: _The Cursing Psalm--Psalm CIX_. If read by a wronged person +before death, it was, and is sometimes yet, supposed to bring +punishment upon the evil-doer.] agin you. 'Feared to me as you'd +stawl the awnly thing as ever brot a bit o' brightness to my life. But +that's all over. Love weern't for me; I awnly dreamed it weer. An' I +larned better an' didn't die; an' prayed to God a many times to +forgive that first prayer agin you. The likes o' you doan't know nort +'bout the grim side o' life or what it is to lose the glory o' +lovin'. But I doan't harbor no ill agin you no more." + +"You'm good to hear, Polly, an' kind words is better'n food to me now. I'll +tell 'e 'bout myself bimebye. But I must speak to uncle fust. Things has +happened." + +"Nothin' wrong wi' your folks?" + +"I ain't got no folks no more. But I'll tell 'e so soon's I've tawld Uncle +Thomas." + +"He'm in the croft somewheers. Better bide till dinner. Uncle'll be back by +then." + +"I caan't, Mary--not till I've spoke wi' en. I'll gaw long down Green Lane, +then I shall meet en for sure. An' if a box o' mine comes by the omblibus, +'tis right." + +"A box! Whatever is there in it, Joan?" + +"All's I've gotten in the world--leastways nearly. Doan't ax me nothin' +now. You'll knaw as soon as need be." + +Without waiting for more words Joan departed, hastened through the gate on +the inner wall of the farmyard and walked along the steep hillside by a +lane which wound muddily downward to the grasslands, under high hazel +hedges. The new leaves dripped showers at every gust of the wind, then a +gleam of wan sunlight brightened distant vistas of the way, while Joan +heard the patter of a hundred hoofs in the mud, the bleat of lambs, the +deeper answer of ewes, the barking of a shepherd's dog. Soon the cavalcade +came into view--a flock of sheep first, a black and white dog with a black +and white pup, which was learning his business, next, and Uncle Chirgwin +himself bringing up the rear. The first sunshine of the day seemed to have +found him out. It shone over his round red face and twinkled in the dew on +his white whiskers. He stumped along upon short, gaitered legs, but went +not fast, and stayed at the steep shoulder of the hill that his lambs might +have rest and time to suck. + +Mary Chirgwin meantime speculated on this sudden mystery of her cousin's +arrival. She spread the cloth for dinner, bid her maid lay another place +for Joan and wondered much what manner of news she brought. There were +changes in Joan's face since she saw it last--not changes which might have +been attributed to the possession of Joe Noy, but an alteration of +expression betokening thought, a look of increased age, of experiences not +wholly happy in their nature. + +And Joan had also marked the changes in Mary. These indications were clear +enough and filled her with sorrow. A river of tears will leave its bed +marked upon a woman's face; and Joan, who had never thought overmuch of her +cousin's sorrows until then, began to feel her heart fill and run over with +sudden sympathy. She asked herself what life would look like for her if +"Mister Jan"; changed his mind now and never came back again. That was how +Mary felt doubtless when Joe Noy left her. Already Joan grew zealous in +thought for Mary. She would teach her something of that sweet wisdom which +was to support her own burden in the future; she would tell her about +Nature--the "All-Mother" as "Mister Jan" called her once. And, concerning +Joe Noy--might it be within the bounds of possibility, within the power of +time to bring these two together again? The thought was good to Joan, and +wholly occupied her mind until the sight of Uncle Chirgwin with his sheep +brought her back to the present moment and her own affairs. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +A PROBLEM + + +When Mr. Chirgwin caught sight of Joan his astonishment knew no bounds, and +his first thought was that something must certainly be amiss. He stood in +the roadway, a picture of surprise, and, for a moment, forgot both his +sheep and lambs. + +"My stars, Joan! Be it you really? Whatever do 'e make at Drift, 'pon such +a day as this? No evil news, I hope?" + +"Uncle," she answered, "go slow a bit an' listen to what I've got to say. +You be a kind, good sawl as judges nobody, ban't you? And you love me +'cause your sister was my mother?" + +"Surely, surely, Joan; an' I love you for yourself tu--nobody better in +this world." + +"You wouldn' go for to send me to hell-fire, would 'e?" + +"God forbid, lass! Why, whatever be talkin' 'bout?" + +"Uncle Thomas, faither's not my faither no more now. He've turned me out +his house an' denied me. I ban't no darter of his henceforrard; an' he'm no +faither o' mine. He don't mean never to look 'pon my faace agin, nor me +'pon his. The cottage edn' no home for me no more." + +"Joan, gal alive! what talk be this?" + +"'Tis gospel. I'm a damned wummon, 'cordin' to my faither as was." + +"God A'mighty! You--paart a Chirgwin--as comed, o' wan side, from her as +loved the Lard so dear, an', 'pon t'other, from him as feared un so much. +Never, Joan!" + +"Uncle Thomas, I be in the fam'ly way; an' faither's damned me, an' +likewise the man as loves me, an' the cheel I be gwaine to bring in the +world. I've comed to hear you speak. Will you say the same? If you will, +I'll pack off this instant moment." + +The old man stood perfectly still and his jaw went down while he breathed +heavily; a world of amazement and piteous sorrow sat upon his face; his +voice shook and whistled in the sound as he answered. + +"Joan! My poor Joan! My awn gal, this be black news--black news. Thank God +she'm not here to knaw--your mother." + +"I've done no wrong, uncle; I ban't 'shamed of it. He'm a true, good man, +and he'm comin' to marry me quick." + +"Joe Noy?" + +"No, no, not him. I thot I loved en well till Mister Jan comed, an' opened +my blind eyes, an' shawed me what love was. Mister Jan's a gen'leman--a +furriner. He caan't live wi'out me no more; he's said as he caan't. An' I'm +droopin' an' longin' for the sight o' en. An' I caan't bide in the streets, +so I axes you to keep me till Mister Jan do come to fetch me. I find words +hard to use to 'splain things, but his God's differ'nt to what the Luke +Gosp'lers' is, an' I lay 'tis differ'nt to yourn. But his God's mine +anyways, an' I'm not afeared o' what I done, nor 'shamed to look folks in +the faace. That's how 'tis, Uncle Thomas. 'Tis Nature, you mind, an' I be +Nature's cheel no--wi' no faither nor mother but her." + +The old man was snuffling, and a tear or two rolled down his red face, +gathered the damp already there and fell. He groaned to himself, then +brought forth a big, red pocket-handkerchief, and wept outright, while Joan +stood silently regarding him. + +"I'd rather a met death than this; I'd rather a knawn you was coffined." + +"Oh, if I could awnly 'splain!" she cried, frantically; "if I awnly could +find his words 'pon my tongue, but I caan't. They be hid down deep in me, +an' by them I lives from day to day; but how can I make others see same as +I see? I awnly brings sorrer 'pon sorrer now. Theer's nothin' left but him. +If you could a heard Mister Jan! You would understand, wi' your warm heart, +but I caan't make 'e; I've no terrible, braave, butivul words. I'll gaw my +ways then. If any sawl had tawld me as I'd ever bring tears down your faace +I'd never b'lieved 'em--never; but so I have, an' that's bitterness to me." + +He took her by the hand and pressed it, then put his arm round her and +kissed her. His white bristles hurt, but Joan rejoiced exceedingly, and now +it was her turn to shed tears. + +"He'll come back--he'm a true man," she sobbed; "theer ban't the likes o' +Mister Jan in Carnwall, an'--an' if you knawed en, you'd say no less. You'm +the fust as have got to my heart since he went; an' he'd bless 'e if he +knawed." + +"Come along with me, Joan," answered Uncle Chirgwin, straightening himself +and applying his big handkerchief to her face. "God send the man'll be +'longside 'e right soon, as you sez. Till he do come, you shaan't leave me +no more. Drift's home for you while you'm pleased to bide theer. An' I'll +see your faither presently, though I wish 'twas any other man." + +"I knawed you was all us the same; I knawed you'd take me in. An' Mister +Jan shall knaw. An' he'll love you for't when he do." + +"Come an' see me put the ewes an' lambs in the croft; then us'll gaw to +dinner, an' I'll hear you tell me all 'bout en." + +He tried hard to put a hopeful face upon the position and, himself as +simple as a child, presently found Joan's story not hopeless at all. He +seemed indeed to catch some of her spirit as she proceeded and painted the +manifold glories of "Mister Jan" in the best language at her command. To +love Nature was no sin; Mr. Chirgwin himself did so; and as for the money, +instead of reading the truth of it, he told himself very wisely that the +giver of a sum so tremendous must at least be in earnest. The amount +astounded him. Fired by Joan's words, for as he played the ready listener +her eloquence increased, he fell to thinking as she thought, and even +speaking hopefully. The old farmer's reflections merely echoed his own +simple trust in men and had best not been uttered, for they raised Joan's +spirits to a futile height. But he caught the contagion from her and spoke +with sanguine words of the future, and even prayed Joan that, if wealth and +a noble position awaited her, she would endeavor to brighten the lives of +the poor as became a good Cornish woman. This she solemnly promised, and +they built castles in the air: two children together. His sheep driven to +their new pasture, Uncle Chirgwin led the way home and listened as he +walked to Joan's story. She quite convinced him before he reached his +kitchen door--partly because he was very well content to be convinced, +partly because he could honestly imagine no man base enough to betray this +particular blue-eyed child. + +Mr. Chirgwin's extremely unworldly review of the position was balm to Joan. +Her heart grew warm again, and the old man's philosophy brightened her +face, as the sun, now making a great clearness after rain, brightened the +face of the land. But the recollection of Mary Chirgwin sobered her uncle +not a little. How she would take this tremendous intelligence he failed to +guess remotely. Opportunity to impart it occurred sooner than he expected, +for Joan's box had just arrived. During dinner the old man explained that +his niece was to be a visitor at Drift for a term of uncertain duration; +and after the meal, when Joan disappeared to unpack her box and make tidy a +little apple-room, which was now empty and at her service, Uncle Chirgwin +had speech with Mary. He braced himself to the trying task, waited until +the kitchen was empty of those among his servants who ate at his table, and +then replied to the question which his niece promptly put. + +"What do this mean, Uncle Thomas? What's come o' Joan that she do drop in +'pon us like this here wi' never a word to say she was comin'?" + +"Polly," he answered, "your cousin Joan have seen sore trouble, in a manner +o' speakin', an' you'd best to knaw fust as last. Us must be large-minded +'bout a thing like this She'm tokened to a gen'leman from Lunnon." + +"What! An' him--Joe Noy?" + +"To he plain wi' you, Polly, she've thrawed en over. Listen 'fore you +speaks. 'Twas a match o' Michael Tregenza's makin', I reckon, an', so +like's not, Joe weern't any more heart-struck than Joan. I finds it hard to +feel as I ought to Gray Michael, more shame to me. But Joan's failed in +love wi' a gen'leman, an' he with her, an' he'm comin' any mornin' to fetch +'er--an'--an'--you must be tawld--'tis time as he did come. An' he've sent +Joan a thousand pound o' paper money to shaw as 'e means the right thing." + +But the woman's mind had not followed these last facts. Her face was white +to the lips; her hands were shaking. She put her head down upon them as she +sat by the fire, and a groan which no power could strangle broke from her +deep bosom. She spoke, and regretted her words a moment later. "Oh, my God! +an' he brawk off wi' me for the likes o' she!" + +"Theer, theer, lass Mary, doan't 'e, doan't 'e. You've hid your tears that +cunnin', but my old eyes has seen the marks this many day an' sorrered for +'e. 'Tis a hard matter viewed from the point what you looks 'pon it; but I +knaws you, my awn good gal; I knaws your Saviour's done a 'mazin' deal to +hold you up. An' 'twont be for long, 'cause the man'll come for her mighty +soon seemin'ly. Can 'e faace it, the Lard helpin'? Poor Joan's bin kicked +out the house by her faither. I do _not_ like en--never did. What do +'e say? She doan't count it no sin, mind you, an' doan't look for no +reprovin', 'cause the gen'leman have taught her terrible coorious ideas; +but 'tis just this: we'm all sinners, eh, Polly? An' us caan't say 'sactly +what size a sin do look to God A'mighty's eye. An' us have got the Lard's +way o' handlin' sich like troubles writ out clear--eh? Eh, Polly? He dedn' +preach no sermon at the time neither." + +The old man prattled on, setting out the position in the most favorable +light to Joan that seemed possible to him. But his listener was one no +longer. She had forgotten her cousin and the present circumstances, for her +thoughts were with a sailor at sea. One tremendous moment of savage joy +gripped her heart, but the primitive passion perished in its birth-pang and +left her cold and faint and ashamed. She wondered from what unknown, +unsecured corner of her soul the vile thing came. It died on the instant, +but the corpse fouled her thoughts and tainted them and made her feel faint +again. The irony of chance burst like a storm on the woman, and mazes of +tangled thoughts made her brain whirl in a chaos of bewilderment. She sat +motionless, her face dark, and much mystery in her wonderful eyes, while +Mr. Chirgwin, with shaking head and scriptural quotation and tears, babbled +on, pleading for Joan with all his strength. Mary heard little of what he +said. She was occupied with facts and asking herself her duty. From the +storm in her mind arose a clear question at last, and she could not answer +it. The point had appeared unimportant to anybody but Mary Chirgwin, but no +question of conduct ever looked trivial to her. At least the doubt was +definite and afforded mental occupation. She wondered now whether it was +well or possible that she and Joan could live together under the same roof. +Why such a problem had arisen she knew not; but it stood in the path, a +fact to be dealt with. Her heart told her that Joan and her uncle alike +erred in the supposition that the girl's seducer would ever return. She +read the great gift of money as Thomasin had read it--rightly; and the +thought of living with Joan was at first horrible to her. + +Mr. Chirgwin talked and Mary reflected. Then she rose to leave the room. + +"'Tis tu gert a thing for me to say--no wummon was ever plaaced like what I +be now. I do mean to see passon at Sancreed, uncle. He'll knaw what's right +for me. If he bids me stay, I'll stay. 'Tis the thot o' Joe Noy maddens me. +My head'll burst if I think any more. I'll go to passon." + +"Whether you'll stay, Polly! Why shouldn't 'e stay? Surely it do--" + +"Doan't 'e talk no more 'tall, uncle. You caan't knaw what this is to me, +you doan't understan' a wummon faaced wi' a coil like this here. Joe--Joe +as loved 'er, I s'pose, differ'nt to what 'e did me. An' she, when his back +weer turned--an'--an'--me--God help me!--as never could do less than love +en through all!" + +She was gone before he had time to answer, but he realized her mighty agony +of mind and stood dumb and frightened before it. Then a thought came +concerning Joan and he felt that, at all costs, he must speak to Mary again +before she went out. Mr. Chirgwin waited quietly at the stair-foot until +she came down. The turmoil was in her eyes still, but she spoke calmly and +listened to him when he replied. + +"Doan't 'e say nuthin' to Joan, Uncle Thomas. I be gwaine to larn my duty, +as is hidden from me. An' my duty I will do." + +"An' so you alias have, Polly, since you was a grawed gal; an' God knaws +it. But--do'e think as you could--in a manner o' speakin'--hide names from +passon? Ban't no call to tell what's fallen out to other folks. Joan--eh, +Polly? Might 'e speak in a parable like--same as Scripture--wi'out namin' +no names. For Joan's sake, Mary--eh?" + +She was silent a full minute, then answered slowly. + +"I see what you mean, uncle. I hadn' thot o' she just then. Iss fay, you'm +right theer. Ban't no work o' mine to tell 'bout her." + +She hesitated, and the old man spoke again. + +"I s'pose that a bit o' prayer wouldn' shaw light on it--eh, Polly? Wi'out +gwaine to Sancreed. The Lard knaws your fix better'n what any words 'ud put +it clear to passon. An' theer's yourself tu. 'Pears to me, axin' your +pardon, for you'm clever'n what I am, that 'tedn' a tale what you can put +out 'fore any other body 'sactly--even a holy man like him." + +She saw at once that it was not. Her custom had been to get the +kind-hearted old clergyman of her parish church to soothe the doubts and +perplexities which not seldom rose within her strenuous mind. And before +this great, crushing problem, with the pretext of the one difficulty which +had tumbled uppermost from the chaos and so been grasped as a reality, she +had naturally turned to her guide and friend. But, as her uncle spoke, she +saw that in truth this matter could not be laid naked before any man. +Another's hidden life was involved; another's secret must come out if all +was told, and Mary's sense of justice warned her that this could not be. +She had taken her own mighty grief to the little parsonage at Sancreed, and +a kindly counselor, who knew sorrow at first hand, helped her upon the road +that henceforth looked so lonely and so long; but this present trial, +though it tore the old wounds open, must be borne alone. She saw as much, +and turned and went upstairs again to her chamber. + +"Think of her kindly," said Uncle Chirgwin as Mary left him without more +words. "She'm so young an' ignorant o' the gert world, Polly. An' if the +worst falls, which God forbid, 'tis her as'll suffer most, not we." + +"Us have all got to suffer an' suffer this side our graaves," she said, +mounting wearily. + +"So young an' purty as she be--the moral o' her mother. I doan't knaw--'tis +sich a wonnerful world--but them blue eyes--them round blue eyes couldn't +do a thing as was wrong afore God as wan might fancy," he said aloud, not +knowing she was out of earshot. Then he heaved a sigh, returned to the +kitchen, and presently departed to the fields. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +WAITING FOR "MISTER JAN" + + +With searching of heart, Mary Chirgwin spent time during that afternoon. In +one room Joan, happier than she had been for many days, set out her few +possessions, boldly hung the picture of Joe Noy's ship upon the wall and +gazed at it with affection, for it spoke of the painter, not the sailor, to +her; while, in a chamber hard by, Mary solved the problem of the day, +coming at her conclusion with great struggle of mind and clashing of +arguments. She resolved at last to abide at Drift with her uncle and with +Joan. The reason for those events now crowding upon her life was hidden +from her; and why Providence saw fit to awaken or mightily intensify the +sorrows which time was lulling to sleep, she could not divine. She accepted +her position, none the less, doubted nothing but that the secret hidden in +these matters would some day be explained, and, according to her custom +before the approach of all mundane events and circumstances affecting +herself, viewed the present trial as heaven-sent to purify and strengthen. +So your religious egotists are ever wont to read into the great waves of +chance, as here and there a ripple from them sets their own little vessels +shaking, as here and there some splash of foam, a puff of wind, strikes the +nutshell which floats their lives, a personal, deliberate intervention, an +event designed by the Everlasting to test their powers, ripen their +characters, equip their souls for an eternity of satisfaction. + +At tea time the cousins met again, and Uncle Chirgwin, returning from his +affairs, was rejoiced to learn Mary's decision. No outward sign marked her +struggle. She was calm, even stately, with a natural distinction which +physically appeared in her bearing and carriage. She chilled Joan a little, +but not with intention. Yet Joan was bold for her love and spoke no less +than the truth when she asserted that she viewed her position without shame +and without remorse. She spoke of it openly, fearlessly, and kept Uncle +Chirgwin on thorns between the cold silence of his elder niece and the +garrulous chatter of the younger. The saint was so stern, the sinner so +happy and so perfectly impressed with her own innocence, which latter fact +Mary too saw clearly; and it instantly solved half the problem in her mind. +Joan had obviously been sent to Drift that the truth might reach her heart. +She came a heathen from the outer darkness of sin, with vain babbling on +her lips and a mind empty. She called herself "Nature's child" and the +theatric thunders of Luke Gospeldom had never taught her that she was +God's. Here, then, was one to be brought into the fold with all possible +dispatch, and Mary, who loved religious battle, braced herself to the task +while silently listening to Joan, that she might the better learn what +manner of spiritual attack would best meet this sorry case. + +Uncle Chirgwin took charge of his niece's bank-notes, and, after some +persuasion, consented to accept the weekly sum of three shillings and +sixpence from Joan. He made many objections to any such arrangement, but +the girl overruled them, declaring absolutely that she would not stop at +Drift, even until her future husband's return, unless the payment of money +was accepted from her. It bred a secret joy in Joan to feel that "Mister +Jan's" wealth now enabled her to enjoy an independence which even Mary +could not share. She much desired to give more money, but Uncle Chirgwin +reduced the sum to three shillings and sixpence weekly and would take no +more. This wealth was viewed with very considerable loathing by Mary +Chirgwin, and she criticised her uncle's decision unfavorably; but he +accepted the owner's view, arguing that it was only justice to all parties +so to do, until facts proved whether Joan was mistaken. The notes did not +cause him uneasiness--at any rate during this stage of affairs--and he took +them to Penzance upon the occasion of his next visit. Mr. Chirgwin's lawyer +saw to the safe bestowal of the money; and when she heard that her nine +hundred pounds would produce about five-and-twenty every year and yet not +decrease the while, Joan was much astonished. + +Meantime John Barren neither came to fetch her, nor sent any writing to +tell of the causes for his delay. The girl was fruitful of new reasons for +his silence, and then grew a black fear which answered all doubts and, by +its reasonableness, terrified her. Perhaps "Mister Jan" was ill--too ill +even to write. He had but little strength--that she knew, and few +friends--of that Joan was also aware, for he had told her so. Yet, surely, +there were those, if only his servants, who might have written to bid her +hasten. A line--a single word--and she would get into the train and stop in +it until she saw "London" written on a board at a station. Then she would +leap out and find him and get to his heart and warm it and kiss life back +to his body, light to his loved gray eyes. So thinking, time dragged, and +as the novelty of the new life abated, and wore thin, Joan's spirits +wavered until long and longer intervals of gloomy sadness marked the +duration of each day for her. But she was young, and hope yet held revels +in her heart when the mood favored, when the wind was soft, the sun bright, +and Mother Nature seemed close and kind, as often happened. Joan worked +too, helping Mary and the maids, but after a wayward manner of her own. +There was no counting upon her and she loved better to be with her uncle, +abroad upon the land, or by herself, hidden in the orchard, in the fruit +garden, or in the secret places of the coomb. + +She had her favorite spots, for as yet that great, overwhelming regard for +the old stone crosses, which came to her afterward, had not grown into a +live passion. Her present pilgrimages were short, her shrines those of +Nature's building. Much she loved the arm of an ancient apple-tree hid in +the very heart of the orchard. A great gnarled limb bent abruptly out, grew +long and low, and was propped at a distance of three yards from the parent +tree. Midway between the stem and support, a crooked elbow of the bough +made a pleasant seat for Joan; and here, when life at the farm looked more +gray than common, she came and sometimes sat long hours. Her perch raised +her above a velvet scented sea of wall-flowers which ran in regular waves +beneath the apple-trees, under murmuring of many bees. The blossom above +Joan's head was all a lacework of sunny rose and cream; and the sun painted +glorious russet harmonies below, glinted magically in the green and white +above, turned the gray lichens, which clustered on the weather side of the +trunks and boughs, to silver. The glory of life here always heartened Joan. +She felt the immortality of Nature, who, from naked earth and barren +boughs, thus at the sun's smile splendidly awakened, and teemed and +overflowed with bewildering, inexhaustible luxuriance. Nor seldom this +aspect of her Mother's infinite wealth touched her blood, and a strange +sensation as of very lust of life made her wild. At such times she would +pick the green things and tear them and watch the colorless life ooze from +their wounds; she would gather blossoms and scatter them against the wind, +break buds open and pluck their hearts out, fill her mouth with sorrel and +young grass-shoots, and feel the cool saps of them upon her palate. And +sometimes her Mother frightened her, for the dim clouds hid beneath the +horizon of maternity were moving now and their color was dark. Nature had +as many moods as Joan and often looked distant and terrible. Poor little +blue-eyed "sister of the sun and moon!" She likened herself so bravely to +the other children of her Mother--to the stars, to the fair birch-trees, +where emerald showers now twinkled down over the silver stems, to the +uncurling fronds of the fern, to the little trout in the coomb-stream; and +yet she was not content as they were. + +"Her's good, so good, but oh! if her was a bit nigher--if I could sit in +her lap an' feel her arms around me an' thread the daisies into chains like +when I was a lil maid! But I be a grawed wummon now--an' yet caan't feel it +so--not yet. Her'll hold my hand, maybe, an' lead me 'pon the road past +pain an' sorrow. I can trust her, 'cause Mister Jan did say as Nature never +lies--never." + +So the child's thoughts wandered on a day when she sat upon the bough and +brought a shower of pale petals down with every movement. But as yet only +the shadows of shadows clouded her thoughts when she thought about herself. +It was the loneliness brought real care--the loneliness and the waiting. + +She spent time, too, in Uncle Chirgwin's old walled garden. This place and +its products went for little in the traffic of the farm, though every year +its owner was wont to count upon certain few baskets of choice fruit as an +addition to his income, and every year his hopes were blighted. For the +walls whereon his peaches and nectarines grew had stood through +generations, their red brick work was much fretted by time, and the +interstices between the bricks made snug homes for a variety of insects. +Joan once listened to her uncle upon this subject, and henceforth chose to +make his scanty fruit her special care. + +"'Tis like this," he explained, "an' specially wi' the necter'ns. The +moment they graws a shade, an' long afore they stone, them dratted lil auld +sow-pigs [Footnote: _Sow-pigs_--Woodlice.] falls 'pon 'em cruel. Then +they waits theer time till the ripenin', an', blame me, but the varmints do +allus knaw just a day 'fore I does, when things be ready, an' they eats the +peaches an' necter'ns by night, gouging 'em shameful, same as if you'd done +it wi' your nails. 'Tis a terrible coorious wall for sow-pigs, likewise for +snails; an' I be allus a gwaine to have en repaired an' pinted, but yet +somehow 'tedn' done. But your sharp eyes'll be a sight o' use wi' creepin' +things. 'Tis a reg'lar Noah's Ark o' a wall, to be sure; not but what I lay +theer's five pound worth o' stone fruit 'pon it most years if 'twas let +bide." + +Joan enjoyed watching the peaches grow. First they peeped like pearls from +the dried frills of their blossoms; then they expanded and cast off the +encumbrance of dead petals and nestled against the red bricks that sucked +up sunshine and held it for them when the sun had gone. She found the +garden wall was a whole busy world, and, taught by her vanished master, she +took interest in all that dwelt thereon. But the snails and woodlice she +slew ruthlessly that her uncle might presently come by his five pounds' +value of fruit. + +Mary Chirgwin speedily discovered the task of reforming her cousin was like +to be lengthy and arduous. There appeared no foundations upon which to +work, and while the certainty of Barron's return still remained with Joan +as a vital guide to conduct, no other gospel than that which he had taught +found her a listener. She refused to go to church, to Mary's chagrin and +Uncle Chirgwin's sorrow; but he explained the matter correctly and indeed +found a clew to most of Joan's actions at this season. Mary saw the old +man's growing love for the new arrival, and a smaller mind might have sunk +to jealousy quickly enough under such circumstances, but she, deeply +concerned with Joan's eternal welfare, rose above temporary details, At the +same time her uncle's mild and tolerant attitude caused her pain. + +"As to church-gwaine," he said, on a Sunday morning when he and his elder +niece had driven off to Sancreed as usual, leaving Joan in the orchard; +"she've larned to look 'pon it from a Luke Gosp'ler's pint o' view. Doan't +you fret, Polly. Let her bide. 'Twill come o' itself bimebye wan o' these +Sundays. Poor tiby lamb! Christ's a watchin' of her, Polly. An' if this +here gen'leman, by the name o' Mister Jan, doan't come--" + +"You make me daft!" she interrupted, with impatience. "D'you mean as you +ever thot he would?" + +"I hopes. Theer's sich a 'mazin' deal o' good in human nature. Mayhap he'm +wraslin' wi' his sawl to this hour. An' the Lard do allus fight 'pon the +side o' conscience. Iss fay! Some 'ow I do think as he'll come." + +Mary said no more. She was quite positive that her cousin and her uncle +were alike mistaken; but she saw that, until the hard truth forced itself +upon Joan, the girl would go her present way. It was not that Joan lacked +goodness and sweetness, but, in Mary's opinion, she took an obstinate and +wrong-headed course upon the one vital subject of her own salvation. Mary +fought with herself to love Joan, and the battle now was only hard when Joe +Noy came within the scope of her thoughts. She banished him as much as she +could, but it never grew easy, and the complex problems bred of reflections +on this theme maddened her. For she had always loved him, and that +affection, thrust away as deadly-sin, when he left her for another, could +not be wholly strangled now. + +Time hung heavily and more heavily with Joan at Drift. A fortnight passed; +but the hope of the ignorant and trustful dies very hard and the faith +which is bred of absolute love has a hundred lives. The girl walked into +Penzance every second day, and hope blazed brightly on the road to the +post-office, then sank a little deeper into the hidden places of her heart +as she plodded empty-handed back to Drift. + +Slowly, and so gradually that she herself knew it not, her thoughts grew +something less occupied with John Barren, something more concerned about +herself. For the world was full of happy mothers now. One "Brindle"--a +knot-cow of repute--dropped a fine bull-calf in a croft hard by the +orchard, and Joan looked into "Brindle's" solemn eyes after the event, and +learned. She marveled to see the little brown calf stand on his shaking +legs within an hour of his birth; then his mother licked him lovingly, +while Uncle Chirgwin himself drew off her "buzzy milk." There was another +mother in a disused pigsty. There Joan found a red and white tortoise-shell +cat with four blind, squeaking atoms beside her, and as the cat rolled over +and the atoms sucked life, Joan saw her shining eyes, afore-time so bright +and hard, full of a new strange light, like the cloud that glimmers over +the fires of an opal. The cat's green orbs were full of mystery: of pain +past, of joy present. So again Joan learned. But a black tragedy blotted +out that little happy family in the pigsty, and Death, in the shape of Amos +Bartlett, Mr. Chirgwin's head man, fell upon them. Then the farmer learned +that his niece could be angry. One morning Joan found the mother cat +running wildly here and there, with a world of misery in its cry; while a +moment afterward she came upon the kittens in a duck pond. Mr. Bartlett was +present and explained. + +"Them chets had to gaw, missy. 'Tis a auld word an' it ban't wise to take +no count of sayings like that. 'May chets bad luck begets.' You've heard +tell o' that? Never let live no kittens born in May. They theer dead chets +comed May Day." + +"You'm a cruel devil!" she said hotly; "how'd you like for your two lil +children to be thrawed in the water, May or no May? Look at thicky cat, +breakin' her heart, poor twoad!" + +Mr. Bartlett was justly angry that Joan could dare to thus class his +priceless red-headed twins with a litter of dead kittens, and he said more +than was wise, ramming home a truth, and that coarsely. + +"Theer's plenty more wheer them comed from, I lay. Nachur's so free, you +see--tu free like sometimes. Ban't no dearth o' chets or childern as I've +heard on. They comes unaxed, an' unwanted tu. You might a heard tell o' +some sich p'raps?" + +She blushed and shook with passion at this sudden new aspect of affairs. +Here was a standpoint from which nobody had viewed her before. Worse--far +worse than her father's rage or Uncle Chirgwin's tears was this. Amos +Bartlett represented the world's attitude. The world would not be angry +with her, or cry for her; it would merely laugh and pass on, like Mr. +Bartlett. So Joan learned yet again; and the new knowledge cowed her for +full eight-and-forty hours. But the eyes of the mothers had taught Joan +something of the secret of pain, and a thread of gravity ran henceforth +through all thoughts concerning the future. She much marveled that "Mister +Jan" had never touched upon this leaf in the book. Beauty was what he +invariably talked about, and he found beauty hidden in many a strange +matter too; but not in pain. That was because he suffered himself +sometimes, Joan suspected. And yet, to her, pain, though she had never felt +it, seemed not wholly hideous. She surprised herself mightily by the depth +of her own thoughts now. She seemed to stand upon the brink of deep matters +guessing dimly at things hidden. Then her moods would break again from the +clouds to brightness. Hot sunshine on her cheek always raised her young +spirits, and her health, now excellent, threw joy into life despite the +ever-present anxiety. Then came a meeting which roused interest and brought +very genuine delight with it. + +It happened upon a fine Sunday afternoon, when Joan was walking through the +fields on the farm--those which extended southward--that she reached a +stile where granite blocks lay lengthwise, like the rungs of a ladder, +between two uprights. Here she stopped a while, and sat her down, and +looked out over the promise of fine hay. The undulating green expanse was +studded with the black knobs of ribwort plantain and gemmed with +buttercups, which here were dotted like sparks of fire, here massed in +broad bunches and splashes of color. The wind swept over the field, and its +course was marked by sudden flecks and ripples of transient sheeny light, +paler and brighter than the mass of the herbage. Then a figure appeared +afar off, following the course of the footpath where it wound through the +gold of the flowers and the silver of the bending grasses. It approached, +resolved itself into a fisher-boy and presently proved to be Tom Tregenza. +Joan ran forward to meet him as soon as the short figure, with its +exaggerated nautical roll, became known to her. She kissed her half-brother +warmly, and he hugged her and showed great delight at the meeting, for he +loved Joan well. + +"I've stealed away, 'cause I was just burstin' to get sight of 'e again, +Joan. Faither's home an' I comed off for a walk, creepin' round here an' +hopin' as we'd meet. 'Tis mighty wisht to home now you'm gone, I can tell +'e. I've got a sore head yet along o' you." + +"G'wan, bwoy! Why should 'e?" + +"Iss so. 'Twas like this. When us comed back from sea wan mornin' a week +arter you'd gone I ups an' sez, ''Tis 'bout as lively as bad feesh ashore +now Joan ban't here.' I dedn' knaw faither was in the doorway when I said +it, 'cause he'd give out you was never to be named no more. But mother seed +en an' sez to me, 'Shut your mouth.' An', not knawin' faither was be'ind +me, I ups agin an' sez, 'Why caan't I, as be her awn brother, see Joan +anyway an' hear tell what 'tis she've done? I lay as it ban't no mighty +harm neither, 'cause Joan's true Tregenza!'" + +"Good Lard! An' faither heard 'e?" + +"Iss, an' next minute I knawed it. He blazed an' roared, an' comed over an' +bummed my head 'pon the earhole--a buster as might 'a' killed some lads. My +ivers! I seed stars 'nough to fill a new sky, Joan, an' I went down tail +over nose. I doubt theer's nobody in Newlyn what can hit like faither. But +I got up agin an' sot mighty still, an' faither sez, 'She as was here ban't +no Tregenza, nor my darter, nor nothin' to none under my hellings +[Footnote: _Hellings_--Roof.] no more--never more, mark that.' Then +mother thrawed her apern over her faace an' hollered, 'cause I'd got such a +welt, an' faither walked out in the garden. I was for axin' mother then, +but reckoned not for fear as he might be listenin' agin. But I knawed you +was up Drift, 'cause I heard mother say that much; an' now I've sot eyes on +you agin; an' I knaw you'll tell me what's wrong wi' you; an' if I can do +anything for 'e I will, sink or swim." + +"Faither's a cruel beast, an' he'll come to a bad end, Tom, 'spite of they +Gosp'lers. He'm all wrong an' doan't knaw nothin' 'tall 'bout God. I do +knaw what I knaw. Theer's more o' God in that gert shine o' buttercups 'pon +the grass than in all them whey-faced chapel folks put together." + +"My stars, Joan!" + "'Tis truth, an' you'll find 'tis some day, same as what I have." + +"I doan't see how any lad be gwaine to make heaven myself," said Tom +gloomily. "Us had a mining cap'n from Camborne preach this marnin', an', by +Gollies! 'tweer like sittin' tu near a gert red'ot fire. Her rubbed it in, +I tell 'e, same as you rubs salt into a hake. Faither said 'twas braave +talk. But you, Joan, what's wrong with 'e, what have you done?" + +"I ain't done no wrong, Tom, an' you can take my word for't." + +"Do 'e reckon you'm damned, like what faither sez?" + +"Never! I doan't care a grain o' wheat what faither sez. What I done +weern't no sin, 'cause him, as be wiser an' cleverer an' better every way +than any man in Carnwall, said 'tweern't; an' he knawed. I've heard wise +things said, an' I've minded some an' forgot others. None can damn folks +but God, when all's done, an' He's the last as would; for God do love even +the creeping, gashly worms under a turned stone tu well to damn 'em. Much +more humans. I be a Nature's cheel an' doan't b'lieve in no devil an' no +hell-fire 'tall." + +"I wish I was a Nachur's cheel then." + +Joan flung down a little bouquet of starry stitchworts she had gathered +upon the way and turned very earnestly to Tom. + +"You _be_, you _be_ a Nature's cheel. Us all be, but awnly a few +knaws it." + +Tom laughed at this idea mightily. + +"Well, I'll slip back long, Joan; an' if I be a Nachur's cheel, I be; but I +guess I'll keep it a secret. If I tawld faither as I dedn' b'lieve in no +auld devil, I guess he'd hurry me into next world so's I might see for +myself theer was wan." + +They walked a little way together. Then Tom grew frightened and stopped his +companion. "Guess you'd best to be turnin'. Folks is 'bout everywheer in +the fields, bein' Sunday, an' if it got back to faither as I'd seed you, +he'd make me hop." + +"D'you like the sea still, Tom?" + +"Doan't I just! Better'n better; an' I be grawin' smart, 'cause I heard +faither tell mother so when I was in the wash'ouse an' they thot I wasn't. +Faither said as I'd got a hawk's eye for moorin's or what not. An' I licked +the bwoy on Pratt's bwoat a fortnight agone. A lot o' men seed me do't. I +hopes I'll hit so hard as faither hisself wan day, when I'm grawed. +Good-by, sister Joan. I'll see 'e agin when I can, an' bring up a feesh +maybe. Doan't say nothin' 'bout me to them at the farm, else it may get +back." + +So Tom marched off, speculating as to what particular lie would best meet +the case if cross-questioning awaited him on his return, and Joan watched +the thickset little figure very lovingly until it was out of sight. