spoke of him: "My father is an upright man. He is a fine sailor and a
lucky fisher. Every one trusts my father. Every one honours him."

Of course Denas recognised the differences in her friend's life and
her own. Mr. Tresham's old stone mansion was large and lofty. It had
fine gardens, and it had been well furnished from the wreck of the
London house. Elizabeth played on the harp and piano in a pretty,
fashionable way, and she had jewelry, and silk dresses, and many
adornments quite outside of the power of Denas to obtain. But Denas
never envied her these things. She looked on them as the accidentals
of a certain station, and God had not put her in that station. In her
own she had the very best of all that belonged to it. And as far as
personal adornment went, she was neither vain nor envious. Her
dark-blue merino dress and her wide straw hat satisfied her ideas of
propriety and beauty. A shell comb in her fair hair and a few white
hyacinths at her throat were all the ornaments she desired. So dressed
that Easter Eve, she had stood a moment with her hat in her hand
before her mother, and asked, with a merry little movement of her eyes
and head, "what she thought of her?" and Joan Penelles had told her
child promptly:

"You be sweet as blossoms, Denas."

There was an engagement between her and Elizabeth to adorn the altar
for the Resurrection Service, and it was mainly this duty which had
delayed her until John Penelles began to worry about her long absence.
He did not ask himself why he had all in a moment thought of Roland
Tresham and felt a shiver of apprehension. He was not accustomed to
reason about his feelings, it was so much easier to go to Joan with
them. But this evening Joan did not quite satisfy him. He drank his
tea and ate plentifully of his favourite pie, of fresh fish and cream
and young parsley, and then said:

"Joan, my dear, I have an over-mind to light my pipe and saunter up
the cliff-breast. I may meet Denas."

"I wish you wouldn't go, father. It do look as if you had lost trust
in Denas--misdoubting one's own is a whist poor business and not worth
the following."

"Aw, my dear, I just want to talk a few words to her quiet-like. If
Denas is companying with Roland Tresham she oughtn't to do it, and I
must tell her so, that I must. My dear girl, right is right in the
devil's teeth."

He said the words so sternly that they seemed to make a gloom in the
cottage, but Joan's cheerful laugh cleare