calling to them when they are far off upon the ocean.
And well they know their cottages clustered on the shingle below, and
all day they may be seen among them, mending their boats, or painting
their boats, or standing with their hands in their pockets looking at
their boats, fingering the while the bit of mountain ash which they
carry there to keep away ill-luck.

John Penelles was occupied on the afternoon of that Saturday which
comes between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday. His boat was
rocking on the tide-top and he seemed to be looking at her. But his
bright blue eyes saw nothing seaward; he was mentally watching the
flowery winding way up the cliff to St. Penfer. If his daughter Denas
was coming down it he would hear her footsteps in his heart. And why
did she not come? She had been away four hours, and who knew what evil
might happen to a girl in four hours? When too late to forbid her
visit to St. Penfer, it had suddenly struck him that Roland Tresham
might be home for the Easter holidays, and he disliked the young man.
He had an intuitive dislike for him, founded upon that kind of "I
know" which is beyond reasoning with, and he had told Denas that
Roland Tresham was not for her to listen to and not for her to trust
to.

"But there, then, 'tis dreadful! dreadful! What foolishness a little
maid will believe in!" he muttered. "I have never known but one woman
who can understand reason, and it isn't often she will listen to it.
Women! women! women! God bless them!"

He was restless with his thoughts by the time they arrived at this
point, but it still took him a few minutes to decide upon some action
and then put his great bulk into motion. For he was a large man, even
among Cornish fishermen, and his feet were in his heavy fishing-boots,
and his nature was slow and irresolute until his mind was fully made
up. Then nothing could move him or turn him, and he acted with that
irresistible celerity which springs from an invincible determination.

His cottage was not far off, and he went there. As he approached, a
woman rose from the steps and, with her knitting in her hand, went
inside. She was putting the kettle on the fire as he entered, and she
turned her head to smile upon him. It was a delightful smile, full of
love and pleasure, and she accompanied it with a little nod of her
head that meant any good thing he liked to ask of her.

"Aw, my dear," he said, "I do think the little maid is a sight too
long