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +MEADOWSWEETS + + +June came. The wall-flowers were long plucked or dead, the last snows of +apple-blossom had vanished away, and the fruit was setting well. The +woodlice were already ruining the young nectarines. "They spiles 'em in +the growth an' scores 'em wi' their wicked lil teeth, then, come August +an' they ripens, they'll begin again. But the peaches they won't touch +now, 'cause of the fur 'pon 'em. Awnly they'll make up for't when the +things is ready for eatin'." So Uncle Thomas explained the position to +Joan. He, good man, had fulfilled his promise to see Michael Tregenza. +It happened that a load of oar-weed was wanted on the farm, and Mr. +Chirgwin, instead of sending one of the hands with horse and cart to +Newlyn according to his custom when seaweed was needed, went himself. +His elder niece expostulated with him and explained that such a trip +would be interpreted to mean straitened circumstances on the farm; but +her uncle was not proud, and when he explained that his real object was +an opportunity to speak with Joan's father Mary said no more. + +Screwing courage to the sticking-point, therefore, the old man went down to +Newlyn on a morning when Joan was not by to question his movements. Fortune +favored him. Michael had landed at daylight and was not sailing again till +dusk. The fisherman listened patiently, but Mr. Chirgwin's inconsequent and +sentimental conversation sounded as tinkling brass upon his ear. Both +argued the question upon religious grounds, but from an entirely different +standpoint. Michael was not at the trouble to talk much, for his visitor +seemed scarce worthy of powder and shot. He explained that he deemed it +damnation to hold unnecessary converse with sinners; that, by her act, Joan +had raised eternal barriers between herself and those of her own home, and, +indeed, all chosen people; that he had walked in the light from the dawn of +his days until the present time, and could not imperil the souls of his +wife, his son and himself by any further communion with one, in his +judgment, lost beyond faintest possibility of redemption. Uncle Chirgwin +listened with open mouth to these sentiments. He longed to relate how Joan +had repented of her offense, how she had thrown herself upon the Lord, and +found peace and forgiveness. No such thing could be recorded, however, and +he felt himself at a disadvantage. He prayed for mercy on her behalf, but +mercy was a luxury Gray Michael deemed beyond the reach of man. He showed +absolutely no emotion upon the subject, and his chill unconcern quenched +the farmer's ardor. Mr. Chirgwin mourned mightily that he held not a +stronger case. Joan had tied his hands, at any rate, for the present. If +she would only come round, accept the truth and abandon her present +attitude--then he knew that he would fight like a giant for her, and that, +with right upon his side, he would surely prevail. His last words upon the +subject shadowed this conviction. + +"Please God time may soften 'e, Tregenza; an', maybe, soften Joan tu. Her +heart's warm yet, an' the truth will find its plaace theer in the Lard's +awn time; but you--I doubt 'tedn' in you to change." + +"Never, till wrong be right." + +"You makes me sorry for 'e, Tregenza." + +"Weep for yourself, Thomas Chirgwin. You'm that contented, an' the +contented sawl be allus farthest from God if you awnly knawed it. Wheer's +your fear an' tremblin' too? I've never seed 'e afeared or shaken 'fore the +thrawn o' the Most High in your life. But I 'sure 'e, thee'll come to it." + +"An' you say that!' You'm 'mazin' blind, Tregenza, for all you walk in the +Light. The Light's dazed 'e, I'm thinkin', same as birds a breakin' theer +wings 'gainst lighthouse glasses. You sez you be a worm twenty times a day, +an' yet you'm proud enough for Satan hisself purty nigh. If you'm a worm, +why doan't 'e act like a worm an' be humble-minded? 'Tis the lil childern +gets into heaven. You'm stiff-necked, Michael Tregenza. I sez it respectful +an' in sorrer; but 'tis true." + +"I hope the Lard won't lay thy sin to thy charge, my poor sawl," answered +the fisherman with perfect indifference. "You--you dares to speak agin me! +I wish I could give 'e a hand an' drag 'e a lil higher up the ladder o' +righteousness, Chirgwin; but you'm o' them as caan't dance or else won't, +not if God A'mighty's Self piped to 'e. Go your ways, an' knaw you'm in the +prayers of a man whose prayers be heard." + +"Then pray for Joan. If you'm so cocksure you gets a hearin' 'fore us +church folks, 'tis your fust duty to plead for her." + +"It was," he said. "Now it is too late, I've sweated for her, an' wrastled +wi' principalities an' powers for her, an' filled the night watches by sea +an' shore wi' gert agonies o' prayer for her. But 'tweern't to be. Her +name's writ in the big Book o' Death, not the small Book o' Life. David +prayed hard till that cheel, got wrong side the blanket, died. Then he +washed his face an' ate his meat. 'Twas like that wi' me. Joan's dead now. +Let the dead bury theer dead." + +"'Tis awful to hear 'e, Tregenza." + +"The truth's a awful thing, Chirgwin, but a lie is awfuler still. 'Tis the +common fate to be lost. You an' sich as you caan't grasp the truth 'bout +that. Heaven's no need to be a big plaace--theer 'edn' gwaine to be no +crowdin' theer. 'Tis hell as'll fill space wi' its roominess." + +"I be gwaine," answered Mr. Chirgwin. "Us have talked three hour by the +clock, an' us ain't gotten wan thot in common. I trusts in Christ; you +trusts in yourself. Time'll shaw which was right. You damn the world; I +wouldn't damn a dew-snail. [Footnote: _Dew-snail_--A slug.] I awnly +sez again, 'May you live to see all the pints you'm wrong.' An' if you do, +'twill be a tidy big prospect." + +They exchanged some further remarks in a similar strain. Then Tom informed +Uncle Chirgwin that his cart with a full load of oar-weed was waiting at +the door. Whereupon the old man got his hat, loaded his pipe, wished +Thomasin good-by, and drove sorrowfully away. Mrs. Tregenza had secretly +inquired after Joan's health and wealth. That the first was excellent, the +second carefully put away in the lawyer's hands, caused her satisfaction. +She told Mr. Chirgwin to make Joan write out a will. + +"You never knaws," she said. "God keep the gal, but they do die now an' +agin. 'Tweer better she wrote about the money 'cordin' to a lawyer's way. +And, say, for the Lard's love, not to leave it to Michael. So well light a +fire wi' it as that. He bawled out as the money had lit a fire a'ready, +when I touched 'pon it to en--a fire as was gwaine to burn through +eternity; but Michael's not like a human. His ideas 'pon affairs is all +pure Bible. You an' me caan't grasp hold o' all he says. An' the money's +done no wrong. So you'll drop in Joan's ear as it might be worldly-wise to +save trouble by sayin' what should be done if anything ill failed 'pon +her--eh?" + +Uncle Chirgwin promised that he would do so, and Mrs. Tregenza felt a +weight off her mind which had distressed it for some while. She was +thinking of Tom, of course. She knew that Joan loved him, and though the +prospect of his ever coming by a penny of the money appeared slender, yet +to think that he might be in a will, named for hundreds of pounds, was a +shadowy sort of joy to her. + +That night Joan's uncle told the girl of his afternoon's work, and she +expressed some sorrow that he should have thus exerted himself on her +behalf. + +"Faither's dirt beside the likes of you," she said. "'Twas wastin' good +time to talk to en, an' I wouldn't go back to Newlyn, you mind, if he was +to ax me 'pon his knees. I'm a poor fool of a gal, but I knaws enough to +laugh at the ignorance o' faither an' that fiddle-faaced crowd to the Luke +Gospel Chapel." + +"Doan't 'e be bitter, Joan. Us all makes mistakes an' bad's the best o' +human creatures. Your faither will chaange, sure as I'm a livin' man, some +day. God ban't gwaine to let en gaw down to's graave wi' sich a 'mazin' +number o' wrong opinions. Else think o' the wakin' t'other side! Iss, it +caan't be. Why, as 'tis, if he went dead sudden, he'd gaw marchin' into +heaven as bold as brass, an' bang up to the right hand o' the thrawne! +Theer's a situation for a body! An' the awk'ardness o' havin' to step +forrard an' tell en! No, no, the man'll be humbled sure 'fore his journey's +end. Theer's Everlasting eyes 'pon en, think as you may." + +"I never think at all about him," declared Joan, "an' I ban't gwaine to. He +won't chaange, an' I never wants en to. I've got you to love me, an' to +love; an' I'm--I'm waitin' for wan as be gawld to faither's dross." + +She sighed as she spoke. + +"Waitin' for en still?" + +"Ay, for Mister Jan. It caan't be no gert length o' time now. I s'pose days +go quicker up Lunnon town than wi' us." + +"Joan, my dovey, 'tis idle. Even I sees it now. I did think wi' you fust as +he was a true man. I caan't no more. I wish I could." + +A month before Joan would have flashed into anger at such a speech as this, +but now she did not answer. Young love is fertile in imagination. She had +found a thousand glories in John Barren, and, when he left her, had woven a +thousand explanations for his delayed return. Now invention grew dull; +enthusiasm waned; her confidence was shaken, though she denied the fact +even to herself as a sort of treachery. But there is no standing still in +time. The remorseless fact of his non-return extended over weeks and +months. + +Mr. Chirgwin saw her silence, noted the little quiver of her mouth as he +declared his own loss of faith, stroked the hand she thrust dumbly into his +and felt her silence hurt his heart. + +Presently Joan spoke. + +"I've got none to b'lieve in en no more then--not wan now, not even you. +Whiles you stuck up for en I felt braave 'bout his comin'; now--now Mister +Jan have awnly got me to say a word for en. An' you doan't think he'm a +true man no more then, uncle?" + +"Lassie, I wish to God as I did. Time's time. Why ban't he here?" + +"I doan't dare think this is the end. I'm feared to look forrard now. If +it do wance come 'pon me as he've gone 'twill drive me mad, I knaws." + +"No, never, not if you'd awnly turn your faace the right way. Theer's +oceans o' comfort an' love waitin' for 'e, gal. You did belong to a hard +world, as I knaws who have just comed from speech wi' your faither; but +'twas a world o' clean eatin' an' dressin' an' livin'--a God-fearin' world +leadin' up'ards on a narrer, ugly road, but a safe road, I s'pose. An' you +left it. You'll say I be harsh, but my heart do bleed for 'e, Joan. If +you'd awnly drop this talk 'bout Nature, as none of us understands, an' +turn to the livin' Christ, as all can understand. That's wheer rest lies +for 'e, nowheers else. You'm like Eve in the garden. She was kindiddled an' +did eat an' lost eternal life an' had to quit Eden. An' 'tis forbidden +fruit as you've ate, not knawin' 'twas sich. Nature doan't label her +pisins, worse luck." + +"Eve? No, I ban't no Eve. She had Adam." + +There was a world of sorrow in the words and the hopeless ring in them +startled Uncle Chirgwin, for it denoted greater changes in the girl's mind +than he thought existed. She seemed nearer to the truth. It cut his heart +to see her suffering, but he thanked Heaven that the inevitable knowledge +was coming, and prayed it might be the first step toward peace. He was +silent with his thoughts, and Joan spoke again, repeating her last words. + +"Iss, Eve had Adam to put his arm around her an' kiss her wet eyes. He were +more to her than what the garden was, I'll lay, or God either. That's the +bitter black God o' my faither. What for did He let the snake in the garden +'tall if He really loved them fust poor fools? Why dedn' He put they +flamin' angels theer sooner. 'Twas the snake they should have watched an' +kep' out." + +Uncle Chirgwin looked at her with round terrified eyes. She had never +echoed Barron's sentiments to such a horrified listener. + +"Doan't, for pity's sake, Joan! The wickedness of it! Him as taught you to +think such frightful thoughts tried to ruin your sawl so well as your body. +Oh, if you'd awnly up an' say, 'That man was wrong an' I'll forget en an' +turn to the Saviour.'" + +"You caan't understan'. I do put ugly bits o' thot afore 'e, but if you'd +heard him as opened my eyes, you'd knaw 'tedn' ugly taken altogether. I +knaws so much, but caan't speak it out. Us done no sin, an' I ban't shamed +to look the sun in the faace, nor you. An' he will come--he will--if +theer's a kind God in heaven he'll come back to me. If 'e doan't, then I'll +say that faither's God's the right wan." + +"Doan't 'e put on a bold front, Joan gal. Theer's things tu deep for the +likes o' us. You ban't prayin' right, I reckon. Theer's a voice hid in you. +Listen to that. Nature's spawk to 'e an' now er's dumb. Listen to t'other, +lassie. Nature do guide beasts an' birds an' the poor herbs o' the field; +but you--you listen to t'other. You'll never be happy no more till you awns +'twas a sad mistake an' do ax in the right plaace for pardon." + +"I want no pardon," she said. "I have done no wrong, I tell 'e. Wheer's +justice to? 'Cause the man do bide away, I be wicked; if he comed back +to-morrer an' married me--what then? I be sinless in the matter of it, an' +Nature do knaw it, an' God do knaw it." + +But her breast heaved and her eyes were wet with unshed tears. Uncle +Chirgwin, her solitary trust and stand-by, had drifted away too. His hope +was dead and she could not revive it. He had never spoken so strongly +before, but now he was taking up Mary's line of action and had ranged +himself against her. It almost seemed to Joan that he reflected in a meek, +diluted fashion, as the moon turns the sun's golden fire to silver, +something of what he must have heard that afternoon from her father. This +defection acted definitely on the girl's temperament. She fought fear, +hardened her heart against doubt, cast suspicion far away as treason to +"Mister Jan" and gave to hope a new lease of life. She would be patient for +his sake, she would trust in him still. + +There was something grand in the loneliness, she told herself. He would +know perhaps one day of her great patient faith and love. And the trial +would make her brain and heart bigger and better fit her for the position +of wife to him. The struggle was fought by her with that courage which lies +beyond man's comprehension. She looked at the world with bright eyes when +there was necessity for facing it; she exhausted her ingenuity in schemes +for communicating with John Barron. If he only knew! She felt that even had +change darkened his affection for her, yet, most surely, the thought of the +baby must tempt him back again. Thus, with sustained bravery and ignorance, +she left her hand in Nature's, and her faith, rising gloriously above the +doubt of the time, trusted that majestic heathen goddess as a little child +trusts its mother. + +Fate played another prank upon her not long afterward and thrust into her +hands a possible means of access to John Barron. A favorite resort of +Joan's was the brook which ran down the valley beneath Drift and Sancreed. +The little stream wound through a fair coomb between orchards, meadows, +wastes of fern and heather. At this season of the year the valley was very +lonely, and a certain spot beside the stream often tempted Joan by reason +of its comfort and its peace. From here, sitting on a granite bowlder +clothed in soft green mosses and having a shape into which human limbs +might fit easily, the girl could see much that was fair. The meadows were +all sprinkled with the silver-mauve of cuckoo-flowers--Shakespeare's +"lady's smock"; the hills sloped upward under oaken saplings as yet too +young for the stripping; the valley stretched winding landward beneath +Sancreed. Above and far away stretched the Cornish moors dotted with man's +mining enterprises, chiefly deserted. Ding-Dong raised its gaunt engine +stack and, distant though it was, Joan's sharp eyes could see the rusty arm +of iron stretching forth from the brickwork, motionless, not worth the +removing. Close at hand, where the stream wandered babbling at her feet, +the whole glory of spring shone on blossoms and grasses where the world of +the stream-side sent forth a warm, living smell. The wildness of the upland +moors stretched down into the valley below them. There glimmered blue-green +patches of bracken, speckled with the red and white hides of calves which +fed and scampered dew-lap deep; and the fern was all sheened with light +where the sunshine brightened its polished leaves. The stream wound through +the midst, bedecked and adorned with purple bugle flowers, bridged with +dog-roses and honeysuckles, in festoons, in bunches and in sprays, crowned +with scented gorse, fringed with yellow irises which splashed flaming +reflections where the brook widened and slowed into shallow little +backwaters. Flags and cresses framed the margins; meadowsweets made the air +fragrant above, and granite bowlders fretted the waters silver, their +foundations hidden in dark water-weed. Sunshine danced on every tiny +cascade and threw stars and twinkling flashes of light upward from the +brown pools upon the banks. Everything was upon a miniature scale, even to +the trout which lived in the stream, flashed their dim shadows under its +waters, leaped into the air after the flies, set little clouds of sand +shimmering as they darted up and down or, when surprised, wriggled away +into favorite holes and hiding places beneath the banks and trailing weeds. +Ling and wortleberry too were moorland visitors in the valley, and the bog +heather already budded. + +Here was one of the many favorite resting-places of Joan, and hither she +came on a rare morning in mid June at the wish of another person. + +Uncle Chirgwin had set his niece a task, and the object of her present +visit was no mere dawdling and thinking while perched upon the granite +throne above the meadowsweets. This fact a basket and a three-pronged fork +indicated. Her uncle deemed himself an authority on simples and possessed +much information, mostly erroneous, concerning the properties of wild herbs +and flowers. A decoction of hemp agrimony he at all times considered a most +valuable bitter tonic; and of this plant the curious flesh-colored flowers +on their long green stems grew pretty freely by the stream-side in the +valley. The time of flowering was not yet come, but Joan knew the dull leaf +of the herb well enough and, that found, she could easily dig up the root, +wherein its virtue dwelt. But before starting on her search, the girl +rested a while where the serrated foliage and creamy blossom of the +meadowsweets laced and fringed the granite of her couch; and, as she sat +there, her eye taking in the happy valley, her brain reading into the +luxuriant life of nature, some strange new thoughts hidden until lately, +she became suddenly conscious of a phenomenon beyond her power to +immediately explain or understand It drove the hemp agrimony quite out of +her head, and, when the mystery came to be explained, filled Joan's mind +with the memory of her own sad affairs. First and repeatedly there +glimmered a gossamer over the stream, falling into the water and as often +rising again; then above the film of light flashed another, rising abruptly +golden into the sunshine. Not for a moment or two did she discover the +flashing thing was a fly-rod, but presently the man who held it appeared +below her at a bend of the streamlet. He was clad much like the artists, +and it made the blood flush hot to her cheek as she thought he might be +one. Young men sometimes fished the brook for the fingerling trout it +contained. They were small but sweet, and the catching them with a fly was +difficult work in a stream so overhung with tangles of vine and brier, so +densely planted in the wider reaches with water hemlock and lesser weeds. +This fisherman, at any rate, found successful sport beyond his power to +achieve. He flogged away, but hung his fly clear of the stream at every +second cast and deceived not the smallest troutlet of them all. The young +man, after the manner of those anglers classified as "chuck and chance it," +worked his clumsy way toward Joan's chair on the granite bowlder. +Motionless she sat, and her drab attire and faded sun-bonnet harmonized so +well with the tones around it--the gray of the stones, the lights of the +river, the masses of the meadowsweet--that while noting a broad and +sparkling stickle winding away beneath her, the angler missed the girl +herself. This stickle spread, with an oily tremor and white undercurrent +full of air pearls, from a waterfall where the foot of Joan's throne +fretted the stream. Below it the waters slowed and ran smoothly into dark +brown shadows, being here marked by the wrinkled lines of their currents +and splashed with the sky's reflected blue. An ideal spot for a trout it +doubtless was, and the approaching sportsman exercised unusual care in his +approach, crouching along the bank and finally creeping bent double within +casting distance. Then, as he freed his fly, he saw Joan, like a queen of +the pool reigning motionless and silent. She moved and no fish was likely +to rise after within the visual radius of her sudden action. Thereupon the +angler in the man cursed; the artist in him drew a short, sharp breath. He +scrambled to his feet and looked again upon a beautiful picture. The plump, +baby freshness of Joan's face had vanished indeed, and there was that in +the slightly anxious expression and questioning look of her blue eyes that +had told any medical man he stood before a future mother; but, in her +seated position, no tangible suggestion of a hidden life was thrust upon +the spectator's view. He only saw a wondrously pretty woman in a charming +attitude, amid objects which enhanced her beauty by their own. She seemed a +trifle pale for a cottage girl, but her mouth was scarlet and dewy as ripe +wood-strawberries, her eyes were just of that color where the blue sky +above was reflected and changed to a darker shade by the pools of the +brook. She sat with her hands folded in her lap and looked straight at the +sportsman with a frank interest which surprised him. He was a modest lad, +but the sudden presentment of an object so lovely woke his pluck and he +fished ostentatiously to Joan's very feet, suspecting that the absurdity of +the action would not be apparent to her. She watched the morsel of feather +and fur dragged across the water after the fantastic fashion of the "chuck +and chancer," and he, when her eyes were on the water, kept his own fast +upon her face. Both man and woman were profoundly anxious each to hear the +other's voice, but neither felt brave enough to speak first. Then the +artist's ingenuity found a means, and Joan presently saw his fly stick fast +upon the side of the stream where she sat. The thing was caught at the +seed-head of a rush within reach of Joan's hand, and while this incident +appeared absolutely accidental, yet it was not so, for the artist had long +been endeavoring to get fast somewhere hard by Joan. Now, finding his +maneuver accomplished, he made but the feeblest efforts to loosen the fly, +then raised his hat and accosted Joan. + +"Might I trouble you to set my line clear? Ashamed to ask such a thing, but +it would be awfully kind. Oh, thank you, thank you. Take care of your +fingers! The hook is very sharp." + +Joan got the fly free in a moment, and then, to Harry Murdoch's +gratification, addressed him. The young fellow was Edmund Murdoch's cousin, +and at present dwelt in Newlyn with the elder artist already mentioned as +John Barron's friend. + +"May I make so bold as to ax if you do knaw a paintin' gen'leman by name +o'--o' Mister Jan? Leastways, that's wan on's names, but I never can call +home the other, though he tawld me wance. He was here last early +spring-time, an' painted a gert picture of me up 'pon top the hill they +calls Gorse Point." + +"Lucky devil," thought the artist; but though he knew something of Barron +and his work and had heard that Barron painted when at Newlyn, he did not +associate these facts with the girl before him. + +"He'm in Lunnon, so far's I knaw," she continued. + +Harry Murdoch had to look hard at Joan before answering, and he delayed a +while with an expression of deep thought upon his face. At length he spoke. + +"No, I cannot say that I have heard of him or the picture. But perhaps some +of the men in Newlyn will know. He was lucky to get you to paint. I wish +you would let me try." + +She shook her head impatiently. + +"No, no. He done it 'cause--'cause he just wanted a livin' thing to fill up +a bit o' his canvas. 'Tweern't for shaw or for folks to see. He done it for +pleasure. An' I wants to knaw wheer he lives 'cause he might think I be in +Newlyn still, but I ban't. I'm livin' up Drift along wi' Mr. Chirgwin. An' +I wish he could knaw it." + +"He was called 'Mister John'? Well, I'll see what I can do to find out +anything about him. And your name?" + +"Joan Tregenza. If you'll be so good as to put a question round 'mongst the +painting gen'lemen, I'd thank 'e kindly." + +"Then I certainly will. And on Saturday next I'll come here again to tell +you if I have heard anything. Will you come?" + +"Iss fay, an' thank you, sir." + +So he passed slowly forward, and she sat a full hour after he had left her +building new castles on the old crumbling foundations. It was even in her +mind to pray, to pray with her whole heart and soul; but chaos had settled +like a storm upon her beliefs. She did not know where to pray to now; yet +to-day Hope once more glimmered like a lighthouse lamp through the dreary +darkness. So she turned her eyes to that radiance and waited for next +Saturday to come. + +Then she set about grubbing up roots of hemp agrimony where they grew. She +was almost happy and whistled gently to herself as she filled her little +basket. + +That night Edmund Murdoch heard his cousin's story and explained that +"Mister Jan" was doubtless John Barron. + +"I'm owing the beggar a letter; I'll write tomorrow." + +"Was it a good picture?" + +"I should say that few better ever came out of Newlyn. Perhaps none so +good. Is the model as pretty as ever?" + +Young Harry raved of the vision that Joan had presented among the +meadowsweets. + +"Well, I suppose he wouldn't mind her knowing where he lives; but he's such +a queer devil that I'll write and ask him first. We shall hear in a couple +of days; I can tell him her address, at any rate; then he may write direct +to her, if he cares to." + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +TWO LETTERS + + +Four days elapsed, and then Edmund Murdoch received an answer to his +letter. He had written at length upon various affairs and his friend did no +less. + +"No. 6 Melbury Gardens, S.W. + +"June 8, 189--. + +"Dear Murdoch--Your long screed gave me some pleasure and killed an hour. +You relate the even course of your days since my departure from Cornwall, +and I envy the good health and happy contentment of mind which your note +indicates. I gained no slight benefit from my visit to the West Country, +and it had doubtless carried me bravely through this summer but for an +unfortunate event. A sharp cold, which settled on my chest, has laid me low +for some length of time, though I am now as well again as I shall ever be. +So much for facing the night air in evening dress. Nature has no patience +with our idiotic conventions, and hates alike man's shirt-front and woman's +bare bosom when displayed, as is our imbecile custom, at the most dangerous +hours in the twenty-four. My doctors are for sending me away, and I shall +probably follow their advice presently. But the end is not very far off. + +"I rejoice that you have sucked in something of my spirit and are trying to +get at the heart of rocks and sea before you paint them. Men waste so much +time poking about in art galleries, like the blind moles they mostly are, +and forget that Nature's art gallery is open every day at sunrise. Dwell +much in the air, glean the secrets of dawns, listen when the white rain +whispers over woodland, translate the tinkle of summer seas where they kiss +your rocky shores; get behind the sunset; think not of what colors you will +mix when you try to paint it, but let the pageant sink into your soul like +a song. Do not drag your art everywhere. Forget it sometimes and develop +your individuality. You have learned to draw tolerably; now learn to think. +Believe me, the painting people do not think enough. + +"Truly I am content to die in the face of the folly I read and see around +me. Know you what certain obscure writers are now about in magazines? They +are vindicating the cosmic forces, whitewashing Mother Nature after +Huxley's Romanes lecture! He told the truth, and Nature loved him for it; +but now come hysterical religious ciphers who squeak boldly forth in print +that Nature is the mother of altruism, that self-sacrifice is her first +law! One genius observes that 'tis their cruelty and selfishness have +arrested the progress of the tiger and the ape! Poor Nature! Never a word +of shotguns in all this drivel, of course. Cruelty and selfishness! +Qualities purely and solely human--qualities resulting from conscious +intelligence alone. You and I are selfish, not the ape; you and I are +cruel, not the tiger. He at least learns Nature's lessons and obeys her +dictates; we never do and never shall. A plague upon these fools with their +theologic rubbish heaps. They would prostitute the very fonts of reason and +make Nature's eternal circle fit the little squares of their own faiths. +Man! I tell you that the root of human misery might be pulled out and +destroyed to-morrow like the fang of a decayed tooth if only reason could +kill these weeds of falsehood which choke civilization and strangle +religion. But the world's 'doers' have all got 'faith' (or pretend to it); +the world's thinkers are mere shadows moving about in the background of +active affairs. They only write and talk. Action is the sole way of +chaining a nation's mind. + +"Your churchman is active enough, hence the spread of that poison which +keeps human reason stunted, impotent, anaemic. Take Liberty--the cursed +ignis fatuus our dear poets have shrieked for, our preachers have prayed +for, our patriots have perished for through all time. In pursuit of this +rainbow-gold more blood and brains have been wasted than would have +sufficed to make a nation. And yet a breath from Reason blows the thing to +tatters, as an uprising wind annihilates a fog. Freedom is an attribute of +the Eternal, and creation cannot share it with him, any more than it can +share his throne with him. 'The liberty of the subject'! A contradiction in +terms. Banish this unutterable folly of freedom, and control the breeding +of human flesh as we control the output of beef and of mutton. Then the +face of the world will alter. Millions of money is annually spent in order +that mindless humanity, congenital lunatics and madmen, may be fed and +housed and kept alive. Their existences are to themselves less pleasurable +than that of the beasts, they are a source of agony to those who have borne +them; but they live to old age and devour tons of good food, while +wholesome intellects starve in the gutters of every big city. Banish this +cant of freedom then, I tell you. The lightning in heaven is not free; the +stars are not free; Nature herself is the created slave of the Great +Will--and _we_ prattle about liberty. Let the State look to it and +practice these lessons Nature has taught and still preaches patiently to +deaf ears. Let it be as penal to bring life into the world without +permission from authority as it is to put life out of the world. Let the +begetting of paupers be a crime; let the health and happiness of the +community rise higher than the satisfaction of individuals; let the +self-denial practiced by the reasonable few be made a legal necessity to +the unreasonable many. Let the blighted, the malformed, the brainless go +back to the earth from which they came. Let the world of humanity be +cleansed and sweetened and purified as Nature cleanses and sweetens and +purifies her own kingdom. She removes her failures; we put ours under glass +and treat them like hothouse flowers. That is called humanity; it is the +mad leading the mad.... But why waste your time? Nature will have the last +word; Reason must win in the end; a genius, at once thinker and doer, will +come along some day and put the world right, at a happy moment when the din +of theologists is out of its ears. We want a new practical religion; for +Christianity, distorted and twisted through the centuries into its present +outworn, effete, ignoble shape, is a mere political force or a money-making +machine, according to the genius of the country which professes it. The +golden key of the founder, which is lost, may be found again, but I think +it never will be." + +[Here the man elaborated his opinions. They were like himself: a medley--a +farrago--wherein ascerbity, acuteness, and a mind naturally philosophic +were stranded in the arid deserts of a pessimism bred partly from his own +decaying physical circumstances and partly from recognition of his own +wasted time.] + +"I do not suppose that I shall paint any more. I had my Cornish picture +brought from its packing-case and framed, and supported on a great easel at +the foot of my bed while I was stricken down last month. Mistress Joan eyed +me curiously from under her hand, and through the night-watches, while my +man snored in the next chamber and I tossed with great unrest, the girl +seemed to live and move and smile at me under the flicker of the night +lamp. Everybody is pleased to say that 'Joe's Ship' seems good to them. I +have it now in the studio, and contrasted it yesterday with my bathing +negresses from Tobago. I think I like it better. It is difficult to read +the soul in black faces, especially when the models are freezing to death +as mine were. But there is something near to soul in this painted +Joan--more I doubt than the living reality would be found to possess +to-day. She was a good girl all the same, and I am gratified to hear she +did not quite forget me. I have written to her at the address you mention. +They pester me to send the picture somewhere, and to stop their +importunities--especially the women--I have promised to let the thing go to +the Institute in the autumn. I shall doubtless change my mind before the +time comes. + +"My life slowly but surely dwindles to that mere battle with Death which +your consumptive wages at the finish. I fancy Biskra will see my bones +later in the year. The R.A. took not less than six months off my waning +days this spring. Thank God they hung Brady as he deserved. Twenty good +works I saw--'the rest is silence.' + +"Yours, while I remain, + +"JOHN BARRON." + +It was true that the artist had written another letter addressed to Joan +Tregenza at Drift. He had written it first--written it hurriedly, wildly, +on the spur of the moment. But, after the completion of his communication +to Murdoch, the mood of the man changed. He had coldly read again the +former epistle, and altered his mind concerning it. Barron wanted Joan back +again sometimes, if life dragged more than usual; but pens and paper +generally modified his desire when he got that far toward calling her to +him. Her memory tickled him pleasantly and whiled away time. He framed the +various sketches he had made of her and suffered thought to occupy itself +with her as with no other woman who had entered his life. But the day on +which he wrote to Murdoch was a good one with him. He felt stronger and +better able to suck pleasure out of living than he had for a month. + +"When I whistle she will come," he thought to himself. "Perhaps there would +be some pleasure in taking her to Biskra presently. I will wait, at any +rate, until nearer the last scene. She would be pretty to look at when I'm +dying. Yes, she shall close my eyes some day, if she likes. That's a +pleasant thought--for me." + +So the letter to Murdoch was sent forth, but the letter to Joan, containing +some poetic thoughts on Nature, a pathetic description of Barron's +enfeebled state, and an appeal to her to join him that they might part no +more on this side the grave, was torn up. He laughed at the trouble he had +taken to print it all, and pondered pleasantly on the picture which Murdoch +had drawn of Joan ruling the kingdom of the meadowsweets, of her eager +question concerning "Mister Jan." + +"Strange," he reflected, "that her mediocre intelligence should have clung +to a man so outwardly mean as myself. If I thought that she had remembered +half I said when I was with her, or had made a single attempt to practice +the gospel I preached so finely--damned if I wouldn't have her back again +to-morrow and be proud of her too. But it can't be. She was such an +absolute fool. No, I much fear she only desires to find out what has become +of the goose who laid the big golden egg. Or if she doesn't, perhaps her +God-fearing father and mother do." + +Which opinion is not uninteresting, for it illustrates the usual failure of +materialism to discover or gauge those mental possibilities which lie +hidden within the humblest and worst equipped intelligences. John Barron +was an able man in some respects, but his knowledge of Joan Tregenza had +taught him nothing concerning her character and its latent powers of +development. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +DISENCHANTMENT + + +With summer, Nature, proceeding on her busy way, approached again the +annual phenomena of seed-time and harvest. To Joan, as spring had brought +with it a world of mothers, so the subsequent season filled Nature with +babies; and, in the light of all this newborn life, the mothers suffered a +change. Now, sorrow-guided, did Joan begin to read under the face of +things, "to get behind the sunset," as Barren had said in his letter to +Murdoch, to realize a little of the mystery hidden in green leaves and +swelling fruits and ripening grain, to observe at least the presence of +mystery though she could not translate more than an occasional +manifestation thereof. She found much matter for wonder and for fear. +Visible Nature had grown to be a smiling curtain behind which raged eternal +struggles for life. Every leaf sheltered a tragedy, every bough was a +battlefield. The awful frailty of all existence began to dawn upon Joan +Tregenza, and the discovery left her helpless, lonely, longing for new +gods. She knew not where to turn. Any brightness from any source had been +welcome then. + +Disenchantment came with the second visit of the artist to the stream. +There; young Murdoch had met her and told her that "Mister Jan" was going +to write her a letter. Upon which she had sung glad songs in a sunlit world +and amazed Mary and Uncle Chirgwin alike by the exhibition of a sudden and +profound happiness. But that longed-for letter never came; weeks passed by; +the truth rolled up over her life at last; and, as a world seen in a blaze +of sunshine only dazzles us and conceals its facts under too much light, +but reveals the same clear cut and distinct at dawn or early twilight, so +now Joan's eyes, obscured no more by the blinding promise of great joy, +began to see her world as it was, her future as it would be. + +Strange thoughts came to her on an evening when she stood by the door of +the kitchen at Drift, waiting for the cart to return from market. It was a +cool, gray gloaming, wreathed in diaphanous mists born of past ram. These +rendered every outline of tree and building vague and immense. Where Joan +stood, the peace of the time was broken only by a gentle dripping from the +leaves of a great laurel by the gate which led from the farmyard to the +fields. Below it, moist ground was stamped with the trident impress of many +fowls' feet; and, now and then, a feather sidled down from the heart of the +evergreen, where poultry, black and white and spangled, were settling to +roost. A subdued clucking and fluttering marked their hidden perches; then +came showers of rain-drops from the shining leaves as a bird mounted to a +higher branch; after which silence fell again. + +And Joan found all hope fairly dead at last. There and then, in the misty +eveningtide, the fact fell on the ear of her heart as though one had spoken +it; and henceforth she dated disenchantment from that hour. The whole +pageant of her romance, with the knightly figure of the painter that filled +its foreground, shriveled to a scroll no bigger than a curled, dead +leaf--sere, wasted, ghostly, and light enough to be washed away on a tear, +borne away upon a sigh. + +Then there followed for her prodigious transformations in the panorama of +Nature. Seen from the standpoint of his great, overwhelming lie to her, the +philosophy which this man had professed changed in its appearance, and that +mightily. He had used his cleverness like a net to trap her, and now, +though she could not prove his words untrue save in one particular, yet +that crowning act of faithlessness much tended to vitiate all the beauties +of imagination which had gone before it. They were lilies grown from a +dung-heap. Looking back in the new cold sidelight, her life came out +clearly with all the color gone from it and the remorseless details +distinct. And in this survey Nature dwindled to a minor Deity, a goddess +with moods as many and whims as wild as a woman's. She was unstable, it +seemed to Joan then; the immemorial solidity and splendor of her had +departed; her eyes were not fixed on Heaven any more, nor did peace any +longer rest within them; they were frightened, terrified, and their wild +and furtive glances followed one Shadow, reflected one Shape. It stood +waiting at the end of all her avenues; It peered from the heart of her +forests; it wandered on her heaths and moors; it lay under the stones in +her rivers; it stalked her sea-shores, floated on her waves, rode upon her +lightning, hid in her four winds; and the Shadow's name was Death. Joan +stood face to face with it at last and gazed round-eyed at a revelation. +She was saddened to find her own story told by Nature in many allegories, +painted upon the garden, set forth in waste places, fashioned by humble +weeds, reflected in the small, brief lives of unconsidered creatures. Now +she imagined herself an ill-shaped apple in the orchard which the mother of +all had neglected. It was crumpled up on one side, twisted out of its fair +full beauty, ruined by some wicked influence--a failure. Now she was a fly +caught by the gold spider who set his web shaking to deceive. Now she was a +little bird singing one moment, the next crawling dazed and shaking under +the paw of a cat. Why should Nature make the strong her favorites and be so +cruel to the weak? That seemed an ungodly thing to Joan. She had only +reached this point. She had no inkling of the great cleansing process which +removes the dross, the eternal competition from which only the cleanest and +sweetest and best come forth first. She saw the battle indeed, but did not +understand the meaning of it any more than the rest of the world which, in +the words of the weakling Barren, beneath the emblems of a false humanity, +keeps its weeds under hot-house glasses and, out of mercy to futile +individuals, does terribly wrong its communities. Our cleansing processes +are only valuable so far as they go hand in hand with Nature, and where the +folly of many fools rejects the wisdom of the wise, there Nature has her +certain revenge sooner or later. The sins of the State are visited on the +children of the State, and those who repeal laws which Science, walking +hand in hand with Nature, has proposed, those who refuse laws which +Science, Nature-taught, urges upon Power, do not indeed suffer themselves, +but commit thousands of others to suffering. So their false sentiment in +effect poisons the blood-springs of a nation. Religion leads to these +disasters, and any religion answerable for gigantic human follies is either +false or most falsely comprehended. + +Her uncle still tarried, and Joan, weary of waiting, betook herself and her +sorrows to the old garden, there to view a spectacle which she never tired +of. She watched the evening primroses, saw their green bud-cases spring +open and the soft yellow leaves tremble out like butterflies new come from +the chrysalis. She loved these little lemon-colored lamps that twinkled +anew at every sundown in the green twilight of the garden. She knew their +eyes would watch through the night and that their reward would be death. +Many shriveled fragments marked the old blossoms on the long stems, but the +crowns of each still put out new buds, and every dusk saw the wakening of +fresh blossoms heedless of their dead sisters below. "They was killed +'cause they looked at the sun," thought Joan. "I suppose the moon be theer +mistress and they should not chaange their god. Yet it do seem hard like to +be scorched to death for lookin' upward." + +What she saw now typified in a dead flower was her own case under a new +symbol; but the girl wasted no anger on the man who had played with her to +make a holiday pleasant, on that mock sun whose light now turned to +darkness. Her mind was occupied entirely with pity for herself. And that +fact probably promised to be a sure first step to peace. The lonely void of +her life must be filled, else Joan was like to go mad; and the filling, +left to Faith, might yet be happily accomplished. For Faith, if no more +than a "worm with diamond eyes" yet has eyes of diamonds, and rainbows are +the arches of her shape. Faith is fair and a very heart-companion to those +who know her and love her courts; and Joan, of all others, was best endowed +by disposition and instinct for the possession of her. Faith had slept in +the girl's heart since her mother died; but, sleeping, had grown, and now +waited in all strength to be called to a great task. The void was at its +deepest just now; the lowest note of Joan's soul had sounded; the facts of +her ruin and desertion were fully accepted at last; and such knowledge +served even to turn the growing mother in her sour for a time. Maternal +instinct stood still just a little while at this point in the girl's inner +life; then, when all things whirled away to chaos; on this night, when +nothing remained sure for her but death; in her hour of ultimate, +unutterable weakness and at the dawn of a blank despair, came one last plea +from Uncle Chirgwin. Mary had given up talking, fairly wearied out and +convinced that to waste more words on Joan would be a culpable disposal of +time; but Mr. Chirgwin blundered doggedly on with the humility of a worm +and the obstinacy of a friendly dog. He hammered at the portals of Joan's +spiritual being with admirable pertinacity; and at length he had his +reward. Faith in something being an absolute and vital essential to the +welfare of every woman, Joan Tregenza was no exception to the rule. + +It fell out on the night of her uncle's weekly visit to market, that Joan +had just returned from the garden, when she heard the clatter of the +spring-cart. It drew up at the kitchen door and Mary alighted with Mr. +Chirgwin. The baskets that had started laden with eggs, butter and other +produce came back empty save for a few brown paper parcels. Exceptional +prices had ruled in the market-place that day, so Mr. Chirgwin and his +niece returned home in excellent temper. + +They all met at supper, together with those farm-servants who took their +meals at the farmer's table. Then the laborers and the women workers +withdrew; Mary sat down to a little sewing before bedtime; and Mr. Chirgwin +smoked his pipe and looked at Joan. He noticed that the weather reflected +much upon her moods. She was more than usually silent tonight despite the +bright news from market. + +Presently Mary put on the kettle and brought out a bottle of rum. Her uncle +had taken his nightcap of spirit and water from her hand for nearly ten +years, and the little duty of preparing it was dear to her. She also made +cups of tea for Joan and herself. Mary often blamed herself for this luxury +and only allowed it on the night that ended those arduous duties proper to +market-day. "While thus employed, both she and Uncle Thomas tried to draw +Joan out of her gloomy silence. + +"Theer's to be a braave sight o' singin' down to Penzance come next week, +Joan. Lunnon folks, they tell me, wi' names a foot tall stuck 'pon the +hoardings. Us thot 'twould be a pleasin' kind o' junketin' to go an' +listen. Not but entertainments o' singin' by night be mighty exciting to +the blood. Awnly just for wance, Polly reckoned it might do us all good. +An' Polly knaws what's singin' an' what edn' so well as any lass. The +riders [Footnote: _The riders_--A circus.] be comin' likewise, though +maybe that's tu wild an' savage amoosment for quiet folks." + +"You an' Polly go to the singin' then. 