is going to marry Miss Tresham?
Say the man's name, and be done with it."

"'Tis a great secret, mother; but if you will let me go to St. Penfer
I will tell you."

"Aw, my dear, I can live without Miss Tresham's secrets. And I do know
she can't be having one I would go against your father to hear tell
of, not I."

"Father is unjust and unkind. What have I done, mother?"

"Your father is afraid of that young jackanapes, Roland Tresham, and
good reason, too, if all be true that is said to be true."

"Mr. Roland is a gentleman."

"Gentleman and gentleman--there be many kinds, and no kind at all for
you. You be a fisher's daughter, and you must choose a husband of
your own sort--none better, thank God! The robin would go to the
eagle's nest, and a poor sad time it had there. Gentlemen marry
gentlemen's daughters, Denas, and if they don't, all sides do be sorry
enough."

"Am I to go no more to Miss Tresham's?"

"Not until the young man is back in London."

"Then I wish he would hurry all and be off."

"So do I, my dear. I would be glad to hear that he was far away from
St. Penfer."

Joan rose with these words and went out of the room, and Denas knew
that for this day also there was no hope of seeing Roland. Her heart
was hot with anger, and she began to lay some of the blame upon her
lover. He was a man. He could have braved the storm. And there was no
open quarrel between her father and himself; it would have been easy
enough to make an excuse for calling. Elizabeth might have written a
letter to her. Roland might have brought it. Sitting there, she could
think of half-a-dozen things which Roland might have accomplished. How
long the hours were! How would she ever get the days over? Her mother
singing in the curing-shed made her angry. The ticking of the big
clock accentuated her nervous irritability, and when John returned
silent and with that air about him which indicated the master of the
house, Denas felt surely that all was over for the present between her
and Roland Tresham.

The night became blustery after John and the men had gone to the
fishing, and by midnight there was a storm. Joan's white, anxious
face was peering through the windows or out of the open door into the
black night continually. And the presence of Denas did not comfort
her, as it usually did; the mother felt that her child's thoughts were
with strangers, and not with her father out on the stormy sea.

It was ten o'clock next morn