lities rule us.
In St. Penfer, Paul Pyn and Ann Bude, John and Joan Penelles, the
Rev. Mr. Farrar and Mrs. Burrell, were all that morning governed in
some degree by Roland's evilly spent sovereign; and he far off in
London was in the hey-day of his honeymoon with Denas. They were so
gay, so thoughtless and happy that people turned to look at them as
they wandered through the bazars or stood laughing before the
splendid windows in Regent Street. Many an old man and woman
smiled sympathetically at them; for all the world loves a lover, and
none could tell that these lovers had forfeited their right to
sympathy by stealing their pleasure from those who ought to have
shared it with them.

But as yet the world was only an accident of their love, and there was
a whole week before them of unbroken and unsatiated delight--a whole
week in which neither of them thought of the past or the future; in
which every hour brought a fresh pleasure, something new to wear, or
to see, or to hear. If it could only have lasted! Alas! the ability to
enjoy went first. Amusements of every kind grew a little--a very
little--tiresome. The first glory was dimmed; the charm of freshness
was duller; the unreasoning delight of ignorance a little less
enthusiastic every day; and about the close of the third week Roland
said one morning, "You look weary, Denasia, my darling."

"I am tired, Roland--tired of going a-pleasuring. I never thought
anything like that could possibly happen. Ought I not to be taking
lessons, learning something, doing something about my voice?"

"It is high time, love. Money melts in London like ice in summer.
Suppose we go and see Signor Maria this morning."

"I would like to go very much."

"Then make yourself very fine and very pretty, and let me hear if your
voice is in good order to-day." He went to the piano and struck a few
chords, and throughout the still, decorous house, people in every room
heard the sweet voice chanting:

"I will go back to the great sweet mother,
Mother and lover of men--the sea"--

heard it again in the weird, startling incantation:

"Weave me the nets for the gray, gray fish"--

and up and down stairs doors were softly opened, and through every
heart there went a breath of the salt sea and a longing for the wide
stretches of rippled sands and tossing blue waters.

Roland perceived the effect of the music and was satisfied. He had no
fear of their future. What if the gold was low i