'Tedn' for the likes o' me." + +Then Joan turned to her cousin, who was pouring tea out of a little pot +which held two cups and no more. + +"Let me have the last nine drops, Polly; they'm good for the heartache, an' +mine's more'n common sore to-night." + +Mary sighed, opened her mouth to preach a sermon, but shut it without a +word. She drained the teapot into Joan's cup, and then, from a bright mood +for her, relapsed into cold silence. Uncle Chirgwin, however, prattled on +about the concert until his elder niece finished her tea and went to bed. +Then he put down his pipe, took a long pull at his drink, and began to talk +hurriedly to Joan. + +"I bin an' got a wonnerful fine notion this day, drivin' home-long, Joan; +an' it's comed back an' back that importuneous that I lay it's truth, an' +sent for me to remember. D'you knaw that since you comed to Drift us have +prospered uncommon? Iss, us have. The winter dedn' give no mighty promise, +nor yet the spring, till you comed. Then the Lard smiled 'pon Drift. Look +at the hay what's gwaine to be cut, God willin', next week. I never seed +nothin' more butivul thick underneath in all my days. A rare aftermath tu, +I'll warrant. 'Tis so all round. The wheat's kernin' somethin' cruel +fine--I awnly wish theer was more of it--an' the sheep an' cattle's in +braave kelter likewise. Then the orchard do promise no worse. I never seed +such a shaw of russets an' of quarantines 'pon they old trees afore." + +"'Tis a fine, fair season." + +"Why, so I say--a 'mazin' summer thus far--but what's the reason o't? +That's the poser as an answer comed to in the cart a drivin' home. You'm +the reason! You mind when good Saint Levan walked through the fields that +the grass grawed the greener for his tread, an' many days arter, when he'd +gone dead years an' years, the corn allus comed richest 'long the path what +he trod. An' 'tis the same here, 'cause God's eye be on you, Joan Tregenza, +an' His eye caan't be fixed 'pon no spot wi'out brightening all around. You +mind me, that's solemn truth. The Lard's watchin' over you--watchin' double +tides, as the sailors say--and so this bit o' airth's smilin' from the herb +o' the field to the biggest tree as graws. He'm watchin' over Drift for +your sake, my girl, an' the farm prospers along o' the gert goodness o' the +watchin' Lard. Iss fay, He fills all things livin' with plenshousness, an' +fats the root an' swells the corn 'cause He'm breathin' sweet over the +land--'cause He'm wakin' an' watchin' for you, Joan." + +"He'm watchin' all of us, I s'pose--just to catch the trippin' footstep, +like what faither sez. He abbun no call to worry no more 'bout me, I +reckon. I be Nature's cheel, I be; an' my mother's turnin' hard too--like a +cat, as purrs to 'e wan moment an' sclows 'e the next. My day's done. I've +chose wrong an' must abide by it. But 'tis along o' bein' sich a lil fool. +Nature pushes the weak to the wall. I've seed that much 'o late days. I was +born to have my heart broke, I s'pose. 'Tedn' nothin' very straange." + +"I judge your angel do cry gert tears when you lets on like that, my Joan. +Oh, gal, why won't 'e give ear to me, as have lived fifty an' more winters +in the world than what you have? Why caan't 'e taste an' try what the Lard +is? Drabbit this nonsense 'bout Nature! As if you was a fitcher, or an +'awk, or an owl! Caan't 'e see what a draggle tail, low-minded pass all +this be bringin' 'e to? Yet you'm a thinkin' creature an' abbun done no +worse than scores o' folks who be tanklin' 'pon harps afore the throne o' +God this blessed minute. You chose wrong; you said so, an' I was glad to +hear 'e, for you never 'lowed even that much till this night. What then? +Everybody chooses wrong wan time or another. Some allus goes for it, like +the bud-pickers to the red-currant bushes, some slips here an' theer, an' +do straightway right 'emselves--right 'emselves again an' again. The best +life be just a slippin' up an' rightin' over an' over, till a man dies. +You've slipped young an' maybe theer's half a cent'ry o' years waitin' for +'e to get 'pon the right road; yet you sez you must abide by what you've +done. Think how it stands. You've forgived him as wronged 'e, an' caan't +the Lard forgive as easy as you can? He forgived you 'fore you was born. I +lay the Luke Gosp'lers never told 'e that braave fact, 'cause they doan't +knaw it theerselves. 'Tis like this: your man did take plain Nature for +God, an' he did talk fulishness 'bout finding Him in the scent o' flowers, +the hum o' bees an' sichlike. Mayhap Nature's a gude working God for a +selfish man, but she edn' wan for a maid, as you knaws by now. Then your +faither--his God do sit everlastingly alongside hell-mouth, an' laugh an' +girn to see all the world a walkin' in, same as the beasts walked in the +Ark. Theer's another picksher of a God for 'e; but mark this, gal, they be +lying prophets--lying prophets both! You've tried the wan, an' found it +left your heart hollow like, an' you've tried t'other an' found that left +it no better filled; now try Christ, will 'e--? Just try. Doan't keep Him, +as is allus busy, a waitin' your whims no more. Try Christ, Joan dearie, +an' you'll feel what you've never felt yet. I knaw, as put my 'and in His +when 'twas plump an' young as yourn. An' He holds it yet, now 'tis +shriveled an' crooked wi' rheumatics. He holds it. Iss, He do." + +The old man put out his hand to Joan as he spoke and she took it between +her own and kissed it. + +"You'm very good," she said, "an' you'm wise 'cause you'm auld an' have +seen many years. I prayed to Saint Madern to hear me not long since, an' I +bathed in his waters, an' went home happy. But awnly the birds an' the +rabbits heard me. An' next day faither turned me out o' his house an' +counted me numbered for hell." + +"Saints be very well, but 'tedn' in 'cordance with what we'm tawld nowadays +to pray to any but the Lard direct." + +He pleaded long and patiently, humbly praying for the religion which had +lightened his own road. The thought of his vast experience and the +spectacle of his own blameless and simple life, as she reviewed it, made +Joan relent at last. The great loneliness of her heart yearned for +something to fill it. Man had failed her, saints had failed her; Nature had +turned cold; and Uncle Chirgwin held out a great promise. + +"Ban't no sort o' use, I'm thinkin'," she said at last, "but if you'm that +set 'pon it I'll do your wish. I owe you that an' more'n that. Iss, I'll +come along wi' you an' Mary to Sancreed church next Sunday. 'Tis lil enough +to do for wan as have done so much for me." + +"Thank God!" he said earnestly. "That's good news, to be sure, bless your +purty eyes! An' doan't 'e go a tremblin' an' fearin', you mind, like to +meetin'. 'Tedn' no ways like that. Just love o' the Lard an' moosic an' +holy thots from passon, an' not more hell-fire than keeps a body +healthy-minded an' awake. My ivers! I could a'most sing an' dance myself +now, an' arter my day's work tu, to think as you'll sit alongside o' me in +church come Sunday!" + +Joan smiled at his enthusiasm on her behalf, then kissed him and went to +bed; while he, mixing up his prayers, his last pipe, and his final glass of +spirits according to his custom, sat the fire out while he drank deeper and +prayed harder than usual in the light of his triumph. + +"Polly couldn' do it, not for all her brains an' godliness," he murmured to +himself, "yet 'twas given to an auld simple sawl like me! An' I have. I've +led her slap-bang into the hand o' the Lard, an' the rest be His business. +No man's done a better day's work inside Cornwall to-day than what I +have--that's sure!" + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +FROM JOE + + +Since her visit to the church at Newlyn, Joan had been in no place of +worship save the chapel of the Luke Gospelers. What might be the nature of +the service before her she did not know, nor did she care. But the girl +kept her promise and drove in the market-cart to Sancreed with her uncle +and cousin when Sunday came. The little church lay bowered in its grove of +sycamores, and, around it, a golden-green concourse of quivering shadows +cooled those who had walked or driven from Drift--an outlying portion of +the parish--approached through lanes innocent of all shade. Mr. Chirgwin +put up the horse and presently joined his nieces in church. Then Joan saw +him under interesting and novel conditions. He wore glasses with gold rims; +he covered his bald head with a little velvet cap; at the appointed time he +took a wooden plate and carried it round for money. Mary found the old +man's places for him and sang in a way that fairly astounded Joan. The +enormous satisfaction brought to herself by these vocal efforts was +apparent. Her soul appeared mightily lifted up. She amused chance visitors +to the church, but the regular congregation liked to hear Mary; and Joan, +seeing the comfort her cousin sucked from singing, wished she had heart to +join. That, however, she wholly lacked. Moreover, the words were strange to +her. + +The quiet service, brightened by music, dragged its slow length murmuringly +along. The sermon, delivered by a visitor, was not of a sort to hold Joan, +and, indeed, could hardly be expected to attract many in such a +congregation. The preacher had lately been reading old Cornish history, +and, overcome by the startling fact that the far west of England--Cornwall +and Devon--were Christian long before Augustine saw Kent, dwelt upon the +matter after a very instructive fashion in ears unlikely to benefit from +such knowledge. That the Cornu-British bishops preached Christ while yet +Sussex, Wessex, Hampshire, Berks and other districts worshiped Woden, +Freya, the Queen of Heaven, the Thunder God, and other deities whose altars +were set up after the Conquest, did not interest Joan for one or Mr. +Chirgwin for another. But the girl woke up at the mention of Irish and +Welsh and Breton saints. Pleasant to hear was the utterance of names which +she had loved once but of late almost forgotten. They came back now, and, +the service having turned her heart to softness, she welcomed them gladly +as friends returned from afar. For the rest, the Litany it was which roused +Joan to deepest interest and opened her mind to new impressions. Here was a +prayer, gigantic in length, universal, all-embracing, catholic beyond the +compass of anything her thoughts had heretofore conceived. From the Queen +upon her throne to Joan herself, from the bishops, the princes and the +Lords of the Council to Uncle Chirgwin and his fruits of the earth, that +astounding petition ranged with equal vigor and earnestness. Nothing was +too high, nothing was too low for it; all the world was named, and the +people cried for a hearing or for mercy between each supplication and each +prayer. The overwhelming majesty of such praying impressed Joan much; as, +indeed, it impresses all who come adult thereto and do not associate it +with their childhood, with weary hours dragging interminably out, with +sleepy buzz of voices, with sore knees or a breaking back, with yearnings +stifled, with devices for passing time, with the longed-for sunshine +stealing inch by inch eastward on the church walls. + +"A power o' larnin' in a small headpiece," commented Uncle Chirgwin as he +drove home with the girls sitting side by side on his left. "A braave +ch'ice o' words an' a easy knowledge o' the saints as weern't picked up in +a day. Tis well to hear a furriner now an' again. They do widen the grasp +of a man's mind, looking 'pon things from a changed point o' view. Not as +us could be 'spected to be Latiners, yet I seem 'tis very well to listen to +it as chance offers. 'Tis something to knaw 'twas Latin, an' that did I, +though I doubt some o' the good neighbors couldn' tell it for what 'twas, +by no means." + +Joan said little about the service, but she praised the Litany from her own +peculiar attitude toward it. + +"That be fine prayin'," she said, "with nobody forgot, an' all in black +print so's wance said 'tedn' lost." + +After dinner, when Mary had gone to see a friend and the farm people were +dawdling abroad till evening milking-time, Joan made her uncle read the +service through again. This he did comfortably between the whiffs of his +pipe, and Joan answered the responses, cooing them in her sweet voice as +softly as the red and blue pigeons crooned on the roof outside. Drift was +asleep under a hot blaze of afternoon sunshine. Sometimes a child's keen +voice in the road cut the drowsy silence and came to Joan's ears where she +sat, in the best parlor with Uncle Thomas; sometimes slow wheels rumbled up +the hill toward Buryan. Other sounds there were none. The old people slept +within their cottages after the extra baked meats of Sunday's dinner; many +of the young paired and walked where pathways ran over meadows and through +yellowing wheat; while others, more gregarious and unattached, had tramped +away to Penzance to join the parade by the sea and meet their friends from +the shops. + +Anon nailed boots stamped up the little pathway to Drift farmhouse, and Tom +Tregenza appeared. To-day he entered fearlessly, for he came upon an errand +from his father. He kissed Joan and shook hands with Uncle Thomas. Then he +said: + +"'Tis a letter as I've brought for Joan--a furriner." + +The girl's heart beat hard, and the blood rushing from her cheeks left them +white. But the letter only came from Joe Noy, and it is certain that Mr. +Tregenza would have forwarded no other. Excitement died, and was painfully +renewed, in a fresh direction, when Joan realized from whom the missive +came and thought about its writer. He had long been a stranger to her mind, +and now he seemed suddenly to re-enter it--like a stranger. + +"I can stay for a bit of tea so long as I be back by chapel-time," +explained Tom. + +"An' so you shall, my son. Run 'e out o' doors an' amoose yourself where +you mind to; awnly don't ope the lil linhay in the Brook Croft, 'cause auld +bull's fastened up theer an' his temper's gettin' more'n more out o' hand." + +So Tom departed, and Uncle Chirgwin read Joan's letter aloud to her. It +came from Santa Rosalia, and contained not much news but plenty of love and +some religious sentiments bred from the writer's foreign environment. Joe +Noy would be back in England again before the end of the year. + +Joan was reduced to tears by this communication. She refused to be +comforted, and, indeed, the position was beyond Uncle Chirgwin's power to +brighten. The letter had come at a bad moment, and that calm and repose +which almost appeared to be softening Joan's sorrows now spread speedy +wings and departed, leaving her wholly forlorn. Curtains were falling +behind her, but curtains were also rising in front. She had looked forward +vaguely, and now the position was suddenly defined by the arrival of Joe's +letter, with all its future phases clear-cut, cold and terrible. + +"My baaby's comin' just then. An' that's what'll fall 'pon his ear fust +thing. Oh, if us could awnly tell en afore he comes so he might knaw 'tis +all chaanged! 'Twould be easier for en, lovin' me that keen. He'd grawed to +be a shadder of a man in my mind; but now I sees en real flaish'n blood; +an' maybe--maybe he'll seek me out an' kill me for what's done." + +"I do creem to hear 'e, gal! No, no, Joe Noy's a God fearin' sawl." + +"If he'd forgive me fust, I'd so soon he killed me as not. Sam Martin +killed Widow Garth's gal 'cause she were ontrue to en; an' a many said +'twas wrong to hang en to Bodmin. Death's my deserts, same as Ann Garth; +an' she got it; an' I doan't care how soon I do. None wants me no more, nor +what I'm breedin' neither. I'd die now, an' smilin', if 'tweern't for +arterwards." + +"Cuss the letter!" said Uncle Chirgwin, getting red in the face. "Cuss it, +I says, for gwaine an' turnin' up just this day! A fortnight later you +could 'a' looked on it wi' quiet mind an' knawed wheer to turn; to-day's +it's just bin an' undone what was done. Not but what 'tis as butivul a +letter as ever comed off the sea; but if theer'd awnly been time to +'stablish 'e 'fore it comed! Now you've turned your back 'pon the Household +o' Faith just as arms was being stretched out that lovin'." + +"Faith won't undo what I've done, nor yet make my wickedness fall lighter +for Joe. Yes, 'twas wicked, wicked, wicked. I knaw it now." + +Mary and Tom came in from different directions about this time. The latter +had regaled himself with a peep at "auld bull," heard the terrific snorting +of his nostrils and observed how he bellowed mightily at durance on such an +afternoon. Tea being finished, the boy started homeward with a basket of +fresh eggs and butter, a pound of cream and some early apples of a sort +used for cider, but yet equal to the making of a pie. + +"As for the butter, 'tis Joan's churnin'," said Mary, "but you'd best not +to tell your faither that, else, so like's not, he'll pitch it into the +sea. If us could send en a pound o' charity, I doubt he'd be better for't." + +"Faither's a holy man, whatever else he be," said Tom stoutly. "He doan't +want for no good qualities like, 'cause what he doan't knaw 'bout God edn' +worth knawin'." + +Mary laughed. It was a feat she seldom performed, and the sound of her +amusement lacked joy. + +"Well, us won't argue 'bout en. You'm right to say that. Be the basket too +heavy for 'e?" + +"No! not likely. Have 'e ever seed my forearm, Polly?" + +"Never. I will another time. Best be gwaine, else you'll be late for +chapel." + +So Tom marched off, and Mary, returning to the house, heard of Joan's +letter. + +The old gusts of misery, sorrow, indignation, rose in her heart again then, +but faintly, like the dying flutter of winds that have blown themselves +out. She tried to find a way of bringing comfort to her cousin, but failed. +Joan had retired and refused consolation. + +The glory of splendid summer hours passed away; the long twilight sank to +darkness; the opal lights in the west at last died under the silver of the +moon. And then, like a child weary with crying, Joan slept, while Mary, +creeping a third time to see and speak with her, departed silently. But she +did not sleep; and her wakefulness was fortunate, for long after eleven +o'clock came a noisy summons at the outer door. Looking from her room which +faced the front of the house, the woman saw Tom with his full basket +standing clearly defined below. The world of the weald and woods shimmered +silvery in dew and moonlight. Infinite silence reigned. Then the boy's +small, indignant voice broke it. + +"You'll have to let me in, I reckon. Blamed if I doan't think you was right +'bout faither arter all." + +The reason for Tom's return may be briefly told. He had taken his basket +home and got it safely under cover to his mother. Then, after chapel, Gray +Michael went into the village, and Thomasin had an opportunity to ask some +of those questions she was burning to put. + +"An' how be Joan?" she began. + +"Wisht an' drawed thin 'bout the faace seemin'ly. An' Joe's letter just +made her cry fit to bust her eyes, 'stead o' cheerin' of her like." + +"Poor lass. I dedn' expect nothin' differ'nt. I've most a mind to go up +Drift an' see her--for a reason I've thot upon. Did Joan say anythin' 'bout +a last will an' testament to 'e?" + +"No, nothin' 'bout anything worth namin'. But Polly had a deal to say. Her +wished her could send faither a pound o' charity 'stead o' butter." + +"She dared!" + +At that moment Mr. Tregenza returned to supper, and soon afterward his son +went to bed. The lad had not been asleep half an hour before Gray Michael +came across the basket from Drift. Two minutes later Tom heard the thunder +of his father's voice. + +"Tom! you come down here an' be sharp about it!" + +The boy tumbled out of bed instantly, and went down to the kitchen in his +nightshirt and trousers. Michael Tregenza was standing by the table. Upon +it appeared the basket from Drift, stored with cream, butter, eggs and +apples. Thomasin sat in the low chair by the fire with her apron over her +face, and that was always a bad sign, as Tom knew. + +"What day be this, bwoy?" began Michael. + +"The Lard's, faither." + +"Ay: the Lard's awn day, though you've forgot it seemin'ly." + +"No I abbun, faither." + +"Doan't 'e answer me 'cept I tells you to. Where did these things come +from?" + +"Drift, faither. Uncle Chirgwin bid me bring 'em with his respects." + +"Did you tell en 'twas breakin' the commandments?" + +"No, faither." + +"Why didn't 'e? You knawed it yourself." + +"Iss, faither; but uncle's a ancient man, an' I guessed he knawed so well +as me, an' I reckoned 'twould be sauce for such as me to say anything to a +auld, gray body like him." + +"Sinners is all colors an' ages. Another time doan't you do what's wrong, +whether 'tis auld or young as tempts 'e to't. You'm a Luke Gosp'ler, an' it +edn' being a shinin' light 'tall to go wrong just because wan as did ought +to knaw wiser an' doan't, tells 'e to. Now you can lace on your boots, as +soon as you'm minded to, an' traapse up Drift with that theer basket an' +all in it. 'Twon't harm godless folks to wake 'em an' faace 'em with their +wrongdoing. An' I lay you'll remember another time." + +Tom, knowing that words would be utterly wasted, went back to his attic, +dressed, and started. He had the satisfaction of eating apples in the +moonlight and of posing as a bitterly wronged boy at Drift when Mary came +down, lighted a candle, and let him into the house. + +Uncle Chirgwin also appeared, and said some hard things in a sleepy voice, +while Tom drank cider and ate a big slice of bread and bacon. + +"A terrible Old Testament man, your faither, sure 'nough," said Uncle +Chirgwin. "Be you gwaine to stop the night 'long o' us or no?" + +"Not me! I got to be in the bwoat 'fore half-past five to-morrer marnin'." + +"This marnin' 'tis," said Mary, "or will be in a few minutes. An' you can +tell your faither what I said 'bout charity, if you like. I sez it again, +an' it won't hurt en to knaw." + +"But it might hurt me to tell. The less said soonest mended wi' faither." + +Tom departed, the lighter for his basket. He flung a stone at a hare, +listened to the jarring of a night-hawk, and finally returned home about +one o'clock. Both his parents were awaiting him, and the boy saw that his +mother had been enduring some trouble on his behalf. + +"Mind, my son, hencefarrard that the Sabbath is the Lard thy God's. You may +have done others a good turn besides yourself this night." + +"What did they say, Tom?" asked his mother. + +"They wasn't best pleased. They said a hard sayin' I'd better not to say +agin," answered the boy, heavy with sleep. + +"Let it be. Us doan't want to hear it. Get you to bed. An', mind, the bwoat +at the steps by half-past five to-morrer." + +"Ay, ay, faither." + +Then Tom vanished, his parents went to their rest, and the cottage on the +cliff slept within the music of the sea, its thatch all silver-bright under +a summer moon. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +A BARGAIN FOR MRS. TREGENZA + + +To the superficial eye dead hopes leave ugly traces; viewed more +inquiringly the cryptic significance of them appears; and that is often +beautiful. Joan's soul looked out of her blue eyes now. Seen thoughtfully +her beauty was refined and exalted to an exquisite perfection; but the +unintelligent observer had simply pronounced her pale and thin. The event +which first promised to destroy the new-spun gossamers of a religious faith +and break them even on the day of their creation, in reality acted +otherwise. For Joan, Joe's letter was like a window opening upon a hopeless +dawn; and her helplessness before this spectacle of the future threw the +girl upon religion--not as a sure rock in the storm of her life, but as a +straw to the hand of the drowning. The world had nothing else left in it +for her. She, to whom sunshine and happiness were the breath of life, she +who had envied butterflies their joyous being, now stood before a future +all uphill and gray, lonely and loveless. As yet but the dawn of affection +for the unborn child lightened her mind. Thought upon that subject went +hand in hand with fear of pain. And now, in her dark hours, Joan happily +did not turn to feed upon her own heart, but fled from it. For distraction +she read the four Gospels feverishly day by day, and she prayed long to the +Lord of them by night. + +Mary helped her in an earnest, cheerless fashion, and before her cousin's +solicitude, Joan's eyes opened to another thought: the old friendship +between Mary and Joe Noy. It had wakened once, on her first arrival at +Drift, then slept again till now. She was troubled to see the other woman's +indifference, and she formed plans to bring these two together again. The +act of getting away from herself and thinking for others brought some +comfort to her heart and seemed to rise indirectly out of her reading. + +The Christianity of Drift was old-fashioned, and reflected the Founder. No +distractions rose between Joan and the story. She took it at first hand, +escaping thus from those petty follies and fooleries which blight and fog +the real issues today. She sucked her new faith pure. A noble rule of +conduct lay before her; she dimly discerned something of its force; and +unselfishness appeared in her, proving that she had read aright. As for the +dogma, she opened her arms to that very readily because it was beautiful +and promised so much. Faith's votaries never turn critical eyes upon the +foundations of her gorgeous fabric; their sight is fixed aloft on the +rainbow towers and pinnacles, upon the golden fanes. And yet this man-born +structure of theology, with aisles and pillars fretting and crumbling under +the hand of reason, needs such eternal propping, restoring and repairing, +that priestly tinkers, masons, hod-carriers are solely occupied with it. +They grapple and fight for the poor shadows of dogma by which they live, +and, so engaged, the spirit and substance of religion is by them altogether +lost. None of the Christian churches will ever be overcrowded with men who +possess brain-power worthy the name. Mediocrity and ignorance may starve, +but talent and any new nostrum to strangle reason and keep the rot from the +fabric will always open their coffers. + +Joan truly found the dogma more grateful and comforting than anything else +within her experience, and the apparition of a flesh and blood God, who had +saved her with His own life's blood before she was born, appeared too +beautiful and sufficing to be less than true. Her eyes, shut so long, +seemed opening at last. With errors that really signify nothing, she drew +to herself great truths that matter much and are vital to all elevated +conduct. She thought of other people and looked at them as one wakened from +sleep. And, similarly, she looked at Nature. Even her vanished lover had +not taught her all. There were truths below the formulae of his worship; +there were secrets deeper than his intellectual plummet had ever sounded. +Without understanding it, Joan yet knew that a change had come to pass in +material things. Sunshine on the deep sea hid more matters for wonder than +John Barron had taught or known. Once only as yet had she caught a glimpse +of Nature's beating heart; and that was upon the occasion of her visit to +St. Madron's chapel. She was lifted up then for a magic hour; but the lurid +end of that day looked clearer afterward than ever the dewy dawn of it. +Nature had smiled mutely and dumbly at her sufferings for long months since +then. But now added knowledge certainly grew, and from a matrix mightier +than the love of Nature or of man, was Joan's new life born. It embraced a +new sight, new senses, ambitions, fears and hopes. + +Joan went to church at every opportunity. Faith seemed so easy, and soon so +necessary. Secret prayer became a real thing to be approached with joy. To +own to sins was as satisfactory as casting down a heavy burden at a +journey's end; to confess them to God was to know that they were forgiven. +There were not many clouds in her religious sky. As Mary's religion was +bounded by her own capabilities and set forth against a background of +gloom, which never absolutely vanished save in moments of rare exaltation, +so Joan's newfound faith took upon itself an aspect of sunshine. Her clouds +were made beautiful by the new light; they did not darken it. Mary's gray +Cornish mind kept sentiment out of sight. She lived with clear eyes always +focusing reality as it appeared to her. Heaven was indeed a pleasanter +eternal fact than hell; yet the place of torment existed on Bible +authority; and it was idle to suppose it existed for nothing. Grasping +eternity as a truth, she occupied herself in strenuous preparation; which +preparation took the form of good works and personal self-denial. Joan +belonged to an order of emotional creatures widely different. She loved the +beautiful for its own sake, kept her face to the sun when it shone, +shivered and shut up like a scarlet pimpernel if bad weather was abroad. +And now a chastened sunshine, daily growing stronger, shot through the +present clouds, painted beauty on their fringes, and lighted the darkness +of their recesses so that even the secrets of suffering were fitfully +revealed. Joan grasped at new thoughts, the outcome of her new road. + +Nature presently seemed of a nobler face, and certain immemorial +achievements of man also flashed out in the side-light of the new +convictions; as objects, themselves inconsiderable, will suddenly develop +unsuspected splendors from change of standpoint in the beholder. The magic +of that Christianity, which Joan now received directly from her Bible, +wrought and embroidered a new significance into many things. And it worked +upon none as upon the old crosses, some perfect still, some ruined as to +arm or shaft, some quite worn out and gnawed by time from their original +semblance. These dotted her native land. Them she had always loved, but now +they appeared marvelously transfigured, and the soul hid in their granite +beamed through it. Supposing the true menhirs to be but ruined crosses +also, Joan shed on them no scantier affection than upon the less venerable +Brito-Celtic records of Christianity. Bid so to do, and prompted also by +her inclination, the girl was wont to take walks of some length for her +health's sake; and these had an object now. As her dead mother's legends +came back to her memory and knit Nature to her new Saviour, so the +weather-beaten stones brought Him likewise nearer, marked the goal of +precious daily pilgrimages, and filled a sad young life with friends. + +Returning from a visit to Tremathick cross, where it stands upon a little +mound on the St. Just road, Joan heard a thin and well-known voice before +she saw the speaker. It was Mrs. Tregenza, who had walked over to drink tea +and satisfy herself on sundry points respecting her stepdaughter. + +"Oh, my Guy Faux, Polly!" she said upon arriving, "I'm in a reg'lar take to +be here, though I knaws Michael's t'other side the islands an' won't fetch +home 'fore marnin'. I've comed 'cause I couldn't keep from it no more. +How's her doin', poor tibby lamb, wi' all them piles o' money tu. Not that +money did ought to make a differ'nce, but it do, an' that's the truth, an' +it edn' no good makin' as though it doan't. What a world, to be sure! An' +that letter from Noy? I knaw you was fond of en likewise in your time. The +sadness of it! Just think o' that mariner comin' home 'pon top o' this +mishap." + +Mary winced and answered coldly that the world was full of mishaps and of +sadness. + +"The man must face sorrer same as what us all have got to, Mrs. Tregenza. +Some gets more, some gets less, as the sparks fly up'ard. Joe Noy's got +religion tu." + +Mary spoke the last words with some bitterness, which she noted too late +and set against herself for a sin. + +"Oh, my dear sawl," said Mrs. Tregenza, looking round nervously, as though +she feared the shadow of her husband might be listening. "Luke Gosp'ling's +a mighty uncomfortable business, though I lay Tregenza'd most kill me if he +heard the word. 'Tedn' stomachable to all, an' I doubts whether 'twill be a +chain strong enough to hold Joe Noy, when he comes back to find this coil. +'Tis a kicklish business an' I wish 'twas awver. Joe's a fiery feller when +he reckons he's wronged; an' there ban't no balm to this hurt in Gosp'ling, +take it as you will. I tell you, in your ear awnly, that Luke Gosp'lers +graw ferocious like along o' the wickedness o' the airth. Take Michael, as +walks wi' the Lard, same as Moses done; an' the more he do, the ferociouser +he do get. Religion! He stinks o' religion worse than ever Newlyn stinks o' +feesh; he goes in fear o' God to his marrow; an' yet 'tis uncomfortable, +now an' then, to live wi' such a righteous member. Theer's a sourness along +of it. Luke Gosp'ling doan't soften the heart of en." + +"It should," said Mary. + +"An's so it should, but he says the world's no plaace for softness. He'm a +terror to the evildoer; an' he'm a terror to the righteous-doer; an' to +hisself no less, I reckon; an' to God A'mighty tu, so like's not. The +friends of en be as feared of en as his foes be. An' that's awful wisht, +'cause he goes an' comes purty nigh alone. The Gosp'lers be like fry flyin' +this way an' that 'fore a school o' mackerl when Michael's among 'em. Even +minister, he do shrivel a inch or two 'longside o' Michael. I've seen en +wras'lin' wi' the Word same as Jacob wras'led wi' the angel. An' yet, why? +Theer's a man chosen for glory this five-an'-forty years, an' he knaws it +so well as I do, or any wan." + +"He knaws nothin' o' the sort. The best abbun no right to say it," declared +Mary. + +Then Mrs. Tregenza fired up, for she resented any criticism on this subject +other than her own. + +"An' why not, Polly Chirgwin? Who's a right to doubt it? Not you, I reckon, +Ban't your plaace to judge a man as walks wi' God, like Moses done. If +Michael edn' saved, then theer's no sawl saved 'pon land or sea. You +talk--a young maiden! His sawl was bleedin' an' his hands raw a batterin' +the gate o' heaven 'fore you was born, Polly--ay, an' he'd got the +bettermost o' the devil wance for all 'fore you was conceived in the womb; +you mind that." + +"Us caan't get the bettermost o' the devil wance for all," said Mary, +changing the issue, "no--not no more'n us can wash our skin clean wance for +all. But you an' me thinks differ'nt an' allus shall, Mrs. Tregenza." + +"Iss, though I s'pose 'tis the same devil as takes backslidin' church or +chapel folks. Let that bide now. Wheer's Joan to? I've got to thank 'e +kindly for lookin' arter Tom t'other Sunday night. Tis things like that +makes religion uncomfortable. But you gived the bwoy some tidy belly-timber +in the small hours o' day, an' he comed home dog-tired, but none the worse. +An' thank 'e for they apples an' cream an' eggs, which I'm sorry they had +sich poor speed. A butivul basket as hurt me to the heart to paart with. +But I wasn't asked. No offense, I hope, 'bout it? Maybe uncle forgot 'twas +the Lard's day?" + +"He'm the last ever to do that." + +Joan entered at this point in the conversation and betrayed some slight +emotion as her stepmother kissed her. It was nearly five months since they +had met, and Mary now departed, leaving them to discuss Joan's physical +condition. + +"I be doin' clever," said Joan, "never felt righter in body." + +Mrs. Tregenza poured forth good advice, and after a lengthy conversation +came to a secret ambition and broached it with caution. + +"I called to mind some baaby's things--shoes, clouts, frocks an' sich-like +as I've got snug in lavender to home. They was all flam-new for Tom, an' I +judged I'd have further use for 'em, but never did. Theer they be, even to +a furry-cloth, as none doan't ever use nowadays, though my mother did, and +thot well on't. So I did tu. 'Tis just a bit o' crimson red tailor's cloth +to cover the soft plaace 'pon a lil baaby's head 'fore the bones of en graw +together. An' I reckon 'tis better to have it then not. I seem you'd do +wise to take the whole kit; an' you'm that well-to-do that 'twouldn' be +worth thinkin' 'bout. 