a rock
which rose directly out of the water formed a natural quay, on which the
fishing-boats could land their cargoes. Beyond this the road was rough
and steep, and fitted only for people on foot, or donkeys with their
panniers, to go up and down. Art had done little to the place.

The little "Wild Duck," a few moments before tossed and tumbled by the
angry seas, now glided smoothly along for a few hundred yards, when the
sails were lowered, and she floated up to a dock between two rocks.
Hence, a rough pathway led from one of the cottages perched on the side
of the cliff. At a distance it could scarcely have been distinguished
from the cliff itself. Its walls were composed of large blocks of
unhewn serpentine, masses of clay filling up the interstices, while it
was roofed with a thick dark thatch, tightly fastened down with ropes,
and still further secured by slabs of stone to prevent its being carried
away by the fierce blasts which are wont to sweep up and down the ravine
in winter.

There was space enough on either side of the cottage for a small garden,
which appeared to be carefully cultivated, and was enclosed by a stone
wall. At the upper part of the pathway a flight of steps, roughly hewn
in the rock, led to the cottage door.

The door opened as soon as Paul's boat rounded the point, and a young
girl with a small creel or fish basket at her back was seen lightly
tripping down the pathway, followed by an old woman, who, though she
supported her steps with a staff, also carried a creel of the ordinary
size. She wore a large broad-brimmed black hat, and a gaily-coloured
calico jacket over her winsey skirt; an apron, and shoes with metal
buckles, completing the ordinary costume of a fish-wife of that
district. Little Nelly was dressed very like her grandmother, except
that her feet were bare, and that she had a necklace of small shells
round her throat. Her face was pretty and intelligent, her well-browned
cheeks glowed with the hue of health, her eyes were large and grey, and
her black hair, drawn up off her forehead, hung in neat plaits tied with
ribbons behind her back. Nelly Trefusis was indeed a good specimen of a
young fisher-girl.

She tripped lightly down the pathway, springing to the top of the
outermost rock just before her father's boat glided by it, and in an
instant stepping nimbly on board, she threw herself into his arms and
bestowed a kiss on his weather-beaten brow.

Michael had le