t kind of wicked men--they just thought of a bad
thing and went and did it. They didn't plot and plan how to make
others wicked for them and with them."

"What do you know wrong of Roland Tresham, John?"

"What do I know wrong of Trelawny's little Jersey bull? Nothing. It
never hurt me yet. But I see the devil in his eyes and in the lift of
his feet and the toss of his horns and the switch of his tail, and I
know right well he'd rip me to pieces if I'd only give him the chance.
That's the way I know Roland Tresham is a bad one. I see the devil in
the glinting of his eyes and the mock of his smile, and I wouldn't
have been more sick frightened to-night if I'd seen a tiger purring
around Denas than I was when I got the first glimpse of Tresham
bending down, coaxing and flattering our little girl. He's a bad man,
sent with sorrow and shame wherever he goes, and I know it just as I
know the long dead roll of the waves and the white creeping mist--like
a dirty thief--which makes me cry out at sea 'All hands to reef!
Quick! All hands to reef!'"

"There then, John, if wrong and danger there be, what must be done?"

"Keep the little maid out of it. Don't let her go to Mr. Tresham's. I
wouldn't hear tell of it. If Denas would only listen a bit to Tris
Penrose, he'd be the man for her--a good man, a good sailor, and he do
love the very stones Denas steps on, he do for sure."

"She used to like Tris, but these few months her love has all quailed
away."

"'Tis dreadful! dreadful! Why did God Almighty make women so? Here be
good love going a-begging to them and getting nothing but a frown and
a hard word, while devil's love is fretted for and heart-nursed.
Whatever is a woman's love made of, I do wonder?"

As he asked the question he knocked his pipe against the jamb to
clean it out, and then quickly turned his head, for an inner door
opened and Denas peeped out and then came forward and put her arm
around his neck and said:

"Woman's love or man's love, who knows how God makes it, father? And
the fisherman's poet--a far wiser man than most men--asks and answers
the same troublesome question in his way. What is love? How does it
come?

"'Is it sucked with your milk? is it mixed with your flesh?
Does it float about everywhere like a mesh,
So fine you can't see it? Is it blast? Is it blight?
Is it fire? Is it fever? Is it wrong? Is it right?
Where is it? What is it? The Lord above,
He only knows the strength o