'Twould be cheaper'n a shop; an' theer's everything a +royal duke's cheel could want; an' a butivul robe wi' lacework cut 'pon it, +an' lil bits o' ribbon to tie in the armholes Sundays. They'm vitty +clothes." + +Joan's eyes softened to a misty dreaminess before this aspect of the time +to come. She had thought so little about the baby and all matters +pertaining thereto, that every day now brought with it mental novelty +and a fresh view of that experience stored for her in the future. + +"Iss, I do mind they things when Tom was in 'em. What be the value in +money?" + +Mrs. Tregenza answered shyly and almost respectfully. + +"Well, 'tis so difficult to say, not bein' a reg'lar seller o' things. They +cost wi'out the robe, as was a gift from Mrs. Blight, more'n five pound." + +"Take ten pound, then. I'll tell uncle." + +Thomasin's red tongue-tip crept along her lips and her bright eyes blinked, +but conscience was too strong. + +"No, no--a sight too much--too much by half. I'll let 'e have the lot for a +fi'-pun' note. An' I'd like it to be a new wan, if 'tis the same to you." + +Joan agreed to this, and ten minutes afterward Uncle Chirgwin was opening +his cash-box and handing Thomasin the snowy, crackling fragment she +desired. + +"'Tis the fust bit o' money ever I kept unbeknawnst to Michael," she said, +"an', 'pon me life, Chirgwin, I be a'most 'feared on't." + +"You'll soon get awver that," declared Uncle Thomas. "I'll send the trap +home with 'e, an' you can look out the frippery; an' you might send a nice +split bake back-along with it, if you've got the likes of sich a thing +gwaine beggin' to be ate." + +Presently Mrs. Tregenza drove away and Joan went to her room to think. +Magic effects had risen from the spectacle of the well-remembered face, +from the sound of the sharp, high voice. A new sensation grew out of them +for Joan. Home rose like a vision, with the sighing of the sea, the crying +of the gulls, the musical rattle of blocks in the bay, the clink, clink of +picks in the quarry, the occasional thunder of a blast. Many odors were +with her: the smell of tar and twine and stores, the scent of drying fish. +She saw the low cliffs all gemmed at this season with moon-flowers--the +great white convolvulus which twinkled there. A red and purple fuchsia in +the garden, had blossomed also. She could see the bees climbing into its +drooping bells. She remembered their music, as it murmured drowsily from +dead and gone summers, and sounded sweeter than the song of the bees at +Drift. She heard the tinkle of a stream outside the cottage, where it ran +under the hedge through a shute and emptied itself into a great +half-barrel; and then, turning her thoughts to the house, her own attic, +with the view of St. Michael's Mount and the bay, rose in thought, with +every detail distinct, even to the glass scent-bottle on the mantel-piece, +and the colored print of John Wesley being rescued in his childhood from a +burning house. These and kindred memories made a live picture to Joan's +eyes. For the first time since she had left her home the girl found in her +heart a desire to return to it. She awoke next morning with the old +recollections increased and multiplied; and the sensation bred from +continued contemplation was the sensation of a loss. + + + + + + +BOOK THREE + +CHANCE + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +OF THE CROSSES + + +The significance of the ancient crosses in Joan Tregenza's latest phase of +mental growth becomes much finer after learning somewhat more concerning +them than she could ever know. The ephemeral life of one unhappy woman +viewed from these granite records of Brito-Celtic pagan and Christian +faith, examined in its relation to these hoary splinters of stone, grows an +object of some pathetic interest. Such memorials of the past as are here +indicated, vary mightily in age. The Christian monuments are not older than +the fifth century, but many have been proved palimpsests and rise on pagan +foundations dating from a time far more ancient than their own. The relics +are divided into two classes by antiquarians: Pillar Stones and Sculptured +Crosses. The former occur throughout the Celtic divisions of Great Britain, +and are sometimes marked with the Chi Rho monogram, or early rude cross +form. In most cases these earlier erections indicated a grave, while the +sculptured crosses either denoted boundaries of sanctuary, or were raised +promiscuously where men and women passed or congregated, their object being +to encourage devotion and lead human thoughts heavenward. The designs on +these monuments are usually a bad imitation of Irish key patterns and +spirals; but many, in addition, show crucifixes in their midst, with +pre-Norman figures depicting the Christ in a loose tunic or shirt, his head +erect and his body alive, after the Byzantine fashion. The mediaeval mode +of carving a corpse on the cross is of much later date and may not be +observed before the twelfth century. + +More than three hundred of these sculptured crosses have been discovered +within the confines of Cornwall. In churchyards and churchyard walls they +stand; they have even been discovered wrought into the fabric of the +churches themselves; the brown moor likewise knows them, for they stud its +wildernesses and rise at the crossways of many lonely roads; while +elsewhere, villages hold them in their hearts, and the emblem rises daily +before the sight of generation upon generation. In hedges they are also to +be seen, and in fields; many have been rescued from base uses; and all have +stood through the centuries as the sign and testimony of primitive Cornish +faith, even as St. Piran's white cross on a black ground, the first banner +of Cornwall, bore aloft the same symbol in days when the present emblem, +with its fifteen bezants and its motto, "One and All," was not dimly +dreamed of. + +These ancient crosses now rose like gray sentinels on the gray life of Joan +Tregenza. At Drift she was happily placed among them, and many, not +necessary to separately name, lay within the limit of her daily wanderings, +and her superstitious nature, working with the new-born faith, wove +precious mystery into them. Much she loved the more remote and lonely +stones, for beside them, hidden from the world's eye, she could pray. Those +others about which circled human lives attracted her less frequently. To +her the crosses were sentient creatures above the fret of Time, eternally +watching human affairs. The dawn of art as shown in early religious +sculpture generally amuses an ignorant mind, but, to Joan, the little +shirted figures of her new Saviour, which opened blind eyes on the stones +she loved, were matter for sorrow rather than amusement. They did by no +means repel her, despite the superficial hideousness of them; indeed, with +a sort of intuition, Joan told herself that human hands had fashioned them +somewhere in the dawn of the world when yet her Lord's blood was newly +shed, at a time before men had learned skill to make beautiful things. + +Once, beside the foot of the cross which stood in Sancreed [Footnote: This +fine sculptured cross has since these events been placed within the said +churchyard, at the desire of Mr. A. G. Langdon, the greatest living +authority on the subject of Cornish remains.] churchyard wall, between two +tree-trunks under a dome of leaves, the girl found growing a spotted +persicaria, and the force of the discovery at such a spot was great to her. +Familiar with the legend of the purple mark on every leaf of the plant, +nothing doubting that it had aforetime grown at the foot of the true cross +and there been splashed with the blood of her Master, Joan accepted the old +story that henceforth the weed was granted this proud livery and badge of +blood. And now, finding it here, the fable revived with added truth and +conviction, the legend of the persicaria was as true to her as that other +of the Lord's resurrection from death. Thus her views of Nature suffered +some approach to debasement in a new direction, but this degradation, so to +call it, brought mighty comfort to her soul, daily rounded the ragged edges +of life, woke merciful trust and belief in a promised life of bliss beyond +the grave, and embroidered thereupon a patchwork, not unbeautiful, built of +fairy folk-lore, saintly legend and venerable myth. Her credulous nature +accepted right and left; anything that harbored a promise or was lovely or +wonderful in itself found acceptance; and Joan read into the very pulses of +the summer world the truth as she now understood it. Cornwall suddenly +became a new Holy Land to the girl. Here the circumstances of life chimed +with those recorded in the New Testament, and it was an easy mental +achievement to transplant her Saviour from a historical environment into +her own. She pictured Him as walking amid Uncle Chirgwin's ripening corn; +she saw Him place His hands on the heads of the little children at cottage +doors; she imagined Him standing upon one of the stranded luggers in Newlyn +harbor with the gulls floating round His head and the fishermen listening +to his utterance. + +The growing mother instincts in Joan also developed about this season. They +leaped from comparative quiescence into activity; they may indeed be +recorded as having arisen within her after a manner not less sudden than +had the new faith itself, which was exhibited to you as blossoming with an +abruptness almost violent, because it thus occurred. Now most channels of +thought led Joan to her unborn infant, and there came at length an occasion +upon which she prayed for the first time that her child might be justified +in its existence. + +The petition was raised where, in the past, she had uttered one widely +different: at the altar-stone in the ruined baptistery of Saint Madron. +Thither on a day in early August, Joan traveled by short cuts over fields +which brought the chapel within reach of Drift. The scene had changed from +that of her former visit, and summer was keeping the promises of spring. +Yellow stars of biting stone-crop covered the walls of the ruin; the fruit +of the blackthorn was growing purple, of the hawthorn, red; the lesser +dodder crept, like pink lacework, over furze and heather; bright-eyed +euphrasy and sweet wild thyme were murmured over by many bees; at the +altar's foot grew brake fern and towering foxgloves; while upon the sacred +stone itself brambles laid their fruit, a few ripe blackberries shining +from clusters of red and green. Seeding grasses and docks likewise +nourished within the little chapel, and ragged robins and dandelions +brought the best beauty they had. Among which matters, hid in loneliness, +to the sound of that hymn of life which rises in a whisper from all earth +at summer noon, Joan prayed for her baby that it might not be born in vain. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +HOME + + +Among the varied ambitions now manifested by Joan was one already hinted +at--one which increased to the displacement of smaller interests: she much +desired to see again her home, if but for the space of an hour. The days +and weeks of an unusually smiling summer brought autumn, and with it the +cutting of golden grain; but the bustle and custom of harvest failed to +draw Joan among her kind. Human life faded somewhat, even to the verge of +unreality with her. Silence fell upon her, and a gravity of demeanor which +was new to the beholders. Uncle Chirgwin and Mary were alike puzzled at +this sign, and, misunderstanding the nature of the change, feared that the +girl's spiritual development must be meeting unseen opposition. Whims and +moods were proper to her condition, so the farmer maintained; but the fancy +of eternally sequestering herself, the conceit of regarding as friends +those ancient stones of the moor and crossroads, was beyond his power to +appreciate. To Mary such conduct presented even greater elements of +mystery. Yet the fact faced them, and the crosses came in time to be one of +the few subjects which Joan cared to talk upon. Even then it was to her +uncle alone she opened her heart concerning them: Mary never unlocked the +inner nature of her cousin. + +"I got names o' my awn for each of 'em," Joan confessed, "an' I seem they +do knaw my comin' an' my secrets an' my troubles. They teach me the force +o' keepin' my mouth shut; an' much mixin' wi' other folks arter the silence +o' the stones 'mazes me--men an' wummen do chatter so." + +"An' so did you, lassie, an' weern't none the worse. Us doan't hear your +purty voice enough now." + +"'Tis better thinkin' than talkin', Uncle Thomas. I abbun nort to talk +'bout, you see, but a power o' things to think of. The auld stones speaks +to me solemn, though they can't talk. They'm wise, voiceless things an' +brings God closer. An' me, an' all the world o' grass an' flowers, an' the +lil chirruping griggans [Footnote: Grasshoppers.] do seem so young beside +'em; but they'm big an' kind. They warm my heart somethin' braave; an' they +let the gray mosses cling to 'em an' the dinky blue butterflies open an' +shut their wings 'pon 'em, an' the bramble climb around theer arms. They've +tawld me a many good things; an' fust as I must be humbler in my bearin'. +Wance I said I'd forgive faither, an' I thot 'twas a fair thing to say; now +I awnly wants en to forgive me an' let me come to my time wi' no man's +anger hot agin me. If I could win just a peep o' home. I may never see it +no more arter, 'cause things might fall out bad wi' me." + +"'Tis nachrul as you harp on it; an', blame me, if I sees why you shouldn' +go down-long. Us might ride in the cart an' no harm done." + +"Ay, do 'e come, theer's a dear sawl. Just to look upon the plaace--" + +"As for that, if us goes, us must see the matter through an' give your +faither the chance to do what's right by 'e." + +"He'll not change; but still I'd have en hear me tell I'm in sorrer for the +ill I brot 'pon his name." + +"Ay, facks! 'Tis a wise word an' a right. Us'll go this very arternoon. You +get a odd pound or so o' scald cream, an' I'll see to a basket o' fruit wi' +some o' they scoured necterns, as ban't no good for sellin', but eats so +well as t'others. Iss, we'll go so soon as dinner be swallowed. Wishes +doan't run in a body's head for nothin'." + +Uncle Chirgwin's old market-cart, with the gray horse and the squeaking +wheel, rattled off to Newlyn some two hours later, and the ordeal, longed +for at a distance, towered tremendous and less beautiful at nearer +approach. When they started, Joan had hoped that her father might be at +home; as they neared Newlyn she felt a growing relief in the reflection +that his presence ashore was exceedingly improbable. Her anxieties were +forgotten for a few moments at sight of the well-known outlines of the +hills above the village. Now arrish-mows--little thatched stacks some eight +feet high--glimmered in the pale gilded stubbles of the fields; the +orchards gleamed with promise; the foliage of the elms was at its darkest +before the golden dawn of autumn. Well-remembered sights rose on Joan's +misty eyes with the music proper to them; then came the smell of the sea +and the jolting of the cart, going slowly over rough stones. Narrow, steep +streets and sharp corners had to be traversed not only with caution but at +a speed which easily placed Joan within the focus of many glances. Troubles +and humiliation of a sort wholly unexpected burst suddenly upon her, +bringing the girl's mind rudely back from dreams born of the familiar +scene. Newlyn women bobbed about their cottage doors with hum and stir, and +every gossip's mouth was full of news at this entry. Doors and windows +filled with curious heads and bright eyes; there was some laughter in the +air; fishermen got up with sidelong looks from the old masts or low walls +whereon, during hours of leisure, they sat in rows and smoked. Joan, all +aflame, prayed Uncle Chirgwin to hasten, which he did to the best of his +power; but their progress was of necessity slow, and local curiosity +enjoyed full scope and play. Tears came to the girl's eyes long before the +village was traversed; then, through a mist of them, she saw a hand +stretched to meet her own and heard a voice which rang kindly on her ears. +It was Sally Trevennick, who faced the spiteful laughter without flinching +and said a few loud, friendly words, though indeed her well-meant support +brought scant comfort with it for the victim. + +"Lard sakes! Joan, doan't 'e take on so at them buzzin' fools! 'Tedn' the +trouble, 'tis the money make 'em clatter! Bah! Wheer's the wan of them +black-browed gals as 'alf the money wouldn' buy? You keep a bold faace, an' +doan't let 'em see as their sniggerin's aught more to 'e than dog-barking." + +"Us'll be theer in a minute," added Mr. Chirgwin, "an' I'll drive back agin +by Mouzle; then you'll 'scape they she-cats. I never thot as you'd a got to +stand that dressin' down in a plaace what's knawed you an' yours these many +years." + +Joan asked Sally Trevennick whether she could say if Gray Michael was on +the water, and she felt very genuine thankfulness on learning that Sally +believed so. Two minutes later the spring-cart reached level ground above +the sea, then, whipping up his horse, Uncle Chirgwin increased the pace, +and very quickly Joan found herself at the door of home. + +Thomasin was within, and, hearing the sound of wheels cease before the +cottage, came forth to learn who had arrived. Her surprise was only equaled +by her alarm at sight of Joan and Mr. Chirgwin. So frightened indeed did +she appear that both the newcomers supposed Mr. Tregenza must be within. +Such, however, was not the case, and Joan's stepmother explained the nature +of her fears. + +"He'm to sea, but the whole world do knaw you be come, I'll lay; an' he'll +knaw tu. Sure's death some long-tongued female will babble it to en 'fore +he's off the quay. Then what?" + +"'Tedn' your fault anyways," declared Uncle Thomas. "Joan's wisht an' sad +to see home agin, as was right an' proper; an' in her present way she've +got to be humored. So I've brot her, an' what blame comes o't my shoulders +is more'n broad enough to carry. I wish, for my paart, as Michael was home, +so's I might faace en when Joan says what her've comed to say. I be gwaine +to Penzance now, 'pon a matter o' business, an' I'll come back here in an +hour or so an' drink a dish o' tea along with you 'fore we staarts." + +He drove away immediately, and for a while Joan was left with Mrs. +Tregenza. The latter's curiosity presently soothed her fears, and almost +the first thing she began to talk about was that "will and testament" which +she had long since urged upon her stepdaughter. But the girl, moving about +in the well-known orchard, had no attention for anything but the sights, +sounds and scents around her. Silently and not unhappily she basked in old +sensations renewed; and they filled her heart. Meanwhile Thomasin kept up a +buzz of conversation concerning Joan's money and Joan's future. + +"Touchin' that bit o' writin'! Do 'e see to it, soas; 'tis awnly wisdom. +Theer's allus a fear wi' the fust, specially in the case o' a pin-tail +built lass like you be. An' if you was took, which God forbid, theer'd be +that mort o' money to come to Michael, him bein' your faither--that is, +s'pose the cheel was took tu, which God forbid likewise. An' he'd burn +it--every note--I mean Michael. Now if you was to name Tom--just in case o' +accidents--? He'm of your awn blood by's faither." + +"But my baaby must be fust." + +"In coorse er must. 'Tis lawful an' right. Love childern do come as sweet +an' innercent on to the airth as them born o' wedlock--purty sawls. 'Tis +the fashion to apprentice 'em to theer faithers mostly, an' they be a sort +o' poor cousins o' the rightful fam'ly; but your lil wan--well--theer edn' +gwaine to be any 'poor cousin' talk 'bout en--if en do live. But I was +talkin' o' the will." + +"I've writ it out all fair in ink 'cordin' as Uncle Chirgwin advised," said +Joan. "Fust comes my cheel, then Tom. Uncle sez theer ban't no call to name +others. I wanted hisself to take a half on it, but he said theer weren't no +need an' he wouldn't nohow." + +"Quite right," declared Thomasin. "Iss fay! He be a plain dealer an' a good +righteous man." + +Joan's thoughts meanwhile were mainly concerned with her surroundings, and +when she had walked thrice about the garden, visited the pigs, peeped into +the tool-house to smell the paint and twine, noted the ripening plums and a +promising little crop of beets coming on in the field beyond, she went +indoors. There a pair of Michael's tall sea-boots stood in the chimney +corner, with a small pair of Tom's beside them; the old, well-remembered +crockery shone from the dresser; geraniums and begonias filled the window; +on a basket at the right of the fireside stood a small blue plate with gold +lettering upon it and a picture of Saltash Bridge in the middle. The legend +ran--_A present for a good girl_. It was a gift from her father to +Joan, on her tenth birthday. She picked it up, polished it, and asked for a +piece of paper to wrap it in, designing to carry the trifle away with her. + +Every old nook and corner had been visited by the time that Uncle Chirgwin +returned. Then all sat down to eat and drink, and the taste of the tea went +still further to quicken Joan's memory. + +Mrs. Tregenza gave them such information as suggested itself to her during +the progress of the meal. She was chiefly concerned about her son. + +"Cruel 'ard worked he be, sure 'nough," she murmured. "'Tis contrary to +reason a boy can graw when he's made to sweat same as Tom be. An' short for +his age as 'tis. But butivul broad, an' 'mazin' strong, an' a fine sight to +see en ate his food. Then the Gosp'lers--well, they'm cold friends to the +young. A bwoy like him caan't feel religion in his blood same as grawed +folks." + +"Small blame to en," said Joan promptly. "Let en go to church an' hear +proper holy ministers in black an' white gownds, an' proper words set down +in print, same as what I do now." + +"I'd as soon not have my flaish creep down the spine 'pon Sundays as not," +confessed Thomasin, "but Michael's Michael, an' so all's said." + +Uncle Chirgwin went to smoke a pipe and water his horse at this juncture; +but he returned within less than ten minutes. + +"It's blowin'," he said, "an' the fust skew o' gray rain's breakin' over +the sea. I knawed 'twas comin' by my corns. The bwoats is sailin' back +tu--a frothin' in proper ower the lumpy water." + +"Then you'd best be movin'," said Mrs. Tregenza. "I judged bad-fashioned +weather was comin' tu when I touched the string o' seaweed as hangs by the +winder. 'Tis clammy to the hand. God save us!" she continued, turning from +the door, "theer's ourn at the moorin's! They've been driv' back 'fore us +counted 'pon seein' 'em by the promise of storm. Get you gone, for the love +o' the Lard; an' go Mouzle way, else you'll run on top o' Michael for +sure." + +"Ban't no odds if us do. Joan had a mind to see en," answered the farmer; +but Joan spoke for herself. She explained that she now wished to depart +without seeing her father if possible. + +It was, however, too late to escape the meeting. Even as the twain bade +Mrs. Tregenza a hasty farewell, heavy feet sounded on the cobbles at the +cottage door and a moment later Tregenza entered. His oilskins were wet and +shiny; half a dozen herrings, threaded through the gills on a string, hung +from his right hand. + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +"THE LORD IS KING" + + +Michael Tregenza instantly observed Joan where she sat by the window, and, +seeing her, stood still. The fish fell from his hand and dropped slithering +in a heap on the stone floor. There was a silence so great that all could +hear a patter of drops from the fisherman's oilskins as the water rolled to +the ground. At the same moment gusts of rising wind shook the casement and +bleared the glass in it with rain. Joan, as she rose and stood near Mr. +Chirgwin, heard her heart thump and felt the blood leap. Then she nerved +herself, came a little forward, and spoke before her father had time to do +so. He had now turned his gaze from her and was looking at the farmer. + +"Faither," she said very gently, "faither dearie, forgive me. I begs it so +hard; 'tis the thing I wants most. I feared to see 'e, but you was sent off +the waters that I might. I comed in tremblin' an' sorrer to see wheer I've +lived most all my short days. I'm that differ'nt now to what I was. Uncle +Thomas'll tell 'e. I know I'm a sinful, wicked wummon, an' I'm heart-broke +day an' night for the shame I've brot 'pon my folks. I'll trouble 'e no +more if 'e will awnly say the word. Please, please, faither, forgive." + +She stood without moving, as did he. Uncle Chirgwin watched silently. Mrs. +Tregenza made some stir at the fire to conceal her anxiety. No relenting +glimmer softened either the steel of Gray Michael's eyes or one line in his +great face. The furrows knotted between his eyebrows and at the corners of +his eyes. His sou'wester still covered his head. At his mouth was a +down-drawing, as of disgust before some offensive sight or smell, and the +hand which had held the fish was clinched. He swallowed and found speech +hard. Then Joan spoke again. + +"Uncle's forgived me, an' Mary, an' Tom, an' mother here. Caan't 'e, caan't +'e, faither? My road's that hard." + +Then he answered, his words bursting out of his lips sharply, painfully at +first, rolling as usual in his mighty chest voice afterward. The man +twisted Scripture to his narrow purposes according to Luke Gospel usage. + +"'Forgive'? Who can forgive but the Lard, an' what is man that he should +forgive them as the A'mighty's damned? 'Tis the sinners' bleat an' whine +for forgiveness what's crackin' the ear o' God whensoever 'tis bent 'pon +airth. Ain't your religion taught you that--you, Thomas Chirgwin? If not, +'tis a brawken reed, man. Get you gone, you fagot, you an' this here +white-haired sawl, as is foolin' you an' holdin' converse wi' the outcast +o' heaven. I ban't no faither o' yourn, thank God, as shawed me I +weern't--never, never. Gaw! Gaw both of 'e. My God! the sight of 'e do +sicken me as I stand in the same air. You--an auld man--touchin' her an' +her devil-sent, filthy moneys. 'Twas a evil day, Thomas Chirgwin, when I +fust seed them o' your blood--an ill hour, an' you drives it red-hot into +my brain with your actions. Bad, bad you be--bad as that lyin', false, lost +sinner theer--a-draggin' out your cant o' forgiveness an' foolin' a damned +sawl wi' falsehoods. _You_ knaws wheer she'm gwaine; an' your +squeakin', time-servin' passon knaws; an' you both tells her differ'nt!" + +"Out on 'e, you stone-hearted wretch o' a man!" began Uncle Chirgwin in a +small voice, shaking with anger; but the fisherman had not said his last +word, and roared the other down. Gray Michael's self-control was less than +usual; his face had grown very red and surcharged veins showed black on the +unwrinkled sides of his forehead. + +"No more, not a word. Get you gone an' never agin set foot 'pon this here +draxel. [Footnote: _Draxel_--Threshold.] Never--never none o' Chirgwin +breed. Gaw! or auld as you be, I'll force 'e! God's on the side o' right!" + +Hereupon Joan, not judging correctly of the black storm signs on her +father's face or the force of the voice, now grating into a shriek as +passion tumbled to flood, prayed yet again for that pardon which her parent +was powerless to grant. The boon denied grew precious in her eyes. She wept +and importuned, falling on her knees to him. + +"God can do it, God can do it, faither. Please--please, for the sake o' the +God as leads you, forgive. Oh, God in heaven, make en forgive me--'tis all +I wants." + +But a religious delirium gripped Tregenza and poisoned the blood in him. +His breast rose, his fists clinched, his mouth was dragged sidewise and his +underlip shook. A damned soul, looking up with wild eyes into his, was all +he saw--the very off scouring and filth of human nature--hell tinder, to +touch which in kindness was to risk his own salvation. + +"Gaw, gaw! Else the Lard'll make me His weapon. He's whisperin'--He's +whisperin'!" + +There was something horribly akin to genuine madness in the frenzy of this +utterance. Mrs. Tregenza screamed; Joan struggled to her feet in some +terror and her head swam. She turned to get her hat from the dresser-ledge, +and, as she did so, the little blue plate, tied up in paper beside it, fell +and broke, like the last link of a snapping chain. Gray Michael was making +a snorting in his nostrils and his head seemed to grow lower on his +shoulders. Then Mr. Chirgwin found his opportunity and spoke. + +"I've heard you, an' it ban't human nachur to knuckle down dumb, so I be +gwaine to speak, an' you can mind or not as you please." + +He flung his old hat upon the ground and walked without fear close beside +the fisherman who towered above him. + +"God be with 'e, I sez, for you need En fine an' bad for sartain--worse'n +that poor 'mazed lamb shakin' theer. _You_ talk o' the ways o' God to +men an' knaw no more 'bout 'em than the feesh what you draw from the sea! +You'm choustin' yourself cruel wi' your self-righteousness--take it from +me. _You'm_ saved, be you? _You_ be gwaine to heaven, are 'e? Who +tawld 'e so, Michael Tregenza? Did God A'mighty send a flyin' angel to tell +'e a purpose? Look in your heart, man, an' see how much o' Christ be in it. +Christ, I tell 'e, Christ--Christ--Jesus Christ. It's _Him_ as'll +smuggle us all into heaven, not your psalm-smitin', knock-me-down, +ten-commandment, cussin' God. I'm grawin' very auld an' I knaw what I knaw. +Your God's a _devil_, fisherman--a graspin', cruel devil; an' them the +devil saves is damned. 'Tis Christ as you've turned your stiff back +'pon--Christ as'll let this poor lass into heaven afore ever you gets +theer! You ban't in sight o' the gates o' pearl, not you, for all your cold +prayers. You'm young in well-doin'; an' 'tis a 'ard road you'll fetch home +by, I'll swear; an' 'tis more'n granite the Lard'll use to make your heart +bleed. He'll break you, Tregenza--you, so bold, as looks dry-eyed 'pon the +sun an' reckons your throne'll wan day be as bright. He'll break you, an' +bring you to your knees, an' that 'fore your gray hairs be turned, as mine, +to white. Oh, Christ Jesus, look you at this blind sawl an' give en +somethin' better to lay hold 'pon than his poor bally-muck o' religion +what's nort but a gert livin' lie!" + +Thomas Chirgwin seemed mightily transfigured as he spoke. The words came +without an effort, but he uttered them with pauses and in a loud voice not +lacking solemnity. His head shook, yet he stood firm and motionless upon +his feet; and he made his points with a gesture, often repeated, of his +open right hand. + +As for Tregenza, the man listened through all, though he heard but little. +His head was full of blood; there was a weight on his tongue striking it +silent and forcing his mouth open at the same moment. The world looked red +as he saw it; his limbs were not bearing him stiffly. Thomasin had her eye +upon him, for she was quite prepared to throw over her previous statements +and support her husband against an attack so astounding and unexpected. And +the more so that he had not himself hurled an immediate and crushing +answer. + +Meantime the old farmer's sudden fires died within him; he shrank to his +true self, and the voice in which he now spoke seemed that of another man. + +"Give heed to what I've said to 'e, Michael, an' be humble afore the Lard +same as your darter be. Go in fear, as you be forever biddin' all flaish to +go. Never say no sawl's lost while you give all power to the Maker o' +sawls. Go in fear, I sez, else theer'll come a whirlwind o' God-sent sorrer +to strike wheer your heart's desire be rooted. 'Tis allus so--allus--" + +Tom entered upon these words, and Uncle Chirgwin's eyes dropping upon him +as he spoke, his utterance sounded like a prophecy. So the boy's mother +read it, and with a half sob, half shriek, she turned in all the frenzy of +sudden maternal wrath. Her sharp tongue dropped mere vituperation, but did +so with boundless vigor, and the woman's torrent of unbridled curses and +threats swept that scene of storm to its close. Joan went first from the +door, while Mr. Chirgwin, picking up his hat and buttoning his coat, +retreated after her before the volume of Thomasin's virago attack. Tom +stood open-mouthed and silent, dumfounded at the tremendous spectacle of +his mother's rage and his father's stricken silence. Then, as Mrs. Tregenza +slammed the door and wept, her husband sunk slowly down with something +strangely like terror in his eyes. The man in truth had just passed through +a physical crisis of alarming nature. He sat in his easy-chair now, removed +his hat, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with hands that +shook. It was not what he had heard or beheld that woke alarm in a spirit +which had never known it till then, but what he had felt: a horror which +crowded down upon every sense, gripped his volition with unseen hands, +blinded him, stopped his ears, held his limbs, stirred his brains into a +whirling waste. He knew now that in his moment of passion he had stood upon +the very brink of some terrific, shattering evil, possibly of death itself. +Body or brain or both had passed through a great, unknown danger; and now, +dazed and for the time much aged, he looked about him with slow +eyes--mastered the situation, and realized the incident was ended. + +"The Lard--'the Lard is King,'" he said, and stopped a moment. Then he +slowly rose to his feet and with the old voice, though it shook and slurred +somewhat upon his tongue, spoke that text which served him in all occasions +of unusual stress and significance. + +"'The Lard is King, be the people never so impatient; He sitteth between +the cherubims, be the airth never so unquiet'!" + +Then he sat again and long remained motionless with his face buried in his +hands. + +Meantime the old horse dragged Uncle Chirgwin and his niece away along the +level road to Mousehole. Joan was wrapped in a tarpaulin and they proceeded +silently a while under cold rains, which swept up from a leaden south over +the sea. The wind blew strong, tore green leaves from the hedges, and +chimed with the thoughts of the man and his niece. + +"How did you come to speak so big an' braave, Uncle Thomas? I couldn' say +no more to en, for the lights rose up in my throat an' choked me; but you +swelled out somethin' grand to see, an' spawk as no man ever yet spawk to +faither afore." + +"'Twas put in me to say; I doan't knaw how ever I done it, but my tongue +weern't my awn for the time. Pull that thing tighter about 'e. This rain +would go through a barn door." + +At the steep hill rising from Mousehole to Paul, Uncle Chirgwin got out and +walked, while the horse, with his shoulders to the collar, plodded forward. +Then, down the road came the laboring man, Billy Jago, mentioned aforetime +as one who had worked for Mr. Chirgwin in the past. He touched his hat to +his old master and greeted him with respect and regard. For a moment the +farmer also stopped. No false sentiment tied Billy's tongue and he spoke of +matters personal to those before him, having first mournfully described his +own state of health. + +"But theer, us gaws down to the tomb to make way for the new born. I do +say, an' swear tu, that the butivulest things in all wild nachur be a ship +in full sail an' a wummon in the fam'ly way. Ban't nothin' to beat 'em. An' +I'll say it here, 'pon this spot, though the rain's bitin' into my bones +like teeth. So long to 'e, maaster, an' good cheeldin' to 'e, miss!" + +The man rolled with loutish gait down the hill; the darkness gathered; the +wind whistled through high hedges on the left; farmer Chirgwin made sounds +of encouragement to his horse, which moved onward; and Joan thought with +curious interest of those things that Billy Jago had said. + +"'Tis straange us met that poor, croony antic at sich a moment," mused +Uncle Thomas; "the words of en jag sore 'pon a body's mind, comin' arter +what's in our thots like." + +"Maybe 'tis paart o' the queerness o' things as us should fall 'pon en +now," answered Joan. + +Then, through a stormy gloaming, they returned in sadness to the high lands +of Drift. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +A GLEN-ADER + + +"A new broom sweeps clean, but 'tis the auld wan as is good for corners," +said Uncle Chirgwin, when with his nieces he sat beside the kitchen fire +that night and discussed the events of the day. + +"By which I means," he added, "that these new-fangled ways of approaching +the A'mighty may go to branch and trunk an' make a clean sweep o' evil, but +they leaves the root o' pride stickin' in a man's sawl. 'Tis the auld broom +as Christ brought in the world as routs into the dark corners like nothin' +else." + +"I be glad you spawk to en," said Mary. "Seed sawed do bring forth fruit in +a 'mazin'' way." + +"I reckoned he'd a smote me, but he dedn'. He just turned rosy red an' +stood glazin' at me as if I was a ghost." + +"I never see en look like that afore," declared Joan; "he 'peared to be +afeared. But the door's shut 'gainst me now. I caan't do no more'n I have +done. He'll never forgive." + +"As to that, Joan, I won't say. You bide quiet till the seed sprouts. I lay +now as you'll hear tell about your faither an' maybe get a message from en +'fore the year's a month older." + +With which hopeful prediction Uncle Chirgwin ended the discussion. + +That night the circular storm, which had died away at dark, turned upon +itself and the wind moaned at window latches and down chimneys, prophesying +autumn. Dawn broke on a drenched, gray world, but the storm had clean +passed, and at noon the gray brightened to silver and burned to gold when +the sun came out. The wind wore to the west, and on to northwest; the +weather settled down and days of a rare late summer pursued their even way. + +A fortnight passed, and the farmer's belief that Gray Michael would +communicate with his daughter began to waver. + +"Pharaoh's a soft-'earted twoad to this wan," he declared gloomily. "It do +beat me to picksher sich a man. I've piped to en hot an' strong, as Joan +knaws, but he ban't gwaine to dance 'tall seemin'ly. Poor sawl! When the +hand o' the Lard do fall, God send 'twon't crush en all in all. +'Saved'--_him_--dear, dear!" + +"The likes of Tregenza be saved 'pon St. Tibbs Eve, [Footnote: _St. Tibbs +Eve_--Equivalent to the "Greek Calends."] I reckon, an' no sooner," +answered Mary scornfully. Then she modified her fiery statement according +to her custom, for the woman's zeal always had first call upon her tongue, +and her judgment usually took off the edge of every harsh statement +immediately upon its utterance. + +"Leastways 'tis hard to see how sich bowldashious standin' up in the eye o' +God should prosper. But us can be saved even from our awnselves, I s'pose. +So Tregenza have got his chance along o' the best." + +Joan never resented the outspoken criticisms on her parent. She listened, +but rarely joined the discussion. The whole matter speedily sank to a +position of insignificance. Her own mind was clear, and the deadlock only +cut off one more outer interest and reduced Life's existing influences to a +smaller field. She drew more and more into herself, slipped more and more +from out the routine life of Drift. She became self-centered, and when her +body was not absent, as happened upon most fine days, her mind abstracted +itself to extreme limits. She grew shy of fellow-creatures, found no day +happy of which a part had not been spent beside a cross, showed a gradual +indifference to the services of the church which not long since had +attracted her so strongly and braced the foundations of her soul. There +came at last a black Sunday when Joan refused to accompany Mary and the +farmer to morning worship at Sancreed. She made no excuse, but designed a +pilgrimage of more than usual length, and, having driven as far as the +church with her uncle and cousin, left them there and walked on her way. +Even the fascinations of a harvest festival failed to charm her; and the +spectacle of fat roots, mighty marrows, yellow corn and red apples on the +window-ledges, of grapes and tomatoes, flowers and loaves upon the altar, +pulpit and font, did not appeal overmuch to Joana--a fact perhaps +surprising. + +With a plump pasty of meat and flour in her pocket and one of Uncle +Chirgwin's walking-sticks to help her footsteps, Joan went on her way, +passed the Wesleyan Chapel of Sancreed, and then maintained a reasonably +direct line to her destination by short cuts and field paths. She intended +to visit Mên Scryfa, that famous "long stone" which stands away in a moor +croft beyond Lanyon. She knew that it was no right cross, but she +remembered it well, having visited the monument frequently in the past. It +was holy with infinite age, and the writing upon it fascinated her as a +mystery fascinates most of us. + +The words, "_Rialobrani Cunovali Fili_," which probably mark the fact +that Rialobran, son of Cunoval, some Brito-Celtic chieftain of eld, lies +buried not far distant, meant nothing to Joan, but the old gray-headed +stone, perhaps the loneliest in all Cornwall, was pleasant to her thoughts, +and she trudged forward gladly with her eyes open for all the beauties of +a smiling world. + +Summer clouds, sunny-hearted and towering against the blue, dropped immense +shadows on the glimmering gold of much stubble and on the wastes of the +moor rising above them. In the cornfields, visible now that the crops were +cut and gathered into mows, stood little gray-green islands--a mark +distinctive of Cornish husbandry. Here grew cow-cabbages in rank +luxuriance, on mounds of manure which would be presently scattered over the +exhausted land. The little oases in the deserts of the fields were too +familiar to arrest Joan's eye. She merely glanced at the garnered wheat and +thought what a brief time the arrish geese, stuffing themselves in the +stubble, had yet to live. A solemn, splendid peace held the country-side, +and hardly a soul was abroad where the road led upward to wild moor and +waste. Sometimes a group of calves crowding under the shady side of hedges +regarded Joan with youthful interest; sometimes, in a distant coomb-bottom, +where blackberries grew, little sunbonnets bobbed above the fern and a +child's shrill voice came clear to her upon the wind. But the loneliness +grew, and, anon, turning from her way a while, the traveler sat on the gray +crown of Trengwainton Carn to rest and look at the wide world. + +From the little tor, over undulations of broad light and blue shadow, Joan +could see afar to Buryan's lofty tower, to Paul above the sea, to +Sancreed's sycamores and to Drift beyond them. Wild sweeps of fell and +field faded on the sight to those dim and remote hues of distance only +visible upon days of exceeding aerial brilliancy. Immediately beneath the +eminence subtended ragged expanses of rainbow-colored heath and fern and +furze spotted with small fir trees which showed blue against the tones of +the moor. The heather's pink clearly contrasted with the paler shades of +the ling, and an additional silvery twinkle of light inhabited the latter +plant, its cause last year's dead white branches and twigs still scattered +through the living foliage and flower. Out of a myriad bells that wild +world spoke, and the murmur of the heath came as the murmur of a wise voice +to the ear on which it fell. There was a soul in the day; it lived, and +Joan looked into the eyes of a glorious, conscious entity, herself a little +part of the space-filling whole. + +Presently, refreshed by brief rest, the pilgrim journeyed on over a road +which climbs the moor above deep fox-covers of rhododendron, already +mentioned as visible from Madron chapel. The way dipped presently, crossed +a rivulet and mounted again past the famous cromlech of Lanyon. But Joan +passed the quoit unheeding, and kept upon flint roads through Lanyon farm, +where its irregular buildings stretch across the hill-crest. She saw the +stacks roped strangely in nets with heavy stones to secure them against +winter gales; she observed the various familiar objects of Drift repeated +on a greater scale; then, going down hill yet again, Joan struck up the +course of another stream and passed steadily over broad, granite-dotted +tangles of whin, heather and rank grasses to her destination. Here the +heath was blasted and scarred with summer fires. Great patches of the waste +had been eaten naked by past flames, and Mên-an-tol--the +"crick-stone"--past which she progressed, stood with its lesser granite +pillars in a dark bed of scorched earth and blackened furze-stems stripped +bare by the fire. She stood in a wide, desolate cup of the Cornish moor. To +the south Ding-Dong Mine reared its shattered chimney-stack, toward the +northwest Carn Galvas--that rock-piled fastness of dead giants--reared a +gray head against the blue. A curlew piped; a lizard rustled into a tussock +of grass where pink bog-heather and seeding cotton grasses splashed the +sodden ground; a dragon-fly from the marsh stayed a moment upon Mên-an-tol, +and the jewel of his eyes was a little world holding all the colors of the +larger. + +Joan, keeping her way to where Carn Galvas rose over the next ridge, walked +another few hundred yards, crossed a disused road, climbed a stony bank, +and then stood in the little croft sacred to Mên Scryfa. At the center, +above a land almost barren save for stunted heath and wind-beaten fern it +rose--a tall stone of rough and irregular shape. The bare black earth, in +which shone quartz crystals, stretched at hand in squares. From these raw +spaces, peat had been cut, to be subsequently burned for manure; and it +stood hard by stacked in a row of beat-burrows or little piles of +overlapping pieces, the cut side out. Near the famous old stone itself, +surmounting a barrow-like tumulus, grew stunted bracken; and here Joan +presently sat down full of happiness in that her pilgrimage had been +achieved. The granite pillar of Mên Scryfa was crested with that fine +yellow-gray lichen which finds life on exposed stones; upon the windward +side clung a few atoms of golden growth; and its rude carved inscription +straggled down the northern face. The monument rose sheer above black +corpses of crooked furze, for fire had swept this region also, adding not a +little to the prevailing sobriety of it, and only the elemental splendor of +weather and the canopy of blue and gold beneath which spread this +desolation rendered it less than mournful. Even under these circumstances +imagination, as though rebelling against the conditions of sunshine and +summer then maintaining, leaped to picture Mên Scryfa under the black +screaming of winter storm or rising darkly upon deep snows; casting a +transitory shadow over a waste ghastly blue under flashes of lightning, or +throbbing to its deep roots when thunder roared over the moor and the levin +brand hissed unseen into quag and fen. + +The double crown of Carn Galvas fronted Joan as she presently sat with her +back resting against the stone; and a medley of the old thoughts rose not +unwelcome in her mind. Giant mythology seemed a true thing in sight of +these vast regular piles of granite; and the thought of the kind simple +monsters who had raised that earn led to musings on the "little people." +Her mind brooded over the fairies and their strange ways with young human +mothers. She remembered the stories of changelings, and vowed to herself +that her own babe should never be out of sight. These reflections found no +adverse criticism in faith. The Bible was full of giants; and if no fairies +were mentioned therein, she had read nothing aimed against them. Presently +she prayed for the coming child. Her soul went with the words; and they +were addressed with vagueness as became her vague thoughts, half to Mên +Scryfa, half to God, all in the name of Christ. + +Going home again, after noon, Joan found a glen-ader, [Footnote: +_Glen-ader_--The cast skin of an adder. Once accounted a powerful +amulet, and still sometimes secretly preserved by the ignorant, as sailors +treasure a caul.] which circumstance is here mentioned to illustrate the +conflicting nature of those many forces still active in her mind. That they +should have coexisted and not destroyed each other is the point of most +peculiarity. But it seemed for a moment as though the girl had +intellectually passed at least that form of superstition embraced by +coveted possession of a glen-ader; for, upon finding the thing lying +extended like a snake's ghost, she hesitated before picking it up. The old +tradition, however, sucked in from a credulous parent with much similar +folly at a time when the mind accepts impressions most readily, was too +strong for Joan. Qualms she had, and some whisper at the bottom of her mind +was heard with a clearness sufficient to make her uncomfortable, but reason +held a feeble citadel at best in Joan's mind. The whisper died, memory +spoke of the notable value which wise men through long past years had +placed upon this charm, and in the face of the future it seemed wicked to +reject a thing of such proven efficacy. So she picked up the adder's +slough, designing to sew it upon a piece of flannel and henceforth wear it +against her skin until her baby should be born. But she determined to tell +neither Mary nor her uncle, though she did not stop to ask why secrecy thus +commended itself to her. + +That evening Mary came primed from church-going with grave admonition, Mr. +Chirgwin was tearful, and hinted at his own sorrow arising from Joan's +backsliding, but Mary did not mince language and spoke what she thought. + +"You'm wrong, an' you knaw you'm wrong," she said. "The crosses be very +well, an' coorious, butivul things to see 'pon the land tu, but they'm poor +food to a body's sawl. They caan't shaw wheer you'm out; they caan't lead +'e right." + +"Iss they can, then, an' they do," declared Joan. "The more I bide along +wi' 'em the better I feel an' the nearer to God A'mighty, so theer! They'm +allus the same, an' they puts thots in my head that's good to think; an' I +must go my ways, Polly, same as you go yours." + +When night came Joan slept within the mystic circumference of the +glen-ader; and that she derived a growing measure of mental satisfaction +from its embrace is unquestionable. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +"COME TO ME!" + + +A space of time six weeks in duration may be hastily dismissed as producing +no alteration in Joan's method of thought and life. It swept her swiftly +through shortening days and the last of the summer weather to the climax of +her fortunes. As the season waned she kept nearer home, going not much +further than Tremathick Cross on the St. Just road or to that relic already +mentioned as lying outside Sancreed churchyard. These, in time, she +associated as much with her child as with herself. The baby had now taken +its natural place in her mind, and she prayed every day that it might +presently forgive her for bringing it into the world at all. Misty-eyed, +not unhappy, with her beauty still a startling fact, Joan mused away long +hours at the feet of her granite friends through the waning splendors of +many an autumn noon. Then, within the brief space of two weeks, a period of +weather almost unexampled in the memory of the oldest agriculturists drew +to its close. + +That mighty rains must surely come all knew, but none foretold their +tremendous volume or foresaw the havoc, ruin and destruction to follow upon +their outpouring. Meantime, with late September, the leaves began to hustle +early to earth under great winds. Rain fell at times, but not heavily at +first, and a thirsty world drank open-mouthed through deep sun-cracks in +field and moor and dried-up marsh. But bedraggled autumn's robes were soon +washed colorless; the heath turned pallid before it faded to sere brown; +rotten banks of decaying leaves rose high under the hedges. There was no +dry, crisp whirl of gold on the wind, but a sodden condition gradually +overspread the land. The earth grew drunken with the later rains and could +hold no more. October saw the last of the purple and crimson, the tawny +browns and royal yellows. Only beeches, their wet leaves by many shades a +darker auburn than is customary, still retained lower foliage. The trees +put on their winter shapes unduly early. The world was dark and sweated +fungus. Uncouth children of the earth, whose hour is that which sees the +leaf fall, sprang into short-lived being. Black goblins and gray, white +goblins and brown, spread weird life abroad. With fleshy gills, squat and +lean, fat and thin, bursting through the grass in companies and circles, +lurking livid, gigantic and alone on the trunks of forest trees, gemming +the rotten bough with crimson, twinkling like topaz on the crooked stems of +the furze, battening upon death, rising into transitory vigor from the rack +and rot of a festering earth, they flourished. Heavy mists now stretched +their draperies over the high lands; and exhalations from the corpse of the +summer hung bluish under the rain in the valleys. One night a full moon +shone clearly, and through the ambient light ominous sheets and splashes of +silver glimmered in the low fields. Here they had slowly and silently +spread into existence, their birth hidden under the mists, their +significance marked by none but anxious farmers. All men hoped that the +full moon would bring cessation of this rainfall; but another gray dawn +faced them on the morrow and a thousand busy rills murmured and babbled +down the lanes round Drift. Here and there unsuspected springs burst their +hidden chambers and swept by steep courses over the green grass to join +these main waters which now raced through the valley. The light of day was +heavy and pressed upon the sight. It acted like a telescope in the +intervals of no rain and brought distant objects into strange distinctness. +The weather was much too warm even for "Western Cornwall. A few leaves +still hung on the crown of the apple trees, and such scanty peach and +nectarine foliage as yet remained was green. The red currants flaunted a +gold leaf or two and the remaining leaves of the black currant were purple +after his fashion. Joan marveled to see sundry of her favorites thrusting +forth tokens of spring almost before autumn was ended. Lilac buds swelled +to bursting; a peony pushed many pink points upward through the brown ruins +of the past; bulbs were growing rapidly; Nature had forgotten winter for +once, thought Joan. Thus the sodden, sunless, steaming days followed each +on the last until farming folk began to grow grave before a steady increase +of water on the land. Much hay stood in danger and some ricks had been +already ruined. Many theories were rife, Uncle Chirgwin's being, upon the +whole, the most fatuous. + +"Tis a thunder-planet," he told his nieces, "an' till us get a rousin' +storm o' crooked forks an' heavy thunder this rain'll go on fallin'. But +not so much as a flap o' the collybran [Footnote: _Collybran_--Sheet +lightning.] do us get for all the heat o' the air. I should knaw, if any, +for I be out turnin' night into day an' markin' the water in the valley +every evenin' long after dark now. I'm fearin' graave for the big stack; +an' theer's three paarts o' last year's hay beside, an' two tidy lil mows +of the aftermath. So sure's the waters do rise another foot and a half, +'tis 'good-by' to the whole boilin'. Not but 'twill be a miracle for the +stream to get much higher. The moor's burstin' wi' rain, but the coffins +[Footnote: _Coffins_--Ancient mining excavations.] do hold it up, I s'pose, +an' keep it aloft. A penn'orth o' frost now would save a pound of +produce from wan end o' Carnwall to t'other." + +Joan spent many long days in the house at this time and practiced an +unskillful needle, while her thoughts wandered far and near through the +sullen weather to this old cross and that. Then came a night of rainless +darkness through which past augmentations of water still thundered. Nature +rested for some hours before her final, shattering deluge, but the brief +peace was more tremendous than rain or wind, for a mighty foreboding +permeated it, and all men felt the end was not yet, though none could say +why they feared the silence more than storm. + +It happened upon this black night that Joan was alone in the kitchen. +Supper had been but a scrambling meal and her uncle with Amos Bartlett and +all the men on the farm were now somewhere in the valley under the darkness +fighting for the hay with rising water. Where Mary was just then, Joan did +not know. Her thoughts were occupied with her own affairs, and in the +oppressive silence she sat watching some little moving threadlike concerns +which hung in a row through a crack below the mantelpiece above the open +fire. They were the tails of mice which often here congregated nigh the +warmth and sat in a row, themselves invisible. The tails moved, and Joan +noted some shorter tails beside long ones, telling of infant vermin at +their mothers' sides. In the silence she could hear the squeaking of them, +and now and then she talked to them very softly. + +"Thank God, you lil mice, as you abbun got no brains in your heads an' no +call to look far in the future. I lay you'm happier than us, wi' nort to +fear 'bout 'cept crumbs an' a lew snug spot to live in." + +Thus she stumbled on the lowest note of pessimism: that conscious +intelligence is a supreme mistake. But the significance of her idea she +knew not. + +Then Joan rose up, shivered with a sudden sense of chill, stamped her feet, +and caused the row of tails below the mantel to vanish. + +"Goose-flaish down the spine do mean as theer's feet walkin' 'pon my +graave, I s'pose," she thought, as a heavy knock at the front door +interrupted her reflections. Hastening to open it, Joan found the +postman--a rare visitor at Drift. He handed her a letter and prepared to +depart immediately. + +"I'm grievous afeared o' Buryas Bridge tonight," he said; "when I comed +over, two hour back, the water was above the arches, an', so like's not, I +won't get 'cross 'tall if it's riz higher. An' somethin' cruel's comin', +I'll lay my life, 'fore marnin'. This pitch-black silence be worse than the +noise o' the rain." + +He vanished down the hill, and, returning to the kitchen, Joan lighted a +candle and examined the letter. A fit of trembling shook the girl to the +hidden seat of her soul as she did so, for her own name greeted her, in +neat printed letters akin to those on the superscription of another letter +she had received in the past. From John Barron it was that this +communication came, and the reception of it begot a wild chaos of mind +which now carried Joan headlong backward. Images swept through her brain +with the bewildering rapidity and brilliance of lightning flashes; she was +whirled and tossed on a flood of thoughts; a single sad-eyed figure +retained permanency and rose clear and separated itself from the +phantasmagorial procession of personages and events wending through her +mind, dissolving each into the other, stretching the circumstances of eight +short months into an eternity, crowding the solemn aisles of time past with +shadows of those emotions which had reigned over the dead spring time of +the year and were themselves long dead. Thus she stood for a space of vast +apparent duration, but in reality most brief. That trifling standpoint in +time needed for a dream or for the brain-picture of his past which +dominates the mind of the drowning was all that had sped with Joan. Then, +shaking herself clear of thought, she found her candle, which burned dim +when first lighted, was only now melting the wax and rising to its full +flame. A mist of damp had long hung on the inner walls of the kitchen at +Drift, begotten not of faulty building but by the peculiar condition of the +atmosphere; and as the candle flickered up in a chamber dark save for its +light and the subdued glow of a low fire, Joan noticed how the gathering +moisture on the walls had coalesced, run into drops and fallen, streaking +the misty gray with bright bars and networks, silvery' as the slime of +snails. + +With shaking hand, she set the candle upon a table, dropped into a chair +beside it and opened her letter. For a moment the page with its large +printed characters danced before her eyes, then they steadied and she was +able to read. Like a message from one long dead came the words; and in +truth, though the writer lived, he wrote upon the threshold of the grave. +John Barren had put into force his project, which was, as may be +remembered, to write to Joan when the end of his journey came in sight. The +words were carefully chosen, for he remembered her sympathy with suffering +and her extensive ignorance. He wrote in simple language, therefore, and +dwelt on his own helpless condition, exaggerating it to some extent. + +"No. 6 Melbury Gardens, London. + +"My own dear love--What can I say to make you know what has kept me away +from you? There is but one word and that is my poor sick and suffering +body. I wrote to you and tore up what I wrote, for I loved you too much to +ask you to come and share my sad life. It was very, very awful to be away +and know you were waiting and waiting for Jan; yet I could not come, +because Mother Nature was so hard. Then I went far away and hoped you had +forgotten me. Doctors made me go to a place over the sea where tall palm +trees grew up out of a dry yellow desert; but my poor lungs were too sick +to get well again and I came home to die. Yes, sweetheart, you will forgive +me for all when you know poor lonely Jan will soon be gone. He cannot live +much longer, and he is so weak now that he has no more power to fight +against the love of Joan. + +"For your own good, dear one, I made myself keep away and hid myself from +you. Now the little life left to me cries out by night and by day for you. +Joan, my own true love, I cannot die until I have seen you again. Come to +me, Joan, love, if you do not hate me. Come to me; come; and close my eyes +and let poor Jan have the one face that he loves quite near him at the end. +Even your picture has gone, for they came when I was away and took it and +put it in a place with many others for people to see. And all men and women +say it is the best picture. I shall be dead before they send it back to me. +So now I have nothing but the thoughts of my Joan. Oh, come to me, my love, +if you can. It will not be for long, and when Jan lies under the ground all +that he has is yours. I have fought so hard to keep from you and from +praying you to come to me, but I can fight no more. My home is named at the +top of this letter. You have but to enter the train for London and stop in +it until it gets to the end of its journey. My servant shall wait each day +for your coming. I can write no more, I can only pray to the God we both +love to bring you to me. And if you come or do not I shall have the same +great true love for you. I will die alone rather than trouble you to come +if you have forgotten me and not forgiven me for keeping silence. God bless +you, my only love. JAN." + +This feeble stuff rang like a clarion on the ear of the reader, for he who +had written it knew how best to strike, how best to appeal with +overwhelming force to Joan Tregenza. Her mind plunged straight into the +struggle and the billows of the storm, sweeping aside lesser obstructions, +were soon beating against the new-built ramparts of faith. The rush of +thought which had coursed through her brains before reading the letter now +made the task of deciding upon it easier. Indeed it can hardly be said that +any real doubt from first to last assailed Joan's decision. Faith did not +crumble, but, at a second glance, appeared to her wholly compatible with +obedience to this demand. There was an electric force in every word of the +letter. It proved Mister Jan's wondrous nobility of character, his +unselfishness, his love. He had suffered, too, had longed eternally for +her, had denied himself out of consideration for her future happiness, had +struggled with his love, and only broken down and given way to it in the +shadow of death. Grief shook Joan upon this thought, but joy was uppermost. +The long months of weary suffering faded from her recollection as nocturnal +mists vanish at the touch of the sun's first fire. She had no power to +analyze the position or reflect upon the various courses of action the man +might have taken to spare her so much agony. She accepted his bald +utterance word for word, as he knew she would. Every inclination and desire +swept her toward him now. His cry of suffering, his love, his loneliness, +her duty, as it stood blazoned upon her mind ten minutes after reading his +letter; the child to be born within two months--all these considerations +united to establish Joan's mind at this juncture. "Come to me!" Those were +the words echoing within her heart, and her soul cried upon Christ to +shorten time that she might reach him the sooner. Before the world was next +awake, she would be upon her way; before another night fell, Mister Jan's +arms would be round her. The long, dreary nightmare had ended for her at +last. Then came tears of bitter remorse, for she saw how his love had +never left her, how he had been true as steel, while she, misled by +appearances, had lost faith and lapsed into forgetfulness. A wild, +unreasoning yearning superior to time and space and the service of railways +got hold upon her. "Come to me," "Come to me," sounded in Joan's ears in +the live voice she had loved and lost and found again. An hour's delay, a +minute's, a moment's seemed a crime. Yet delay there must be, but the +tension and terrific excitement of her whole being at this period demanded +some immediate outlet in action. She wanted to talk to Uncle Chirgwin, and +she desired instant information upon the subject of her journey. First she +thought of seeking the farmer in the valley; then it struck her, the hour +being not later than eight o'clock, that by going into Penzance she might +learn at what time the morning train departed to London. + +Out of doors it was inky black, very silent, very oppressive. Joan called +Mary twice before departing, but received no answer. Indeed the house was +empty, though she did not know it. Finally, thrusting the letter into her +bosom, taking her hat and cloak from a nail in the kitchen and putting on a +pair of walking shoes, the girl went abroad. Her present medley of thoughts +begot a state of exceeding nervous excitation. For the letter touched the +two poles of extreme happiness and utmost possible sorrow. "Mister Jan" was +calling her to him indeed, but only calling her that she might see him die. +Careless of her steps, soothed unconsciously by rapid motion, she walked +from the farm, her mind full of joy and grief; and the night, silent no +longer for her, was full of a voice crying "Come to me, Joan, love, come!" + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +THE FLOOD + + +In the coomb beneath Drift, flashing as though red-hot from a theater of +Cimmerian blackness, certain figures, flame-lighted, flickered hurriedly +this way and that about a dark and monstrous pile which rose in their +midst. From the adjacent hill, superstitious watchers might have supposed +that they beheld some demoniac throng newly burst oat of the bowels of +earth and to be presently re-engulfed; but seen nearer, the toiling +creatures, fighting with all their hearts and souls to save a haystack from +flood, had merely excited human interest and commiseration. Farmer Chirgwin +and his men were girt as to the legs in old-fashioned hay-bands; some held +torches while others toiled with ropes to anchor the giant rick against the +gathering waters. There was no immediate fear, for the pile still stood a +clear foot above the stream on a gentle undulation distant nearly two yards +from the present boundary of the swollen river. But, on the landward side, +another danger threatened, because in that quarter the meadow sank in a +slight hollow which had now changed to a lake fed by a brisk rivulet from +the main river. The great rick thus stood almost insulated, and much +further uprising of the flood would place it in a position not to be +approached by man without danger. Above the stack, distant about +five-and-twenty yards, stood a couple of stout pollarded willows, and by +these Uncle Chirgwin had decided to moor his hay, trusting that they might +hold the great mass of it secure even though the threatened flood swept +away its foundations. Nine figures worked amain, and to them approached a +tenth, appearing from the darkness, skirting the lake and splashing through +the streamlet which fed it. Mary Chirgwin it was who now arrived--a +grotesque figure with her gown and petticoats fastened high and wearing on +her legs a pair of her uncle's leather gaiters. Mary had been up to the +farm for more rope, but the clothesline was all that she could find, and +this she now returned with. Already three ropes had been passed round the +rick and made fast to the willows, but none among them was of great +stoutness, nor had they been tied at an elevation best calculated to resist +a possible strain. Amos Bartlett took the line from Mary and set to work +with many assistants; while the farmer himself, waving a torch and stumping +hither and thither, now directed Bartlett, now encouraged two men who +worked with all their might at the cutting of a trench from the lake in +order that this dangerous body of water might be drained back to the main +stream. The flame-light danced in many a flash and splash over the smooth +surface of the face of the inland pond. Indeed it reflected like a glass at +present, for no wind fretted it, neither did a drop of rain fall. Intense, +watchful silence held that hour. The squash of men's feet in the mud, the +soft swirl of the water, the cry of voices alone disturbed the night. + +"God be praised! I do think 'tis 'bating," cried the farmer presently. He +ran every few minutes to the water and examined a stake hammered into it a +foot from the edge. It seemed, as far as might be judged by such fitful +light and rough measurement, that the river had sunk an inch or two, but it +was running in undulations, and what its muddy mass had lost in volume was +gained in speed. The water chattered and hissed; and Amos Bartlett, who +next made a survey, declared that the flood had by no means waned, but +rather risen. Then, the last ropes being disposed to the best advantage, +all joined the laborers who were digging. Twenty minutes later, however, +and before the trench was more than three parts finished, there came a +tremendous change. Turning hastily to the river, Bartlett uttered a shout +of alarm and called for light. He had approached the telltale stake, and +suddenly, before he reached it, found his feet in the water. The river was +rising with fierce rapidity at last, and five minutes later began to lick +at the edge of the hay-rick, and churn along with a strange hidden force +and devil in it. The pace increased with the volume, and told of some +prodigious outburst on the moor. The uncanny silence of the swelling water +as it slipped downward was a curious feature of it in this phase. Chirgwin +and his men huddled together at the side of the rick; then Bartlett held up +his hand and spoke. + +"Hark 'e all! 'Tis comin' now, by God!" + +They kept silence and listened with straining ears and frightened eyes, +fire-rimmed by the flickering torchlight. A sound came from afar--a sound +not unmelodious but singular beyond power of language to express--a whisper +of sinister significance to him who knew its meaning, of sheer mystery to +all others. A murmur filled the air, a murmur of undefined noises still far +distant. They might have been human, they might have arisen from the flight +and terror of beasts, from the movement of vast bodies, from the +reverberations of remote music; Earth or Heaven might have bred them, or +the upper chambers of the air midway between. They spoke of terrific +energies, of outpourings of force, of elemental chaos come again, of a +crown of unimagined horror set upon the night. + +All listened fearfully while the solemn cadences crept on their ears, +fascinated them like a siren song, wakened wild dread of tribulations and +terrors unknown till now. It was indeed a sound but seldom heard and wholly +unfamiliar to those beside the stack save one. + +"'Tis the callin' o' the cleeves," said Uncle Chirgwin. + +"Nay, man, 'tis a live, ragin' storm comed off the sea an' tearin' ower the +airth like a legion out o' hell! 'Tis the floodgates o' God opened you'm +hearin'! Ay, an' the four winds at each other's throats, an' a outburst o' +all the springs 'pon the hills! 'Tis death and ruin for the whole +country-side as be yelling up-long now. An' 'tis comin' faster'n thot." + +As Bartlett spoke, the voice of the tempest grew rapidly nearer, all +mystery faded out of it and its murmuring changed to a hoarse rattle. +Thunder growled a bass to the shriek of coming winds and a flash of distant +lightning bridged the head of the coomb with a crooked snake of fire. + +"Us'd best to get 'pon high land out o' this," shouted Bartlett. "All as +men can do us have done. The hay's in the hand o' Providence, but I +wouldn't be perched on top o' that stack not for diamonds all the same." + +A cry cut him short. Mary had turned and found the way to higher ground +already cut off. The lake was rising under their eyes, and that in spite of +the fact that the waters had already reached the trench cut for them, and +now tumbled in a torrent back to the parent stream. Escape in this +direction was clearly impossible. It only remained to wade through the head +of the lake, and that without a moment's delay. Mary herself, holding a +torch, went first through water above her knees and the men hastily +followed, Uncle Chirgwin coming last and being nearly carried off his short +legs as he turned to view the rick. Once through the water, all were in +safety, for the meadow sloped steeply upward. An increasing play of +lightning made the torches useless, and they were dropped, while the party +pressed close beneath an overhanging hedge which ran along the upper +boundary of the meadow. From this vantage-ground they beheld a spectacle +unexampled in the memory of any among them. + +Screaming like some incarnate and mad manifestation of all the elements +massed in one, the hurricane launched itself upon that valley. As a wall +the wind heralded the water, while forked lightnings, flaming above both, +tore the black darkness into jagged rags and lighted a chaos of yellow +foaming torrent which battled with livid front straight down the heart of +the coomb. The swollen river was lost in the torrent of it; and the hiss of +the rain was drowned by its sound. + +So Nature's full, hollowed hand ran over lightning-lighted to the organ +music of the thunder; but for these horror-stricken watchers the majestic +phenomena sweeping before them held no splendor and prompted no admiration. +They only saw ruin tearing at the roots of the land; they only imagined +drowned beasts floating before them belly upward, scattered hay hurried to +the sea, wasted crops, a million tons of precious soil torn off the fields, +orchards desolated, bridges and roads destroyed. For them misery stared out +of the lightning and starvation rode upon the flood. The roar of water +answering the thunder above it was to their ears Earth groaning against the +rod, and right well they knew that the pale torrent was drowning those +summer labors which represented money and food for the on-coming of the +long winter months. They stared, silent and dumb, under the ram; they knew +that the kernel of near a year's toil was riding away upon the livid +torrent; that the higher meadows, held absolutely safe, were half under +water now; that the flood tumbling under the blue fire most surely held +sheep and cattle in its depths; that tons of upland hay swam upon it; that, +like enough, dead men also turned and twisted there in a last mad journey +to the sea. + +A passing belief that their labors might save the stack sprung up in the +breast of one alone. Uncle Chirgwin trusted Providence and his hempen ropes +and clothesline; but it was a childish hope, and, gazing open-mouthed upon +that swelling, hurtling cataract of roaring water, none shared it. An +almost continuous mist of livid light crossed and recrossed, festooned and +cut by its own crinkled sources, revealed the progress of the flood, and, +heedless of themselves, Uncle Chirgwin and his men watched the fate of the +stack, now rising very pale of hue above the water, seen through shining +curtains of rain. First the torrent tumbled and rose about it, and then a +sudden tremor and turning of the mass told that the rick floated. As it +twisted the weak ropes, receiving the strain in turn, snapped one after +another; then the great stack moved solemnly forward, stuck fast, moved +again, lost its center of gravity and foundered like a ship. Under the +lightning they saw it heave upward upon one side, plunge forward against +the torrent which had swept its base from beneath it, and vanish. The +farmer heaved a bitter groan. + +"Dear God, that sich things can be in a Christian land," he cried. "All +gone, this year, an' last, an' the aftermath; an' Lard He knaws what be +doin' in the valley bottom. I wish the light may strike me dead wheer I +stand, for I be a blot afore Him, else I'd never be made to suffer like +this here. Awnly if any man among 'e will up an' tell me what I've done +I'll thank en." + +"'Tis the land as have sinned, not you," said Mary. "This reaches more'n us +o' Drift. Come your ways an' get out o' these clothes, else you'll catch +your death. Come to the house, all of 'e," she cried to the rest. "Theer +ban't no more for us to do till marnin' light." + +"If ever it do come," groaned the man Bartlett. "So like's not the end o' +the world be here; an' I'd be fust to hollo it, awnly theer's more water +than fire here when all's said, an' the airth's to be burned, not drowned." + +"Let a come when a will now," gasped an aged man as the drenched party +moved slowly away upward to the farm; "our ears be tuned to the trump o' +God, for nort--no, not the screech o' horns blawed by all the angels in +heaven--could sound awfuler than the tantarra o' this gert tempest. I, +Gaffer Polglaze, be the auldest piece up Drift, but I never heard tell o' +no sich noise, let alone havin' my awn ears flattened wi' it." + +They climbed the steep lane to the farm, and the wind began to drown the +more distant roar of the water. Rain fell more heavily than before, and the +full heart of the storm crashed and flamed over their heads as Drift was +reached. + +Dawn trembled out upon a tremendous chapter of disasters, still fresh in +the memory of many who witnessed it. A gray, sullen morning, with +sky-glimpses of blue, hastily shown and greedily hidden, broke over Western +Cornwall and uncovered the handiwork of a flood more savage in its fury and +far-reaching in its effects than man's memory could parallel--a flood which +already shrunk fast backward from its own havoc. To describe a single one +of those valleys through which small rivers usually ran to the sea is to +describe them all. Thus the torrent which raved down the coomb beneath +Drift, and carried Uncle Chirgwin's massive hayrick with it like a child's +toy-boat, had also uprooted acres of gooseberry bushes and raspberry canes, +torn apple trees from the ground, laid waste extensive tracts of ripe +produce and carried ripening roots by thousands into the sea. Beneath the +orchards, as the flood subsided, there appeared great tracts of nakedness +where banks of stone had been torn out of the land and scattered upon it; +dead beasts stuck jammed in the low forks of trees; swine, sheep and calves +appeared, cast up in fantastic places, strangled by the water; sandy +wastes, stripped of every living leaf and blade, ran like banks where no +banks formerly existed, and here and there from their midst stuck out naked +boughs of upturned trees, fragments of man's contrivances, or the legs of +dead beasts. Looking up the coomb, desolation was writ large and the utmost +margins of the flood clearly recorded on branch and bough, where rubbish +which had floated to the fringe of the flood was caught and hung aloft. +Below, as the waters gained volume and force, Buryas Bridge, an ancient +structure of three arches beneath which the trout-stream peacefully babbled +under ordinary conditions, was swept headlong away and the houses hard by +flooded; while the greatest desolation had fallen on those orchards lying +lowest in the valley. Indeed the nearer the flood approached Newlyn the +more tremendous had been the ravage wrought by it. The orchards of Talcarne +valley were ruined as though artillery had swept them, and of the lesser +crops scarce any at all remained. Then, bursting down Street-an-nowan, as +that lane is called, the waters running high where their courses narrowed, +swamped sundry cottages and leaped like a wolf on the low-lying portion of +Newlyn. Here it burst through the alleys and narrow passages, drowned the +basements of many tenements, isolated cottages, stores and granaries, +threatened nearly a hundred lives startled from sleep by its sudden +assault. Then, under the raging weather and in that babel of angry waters, +brave deeds were done by the fisher folk, who chanced to be ashore. Grave +personal risks were hazarded by many a man in that turbid flood, and not a +few women and children were rescued with utmost danger to their saviors' +lives. Yet the petty rivalry of split and riven creeds actuated not a few +even at that time of peril, and while life was allowed sacred and no man +turned a deaf ear to the cry of woman or child, with property the case was +altered and sects lifted not a finger each to help the other in the saving +of furniture and effects. + +Newlyn furnished but one theater of a desolation which covered wide +regions. At Penzance, the Laregan River flooded all the lowlands as it +swept with prodigious cataracts to the sea; mighty lakes stretched between +Penzance and Gulval; the brooklets of Ponsandine and Coombe, swollen to +torrents, bore crushing destruction upon the valleys through which they +fell. Bleu Bridge with its ancient inscribed "long stone" was swept into +the bed of the Ponsandine, and here, as in other low-lying lands, many tons +of hay were torn from their foundations and set adrift. At Churchtown the +rainfall precipitated off the slopes of Castle-an-dinas begot vast torrents +which, upon their roaring way, tore the very heart out of steep and stony +lanes, flooded farmyards, plowed up miles of hillside, leaped the wall of +the cemetery below and spread twining yellow fingers among the graves. + +Three hundred tons of rain fell to the acre in the immediate tract of that +terrific storm, and the world of misery, loss and suffering poured forth on +the humble dwellers of the land only came to be estimated in its bitter +magnitude during the course of the winter which followed. + +Ashore it was not immediately known whether any loss of human life had +added crowning horror to the catastrophe, but evil news came quickly off +the sea. Mourning fell upon Mousehole for the crews of two among its fisher +fleet who were lost that night upon the way toward Plymouth waters to join +the herring fishery; and Newlyn heard the wail of a robbed mother. + +At Drift the farmhouse was found to hold a mystery soon after the day had +broken. Joan Tregenza, whose condition rendered it impossible for her to +actively assist at the struggle in the coomb, did not retire early on the +previous night, as her family supposed, and Mary, entering her room at +breakfast-time, found it empty. There was no sign of the girl and no +indication of anything which could explain her absence. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +OUT OF THE DEEP + + +At the dawn of the day which followed upon the great storm, while yet the +sea ran high and the gale died hard, many tumbling luggers, some maimed, +began to dot the wind-torn waters of Mounts Bay. The tide was out, but +within the shelter of the shore which rose between Newlyn and the course of +the wind, the returning boats found safety at their accustomed anchorage; +and as one by one they made the little roads, as boat after boat came +ashore from the fleet, tears, hysteric screams and deep-voiced thanks to +the Almighty arose from the crowd of men and women massed at the extremity +of Newlyn pier beneath the lighthouse. Cheers and many a shake of hand +greeted every party as, weary-eyed and worn, it landed and climbed the +slippery steps. From such moments even those still in the shadow of +terrible fear plucked a little courage and brightened hopes. Then each of +the returned fishermen, with his own clinging to him, set face homeward--a +rejoicing stream of little separate processions, every one heralding a +saved life. There crept thus inland wives smiling through the mist of dead +tears, old mothers hobbling beside their bearded sons, young mothers +pouring blessing on proud sailor boys, sweethearts, withered ancients, +daughters, sons, little children. Sad beyond power of thought were the +hearts of all as they had hastened to the pierhead at early morning light; +now the sorrowful still remained there, but those who came away rejoiced, +for none returned without their treasures. + +Thomasin stood with many another care-stricken soul, but her fears grew +greater as the delay increased; for the Tregenza lugger was big and fast, +yet many boats of less fame had already come home. All the fishermen told +the same story. Bursting out of an ominous peace the storm had fallen +suddenly upon them when westward of the Scilly Islands. One or two were +believed to have made neighboring ports in the isles, but the fleet was +driven before the gale and had experienced those grave hazards reserved for +small vessels in a heavy sea. That all had weathered the night seemed a +circumstance too happy to hope for, but Newlyn hearts rose high as boat +after boat came back in safety. Then a dozen men hastened to Mrs. Tregenza +with the good news that her husband's vessel was in sight. + +"She've lost her mizzen by the looks on it," said a fisherman, "an' that's +more'n good reason for her bein' 'mong the last to make home." + +But Thomasin's hysterical joy was cut short by the most unexpected +appearance of Mary Chirgwin on the pier. She had visited the white cottage +to find it locked up and empty; she had then joined the concourse at the +pierhead, feeling certain that the Tregenza boat must still be at sea; and +she now added her congratulations to the rest, then told Mrs. Tregenza her +news. + +"I be comed to knaw if you've heard or seen anything o' Joan. 'Tis 'mazin' +straange, but her've gone, like a dream, an' us caan't find a sign of her. +What wi' she an' terrible doin's 'pon the land last night, uncle's 'bout +beside hisself. Us left her in the kitchen, an' when we comed back from +tryin' to save the hay she was nowheer. Of coorse, us thot she'd gone to +her bed. But she weern't, an' this mornin' we doan't see a atom of her, but +finds a envelope empty 'pon the kitchen floor. 'Twas addressed to Joan an' +comed from Lunnon." + +"Aw jimmery! She've gone to en arter all, then--an' in her state." + +"The floods was out, you see. Her might have marched off to Penzance to +larn 'bout the manner o' gwaine to Lunnon an' bin stopped in home-comin'; +or her might have slept in Penzance to catch a early train away." + +"Iss, or her might a got in the water, poor lamb," said Thomasin, who never +left the dark side of a position unconsidered. Mary's face showed that the +same idea had struck her. + +"God grant 'tedn' nothin' like that, though maybe 'twould be better than +t'other. Us caan't say she've run away, but I thot I'd tell 'e how things +is so's you could spread it abroad that she'm lost. Maybe us'll hear +somethin' 'fore the day's much aulder. I be gwaine to Penzance now an' I'll +let 'e knaw if theer's anything to tell. Good-by, an' I be right glad all's +well wi' your husband, though I don't hold wi' his 'pinions." + +But Mrs. Tregenza did not answer. Her eyes were fixed on the lugger which +had now got to its anchorage and looked strange and unnatural shorn of its +lesser mast. She saw the moorings dragged up; and a few minutes later the +boat, which had rolled and tumbled at them all night, was baled. Thereupon +men took their seats in her and began to row toward the harbor. It seemed +that Gray Michael was steering, and his crew clearly pulled very weak and +short, for their strength was spent. + +Then, as they came between the arms of the harbor, as they shipped oars and +glided to the steps, Tregenza's hybrid yellow dog, who accompanied the +fisherman in all his goings, jumped ashore barking and galloped up the +slippery steps with joy; while, at the same moment, a woman's sharp cry cut +the air like a knife and two wild eyes looked down into the boat. + +"Wheer'm the bwoy, Michael? Oh, my good God, wheer'm Tom?" + +Everybody strained silently to hear the answer, but though the fisherman +looked up, he made no reply. The boat steadied and one after another the +men in her went ashore, Tregenza mounting the steps last. His wife broke +the silence. Only a murmur of thankfulness had greeted the other men, for +their faces showed a tragedy. They regarded their leader fearfully, and +there was something more than death in their eyes. + +"Wheer'm the bwoy--Tom? For the love of God, speak, caan't 'e? Why be you +all dumb an' glazin' that awful!" cried the woman, knowing the truth before +she heard it. Then she listened to the elder Pritchard, who whispered his +wife, and so fell into a great convulsion of raving, dry-eyed sorrow. + +"Oh, my bwoy! Drownded--my awn lil precious Tom! God a mercy! Dead! Then +let me die tu!" + +She gave vent to extravagant and savage grief after the manner of her kind. +She would have torn her hair and thrown herself off the quay but for kindly +hands which restrained. + +"God rot you, an' blast you, an' burn you up!" she screamed, shaking her +fists at the sea. "I knawed this would be the end. I dreamed it 'fore 'e +was born. Doan't 'e hold me back, you poor fools. Let me gaw an' bury +myself in the same graave along wi' en. My Tom, my Tom! I awnly had but +wan--awnly wan, an' now--" + +She wailed and wrung her hands, while rough voices filled her ears with +such comfort as words could bring to her. + +"Rest easy, bide at peace, dear sawl." "'Tis the Lard's doin', mother; an' +the lil bwoy's better off now." "Take it calm, my poor good creature." "Try +an' bring tears to your eyes, theer's a dear wummon." + +Tears finally came to her relief, and she wept and moaned while friends +supported her, looking with wonder upon Michael, her husband. He stood +aloof with the men about him. But never a word he spoke to his wife or any +other. His eyes dilated and had lost their steady forward glance, though a +mad misery lighted them with flashes that came and went; his face was a +very burrow of time, seared and trenched with pits and wrinkles. His hat +was gone, his hair blew wild, the strong set of his mouth had vanished; his +head, usually held so high, hung forward on a shrunken neck. + +The brothers Pritchard told their story as a party conducted Thomasin back +to her home. For the moment Gray Michael stood irresolute and alone, save +for his dog, which ran round him. + +"Us was tackin' when it fust began to blaw, an' all bustlin' 'bout in the +dark, when the mainsail went lerrickin' 'cross an' knocked the poor dam +bwoy owerboard into as ugly a rage o' water as ever I seed. Tom had his +sea-boots on, an' every sawl 'pon the bwoat knawed 'twas all up as soon as +we lost en. We shawed a light an' tumbled 'bout for quarter o' an hour wi' +the weather gettin' wicked. Then comed a scat as mighty near thrawed us +'pon our beam-ends, an' took the mizzen 'long wi' it. 'Tis terrible bad +luck, sure 'nough, for never a tidier bwoy went feeshin'; but theer's worse +to tell 'e. Look at that gert, good man, Tregenza. Oh, my God, my blood do +creem when I think on't!" + +The man stopped and his brother took up the story. + +"'Twas arterwards, when us had weathered the worst an' was tryin' to fetch +home, Michael failed forward on's faace arter the bwoy was drownded; an' us +had to do all for the bwoat wi'out en. But he comed to bimebye an' didn't +take on much, awnly kept so dumb as a adder. Not a word did er say till +marnin' light; then a 'orrible thing fell 'pon en. You knaw that yaller dog +as sails wi' us most times? He turned 'pon en sudden an' sez: 'Praise God, +praise the Lard o' Hosts, my sons, here's Tom, here's my lad as us thot +weer drownded!' Then he kissed that beast, an' it licked his faace, an' he +cried--that iron sawl cried like a wummon! Then he thundered out as the +crew was to give God the praise, an' said the man as weern't on's knees in +a twinklin' should be thrawed out the bwoat to Jonah's whale. God's truth! +I never seed nothin' so awful as skipper's eyes 'pon airth! Then er calmed +down, an' the back of en grawed humpetty an' his head failed a bit forrard +an' he sat strokin' of the dog. Arter that, when us seed Newlyn, it 'peared +to bring en to his senses a bit, an' he knawed Tom was drownded. He rambled +in his speech a while; then went mute again, wi' a new look in his eyes as +though he'd grawed so auld as history in a single night. Theer he do stand +bedoled wi' all manner o' airthly sufferin', poor creature. Him wi' all his +righteousness behind en tu! But the thinkin' paarts of en be drownded wheer +his bwoy was, an' I lay theer ban't no druggister, nor doctor neither, +as'll bring 'em back to en." + +"Look at that now!" exclaimed another man. "See who's a talkin' to +Tregenza! If that ban't terrible coorious! 'Tis Billy Jago, the softy!" + +Billy was indeed addressing Gray Michael and getting an answer to his +remarks. The laborer's brains might be addled, but they still contained +sane patches. He had heard of the fisherman's loss and now touched his hat +and expressed regret. + +"Ay, the young be snatched, same as a build-in' craw will pick sprigs o' +green wood for her nest an' leave the dead twig to rot. Here I be, rotten +an' coffin-ripe any time this two year, yet I'm passed awver for that +braave young youth. An' how is it wi' you, Mr. Tregenza? I s'pose the Lard +do look to His awn in such a pass?" + +Gray Michael regarded the speaker a moment and then made answer. + +"I be that sleepy, my son, an' hungry wi' it. Iss fay, I could eat a bloody +raw dog-fish an' think it no sin. See to this, but doan't say nothin' 'bout +it. The bwoat went down wi' all hands, but us flinged a bottle to Bucca for +en to wash ashore wi' the news. But it never comed, for why? 'Cause that +damnation devil bringed the bottle 'gainst granite rocks, an' the message +was washed away for mermaids to read an' laugh at; an' the grass-green +splinters o' glass as held the last cry o' drownin' men--why, lil childern +plays wi' 'em now 'pon the sand. 'Sing to the Lard, ye that gaw down to the +sea.' An' I'll sing--trust me for that, but I must eat fust. I speaks to +you, Billy, 'cause you be wan o' God's chosen fools." + +He stopped abruptly, pressed his hand over his forehead, said something +about breaking the news to his wife, and then walked slowly down the quay. +The manner of his locomotion had wholly changed, and he moved like one +whose life was a failure. + +Meantime Jago, full of the great discovery, hastened to the Pritchards and +other men who were now following Gray Michael at a distance. Them be told +that the fisherman had taken leave of his senses, that he had actually +called Billy himself one of God's chosen fools. + +Several more boats had come in, and as it was certainly known that some had +taken refuge at Scilly, those vitally interested in the few remaining +vessels withdrew from the quay comforting each other and putting a hopeful +face on the position. Gray Michael followed his wife home. As yet she had +not learned of his state; but, although his conduct on returning was +somewhat singular, no word which fell now from him spoke clearly of a +disordered mind. He clamored first for food, and, while he ate, gave a +clear if callous account of his son's death and the lugger's danger. Having +eaten, he went to his bedroom, dragged off his boots, flung himself down +and was soon sleeping heavily; while Thomasin, marveling at his stolidity +and resenting it not a little, gave way to utter grief. During an interval +between storms of tears the woman put on a black gown, then went to her +work. The day had now advanced. On seeing her again downstairs, two or +three friends, including the Pritchards, entered the house and asked +anxiously after Michael, without, however, stating the nature of their +fears. She answered querulously that the man was asleep and showed no more +sorrow than a brute beast. She was very red-eyed and bedraggled. Every +utterance was an excuse for a fresh outburst of weeping, her breast heaved, +her hands moved spasmodically, her nerves were at extreme tension and she +could not stay long in one place. Seeing that she was nearly lightheaded +with much grief, and hoping that her husband's disorder would vanish after +his slumber was ended, her friends forbore to hint at what had happened to +him. They comforted her to the best of their power; then, knowing that long +hours of bitter sorrow must surely pass over the mother's head before such +grief could grow less, departed one by one, leaving her at last alone. She +moved restlessly about from room to room, carrying in one hand a photograph +of Tom, in the other a handkerchief. Now and then she sat down, looked at +the picture and wept anew. She tried to eat some supper presently but could +not. It is seldom a sudden loss strikes home so speedily as had her +tribulation sunk into Thomasin Tregenza's soul. She drank some brandy and +water which a friend had poured out for her and left standing on the +mantel--shelf. Then she went up to bed--a stricken ruin of the woman who +had risen from it in the morning. Her husband still slept, and Thomasin, +her grief being of a nature which required spectators for its fullest and +most soothing expression, felt irritated alike with him and with those +friends who had all departed, and, from the best motives, left her thus. +She flung herself into bed and anger obscured her misery--anger with her +husband. His heavy breathing worked her to a frenzy at last, and she sat +up, took him by the shoulder and tried to shake him. + +"Wake up, for God's sake, an' speak to me, caan't 'e? You eat an' drink an' +sleep like a gert hog--you new--come from your awnly son's drownin'! Oh, +Christ, caan't 'e think o' me, as have lived a hunderd cruel years since +you went to sleep? Ain't you got a word for me? An' you, as had your sawl +centered 'pon en--how comes it you can--" + +She stopped abruptly, for he lay motionless and made no sort of response to +her shrill complaining. She had yet to learn the cause; she had yet to know +that Michael had drifted beyond the reach of all further mental suffering +whatsoever. No religious anxieties, no mundane trials, none of the million +lesser carking troubles that fret the sane brain and stamp care on the face +of conscious intelligence would plague him more. Henceforth he was dead to +the changes and chances of human life. + +At midnight there came the awful waking. Thomasin slept at last and +slumbered dream-tossed in a shadow-world of fantastic troubles. Then a +sound roused her--the sound of a voice speaking loudly, breaking off to +laugh, and speaking again. The voice she knew, but the laugh she had never +heard. She started up and listened. It was her husband who had wakened her. + +"How do it go then? Lard! my memory be like a fishin' net, as holds the +gert things an' lets the little 'uns creep through. 'Twas a braave song as +faither singed, though maybe for God fearers it ban't a likely song." + +Then the bed trembled and the man reared up violently and roared out an +order in such words as he had never used till then. + +"Port! Port your God-damned helm if you don't want 'em to sink us." + +Thomasin, of whose presence her husband appeared unconscious, crept +trembling from the bed. Then his voice changed and he whispered: + +"Port, my son, 'cause of that 'pon the waters. Caan't 'e see--they bubbles +a glimmerin' on the foam? That's the last life of my lil Tom; an' the +foam-wreath's put theer by God's awn right hand. He'm saved, if 'twasn't +that down at the bottom o' the sea a man be twenty fathom nearer hell than +them as lies in graaves ashore. But let en wait for the last trump as'll +rip the deep oceans. An' the feesh--damn 'em--if I thot they'd nose Tom, by +God I'd catch every feesh as ever swum. But shall feesh be 'lowed to eat +what's had a everlasting sawl in it? God forbid. He'm theer, I doubt, wi' +seaweed round en an' sea-maids a cryin' awver his lil white faace an' +keepin' the crabs away. Hell take crabs--they'd a ate Christ 'isself if so +be He'd falled in the water. Pearls--pearls--pearls is on Tom, an' the sea +creatures gives what they can, 'cause they knaw as he'd a grawed to be a +man an' theer master. God bless 'em, they gives the best they can, 'cause +they knawed how us loved en. 'The awnly son o' his mother.' Well, well, +sleep's better'n medicine; but no sleepin' this weather if us wants to make +home again. Steady! 'Tis freshenin' fast!" + +He was busy about some matter and she heard him breathing in the darkness +and stirring himself. Thomasin, her heart near standing still before this +awful discovery, hesitated between stopping and flying from the room before +he should discover her. But she felt no fear of the man himself, and +bracing her nerves, struck a light. It showed Gray Michael sitting up and +evidently under the impression he was at sea. He grasped the bed-head as a +tiller and peered anxiously ahead. + +"Theer's light shawin' forrard!" he cried. Then he laughed, and Thomasin +saw his face was but the caricature of what it had been, with all the iron +lines blotted out and a strange, feeble expression about eyes and mouth. He +nodded his head, looked up at the ceiling from time to time, and presently +began to sing. + +It was the old rhyme he had been trying to recollect, and it now came, +tossed uppermost in the mind-quake which had shattered his intellect, +buried matters of moment, and flung to the surface long hidden events and +words of his youth. + + "'Bucca's a churnin' the waves of the sea, + Bucca's a darkenin' the sky wi' his frown, + His voice is the roll o' the thunder. + The lightnin' do shaw us the land on our lee, + An' do point to the plaace wheer our bodies shall drown + When the bwoat gaws down from under.' + +"Ha, ha, ha, missis! So you'm aboard, eh? Well, 'tis a funny picksher you +makes, an' if tweern't murder an' hell-fire to do it, blamed if I wouldn't +thraw 'e out the ship. 'Thou mad'st him lower than the angels,' but not +much lower, I'm thinkin'. 'Tis all play an' no work wi' them. They ought to +take a back seat 'fore the likes o' us. They abbun no devil at theer tails +all times. + + "'But I'll tame the wild devil afore very long. + If I caan't wi' my feests, I will wi' my tongue!'" + +Thomasin Tregenza scuffled into her clothes while he babbled, and now, +bidding him sleep in a shaking voice, putting out the candle and taking the +matches with her, she fled into the night to rouse her neighbors and summon +a doctor. She forgot all her other troubles before this overwhelming +tragedy. And the man driveled on in the dark, concerning himself for the +most part with those interests which had occupied his life when he was a +boy. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +THE DESTINATION OF JOAN + + +Mary Chirgwin did not return to Newlyn after making inquiries at Penzance. +There indeed she learned one fact which might prove important, but the +possibilities to be read from it were various. Joan had been at the +Penzance railway station, and chance made Mary question the identical +porter who had studied the timetable for her cousin. + +"She was anxious 'bout the Lunnon trains an' tawld me she was travelin' up +to town to-morrow," explained the man. "I weer 'pon the lookout this +marnin', but she dedn' come again." + +"What time did you see her last night?" + +"'Bout nine or earlier. I mind the time 'cause the storm burst not so very +long arter, an' I wondered if the gal had got to her home." + +"No, she didn't. Might she have gone by any other train?" + +"She might, but I'm everywheers, an' 'tedn' likely as I shouldn't have seed +her." + +This much Mary heard, and then went home. Her news made Mr. Chirgwin very +anxious, for supposing that Joan had returned from Penzance on the previous +evening, or attempted to do so, it was probable that she had been in the +lowest part of the valley, at or near Buryas Bridge, about the time of the +flood. The waters still ran high, but Uncle Thomas sent out search parties +through the afternoon of that day, and himself plodded not a few miles in +the lower part of the coomb. + +Meantime the truth must be stated. On the night of the storm Joan had gone +to Penzance, ascertained the first train which she could catch next day, +and then returned as quickly as she could toward Drift. But at Buryas +Bridge she remembered that her uncle was in the coomb with the farm hands, +and might be there all night. It was necessary that he should know her +intentions and direct her in several particulars. A farm vehicle must also +be ordered, for Joan would have to leave the farm at a very early hour. +Strung to a tension of nerves above all power of fatigue, in a whirl of +excitement and wholly heedless of the mysterious nocturnal conditions +around her, Joan determined to seek Uncle Thomas directly, and with that +intention, instead of climbing the hill to Drift and so placing herself in +a position of safety, passed the smithy and cots which lie by Buryas Bridge +and prepared to ascend the coomb in this fashion and so reach her friends +the quicker. She knew her road blindfold, but was quite ignorant of the +altered character of the stream. Joan had not, however, traveled above a +quarter of a mile through the orchard lands when she began to realize the +difficulties. Once well out of the orchards, she believed that the meadows +would offer an easier path, and thus, buried in her own thoughts, proceeded +with many stumblings and splashings over the wet grasses and earth, under a +darkness that made progress very slow despite her familiarity with the way. + +Then it was that, deep hidden in the night and all alone, where the stream +ran into a pool above big bowlders which banked it--at the spot, indeed, +where she had reigned over the milky meadowsweets seated on a granite +throne--the vibrating thread of Joan Tregenza's little life was sharply +severed and she died with none to see or hear, in that tumult of rising +waters which splashed and gurgled and rose on the skirts of the coming +storm. A pathway ran here at the edge of the river, and the girl stepped +upon it to find the swollen current suddenly up to her knees. Bewildered +she turned, slipped, turned again, and then, under the impression that she +faced toward the meadow-bank, put up her hands to grapple safety, set her +foot forward and, in a moment, was drowning. Distant not half a mile, +laboring like giants to save a thing far less precious than this life, +toiled Uncle Thomas and his men. Had silence prevailed among them the +single cry which echoed up the valley might well have reached their ears; +but all were laboring amain, and Joan was at that moment the last thought +in the minds of any among them. + +So she died; for the gathering waters soon beat out her life and silenced +her feeble struggle to save it. A short agony ended the nine months of +experience through which Joan's life has been followed; her fires were +quenched, and that most roughly; her fears, hopes, sorrows, joys were all +swept away; and Nature stood defeated by herself, to see a young life +strangled on the threshold of motherhood, and an infant being drowned so +near to birth that its small heart had already begun to beat. + +Two men, tramping through the desolation of the ruined valley at Uncle +Chirgwin's command, discovered Joan's body. The elder was Amos Bartlett, +and he fell back a step at the spectacle with a sorrowful oath on his lip; +the younger searcher turned white and showed fear. The dead girl lay on her +back, so left by the water. Her dress had been caught between two great +bowlders near the pool of her drowning and the flood had thus caused her no +injury. + +"God's goodness! how comed she here!" cried out Bartlett. "Oh, but this'll +be black news--black news; an' her brother drowned at sea likewise! Theer's +a hidden meanin' in it, I lay, if us awnly knawed." The lad who accompanied +Bartlett was shaking, and did not dare to look at the still figure which +lay so stiff and straight at their feet. Amos therefore bid him use his +legs, hasten to the farm, break the news, and dispatch a couple of men to +the coomb. + +"I can pull up a hurdle an' wattle it with withys meantime," he said; "for +'tis allus well to have work for the hand in such a pass as this. Ban't no +good for me to sit an' look at her, poor fond wummon." + +He busied himself with the hurdle accordingly, and when two of the hands +presently came down from Drift they found their burden ready for them. + +The old, silent man called Gaffer Polglaze found sufficient excitement in +the tragedy to loosen a tongue which seldom wagged. He spat on his hands +and rubbed them together before seizing his end of the hurdle. Then he +spoke: + +"My stars! to see maaster when he heard! He rolled all about as if he was +drunk. An' yet 'tis the bestest thing as could fall 'pon the gal. 'Er was +lookin' for the cheel in a month or so, they do say. Poor sawl--so cold as +a quilkin [Footnote: _Quilkin_--A frog.] now, and the unborn baaby +tu." Then Mr. Bartlett answered: + +"The unhappy creature was fine an' emperent to me 'bout a matter o' +drownin' chets in the spring. Yet here she'm drowned herself sure 'nough. +Well, well, God's will be done." + +"'Tis coorious, to be sure, how bazzomy [Footnote: _Bazzomy_--Blue or +livid.] a corpse do get 'bout the faace arter a water death," said the +first speaker, regarding the dead with frank interest. + +"Her eyes do make me wimbly-wambly in the stomach," declared the second +laborer; "when you've done talkin', Gaffer Polglaze, us'll go up-long, an' +the sooner the better." + +"Butivul eyes, tu, they was--wance. Sky-color an' no less. What I'm +wonderin' is as to however she comed here 'tall." + +"Piskey-led, I'll warrant 'e," said the ancient. + +"Nay, man-led, which is worse. You mind that printed envelope us found in +the kitchen. 'Twas some dark doin' of that anointed vellun as brot her in +trouble. Ay, an' if I could do en a graave hurt I would, Methodist or no +Methodist." + +"He'm away," answered Bartlett. "'Tedn' no call for you nor yet me to +meddle wi' the devil's awn business. The man'll roast for't when his time +do come. You'd best to take your coats off an' cover this poor clay, lest +the wummen should catch a sight an' go soundin'." + +They did as he bid them, and Mr. Bartlett laid his own coat upon the body +likewise. Then slowly up the hill they passed, and rested now and again +above the steep places. + +"A wisht home-comin' as ever a body heard tell on," commented Gaffer +Polglaze; "an' yet the Lard's good pleasure's allus right if you lives long +enough to look back an' see how things was from His bird's-eye view of 'em. +A tidy skuat [Footnote: Windfall, legacy.] o' money tu they tells me. Who +Be gwaine to come by that?" + +"Her give it under hand an' seal to her brother." + +"Theer's another 'mazin' thing for 'e! Him drownded in salt an' her in +fraish! We lives in coorious times to be sure, an' theer's more in such +happenings than meets the eye." + +"Bear yourself more sorrow-stricken, Gaffer. Us be in sight of the house." + +Mary Chirgwin met the mournful train, directed them to bring the body of +Joan into the parlor where a place was prepared for it, and then turned to +Bartlett. She was trembling and very pale for one of her complexion, but +the woman's self-command had not left her. + +"The auld man's like wan daft," she said hurriedly. "He must be doin', so +he rushed away to Newlyn to tell 'em theer. He ban't himself 'tall. You'd +best to go arter en now this minute. An' theer's things to be done in +Penzance--the doctor an' the crowner an'--an' the coffin-maker. Do what you +can to take trouble off the auld man." + +"Get me my coat an' I'll go straight 'way. 'Tis thrawed awver the poor +faace of her." + +Two minutes later Mr. Bartlett followed his master, but Uncle Chirgwin had +taken a considerable start of him. The old man was terribly shocked to hear +the news, for he had clung to a theory that Joan was long since in London. +Dread and fear came over him. The thought of facing this particular corpse +was more than he could contemplate with self-control. A great nervous +terror mingled with his grief. He wished to avoid the return from the +valley, and the first excuse for so doing which came to his mind he +hurriedly acted upon. He declared it essential that the Tregenzas should be +told instantly, and hastened away before Mary could argue with him. Only +that morning they had heard of Gray Michael's condition, but Uncle Chirgwin +forgot it when the blasting news of his niece's death fell upon him. He +hurried snuffling and weeping along as fast as his legs would bear him, and +not until he stood at their cottage door did he recollect the calamities +which had overtaken the fisherman and those of his household. + +Uncle Chirgwin began to speak hastily the moment Mrs. Tregenza opened the +door. He choked and gurgled over his news. + +"She'm dead--Joan. They've found her in the brook as the waters went down. +Drownded theer--the awnly sunshine as ever smiled at Drift. Oh, my good +God!--'tis a miz-maze to drive us all out of our senses. An' you, mother +--my dear, dear sawl, my heart bleeds for 'e." + +"I caan't cry for her--my tears be dried at the roots o' my eyes. I be +down-danted to the edge o' my awn graave. If my man wasn't gone daft +hisself, I reckon I should a gone. Come in--come in. Joan an' Tom dead in a +night, an' the faither of 'em worse than dead. I shall knaw it is so +bimebye. 'Tis awnly vain words yet. Iss, you'd best to see en now you'm +here. He may knaw 'e or he may not. He sits craakin' beside the fire, full +o' wild, mad, awful words. Doctor sez theer ban't no bettering of it. But +he may live years an' years, though 'tedn' likely. Tell en as Joan's dead. +Theer edn' no call to be afeared. He's grawed quite calm--a poor droolin' +gaby." + +Uncle Chirgwin approached Gray Michael and the fisherman held out his hand +and smiled. + +"'Tis farmer Chirgwin, to be sure. An' how is it with 'e, uncle?" + +"Bad, bad, Tregenza. Your lil darter, your Joan, be dead--drownded in the +flood, poor sweet lamb." + +"You'm wrong, my son. Joan's bin dead these years 'pon years. She was +damned afore 'er mother conceived her. Hell-meat in the womb. But the 'Lard +is King,' you mind. Joan--iss fay, her mother was a Hittite--a lioness o' +the Hittites, an' the mother's sins be visited 'pon the childern, 'cordin' +to the dark ways o' the livin' God." + +"Doan't 'e say it, Michael! She died lovin' Christ. Be sure o' that." + +The other laughed loudly, and burst into mindless profanity and obscenity. +So the purest liver and most cleanly thinker has often cursed and uttered +horrible imprecations and profanations under the knife, being chloroformed +and unconscious the while. Uncle Chirgwin gazed and listened open mouthed. +This spectacle of a shattered intellect came upon him as an absolutely new +manifestation. Any novel experience is rare when a man has passed the age +of seventy, and the farmer was profoundly agitated. Then a solemn fit fell +upon Gray Michael, and as his visitor rose to depart he quoted from words +long familiar to the speaker--weird utterances, and doubly weird from a +madman's mouth in Uncle Chirgwin's opinion. Out of the wreck and ruin of +quite youthful memories, Michael's maimed mind had now passed to these +later, strenuous days of his early religious existence, when he fought for +his soul, and lived with the Bible in his hand. + +"Hark to me, will 'e? Hark to the word o' God echoed by His worm. 'He that +heareth let en hear, an' he that forbeareth let en forbear, for they are a +rebellious house.' An' what shall us do then? Theer was a man as builded a +heydge around a guckoo, thinkin', poor fool, to catch the bird; but her +flew off. That edn' the Lard's way. 'Make a chain, for the land is full o' +bloody crimes an' the city is full o' violence!' 'An' all that handle the +oar, the mariners, an' all the pilots o' the sea, shall come down from +theer ships,' an' me amongst the rest. That's why I be here now, wi' +bitterness o' heart an' bitter wailin' for my dead bwoy. 'As for theer +rings, they was (were) so high that they was (were) dreadful; an' theer +rings were full of eyes round about.' Huntin' damned sawls, my son--a +braave sight for godly folks. That's why the rings of 'em be so full of +eyes! They need be. An' theer wings whistle like a hawk arter a pigeon. +'Because o' the mountain of Zion, which is desolate, the foxes walk upon +it.'" + +He relapsed into absolute silence and sat with his eyes on the fire. +Sometimes he shook, sometimes he nodded his head; now he frowned, then +grinned vacuously at the current of his thoughts. + +Mr. Chirgwin took his leave of Thomasin, prayed that she might be supported +in her tribulation, and so departing met Amos Bartlett who was standing +outside the cottage awaiting him. The man gave a forcible and blunt +description of his morning's work which brought many tears to Uncle +Chirgwin's eyes; then, together, they walked to Penzance, there to +chronicle the sudden death of Joan Tregenza and arrange for those necessary +formalities which must precede her burial. + +The spectacle of Tregenza's insanity, which to an educated observer had +perhaps presented features of some scientific interest and appeared +grotesque rather than tremendous, fell upon the ignorant soul of Uncle +Chirgwin in a manner far different. The mystery of madness, the sublimity +and horror of it, rise only to tragic heights in the untutored minds of +such beholders as the farmer, for no mere scientific manifestation of +mental disease is presented to their intelligence. Instead they stand face +to face with the infinitely more terrific apparition of God speaking direct +through the mouth of one among His chosen insane. In their estimation a +madman's utterance is pregnant, oracular, a subject worthy of most grave +consideration and appraisement. And after Gray Michael's mental downfall +many humble folks, incited by the remarkable religious fame of his past +life, begged permission to approach within sound of his voice at those +moments when the desire for utterance was upon him. This, indeed, came to +be a privilege not a little sought after. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +AT SANCREED + + Mary Chirgwin would allow none but herself to perform the last offices of +kindness for her cousin. In poor Joan's pocket she found a wet, crumpled +mass of paper which might have been dried and read without difficulty, but +Mary lacked curiosity to approach the matter. She debated with herself as +to how her duty stood in connection with the communication from John +Barron, then took it in her hand, not without a sensation of much loathing, +and burned it to ashes. The act produced considerable and unforeseen +consequences. Her own mundane happiness was wholly dependent on the burning +of the letter, and a man's life likewise hung upon the incident; but these +results of her conduct were only brought to the woman's understanding in +the light of subsequent events. Then, and with just if superficial cause, +she directly read God's hand in the circumstance. Another discovery +saddened Mary far more than that of the letter, which had caused her little +surprise. Around Joan's white body was a strange amulet--the glen-ader. She +had sewed it upon flannel, then fastened the ends about herself, and so +worn the snake skin at all seasons since the finding of it. The fact was +nothing, the condition of mind which it indicated brought great grief to +the discoverer. She judged that Joan was little better than heathen after +all; she greatly feared that the girl had perished but half-believing. Any +soul which could thus cherish the slough of a serpent must most surely have +been wandering afar out of the road of faith. The all-embracing credulity +of Joan was, in fact, a phenomenon beyond Mary's power to estimate or +translate; and her present discovery, therefore, caused her both pain and +consternation. But as she had burned the letter, so she likewise destroyed +all evidence of her cousin's superstitious weakness; and of neither one nor +the other did she speak when the farmer returned to his home. + +He was sadly crushed and broken; and the spectacle of his loved one, lying +silent and peaceful, brought with it deep grief for him. Not until he had +seen her and held her dead hand did he begin slowly to realize the truth. + +"Her mother do lie at Paul 'cordin' to the wish o' Michael, but I seem as +Joan had best be laid 'long wi' the Chirgwins at Sancreed. If you'll awnly +give your mind to the matter an' settle it, I'll go this evenin' to wan +plaace or t'other an' see the diggers," said Mary. + +"Sancreed for sartain. Her'll be nearer to us, an' us can see wheer she be +restin' 'pon Sundays. Sancreed's best an' fittest, for she was Chirgwin +all. They be comin' to sit 'pon her tomorrow marnin'. Please God He'll hold +me up agin it, but I feels as if I'd welcome death to be 'long-side my lil +Joan again." + +He wept an old man's scanty tears, and Mary comforted him, while she +smothered her own real sorrows entirely before his. She spoke coldly and +practically; she fetched him a stiff dose of spirits and a mutton-chop +freshly cooked. These things she made him drink and eat, and she spoke to +the old man while he did so, larding the discussion of necessary details +with expressions of hope for the dead. + +"Be strong, an' faace it, uncle. God knaws best. I lay the poor lovey was +took from gert evil to come. You knaw so well as me. You can guess wheer +her'd be now if livin'. She'm in a better home than that. I s'pose the +bury-in' might be two days off, or three. I'll step awver to Sancreed +bimebye, an' if the undertaker come, Mrs. Bartlett can be with him when he +do his work." + +"Iss, an' I've said as 'tis to be oak--braave, bold, seasoned oak, an' +polished, wi' silvered handles to it. Her should lie in gawld, my awn Joan, +if I could bring it about." + +"Ellum be more--" began Mary, then held her tongue upon that detail and +approached another. + +"Shall us ask Mrs. Tregenza? Sorrer be gripping her heart just now, but a +buryin's a soothin' circumstance to such as she. An' she could carry her +son in the mind. Poor young Tom won't get no good words said above his +dust; us can awnly think 'em for him." + +"She might like to come if her could get some o' the neighbors to bide +along wi' Michael. He'm daft for all time, but 'tis said as he'll be +childlike wi' it, thank God. I let en knaw 'bout the lass an' he rolled his +head an' dropped his jaw, like to a feesh, an' said as 'tweern't no news to +en. Which maybe it weern't, for the Lard's got His awn way wi' the idiot. +The sayin's of en! Like as not Thomasin'll be here if 'tis awnly to get the +rids of Michael for a while." + +The coroner's inquest found that Joan Tregenza had come by her death from +drowning upon the night of the flood; the tragedy filled an obscure +paragraph or two in local journals; Joan's funeral was fixed for two days +later, and Mrs. Tregenza decided that she would attend it. + +At a spot where fell the shadow of the church when the sun sank far +westerly on summer days, they dug the grave in Sancreed churchyard. Round +about it on slate slabs and upright stones appeared the names of Chirgwins +not a few. Her maternal grandparents lay there, her uncle, Mary's father, +and many others. Some of the graves dated back for a hundred and more +years. + +On the morning of the funeral, Uncle Thomas himself tied scraps of crape +around the stems of his tall geraniums, according to an ancient custom; and +Mrs. Tregenza arrived at Drift in good time to join the few who mourned. +Six men bore Joan's oaken coffin to Sancreed, while there walked behind +her, Uncle Chirgwin, Mary and Thomasin, Mr. Bartlett, his wife, Gaffer +Polglaze, and two farm maidens. A few of the Drift folk and half a dozen +young children came in the wake of the procession proper; and that was all. +The mourners and their dead proceeded along the high lanes to Sancreed, and +conversation was general. Uncle Chirgwin tugged at his black gloves and +snuffled, then snuffled and tugged again; Mary walked on one side of him; +and Mrs. Tregenza, in new and heavy black bought for another, found the +opportunity convenient for the display of varied grief, as she marched +along on the farmer's right hand. Her condition indeed became hysterical, +and Mary only soothed her with difficulty. So the party crawled within +sound of the minute bell and presently reached the church. The undertaker +buzzed here and there issuing directions, an old clergyman met the dead at +the lych-gate and walked before her up the aisle; while those who had a +right to attend the service, clustered in the pews to right and left of the +trestles. Upon them lay Joan. The words of the service sounded with +mournful reverberations through the chill echoes of an unwarmed and almost +empty church; and then the little sister, sleeping peacefully enough after +her one short year of storm, was carried to the last abode of silence. Then +followed an old man's voice, sounding strangely thin in the open air, the +straining of cords, the sweating and hard breathing and shuffling of men, +the grating of oak on a grave-bottom, the updrawing of the ropes that had +lowered the coffin. Genuine grief accompanied the obsequies of Joan +Tregenza, and her uncle's sorrow touched even men to visible grief and +sympathy; but there was no heart to break for the heart which had itself +come so near to breaking, there was no mighty wellspring of love to be +choked with tears for one who had herself loved so much. A feeling, hidden +in some minds, expressed by others, latent in all, pervaded that throng; +and there was not one among those present, save Thomas Chirgwin, but felt +that Providence, harsh till now, had dealt kindly by Joan in dealing death +to her. + +Upon the flowerless, shiny coffin-lid a staring plate of white metal +gleamed up at the world above like an eye and met the gaze of the mourners, +as each in turn, with Mrs. Tregenza first, peered down into Joan's grave +before departing. After which all went away; the children were shut out of +the churchyard; the old clergyman disappeared to the vestry; a young florid +man, with pale hair, tightened his leather belt, turned up his sleeves, +watched a grand pair of biceps roll up as he crooked his elbows, then, +taking a spade, set to work upon the wet mound he had dug from the earth +the day before to clear those few square feet of space below. As he worked, +he whistled, for his occupation held no more significance to him than an +alternative employment: the breaking of stones by the highway side. He +could see the black heads of the mourners bobbing away upon the road to +Drift, and stopped to watch them for a moment. But soon he returned to his +labor; the earth rose foot by foot, and the strong young man stamped it +down. Then it bulged and overflowed the full hole; whereupon he patted and +hammered it into the customary mound and slapped upon it sundry pieces of +sodden turf with gaping gashes between their edges. The surplus soil he +removed in a wheelbarrow, the boards he also took away, then raked over the +earth-smeared, bruised grass about the grave and so made an end of his +work. + +"Blamed if I ever filled wan quicker'n that," he thought, with some +satisfaction; "I reckoned the rain must fall afore I'd done, but it do hold +off yet seemin'ly." + +The man departed, gray twilight fell, and out from the gathering darkness, +like a wound on the hand of Time, that new-made grave and its fringe of +muddy grass stood forth, crude of color, raw, unsightly in the deepening +monochrome of the gloaming. + +At Drift the important meal which follows a funeral was enjoyed with sober +satisfaction by about fifteen persons. Cold fowls and a round of cold beef +formed the main features of the repast; Mary poured out tea for the women +at her end of the table, while the men drank two or three bottles of +grocer's sherry among them. The undertaker and his assistants followed when +the funeral assembly dispersed. Mrs. Tregenza was about to depart in the +fly specially ordered to take her home when a lawyer, who was of the +company, begged she would stay a little longer. + +"I learn that you are the deceased's stepmother, madam, and as you stand +related to the parties both now unhappily swept away by Providence--I mean +Thomas Tregenza and Joan--it is sufficiently clear that you inherit +directly the bequest left by the poor girl to her brother. I framed her +little will myself; failing her own child, her property went to Thomas +Tregenza, his heirs and assigns--those were the words. The paper is here; +the sum mentioned lies at interest of three per cent. Let me know when +convenient what you would wish to be done." + +So the pile of money, at a cost terrible enough, had reached Mrs. Tregenza +after all. She had been drinking brown sherry as well as tea, and was in a +condition of renewed tears approaching to maudlin, when the announcement +reached her. It steadied the woman. Then the thought that this wealth would +have been her son's made her weep again, until the fact that it was now her +own became grasped in her mind. There is a sort of people who find money a +reasonably good support in all human misfortune, and if Mrs. Tregenza did +not entirely belong to that callous company, yet it is certain that this +sudden afflux of gold was more likely to assuage her grief than most +things. She presently retired, all tears and care; but at intervals, when +sorrow rested to regain its strength, the lawyer's information recurred and +the distractions of mind caused by the contemplation of a future brightened +by this wealth soothed Thomasin's nerves to an extent beyond the power of +religion or any other force which could possibly have been brought to bear +upon them. She felt that her own position must henceforth be exalted in +Newlyn, for the effects of the combination of catastrophes led to that end. +Her husband was the sole care she had left, and physicians foretold no +great length of days for him. The lugger would be put up to auction, with +the drift nets and all pertaining thereto. The cottage was already Tregenza +property. Thomasin therefore looked through the overwhelming misery of the +time, counted her moneys and felt comforted without knowing it. As for her +insane husband, his very sufferings magnified him into a man of importance, +and she enjoyed the reflected glory of being his keeper. People came from +remote villages to listen to him, and it was held a privilege among the +humbler sort to view the ruin of Michael Tregenza and hark to the chaotic +ravings of a mind overthrown. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +THE HOME-COMING OF JOE + + +A fortnight and four days after the funeral of Joan Tregenza there blew a +southwest wind over Newlyn, from out a gray sky, dotted with watery blots +of darker gray. No added light marked the western horizon at sunset, but +the short, dull day simply fell headlong into night; and with darkness came +the rain. + +About five o'clock in the afternoon, when the flicker and shine of many +lamps in little shop windows brightened the tortuous streets, a man clad in +tarpaulins, and carrying a big canvas bag on his back, passed rapidly +through the village. He had come that day from London upon the paying off +of his vessel; and while he left his two chests at the railway station, he +made shift to bring his sea-bag along himself; and that because he was +bound for the white cottage on the cliff, and the bag held many precious +foreign concerns for Joan Tregenza. It had been impossible to communicate +with the sailor; and he did not write from London to tell any of his +return, that their pleasure and surprise on his appearance might be the +more complete. Now a greater shock than that in his power to give waited +the man himself. The sailor's parents lived at Mousehole, but Michael's +cottage lay upon the way, and there he first designed to appear. + +Joe Noy was a very big man, loosely but strongly set together, a Celt to +the backbone, hard, narrow of mind, but possessing rare determination. His +tanned, clean-shaven face was broader at the jaw than the eyes, and a +lowering heaviness of aspect, almost ape-like, resulted when his features +remained in repose. The effect, however, vanished when he spoke or listened +to the speech of another. That such a man had proved fickle in love was a +thing difficult to credit to the mind familiar with his character. Solid, +sober, simple, fearing God and lacking humor, the jilting of a woman was an +offense of all others least likely to have been associated with him. Yet +circumstances and some unsuspected secrets of disposition had brought about +that event; and now, as he hastened along, the vision of the dark woman he +once loved at Drift did not for an instant cross his thoughts, for they +were full of the fair girl he meant to marry at Newlyn. To her, at least, +he had kept faithful enough; she had been the guiding-star of his life for +hard upon a year of absence; not one morning, not one night, in fair +weather or foul, had he omitted to pray God's blessing upon her. A +fatalism, which his Luke Gospel tenets did not modify, was strong in the +sailor. He had seen death often enough in his business; and his instincts +told him, apart from all religious teaching, that those who died ripe for +salvation were but few. Every man appeared to be an instrument in God's +hand, and human free-will represented a condition quite beyond the scope of +his intelligence to estimate or even conceive. Had any justified in so +doing asked of him his reasons for desertion of Mary Chirgwin, Noy would +have explained that when inviting her to be his wife he took a wrong step +in darkness; that light had since suddenly shone upon him, as upon Saul, +and that Mary, choosing rather to remain outside the sure fold of Luke +Gospeldom, by so doing made it impossible for him to love her longer. He +would have added that the match was doubtless foredoomed according to the +arrangements of the Almighty. + +Now Joe came back to his own; and his heart beat faster by several pulses, +and his steps quickened and lengthened, as, through darkness and rain, he +sighted the lamp-lighted cottage window of the Tregenzas. Thereupon he +stopped a moment, brought his bag to the ground, mopped his forehead, then, +raising the latch, strode straight into the kitchen without a knock of +warning. For a moment he imagined the room, lighted only by a dull glow of +firelight, to be empty; but then, amid familiar objects, he noted one not +familiar--a tall and roomy armchair. This stood beside the fireplace, and +in it sat Gray Michael. + +"Why, so 'tis! Mr. Tregenza sure 'nough!" the traveler exclaimed, setting +down his bag and coming forward with hand outstretched. "Here I be at last +arter nine months o' salt water! An' Newlyn do smell pleasant in my nose as +I come back to it, I tell 'e!" + +The other did not take Joe's hand; he looked up vaguely, with an open mouth +and no recognition in his expression; but Noy as yet failed to note how +insanity had robbed the great face of its power, had stamped out the +strength of it, had left it a mindless vague of limp features. + +"Who be you then?" asked Mr. Tregenza. + +"Why, blamed if you abbun forgot me! I be Joe--Joe Noy comed back-along at +last. My ivers! You, as doan't forget nothin', to forget me! Yet, maybe, +'tis the low light of the fire as hides me from 'e." + +"You'm a mariner, I reckon?" + +"I reckon so, if ever theer was wan. An' I'll be the richer by a mate's +ticket 'fore the year's dead. But never mind me. How be you all--all well? +I thot I'd pop in an' surprise 'e." + +"Cruel fashion weather for pilchur fishin' us have had--cruel fashion +weather. I knawed 'tweer comin', same as Noah knawed 'fore the flood, +'cause the Lard tawld me. 'Forty years long was I grieved wi' this +generation.' But man tries the patience o' God these days. We'm like the +Ruan Vean men: 'doan't knaw an' won't larn.'" + +"Iss fay, mister, true 'nough; but tell me 'bout 'e all an'--an' my Joan. +She've been the cherub aloft for me ever since I strained my eyes glazin' +for the last peep o' Carnwall when us sailed. How be my lil Joan?" + +The other started, sat up in his chair and gripped the left arm of it, +while his right hand extended before him and he jolted it curiously with +all the fingers pointing down. + +"Joan--Joan? In hell--ragin', roastin' hell--screechin', I lay, like a cat +in a bonfire. 'Tis lies they'll tell 'e 'bout her. She weern't +drownded--never. The devil set sail 'pon auld Chirgwin's hayrick, so they +sez, an' her sailed 'long wi' en. But 'theer rings, they was so high that +they was dreadful, an' theer rings weer full o' eyes round about.' She'm +damned, my son--called, not chosen. 'The crop o' the bunch' they called +her--the crop o' the devil's bunch she was--no cheel o' my gettin'. Her'll +burn for a million years or better--all along o' free-traadin'. +Free-traadin'! curse 'em--why doan't they call it smugglin' an' have done?" + +Joe Noy had fallen back. He forgot to breathe, then Nature performed the +necessary act, and in a moment of the madman's silence his listener sucked +a long loud breath. + +"Oh, my gracious Powers, what's fallen 'pon en?" he groaned aloud. + +"God's strong, but the devil's stronger, you mind. Us must pray to the pit +now. 'Our devil which art in hell'--Ha! ha! ha! He hears fast enough, an' +pokes up the black horns of en at the first smell o' prayer. Not but what +my Tom's aloft, in the main-top o' paradise. I seed en pass 'pon a black +wave wi' a gray foamin' crest. An' the white sawl o' my bwoy went mountin' +and mountin' in shape o' a seabird. Men dies hard in salt water, you mind. +It plays wi' 'em like a cat wi' a mouse. But 'tis all wan: 'The Lard is +King an' sitteth 'tween the cherubims,' though the airth's twitchin', same +as a crab bein' boiled alive, all the time." + +Noy looked round him wildly and was about to leave the cottage. Then it +struck him that the man's wife and daughter could not be far off. What +blasting catastrophe had robbed him of his mind the sailor knew not; but +once assured of the fact that Michael Tregenza was hopelessly insane, Noy +lent no credit to any of his utterances, and of course failed to dimly +guess at those facts upon which his ravings were based. Indeed he heard +little after the first rambling outburst, for his own thoughts were busy +with the problems of Tregenza's fate. + +"Sit down, mariner. I shan't sail till marnin' an' you'm welcome. Theer be +thots in me so deep as Levant mine, but I doan't speak 'em for anybody's +hearin'. Joan weern't none o' mine, an' I knawed it, thanks be to God, +'fore ever she played loose. What do 'e think o' a thousand pound for a +sawl? Cheap as dirt--eh? 'Thou hast covered thyself with a cloud that our +prayer should not pass through.' Not as prayers can save what's lost for +all eternity 'fore 'tis born into time. He ruined her; he left her wi' +cheel; but ban't likely the unborn clay counts. God Hisself edn' gwaine to +damn a thing as never drawed breath. Who'd a thot the like o' her had got a +whore's forehead? An' tokened at that--tokened to a sailor-man by name o' +Noy. Let'n come home, let'n come home an' call the devil as did it to his +account. Let the Lard see to't so that man edn' 'lowed to flourish no more. +I be tu auld an' broken for any sich task. 'For the hurt o' the darter o' +my people I am hurt.'" + +He spoke no more upon that head, though Noy, now awake to fear and horridly +conscious that he stood in the shadow of some tremendous ill, reaching far +beyond the madman, asked him frantically what he meant. But Michael's mind +had wandered off the subject again. + +"I seed en cast forth a net, same as us does for macker'l, but 'twas sawls, +not feesh, they dragged in the bwoat; but braave an' few of 'em. The +devil's nets was the full wans, 'cause--" + +At this moment Thomasin came in, saw a man by Mr. Tregenza, but did not +realize who had returned until she struck a light. Then, approaching, she +gasped her surprise and stood for a moment dumb, looking from her husband +to the sailor, from the sailor back to her husband. The horror on Noy's +face frightened her; indeed he was now strung to a pitch of frantic +excitement. He saw that the woman was altogether clad in black, that her +garments were new, that even her bonnet had a black flower in it; and, +despite his concern, he observed an appearance of prosperity about her, +though her face belied it, for Mrs. Tregenza was very thin, and far grayer +and older too than when he saw her last. He took the hand she stretched +shaking toward him; then a question burst from his lips. + +"For God's sake speak an' tell me the worst on it. What terrible evil be +here? He'm--he'm daft seemin'ly; he's spawk the awfulest mad words as ever +comed from lips. An' Joan--doan't 'e say it--doan't 'e say 'tis true she'm +dead--not my lil treasure gone dead; an' me, ever since I went, countin' +the days an' hours 'gainst when I should come back?" + +"Ay, my poor lad, 'tis true--all true. An' worse behind, Joe. Hip an' thigh +us be smitten--all gone from us; my awnly wan drownded--my awn bwoy; an' +Michael's brain brawk down along o' it. An' the bwoat an' nets be all sold; +though, thanks to God, they fetched good money. An' poor Joan tu--'pon the +same night as my Tom--drownded--in the gert land-flood up-long." + +Gray Michael had been nodding his head and smiling as each item of the +mournful category was named. At Thomasin's last words he interrupted +angrily, and something of the old, deep tones of his voice echoed again. + +"'Tis a lie! Dedn' I tell 'e, wummon, 'tweern't so? The devil took +her--body an' bones an' unborn baaby. They say she was found by the +meadowsweets; an' I say 'tis false. You may groan an' you may weep blood, +but you caan't chaange the things that have happened in time past--no; nor +more can God A'mighty." + +His wife looked to see how Joe viewed this statement. A great local +superstition was growing up round Gray Michael, and his wild utterances +(sometimes profanely fearful beyond the possibility of setting down) were +listened to greedily as inspirations and oracles. Mrs. Tregenza herself +became presently imbued with something of this morbid and ignorant opinion. +Her deep wounds time promised to heal at the first intention, and the +significance now attributed to her insane husband grew to be a source of +real satisfaction to her. She dispensed the honor of interviews with +Michael as one distributes great gifts. + +The force of circumstances and the futility of fighting against fate +impressed Thomasin mightily now, as Noy's wild eyes asked the question his +lips could not force themselves to frame. She sighed and bent her head and +turned her eyes away from him, then spoke hurriedly: + +"I doan't knaw how to tell 'e, an' us reckoned theer weern't no call to, +an' us weern't gwaine to tell; but these things be in the Lard's hand an' +theer edn' no hidin' what He means to let out. A sorry, cruel home-comin' +for 'e, Joe. Poor lass, her's done wi' all her troubles now, an' the unborn +cheel tu. 'Tis very hard to stand up 'gainst, but the longest life's awnly +short, an' us ban't called 'pon to live it more'n wance, thank God." + +Here she gave way to tears, and dried the same on a white +pocket-handkerchief with a black border. + +"'Tis all so true as gospel," declared Gray Michael, rolling his head round +on his neck and laughing. "An' my auld wummon's fine an' braave, edn' her? +That's cause I cleared a thousan' pound in wan trip. Christ was aboard, an' +He bid me shoot the nets by munelight off the islands. He do look arter His +awn somethin' butivul, as I tawld En. An' now I be a feesher o' men, which +is better, an' high 'mong the salt o' the airth, bein' called to walk along +wi' James an' John an' the rest." + +"He sits theer chitterin', ding dong, ding dong, all the wisht day. Tom's +death drove en cracked, but 'e ban't no trouble, 'cept at feedin' times. +Besides, I keeps a paid servant girl now," said Mrs. Tregenza. + +Joe Noy had heard neither the man nor the woman. From the moment that he +knew the truth concerning Joan his own thoughts barred his ears to all +utterances. + +"Who weer it? Tell me the name. I want no more'n that," he said. + +"'Tis Anne Bundle's darter," answered Mrs. Tregenza, her mind on her maid. + +"The man!" thundered Noy, "the man who brot the thing about--the man what +ruined--O God o' Hosts, be on my side now! Who weer 'e? Give me the name of +en. That's all as I wants." + +"Us doan't knaw. You see, Joan was away up Drift wi' the Chirgwins, an' +theer she was took when they found her arter the drownin'. She never knawed +the true name of en herself, poor dear. But 'twas a paintin' man--a artist. +It comed out arter as he'd made a picksher of her, an' promised to marry +her, an' stawl all she'd got to give 'pon the strength of the lie. Then +theer was a letter--" + +"From the man?" + +Mrs. Tregenza grew frightened at the thought of mentioning the money, and +now adroitly changed the first letter from Barron, which was in her mind +when she spoke, to the second, which Joan had received from him on the +night of her death. + +"Iss, from him; an' Mary Chirgwin found it 'pon the dead frame o' the poor +gal, but 'twas partly pulp, along o' the water; an' Mary burned it wi'out +readin' a word--so she said, at least, though that's difficult to credit, +human nature bein' as 'tis." + +"Then my work's the harder; but I'll find en, s'elp me God, even if us be +grawed gray afore we meet." + +"Think twice, Joe; you caan't bring back your lass, nor wash her sins +white. 'Tis tu late." + +"No, not that, but I can--I'm in God's hand for this. Us be tools, an' He +uses all for His awn ends. I sees whereto I was born now, an' the future be +writ clear afore my eyes. Thicky madman theer said the word; an' I lay the +Lard put it in en for my better light. Er said 'Let'n come home an' call +the devil as did it to account.' He was thinkin' o' me when he said it, +though he dedn' knaw me." + +"Iss fay, 'tis generally allowed he be the lips o' God A'mighty now. But +you, Joe--doan't 'e waste life an' hard-won money huntin' down a damned +man. Leave en to his deserts." + +"'Tis I that be his deserts, wummon--'tis I, in the hand o' the God o' +Vengeance. That's my duty now standin' stark ahead o' me. The Lard's +pleased to pay all my prayers an' good livin' like this here. His will be +done, an' so it shall to the dregs of it; an' if I be for the pit arter +all, theer's wan livin' as gaws along wi' me." + +"That's worse than a fool's thot. Bide till you'm grawed cool anyways. 'Tis +very hard this fallin' 'pon a virtuous member like what you be; but 'tedn' +a straange tale 'tall. The man was like other men, I doubt; the maid was +like other maids. You thot differ'nt. You was wrong; an' you'll be wrong +again to break your heart now. Let en go--'tis best." + +"Let en go! Blast en--I'll let heaven go fust! Us'll see what a wronged +sawl's patience can do now. Us'll see what the end of the road'll shaw! O +God o' the Righteous, fester this here man's bones in his body, an' eat his +life out of en wi' fiery worms! Tear his heartstrings, God o' Hosts, rob en +of all he loves, stamp his foul mind wi' memories till he shrieks for death +an' judgment; punish his seed forever; turn his prayers into swearin'; +torture en, rot en sawl an' body till you brings me to en. Shaw no mercy, +God o' Heaven, but pile agony 'pon agony mountains high for en; an' let +mine be the hand to send his cussed sawl to hell, for Christ's sake, Amen!" + +"Oh, my Guy Faux! theer's cussin'! An' yet 'tedn' gwaine to do a happard +[Footnote: _Happard_--Halfpennyworth.] o' good; an' you wouldn' be no +happier for knawin' sich a prayer was granted," said Thomasin; but Gray +Michael applauded the outburst, and his words ended that strange spectacle +of two men, for the time both mad. + +"Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Braave prayin'! Braave savor for the Lard's +nose--sweeter than the blood o' beasts. You'm a shinin' light, cap'n--a +trumpet in the battle, like the sound o' the sea-wind when it begins to +sting afore heavy weather, an' the waters roll to the top o' the bulwarks +an' awver. 'The snorting of his horses was heard from Dan'--sea-horses us +calls 'em nowadays. Mount an' ride, mount an' ride! 'Cursed be the man that +trusteth in man,' saith the Lard; but the beasts be truer, thanks to the +wickedness o' God, who's spared 'em the curse o' brain paarts, but stricken +man wi' a mighty intelligence. 'Twas a fine an' cruel act, for the more +mind the more misery. 'Twas a damned act sure 'nough! Doan't 'e let on +'bout it, mate, but theer'll be clever surprises at Judgment, an' the fust +to be damned'll be the God o' the Hebrews Hisself for givin' o' brains to +weak heads. Then the thrawn o' heaven'll stand empty--empty--the plaace +'tween the cherubims empty; an' they'll call 'pon me to fill it so like's +not. Tarraway, I shall be named, same as the devil in the droll--a purty +word enough tu." + +He broke into laughter, and Joe Noy, saying a few hasty words to Thomasin, +departed. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +A NIGHT VISIT + + +He who less than an hour before had hastened hot-footed through the Newlyn +streets, whose habitual stern expression had softened before the well-known +sights and smells of the gray village, whose earnest soul was full of +happiness under the rain of the night, now turned back upon his way and +skulked through the darkness with a murderer's heart in him. The clear +spectacle of his revenge blinded lesser presentations and even distracted +his sorrow. There was no space now vacant in Noy's brain to hold the full +extent of his loss; and the fabric of happiness which for weary months on +various seas he had been building up in imagination, and which a madman's +word had now sent spinning to chaos, yet remained curiously with him, as an +impression stamped by steadfast gazing remains upon the eye. It recurred as +of old: a joy; and not till the former emotion of happiness had again and +again reappeared to be blunted, as a dream, at waking, by the new +knowledge, did truth sink into this man's mind and become part of memory. +Now he was dazed, as one who has run hard and well to a goal, and who, +reaching it, finds his prize stolen. Under these circumstances, Joe Noy's +natural fatalism--an instinct beyond the power of any religion to +destroy--appeared instant and strong. Chance had now fed these +characteristics, and they grew gigantic in an hour. But the religious habit +made him turn to his Maker in this pass, and the merely primitive passions, +which were now breaking loose within him, he regarded as the direct voices +of God. They proclaimed that solitary duty the world still held for him; +they marked out his road to the lurid end of it. + +Thus Noy's own furious lust for revenge was easily and naturally elevated +into a mandate from the Highest--into a message echoed and reiterated upon +his ear by the multitudinous voices of that wild night. The rain whispered +it on the roof-trees, the wind and sea thundered it; out of elemental chaos +the awful command came, as from primal lips which had spoken since creation +to find at last the ultimate destination of their message within a human +ear. To Noy, his purpose, not yet an hour old, seemed ancient as eternity, +a fixed and deliberate impression which had been stamped upon his mind at a +period far earlier than his life in time. For one end had he been created; +that by some sudden short cut he should hurry to its close a vile life, +fill up God's bitter curse upon this man, destroy the destroyer, and speed +a black soul into the torment awaiting it. + +Irresolute and deep in thought as to his future actions, Joe Noy walked +unconsciously forward. He felt unequal to returning to his home in +Mousehole after what he had learned at Newlyn; and he wandered back, +therefore, toward Penzance. A glare of gas lamps splashed the wet surface +of the parade with fire; while below him, against the sea wall, a high tide +spouted and roared. Now and again, after a heavy muffled thud of sea +against stone, columns of glimmering, gray foam shot upward, like gigantic +ghosts out of the water. For a moment they towered in the air, then, +wind-driven, swept hissing across the black and shining surfaces of the +deserted parade. + +Noy stood here a moment, and the cold wind cooled him, and the riot and +agony of the sea boiling against the granite face of the breakwater chimed +with the riot and agony of his mind, whose hopes were now rent in tatters, +riven, splintered and disannulled by chance. He turned a moment where the +Newlyn harbor light flashed across the darkness to him. From his standpoint +he knew that a line drawn through that light must fall upon the cottage of +the Tregenzas beyond it on the shore, and, fixing his eyes where the +building lay hidden, he stretched out his hand and spoke aloud. + +"May God strike me blind and daft if ever I looks 'pon yon light an' yonder +cot again till the man be dead." + +Then he turned, and was about to seek the station, with a vague purpose to +go straight to London at the earliest opportunity, when a wiser thought +arrested this determination. He must learn all that it was possible to +learn concerning the last days of Joan. Mrs. Tregenza had explained her +stepdaughter's life at Drift. To Drift, therefore, the sailor determined to +go; and the stress upon his mind was such that even the prospect of +conversation with Mary Chirgwin--a thing he had certainly shrunk from under +other circumstances--caused him no uneasiness. + +Over the last road that Joan had ever walked, and under similar conditions +of night and storm, he tramped up to Drift, entered through the side gate, +and surprised Mr. Chirgwin and his niece at their supper. As before with +the Tregenzas, so now again in company of Uncle Thomas and Mary, Joe Noy +formed the third in a trio of curious significance. Though aware that the +sailor was due from his voyage, this sudden apparition of him at such a +time startled his former friends not a little. Mary indeed was unnerved in +a manner foreign to her nature, and the candle-lighted kitchen whirled in +her eyes as she felt her hand in his. Save for an ejaculation from the old +man, which conveyed nothing beyond his astonishment, Noy was the first to +speak; and his earliest words relieved the minds of his listeners in one +great particular; he already knew the worst that had happened. + +"I be come from Newlyn, from the Tregenzas. Thomasin have tawld me of all +that's falled out; but I couldn't bide in my awful trouble wi'out comin' +up-long. I reckon you'll let the past be forgot now. I'm punished ugly +enough. You seed her last, dead an' alive; you heard the last words ever +she spoke to any of her awn folks. That drawed me. If I must ax pardon for +comin', then I will." + +"Nay, nay, my poor sawl; sit you down an' eat, Joe, an' take they wet boots +off a while. Our hearts have bled for 'e this many days, Joe Noy, an' never +more'n now." + +"I thank you, uncle; an' you, Mary Chirgwin--will 'e say as much? 'Tis you +I wants to speak with, 'cause you--you seed Joan arter 'twas awver." + +"I wish you well, Joe Noy, an' if I ever done differ'nt 'tis past an' +forgot. What I can tell 'e 'bout our poor lass, as lived the end of her +days along wi' me an' uncle, you've a right to knaw." + +"An' God bless 'e for sayin' so. I comed rough an' ready, an' thrust in +'pon you; but this news be but two hour auld in my heart, you see, an' +'tedn' easy for such as me to make choice o' words at a time like this." + +"Eat, my son, an' doan't 'e fancy theer's any here but them as be friends. +Polly an' me seed more o' Joan through her last days than any; an' I do say +as she was a lamb o' God's foldin', beyond all manner o' doubt; an' Polly, +as feared it mightn't 'sactly be so, be of my 'pinion now. Them as suffered +for the sins o' other folk, like what she done, has theer hell-fire 'pon +this side o' the graave, not t'other." + +"I lay that's a true sayin'," declared Noy shortly. "I won't keep 'e +ower-long from your beds," he added. "If you got a drink o' spirits I'll +thank you for it; then I'll put a question or two to she--to Mary Chirgwin, +if she'll allow; an' then I'll get going." + +The woman was self-possessed again now, although Joe's voice and +well-remembered gestures moved her powerfully and made it difficult to keep +her voice within absolute control. + +"All you can ax that I knaw, I'll tell 'e, though Joan shut her thots purty +close most times. Us awnly got side views of her mind, and them not often." + +"The man," he said. "Tell me all--every-thin' you can call home--all what +her said of him." + +"Fust she thot a 'mazin' deal 'bout en," explained the farmer; "then time +made her mind get stale of en, an' she begin to see us was right. He sent +money--a thousand pound, an' I--poor fool--thot Joan weern't mistook at +fust. But 'twas awnly conscience money; an' now Thomasin's the better for't +by will." + +But this sensational statement was not appreciated, Joe's mind being +elsewhere. + +"You never heard the name of en?" + +"Awnly the christening name, as was 'Jan.' You may have heard tell she got +a letter the night she passed. Us found the coverin' under the table next +day, an' Mary comed across the letter itself in her pocket at the last." + +"'Tis that I be comed for. If you could tell so much as a word or two out +of it, Mary? They said you burned it an' the crowner was mighty angry, but +I thot as p'raps you'd looked at it all the same, awnly weern't pleased to +say so." + +"No," she answered. "Tis true I found a letter, an' I might a read some of +it if I would, but I judged better not. 'Tweern't fair to her like." + +"Was theer anything else as shawed anything 'bout en?" + +"No--awnly a picksher of a ship he painted for her. I burned that tu; an' +I'd a burned his money if I could. He painted her--I knaw that much. She +tawld us wan night--a gert picksher near as large as life. He took it to +Lunnon--for a shaw, I s'pose." + +"I'd think of en no more if I was you, Joe," said Uncle Chirgwin. "Leave +the likes of en to the God of en. Brace yourself agin this sore onset an' +pray to Heaven to forgive all sinners." + +Noy looked at the old man and his great jaw seemed to spread laterally with +his thought. + +"God have gived the man to me! that's why I be here: to knaw all any can +teach me. I've got to be the undoin' o' that devil--the undoin' an' death +of en. I'll be upsides wi' the man if it takes me fifty year to do it. +Awnly 'more haste, more let.' I shall go slow an' sure. That's why I comed +here fust thing." + +Mr. Chirgwin looked extremely alarmed, and Mary spoke. + +"This be wild, wicked talkin', Joe Noy, an' no mort o' sorrer as ever was +can excuse sich words as them. 'Tedn' no task o' yourn to take the Lard's +work out His hand that way. He'll pay the evil-doer his just dues wi'out no +help from you." + +"I've got a voice in my ear, Mary--a voice louder'n any human voice; an' it +bids me be doin' as the instrument of God A'mighty's just rage. If you can +help me, then I bid you do it, if not, let me be away. Did you read any o' +that theer letter--so much as a word, or did 'e larn wheer 'twas writ +from?" + +"If I knawed, I shouldn't tell 'e, not now. I'd sooner cut my tongue out +than aid 'e 'pon the road you'm set. An' you a righteous thinkin' man +wance!" + +He looked at her and there was that in his face which showed a mind busy +with time past. His voice had changed and his eyes softened. + +"I be punished for much, Mary Chirgwin. I be punished wi' loss an' wi' sich +work put on me as may lead to a terrible ugly plaace at the end. But theer +'tis. Like the chisel in the hand o' the carpenter, so I be a sharp tool in +the Lard's grip." + +"Never! You be a poor, dazed worm in the grip o' your awn evil thots! You'm +foxing [Footnote: _Foxing_--Deceiving.] yourself, Joe; you'm listenin' +to the devil an' tellin' yourself 'tis God--knawin' 'tedn' so all the +while. Theer's no religion as would put you in the right wi' sich notions +as them. Listen to your awn small guidin' voice, Joe Noy; listen to me, or +to Luke Gosp'lers or any sober-thinkin', God-fearin' sawl. All the world +would tell 'e you was wrong--all the wisdom o' the airth be agin you, let +alone heaven." + +"If 'twas any smaller thing I'd listen to 'e, Mary, for I knaw you to be a +wise, strong wummon; but theer ban't no mistakin' the message I got +down-long when they told me what's fallen 'pon Joan Tregenza. No fay; my +way be clear afore me; an' the angel o' God will lead my footsteps nearer +an' nearer till I faace the man. Windin' ways or short 'tis all wan in the +end, 'tis all set down in the Book o' the Lard." + +"How can the likes o' you dare to up an' say what be in the Book o' the +Lard, Joe?" asked Uncle Chirgwin, roused to words by the other's +sentiments. "You've got a gashly, bloody-minded fit on you along of all +your troubles. But doan't 'e let it fasten into your heart. Pray to God to +wipe away these here awful opinions. Else they'll be the ruin of 'e, body +an' sawl. If Luke Gosp'ling brot 'e to this pass in time o' darkness an' +tribulation, 'tis a cruel pity you didn't bide a church member." + +"I wish I thot you was in the right, uncle," said the sailor calmly, "but I +knaws you ban't. All the hidden powers of the airth an' the sea edn' gwaine +to keep me from that man. Now I'll leave 'e; an' I'm sorry, Mary Chirgwin, +as you caan't find it in your heart to help me, but so the Lard wills it. I +won't ax 'e to shake my hand, for theer'll be blood on it sooner or +later--the damnedest blood as ever a angry God called 'pon wan o' His +creatures to spill out." + +"Joe, Joe, stay an' listen to me! For the sake of the past, listen!" + +But Noy rose as Mary cried these words, and before she had finished +speaking he was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +THE SEEKING OF THE MAN + + +Thus the sailor, Noy, wholly imbued with one idea, absolutely convinced +that to this end it had pleased Providence to give him life, went forth +into the world that he might seek and slay the seducer of Joan. After +leaving Drift he returned to Penzance, lay there that night, and upon the +following morning began a methodical visitation of the Newlyn studios. Five +he called at and to five artists he stated something of his case in general +terms; but none of those who heard him were familiar with any of the facts, +and none could offer him either information or assistance. Edmund Murdoch +was not in Newlyn, Brady had gone to Brittany; but at the seventh studio +which he visited, Joe Noy substantiated some of his facts. Paul Tarrant +chanced to be at home and at work when he called; and the artist would have +told Joe everything which he wished to learn, but that Noy was cautious and +reserved, not guessing that he stood before one who knew his enemy and +entertained no admiration for him. + +"Axing pardon for taking up any of your time, sir," he began, "but theer'm +a matter concerning a party in your business as painted a maiden here, by +name o' Joan Tregenza. She weern't nobody--awnly a fisherman's darter, but +the picksher was said to be done in these paarts, an' I thot, maybe, you'd +knaw who drawed it." + +Tarrant had not heard of Joan's death, and, indeed, possessed no +information concerning her, save that Barron had prevailed upon the girl to +sit for a portrait. The question, therefore, struck him as curious; and one +which he put in return, merely to satisfy his own curiosity, impressed Joe +in a similar way. His suspicious nature took fright and Tarrant's dark, +bright eyes seemed to read his secret and search his soul. + +"Yes, a portrait of Joan Tregenza was painted here last spring, but not by +a Newlyn man. How does that interest you?" + +"Awnly sideways. 'Tedn' nothin' to me. I knaws the parties an' wanted to +see the picksher if theer weern't no objection." + +"That's impossible, I fear, unless you go to London. I cannot help you +further than to say the artist lives there and his picture is being +exhibited at an art gallery. Somebody told me that much; but which it is I +don't know." + +This was enough for Noy. Ignorant of the metropolis or the vague import of +the words "a picture gallery," he deemed these directions amply sufficient, +and, being anxious to escape further questioning, now thanked Tarrant and +speedily departed. Not until half way back again to Penzance did he realize +how slight was the nature of this information and how ill-calculated to +bring him to his object; the man he wanted lived in London and had a +painting of Joan Tregenza in a picture gallery there. + +Yet upon these directions Joe Noy resolved to begin his search, and as the +train anon bore him away to the field of the great quest he weighed the +chances and considered a course of action. Allowing the ample margin of ten +picture galleries to London, and assuming that the portrait of Joan once +found would be easily recognized by him, the sailor considered that a +fortnight of work should bring him face to face with the picture. That +done, he imagined that it would not be difficult to learn the name and +address of the painter. He had indeed asked Tarrant this question +pointblank, but the artist's accidental curiosity and Joe's own caution +combined to prevent any extension of the interview, or a repetition of the +question. A word had at least placed him in possession of John Barron's +name, but Chance prevented it from being spoken, as Chance had burned +Barron's letter and prevented his name appearing at the inquest. Now Noy +viewed the task before him with equanimity. The end was already assured, +for, in his own opinion, he walked God-guided; but the means lay with him, +and he felt that it was his duty to spare no pains or labors and not to +hesitate from the terrible action marked for him when he should reach the +end of his journey. Mary's last words came to his ear like a whisper which +mingled with the jolt and rattle of the railway train; but they held no +power to upset his purpose or force to modify his rooted determination. Her +image occupied his thoughts, however, for a lengthy period. Then, with some +effort, he banished it and entered upon a calculation of ways and means, +estimating the capabilities of his money. + +Entering the great hive to accomplish that assassination as he supposed +both planned and predestined for him before God made the sun, Noy set about +his business in a deliberate and careful manner. He hired a bedroom in a +mean street near Paddington, and, on the day after his arrival in London, +purchased a large map and index of the city which gave ample particulars of +public buildings and mentioned the names and positions of the great +permanent homes of art. By the help of newspaper advertisements he also +ascertained where to find some of the numerous private dealers' galleries +and likewise learned what public annual exhibitions chanced to be at that +time open. Whereupon, though the circumstance failed to quicken his pulse, +he discovered that the extent of his labors would prove far greater than he +at first imagined. He made careful lists of the places where pictures were +to be seen, and the number quickly ran up to fifty, sixty, seventy +exhibitions. That he would be able to visit all these Joe knew was +impossible, but the fact caused him no disquiet. The picture he sought and +the name of the man who painted it must be presented to him in due season. +For him it only remained to toil systematically at the search and allow no +clew to escape him. As for the issue, it was with the Lord. + +London swept and surged about Joe Noy unheeded. He cared for nothing but +canvases and the places where they might be seen. Day by day he worked and +went early to rest, weary and worn by occupation of a nature so foreign to +his experience. Nightly his last act was to delete one or sometimes two of +the exhibitions figured upon his lists. Thus a week passed by and he had +visited ten galleries and seen upward of five thousand pictures. Not one +painting or drawing of them all was missed or hurried over; he compared +each with its number in the catalogue, then studied it carefully to see if +any hint or suggestion of Joan appeared in it. Her Christian name often met +his scrutiny in titles, and those works thus designated he regarded with +greater attention than any others; but the week passed fruitlessly, and +Joe, making a calculation at the termination of it, discovered that, at his +present rate of progression, it would be possible to inspect no more than +half of the galleries set down before his funds were exhausted. The +knowledge quickened his ingenuity and he discovered a means by which future +labors might be vastly modified and much time saved. He already knew that +the man responsible for Joan's destruction was called John; his mind now +quickened with the recollection of this important fact, and henceforth he +did a thing which any man less unintelligent had done from the first: he +scanned his catalogues without troubling about the pictures, and only +concerned himself with those canvases whose painters had "John" for their +Christian names. He thanked God on his knees that the idea should have +entered his mind, for his labors were thereby enormously lightened. +Notwithstanding, through ignorance of his subject, Joe wasted a great deal +of time and money. Thus he visited the National Gallery, the Old Masters at +the Academy and various dealers' exhibitions where collections of the +pictures of foreign men were at that season being displayed. + +The brown sailor created some interest viewed in an environment so +peculiar. His picturesque face might well have graced a frame and looked +down upon the artistic throngs who swept among the pictures, but the living +man, full of almost tragic interest in what he saw, laboring along +catalogue in hand, dead to everything but the art around him, seemed wholly +out of place. He looked what he was: the detached thread of some story from +which the spectator only saw this chapter broken away and standing without +its context. Nine persons out of ten dismissed him with a smile; but +occasionally a thoughtful mind would view the man and occupy itself with +the problem of his affairs. Such built up imaginary histories of him and +his actions, which only resembled each other in the quality of remoteness +from truth. + +Once it happened that at a small gallery, off Bond Street, the sudden sight +of precious things brought new emotions to Joe Noy--sentiments and +sensations of a sort more human and more natural than those under which he +was at present pursuing his purpose. Before this spectacle, suddenly +presented in the quietness and loneliness of the little exhibition, that +stern spirit of revenge which had actuated him since the knowledge of his +loss, and which, gripping his mind like a frost from the outset, had +congested the gentler emotions of sorrow for poor Joan and for +himself--before this display of a familiar scene, hallowed beyond all +others in memory, the man's relentless mood rose off his mind for a brief +moment like a cloud, and he stood, with aching heartstrings, gazing at a +great canvas. Sweet to him it was as the unexpected face of one dearly +loved to the wanderer; and startling in a measure also, for, remembering +his oath, to see Newlyn no more until his enemy was dead, it seemed as +though the vow was broken by some miracle and that from the heart of the +roaring city he had magically plunged through space to the threshold of the +home of Joan. + +Before him loomed a picture like a window opening upon Newlyn. The village +lay there in all the flame and glory of sunset lights. The gray and black +roofs clustered up the great dark hill and the gloaming fell out of a +primrose sky over sea and land. The waters twinkled full of light to the +very foreground of the canvas, and between the piers of the harbor a +fisher-boy was sculling his boat. Between the masts of stone-schooners at +the quay, Joe saw the white cottage of the Tregenzas, and there his survey +stopped, for at this spectacle thought broke loose. No man ever paid a +nobler tribute to a good picture. Very long he gazed motionless, then, with +a great sigh, moved slowly forward, his eyes still turning back. + +The day and the experience which it brought him marked a considerable flux +of new impressions in Joe's mind--impressions which, without softening the +rugged aspect of his determination, yet added other lines of reflection. +Sorrow for what was lost fastened upon him, and an indignation burned his +soul that such things could be in a world designed and ordered by the +Almighty. Revenge, however, grew no less desirable in the light of sorrow. +He looked to it more and more eagerly as the only food which could lead to +peace of mind. His road probably embraced the circumstances of an +ignominious death; but none the less peace would follow--a peace beyond the +power of future life on earth to supply. Thus, at least, did his project +then present itself to him. Thought of the meeting with his enemy grew to +be a luxury which he feasted upon in the night watches after fruitless days +and the investigation of endless miles of pictures. Then he would lie awake +and imagine the inevitable climax. He saw himself standing before the man +who had ruined two lives; he felt his hand close over a knife or a pistol, +and wondered which it should be; he heard his own voice, slow and steady, +pronounce sentence of death, and he saw terror light that other man's face +as the blood fled from it. He rehearsed the words he should utter at that +great juncture and speculated as to what manner of answer would come; then +the last scene of all represented his enemy stretched dead at his feet and +himself with his hands linked in iron. There yet remained the end of the +tragedy for him--a spectacle horrible enough in the eyes of those still +left to love him, but for himself empty of terror, innocent of power to +alarm. Clean-living men would pity him, religious men would see in him an +instrument used by God to strike at a sinner. His death would probably +bring some wanderers to the fold; it must of a surety be long remembered as +the greatest sermon lived and preached by a Luke Gospeler. Lulled by the +humming woof and warp of such reflections, his mind nightly passed into the +unconsciousness of sleep; and quickened by subsequent visions, the brain +enacted these imaginings with an added gloom and that tremendous appearance +of reality proper to the domain of dreams. + +Thus the days sped and grew shorter as December waned. Then, at the end of +the second week of his work, Noy chanced to read that an Exhibition at the +Institute of Painters in Oils was about to close; and not yet having +visited that collection he set out on the morning of the following day to +do so. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +"JOE'S SHIP" + + +According to his custom, Noy worked through the exhibition catalogue for +each room before entering it. The hour was an early one, and but few +persons had as yet penetrated to the central part of the gallery. For +these, however, an experience of a singular character was now in store. +Wandering hither and thither in groups and talking in subdued voices after +the manner of persons in such a place, all were suddenly conscious of a +loud inarticulate cry. The sudden volume of sound denoted mixed emotions, +but amazement and grief were throned upon it, and the exclamation came from +a man standing now stiff and spellbound before "Joe's Ship," the famous +masterpiece of John Barron. The beholders viewed an amazed figure which +seemed petrified even to an expression on his face. There are countenances +which display the ordinary emotions of humanity in a fashion unusual and +peculiar to themselves. Thus, while the customary and conventional signs of +sorrow are a down-drawing slant to the corners of mouth and eye, yet it +sometimes happens that the lines more usually associated with gratification +are donned in grief. Of this freakish character was the face of Joe Noy. +His muscles seemed to follow the bones underneath them; and now beholding +him, the surprised spectators saw a man of gigantic proportions +gigantically moved. Yet, while sorrow was discernible in his voice, the +corners of his mouth were dragged up till his lips resembled a half-moon on +its back, and the lids and corners of his eyes were full of laughter +wrinkles, while the eyes themselves were starting and agonized. The man's +catalogue had fallen to the ground; his hands were clinched; now, as others +watched him, he came step by step nearer to the picture. + +To estimate the force of the thing upon Noy's hungry heart, to present the +chaos of emotions which now gripped him at the goal of his pilgrimage, is +impossible. Here, restored to him by art, was his dead sweetheart, the sum +and total of all the beauty he had worshiped and which for nearly a year of +absence had been his guiding star. He knew that she was in her grave, yet +she stood before him sweet and fresh, with the moisture of life in her eyes +and on her lips. He recognized everything, to the windy spot where the +gorse flourished on the crown of the cliff. The clean sky told him from +whence the wind blew; the gray gull above was flying with it upon slanting +wings. And Joan stood below in a blaze of sunshine and yellow blossom. A +reflection from the corner of her sunbonnet brightened her face, though it +was shaded from direct sunlight by her hand; her blue eyes mirrored the sea +and the sky; and they met Joe's, like a question. She was looking away to +the edge of the world; and he knew from the name of the picture, which he +had read before he saw it, the object regarded. He glared on, and his +breath came quicker. The brown petticoat with the black patch was familiar +to him; but he had never seen the gleam of her white neck below the collar +where it was hidden from the sun. In the picture an unfastened button +showed this. The rest he knew: her hair, turning at the flapping edge of +the sunbonnet; her slight figure, round waist, and the shoes, whose strings +he had been privileged to tie more than once. Then he remembered her last +promise: to see his ship go down Channel from their old meeting-place upon +Gorse Point; and the memory, thus revived by the actual spectacle of Joan +Tregenza looking her last at his vanishing vessel, brought the wild cry to +Noy's lip with the wringing of his heart. He was absolutely dead to his +environment, and his long days of silence suddenly ended in a futile +outpouring of words addressed to any who might care to listen. Passion +surged to the top of his mind--rage for his loss, indignation that the +unutterably fair thing before them had been blotted out of the world while +he was far away, without power to protect her. For a few moments only was +the man beyond his own self-control, but in that brief time he spoke; and +his listeners enjoyed a sensation of a nature outside their widest +experiences. + +"Oh, Christ Jesus! 'tis Joan--my awn lil Joan, as I left her, as I seed her +alive!" + +He had reached the rail separating the pictures from the public. Here he +stood and spoke again, now conscious that there were people round about +him. + +"She'm dead--dead an' buried--my Joan--killed by the devil as drawed her +theer in that picksher. As large as life; an' yet she'm under ground wi' a +brawken heart. An' me, new-comed off the sea, hears of it fust thing." + +"It's 'Joe's Ship' he means," whispered somebody, and Noy heard him. + +"Iss fay, so 'tis, an' I be Joe--I talkin' to 'e; an' she'm shadin' her +eyes theer to see my vessel a-sailin' away to furrin paarts! 'Tis a story +that's true, an' the God-blasted limb what drawed this knawed I was gone to +the ends o' the airth outward bound." + +A man from the turnstile came up here and inquired what was the matter. His +voice and tone of authority brought the sailor back to the position he +occupied; he restrained himself, therefore, and spoke no more. Already Noy +feared that his passion might have raised suspicions, and now, turning and +picking up his catalogue, he made hasty departure before those present had +opportunity to take much further notice of him. The man hurried off into +the rattle of the busy thoroughfare, and in a moment he and his sorrows and +his deadly purpose had vanished away. + +Meantime the curator of the gallery, a man of intelligence, improved the +moment and addressed some apposite reflections to those spectators who +still clustered around John Barron's picture. + +"It isn't often we get such a sight as that. Many people have wondered why +this great work was called as it is. The man who has gone explains it, and +you have had a glimpse of the picture's history--the inner history of it. +The painting has made a great sensation ever since it was first exhibited, +but never such a sensation as it made to-day." + +"The beggar looked as though he meant mischief," said somebody. + +"He knows the model is dead apparently, but there's another mystery there +too, for Mr. Barron himself isn't aware of the fact. He was here only the +day before yesterday--a little pale shadow of a man, like a ghost in a fur +coat. He came to see his picture and stopped ten minutes. Two gentlemen +were with him, and I heard him say, in answer to one of them as he left the +gallery, that he had quite recently endeavored to learn some particulars of +Joan Tregenza, his model, but had failed to do so as yet." + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +THE FINDING OF THE MAN + + +The gratification of his desire and the fulfillment of his revenge, though +steadfastly foreseen by Joe Noy from the moment when first he set foot in +London and began his search, now for a moment overwhelmed him at the +prospect of their extreme propinquity. Had anything been needed to +strengthen his determination on the threshold of a meeting with Joan's +destroyer, it was the startling vision of Joan herself from which he had +just departed. No event had brought the magnitude of his loss more cruelly +to the core of his heart than the sudden splendid representation of what he +had left behind him in her innocence and beauty; and, for the same reason, +nothing could have more thoroughly fortified his mind to the deed now lying +in his immediate future. + +Noy's first act was to turn again to the gallery with a purpose to inquire +where John Barron might be found; but he recollected that many picture +catalogues contained the private addresses of the exhibitors, and +accordingly consulted the list he had brought with him. There he found the +name and also the house in which the owner of it dwelt-- + +JOHN BARRON, No. 6 Melbury Gardens, S. W. + +Only hours now separated him from his goal, and it seemed strange to Noy +that he should have thus come in sight of it so suddenly. But his wits +cooled and with steady system he followed the path long marked out. He +stood and looked in at a gunsmith's window for ten minutes, then moved +forward to another. At the shop-fronts of cutlers he also dawdled, but +finally returned to the first establishment which had attracted him, +entered, and, for the sum of two pounds, purchased a small, five-chambered +revolver with a box of cartridges. He then went back to his lodging, and +set to work to find the position of Melbury Gardens upon his map. This done +the man marked his road to that region, outlining with a red chalk pencil +the streets through which he would have to walk before reaching it. +Throughout the afternoon he continued his preparations, acting very +methodically, and setting his house in order with the deliberation of one +who knows that he is going to die, but not immediately. Sometimes he rested +from the labor of letter-writing to think and rehearse again the scene +which was to close that day. A thousand times he had already done so; a +thousand times the imaginary interview had been the last thought in his +waking brain; but now the approach of reality swept away those unreal +dialogues, dramatic entrances, exits and events of the great scene as he +had pictured it. The present moment found Noy's brain blank as to +everything but the issue; and he surprised himself by discovering that his +mind now continually recurred to those events which would follow the +climax, while yet the death of John Barron was unaccomplished. His active +thoughts, under conditions of such excitation as the day had brought upon +the top of his discovery, traveled with astounding speed, and it was not +John Barron's end but his own which filled the imagination of the sailor as +he wrote. The shadow of the gallows was on the paper, though the event +which was to bring this consummation still lay some hours deep in +unrecorded time. But, for Noy, John Barron was as good as dead, and himself +as good as under sentence of death. + +Grown quite calm, fixed in mind, and immovable as the black sea cliffs of +his mother-land, he wrote steadily on until thought sped whirling forward +to a new aspect of his future: the last. He saw himself in eternity, tossed +to everlasting flames by his Maker, as a man tosses an empty match-box, +after it has done its work, into the fire. He put down his pen and pictured +it. The terrific force of that conviction cannot fairly be set before the +intelligence of average cultured people, because, whatever they profess to +believe in their hearts, the truth is that, even with forty-nine Christians +out of fifty, hell appears a mere vague conceit meaning nothing. They +affirm that they believe in eternal torment; they confess all humanity is +ripe for it; but their pulses are unquickened by the assertion or +admission; they do _not_ believe in it. Nor can educated man so +believe, for that way madness lies, and he who dwells long and closely upon +this unutterable dogma, anon himself feels the first flickering of the +undying flame. It scorches, not his body, but his brain, and a lunatic +asylum presently shuts him from a sane world unless medical aid quickly +brings healthy relief. + +But with primitive opinions, narrow beliefs and narrow intelligences, hell +can be a live conceit enough. Among Luke Gospelers and kindred sects there +shall be found such genuine fear and such trembling as the church called +orthodox never knows; and to Noy the tremendous spectacle of his +everlasting punishment now made itself actively felt. A life beyond +death--a life to be spent in one of two places and to endure eternally was +to Joe as certain as the knowledge that he lived; and that his destination +must be determined by the work yet lying between him and death appeared +equally sure. Further, that work must be performed. There was no loophole +of escape from it, and had there been such he would have blocked it against +himself resolutely. Moreover, as the will and desire to do the deed was an +action as definite in the eye of Heaven as the accomplishment of the deed +itself, he reckoned himself already damned. He had long since counted the +whole cost, and now it only seemed more vast and awful than upon past +surveys by reason of its nearer approach. Now he speculated curiously upon +the meetings which must follow upon the world's dissolution; and wondered +if those who kill do ever meet and hold converse in hell-fire with their +victims. Then again he fell to writing, and presently completed letters to +his father, his mother, to Mrs. Tregenza and to Mary Chirgwin. These he +left in his apartment, and presently going out into the air, walked, with +no particular aim, until darkness fell. Hunger now prompted him, and he ate +a big meal at a restaurant and drank with his food a pint of ale. +Physically fortified, he returned to his lodging, left upon the table in +his solitary room the sum he would that night owe for the hire of the +chamber, and, then, taking his letters, went out to return no more. A few +clothes, a brush and comb and a small wooden trunk was all he left behind +him. Joe Noy purchased four stamps for his letters and posted them. They +were written as though the murder of John Barron had been already +accomplished, and he thus completed and dispatched them before the event, +because he imagined that, afterward, the power of communicating with his +parents or friends would be denied him. That they might be spared the +horror of learning the news through a public source he wrote it thus, and +knew, as he did so, that to two of his correspondents the intelligence +would come without the full force of a novelty. Thomasin Tregenza and Mary +Chirgwin alike were familiar with his intention at the time of his +departure, and to them he therefore wrote but briefly; his parents, on the +other hand, for all Joe knew to the contrary, might still be ignorant of +the fact that he had come off his cruise. His letters to them were +accordingly of great length; and he set forth therein with the nervous +lucidity of a meager vocabulary the nature of his wrongs and the action +which he had taken under Heaven's guidance to revenge them. He stated +plainly in all four of his missives to Newlyn, Drift and Mousehole that the +artist, John Barron, was shot dead by his hand and that he himself intended +suffering the consequent punishment as became a brave man and the weapon of +the Lord. These notes then he posted, and so went upon his way that he +might fulfill to the letter his written words. + +Following the roads he had studied upon his map and committed to memory, +Noy soon reached Melbury Gardens and presently stood opposite No, 6 and +scanned it. The hour was then ten o'clock and lights were in some of the +windows, but not many. Looking over the area railings, the sailor saw four +servants--two men and two women--eating their supper. He noted, as a +singular circumstance, that there were wineglasses upon the kitchen table +and that they held red liquor and white. + +Noy's design was simple enough. He meant to stand face to face with John +Barron, to explain the nature of the events which had occurred, to tell +him, what it was possible he might not know: that Joan was dead; and then +to inform him that his own days were numbered. Upon these words Joe +designed to shoot the other down like a dog, and to make absolutely certain +of his death by firing the entire contents of the revolver. He expected +that a private interview would be vouchsafed to him if he desired it; and +his intention, after his victim should fall, was to blow the man's brains +out at close quarters before even those nearest at hand could prevent it. +At half-past ten Noy felt that his weapon was in the left breast pocket of +his coat ready for the drawing; then ascended the steps which rose to the +front door of John Barron's dwelling and rang the bell. + +The man-servant whom he had seen through the area railings in the kitchen +came to the door, and, much to Noy's astonishment, accosted him before he +had time to say that he wished to see the master of the house. + +"You've come at last, then," said the man. + +Joe regarded him with surprise, then spoke. + +"I want to see Mr. John Barron, please." + +The other laughed, as if this was an admirable jest. + +"I suppose you do, though that's a queer way to put it. You talk as though +you had come to smoke a cigar along with him." + +In growing amazement and suspicion, Noy listened to this most curious +statement. Fears suddenly awoke that, by some mysterious circumstance, +Barron had learned of his contemplated action and was prepared for it. He +stopped, therefore, looked about him sharply to avoid any sudden surprise, +and put a question to the footman. + +"You spoke as though I was wanted," he said. "What do you mean by that?" + +"Blessed if you're not a rum 'un!" answered the man. "Of course you was +wanted, else you wouldn't be here, would you? You're not a party as calls +promiscuous, I should hope. Else it would be rather trying to delicate +nerves. You're the gentleman as everybody requires some time, though nobody +ever sends for himself." + +Failing to gather the other's meaning, Noy only realized that John Barron +expected some visitor and felt, therefore, the more determined to hasten +his own actions. He saw the footman was endeavoring to be jocose, and +therefore humored him, pretending at the same time to be the individual who +was expected. + +"You're a funny fellow and must often make your master laugh, I should +reckon, Iss, I be the chap what you thought I was. An' I should like to see +him--the guv'nor--at once if he'll see me." + +The footman chuckled again. + +"He'll see you all right. He's been wantin' of you all day, and he'd have +been that dreadful disapp'inted if you 'adn't come. Always awful particular +about his clothes, you know, so mind you're jolly careful about the +measuring 'cause this overcoat will have to last him a long time." + +Taking his cue from these words Noy, still ignorant of the truth, made +answer: "Iss, I'll measure en all right. Wheer is he to?" + +"In the studio--there you are, right ahead. Knock at that baize door and +then walk straight in, 'cause he'll very likely be too much occupied to +answer you. He's quite alone--leastways I believe so. I'll come back in +quarter'n hour; and mind you don't talk no secrets or tell him how I +laughed at him behind his back, else he'd give me the sack for certain." + +The man withdrew, sniggering at his own humor, and Noy, quite unable to see +rhyme or reason in his remarks, stood with an expression of bewilderment +upon his broad face and watched the servant disappear. Then his countenance +changed, and he approached a door covered with red baize at which the +passage terminated. He knocked, waited, and knocked again, straining his +ear to hear the voice he had labored so long to silence. Then he put his +revolver into the side pocket of his coat, and, afterward, following the +footman's directions, pushed open the swing door, which yielded to his +hand. A curtain hung inside it, and, pulling this aside, he entered a +spacious apartment with a glass roof. But scanty light illuminated the +studio from one oil lamp which hung by a chain from a bracket in the wall, +and the rays of which were much dimmed by a red glass shade. Some easels, +mostly empty, stood about the sides of the great chamber; here and there on +the white walls were sketches in charcoal and daubs of paint. A German +stove appeared in the middle of the room, but it was not burning; skins of +beasts scattered the floor; upon one wall hung the "Negresses Bathing at +Tobago." For the rest the room appeared empty. Then, growing accustomed to +the dim red light, Noy made a closer examination until he caught sight of +an object which made him catch his breath violently and hurry forward. +Under the lofty open windows which rose on the northern side of the studio, +remote from all other objects, was a couch, and upon it lay a small, +straight figure shrouded in white sheets save for its face. + +John Barron had been dead twenty-four hours, and he had hastened his own +end, by a space of time impossible to determine, through leaving his +sick-room two days previously, that he might visit the picture gallery +wherein hung "Joe's Ship." It was a step taken in absolute defiance of his +medical men. The day of that excursion had chanced to be a very cold one, +and during the night which followed it John Barron broke a blood vessel and +precipitated his death. Now, in the hands of hirelings, without a friend to +put one flower on his breast or close his dim eyes, the man lay waiting for +an undertaker; and while Joe Noy glared at him, unconsciously gripping the +weapon he had brought, it seemed as though the dead smiled under the red +flicker of the lamp--as though he smiled and prepared to come back into +life to answer this supreme accuser. + +As by an educated mind Joe Noy's estimate and assurance of the eternal +tortures of hell cannot be adequately grasped in its full force, so now it +is hard to set forth with a power sufficiently luminous and terrific the +effect of this discovery upon him. He, the weapon of the Almighty, found +his work finished and the fruits of his labors snatched from his hand. His +enemy had escaped, and the fact that he was dead only made the case harder. +Had Barron hastened from him and avoided his revolver, he could have +suffered it, knowing that the end lay in the future at the determination of +God; but now the end appeared before him accomplished; and it had been +attained without his assistance. His labor was lost and his longed-for, +prayed-for achievement rendered impossible. He stood and scanned the small, +marble-white face, then drew a box of matches from his pocket, lighted one +and looked closer. Worn by disease to mere skin and skull, there was +nothing left to suggest the dead man's wasted powers; and generation of +their own destroyers was the only task now left for his brains. The end of +Noy's match fell red-hot on John Barron's face. Then he turned as footsteps +sounded; the curtains were moved aside and the footman reappeared, followed +by another person. + +"Why, you wasn't the undertaker after all!" he explained. "Did you think +the man was alive? Good Lord! But you've found him anyway." + +"Iss, I thot he was alive. I wanted to see en livin' an' leave en--" he +stopped. Common sense for once had a word with him and convinced him of the +folly of saying anything now concerning his frustrated projects. + +"He died night 'fore last--consumption--and he's left money enough to build +a brace of ironclads, they say, and never no will, and not a soul on God's +earth is there with any legal claim upon him. To tell the truth, we none of +us never liked him." + +"If you'll shaw me the way out into the street, I'll thank 'e," said Noy. +The undertaker was already busy making measurements. Then, a minute later, +Joe found himself standing under the sky again; and the darkness was full +of laughter and of voices, of gibing, jeering noises in unseen throats, of +rapid utterances on invisible tongues. The supernatural things screamed +into his ears that he was damned for a wish and for an intention; then they +shrieked and yelled their derision, and he understood well enough, for the +point of view was not a new one. Given the accomplishment of his desire, he +was prepared to suffer eternally; now eternal suffering must follow on a +wish barren of fruit, and hell for him would be hell indeed, with no +accomplished revenge in memory to lessen the torment. When the voices at +length died and a clock struck one, Noy came to himself, and realized that, +in so far as the present affected him, Fate had brought him back to life +and liberty by a short cut. Then, seeing his position, he asked himself +whether life was long enough to make atonement and even allow of ultimate +escape after death. But the fierce disappointment which beat upon his soul +like a recurring wave, as thought drifted back and back, told him that he +had fairly won hell-fire and must abide by it. + +So thinking, he returned to his lodging, entered unobserved and prowled the +small chamber till dawn. By morning light all his life appeared +transfigured and a ghastly anti-climax faced the man. Presently he +remembered the letters he had posted overnight, and the recollection of +them brought with it sudden resolves and a course of action. + +Half an hour later he had reached Paddington Station, and was soon on his +way back to Cornwall. + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +STARLIGHT AND FROST + + +Born of the sunshine, on a morning in late December, gray ephemerae danced +and dipped and fashioned vanishing patterns against the green of the great +laurel at the corner of Drift farmyard. The mildness of the day had wakened +them into brief life, but even as they twinkled their wings of gauze death +was abroad. A sky of unusual clearness crowned the Cornish moorland, and +Uncle Chirgwin, standing at his kitchen door, already foretold frost, +though the morning was still young. + +"The air's like milk just now, sure 'nough, an' 'twill bide so till noon; +then, when the sun begins to slope, the cold will graw an' graw to frost. +An' no harm done, thank God." + +He spoke to his niece, who was in the room behind him; and as he did so a +circumstance of very unusual nature happened. Two persons reached the front +door of the farm simultaneously, and a maid, answering the double knock, +returned a moment later with two communications, both for Mary Chirgwin. + +"Postman, he brot this here, miss, an' a bwoy from Mouzle brot t'other." + +The first letter came from London, the second, directed in a similar hand, +reached Mary from the adjacent fishing hamlet. She knew the big writing +well enough, but showed no emotion before the maid. In fact her self +command was remarkable, for she put both letters into her pocket and made +some show of continuing her labors for another five minutes before +departing to her room that she might read the news from Joe Noy. + +He, it may be said, had reached Penzance by the same train which conveyed +his various missives, all posted too late for the mail upon the previous +night. Thus he reached the white cottage on the cliff in time to see Mrs. +Tregenza and bid her destroy unread the letter she would presently receive; +and, on returning to his parents, himself took from the letter-carrier his +own communications to them and burned both immediately. He had also +dispatched a boy to Drift that Mary might be warned as to the letter she +would receive by the morning post, but the lad, though ample time was given +him to reach Drift before the postman, loitered by the way. Thus the +letters had arrived simultaneously, and it was quite an open question which +the receiver of them would open first. + +Chance decided: Mary's hand, thrust haphazard into her pocket, came forth +with Hoy's epistle recently dispatched from Mousehole; and that she read, +the accident saving her at least some moments of bitter suffering. + +"Dear Mary," wrote Noy, "you will get this by hand afore the coming in of +the penny post. When that comes in, there will be another letter for you +from me, sent off from London. It is all wrong, so burn it, and don't you +read it on no account. Burn it to ashes, for theer's a many reasons why you +should. I be coming up-long to see you arter dinner, and if you can walk +out in the air with me for a bit I'll thank you so to do. Your friend, J. +Noy. Burn the letter to dust 'fore anything else. Don't let it bide a +minute and doan't tell none you had it." + +Curiosity was no part of Mary Chirgwin's nature. Now she merely thanked +Heaven which had led to the right letter and so enabled her unconsciously +to obey Joe's urgent command. Then she returned to the kitchen, placed his +earlier communication in the heart of the fire and watched while it +blackened, curled, blazed, and finally shuddered down into a red-hot ash. +She determined to see him and walk with him, as he asked, if he returned +with clean hands. While the letter which she had read neither proved nor +disproved such a supposition, the woman yet felt a secret and sure +conviction in her heart that Noy was coming back innocent at least of any +desperate action. That he was in Cornwall again and a free man appeared to +her proof sufficient that he had not committed violence. + +Mary allowed her anxiety to interfere with no duty. By three o'clock she +was ready to set out, and, looking from her bedroom window as she tied on +her hat, she saw Joe Noy approaching up the hill. A minute later she was at +the door, and stood there waiting with her eyes upon him as he came up the +path. Then she looked down, and to the man it seemed as though she was +gazing at his right hand which held a stick. + +"'Tis as it was, Mary Chirgwin--my hands be white," he said. "You needn't +fear, though I promised if you ever seed 'em agin as they'd be red. 'Tedn' +so. I was robbed of my hope, Mary. The Lard took Joan fust; then he took my +revenge from me. His will be done. The man died four-an'-twenty hours 'fore +I found en--just four-an'-twenty lil hours--that was all." + +"Thank the Almighty God for it, Joe, as I shall till the day of my death. +Never was no prayer answered so surely as mine for you." + +"Why, maybe I'll graw to thank God tu when 'tis farther to look back 'pon. +I caan't feel 'tis so yet. I caan't feel as he'm truly dead. An' yet 'twas +no lie, for I seed en, an' stood 'longside of en." + +"God's Hand be everywheer in it. Think if I'd read poor Joan's letter an' +tawld 'e wheer the man's plaace of livin' was!" + +"Iss, then I'd have slain en. 'Tis such lil things do mark out our paths. A +gert pichsher o' Joan he drawed--all done out so large as life; an' I found +it, an' it 'peared as if the dead was riz up again an' staring at me. If +'tis all the saame to you, Mary, us'll go an' look 'pon her graave now, for +I abbun seen it yet." + +They walked in silence for some hundred yards along the lanes to Sancreed. +Then Noy spoke again. + +"How be uncle?" + +"Betwix' an' between. The trouble an' loss o' Joan aged en cruel, an' the +floods has brot things to a close pass. 'Twas the harder for en 'cause all +looked so more'n common healthy an' promisin' right up to the rain. But +he's got the faith as moves mountains; he do knaw that sorrer ban't sent +for nort." + +"An' you? I wonder I'm bowldacious 'nough to look 'e in the faace, but +sorrer's not forgot me neither." + +"'Tis a thing what awver-passes none. I've forgived 'e, Joe Noy, many a +long month past, an' I've prayed to God to lead 'e through this strait, an' +He have." + +"'Tis main hard to knaw what road's the right wan, Mary." + +"Iss fay, an' it is; an' harder yet to follow 'pon it when found." + +"I judged as God was leadin' me against this here evil-doer to destroy en." + +"'Twas the devil misleadin' 'e an' takin' 'e along on his awn dance, till +God saw, an' sent death." + +"Thanks to your prayin', I'll lay." + +"Thanks to the mightiness of His mercy, Joe. 'Twas the God us worships, you +mind, not Him of the Luke Gosp'lers nor any other 'tall. Theer's awnly wan +real, livin' God; an' you left Him for a sham." + +"An' I'm punished for't. Wheer should I turn now? I've thrawed awver your +manner o' worship an' I'm sick o' the Gosp'lers, for 'twas theer God as led +me to this an' brot all my trouble 'pon me. He caan't be no God worth +namin', else how should He a treated that poor limb, Michael Tregenza, same +as He has. That man had sweated for his God day an' night for fifty years. +An' see his reward." + +"Come back, come back to the auld road again, Joe, an' leave the ways o' +God to God. The butivul, braave thing 'bout our road be that wance lost +'tedn' allus lost. You may get night-foundered by the way, yet wi' the +comin' o' light, theer's allus a chance to make up lost ground agin an' +keep gwaine on." + +"A body must b'lieve in somethin', else he'm a rudderless vessel seemin'ly, +but wi' sich a flood of 'pinions 'bout the airth, how's wan sailorman to +knaw what be safe anchorage and what ban't?" + +Mary argued with him in strenuous fashion and increased her vehemence as he +showed signs of yielding. She knew well enough that religion was as +necessary to him in some shape as to herself. + +Already a pageant of winter sunset began to unfold fantastic sheaves of +splendor, and over the horizon line of the western moors the air was +wondrously clear. It faded to intense white light where the uplands cut it, +while, above, the background of the sky was a pure beryl gradually burning +aloft into orange. Here waves of fire beat over golden shores and red +clouds extended as an army in regular column upon column. At the zenith, +billows of scarlet leaped in feathery foam against a purple continent and +the flaming tide extended from reef to reef among a thousand aerial bays +and estuaries of alternating gloom and glow until shrouded and dimmed in an +orange tawny haze of infinite distance. In the immediate foreground of this +majestic display, like a handful of rose-leaves fallen out of heaven, small +clouds floated directly downward, withering to blackness as they neared the +earth and lost the dying fires. Beneath the splendor of the sky the land +likewise flamed, the winding roadways glimmered, and many pools and ditches +reflected back the circumambient glory of the air. + +In a few more minutes, Mary and Joe reached Sancreed churchyard and soon +stood beside the grave of Joan Tregenza. + +"The grass won't close proper till the spring come," said Mary; "then the +turf will grow an' make it vitty; an' uncle's gwaine to set up a good slate +stone wi' the name an' date an' some verses. I planted them primroses 'long +the top myself. If wan abbun gone an' blossomed tu!" + +She stooped to pick a primrose and an opening bud; but Joe stopped her. + +"Doan't 'e pluck 'em. Never take no flowers off of a graave. They'm all the +dead have got." + +"But they'll die, Joe. Theer's frost bitin' in the air already. They'll be +withered come marnin'." + +"No matter for that," he said; "let 'em bide wheer they be." + +The man was silent a while as he looked at the mound. Then he spoke again. + +"Tell me about her. Talk 'bout her doin's an' sayin's. Did she forgive that +man afore she died or dedn' she?" + +"Iss, I reckon so." + +Mary mentioned those things best calculated in her opinion to lighten the +other's sorrow. He nodded from time to time as she spoke, and walked up and +down with his hands behind, him. When she stopped, he asked her to tell him +further facts. Then the light waned under the sycamore trees and only a red +fire still touched their topmost boughs. + +"We'll go now," Noy said. "An' she died believin' just the same as what you +do--eh, Mary?" + +"Uncle's sure of it--positive sartain 'twas so." + +"An' you?" + +"I pray that he was right. Iss fay, I've grawed to b'lieve truly our Joan +was saved, spite of all. I never 'sactly understood her thots, nor she +mine; but she'm in heaven now I do think." + +"If bitterness an' sorrer counts she should be. An' you may take it from me +she is. An' I'll come back, tu, if I may hope for awnly the lowest plaace. +I'll come back an' walk along to church wance agin wi' you, wance 'fore I +goes back to sea. Will 'e let me do that, Mary Chirgwin?" + +"I thank God to hear you say so. You'm welcome to come along wi' me next +Sunday if you mind to." + +"An' now us'll go up the Carn an' look out 'pon the land and see the sun +sink." + +They left the churchyard together, climbed the neighboring eminence and +stood silently at the top, their faces to the West. + +A great pervasive calm and stillness in the air heralded frost. The sky had +grown strangely clear, and only the rack and ruin of the recent imposing +display now huddled into the arms of night on the eastern horizon. The sun, +quickly dropping, loomed mighty and fiery red. Presently it touched the +horizon, and its progress, unappreciated in the sky, became accentuated by +the rim of the world. A semi-circle of fire, a narrowing segment, a splash, +throbbing like a flame--then it had vanished, and light waned until there +trembled out the radiance of a brief after-glow. Already the voices of the +frost began to break the earth's silence. In the darkness of woods it was +busy casing the damp mosses in ice, binding the dripping outlets of hidden +water, whispering with infinitely delicate sound as it flung forth its +needles, the mother of ice, and suffered them to spread like tiny sudden +fingers on the face of freezing water. From the horizon the brightness of +the zodiacal light streamed mysteriously upward into the depth of heaven, +dimming the stars. But the brightness of them grew in splendor and +brilliancy as increasing cold gripped the world; and while the stealthy +feet of the frost raced and tinkled like a fairy tune, the starlight +flashed upon its magic silver, powdered its fabrics with light and pointed +its crystal triumphs with fire. Thus starlight and frost fell upon the +forest and the Cornish moor, beneath the long avenues of silence, and over +all the unutterable blackness of granite and dead heather. The earth slept +and dreamed dreams, as the chain of the cold tightened; all the earth +dreamed fair dreams, in night and nakedness; dreams such as forest trees +and lone elms, meadows and hills, moors and valleys, great heaths and the +waste, secret habitations of Nature, one and all do dream: of the passing +of another winter and the on-coming of another spring. + + + + +THE END. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lying Prophets, by Eden Phillpotts + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYING PROPHETS *** + +This file should be named 8lpro10.txt or 8lpro10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8lpro11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8lpro10a.txt + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, +Eric Casteleijn and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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