A Singer from the Sea

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 away.”

“She do have a long walk, John dear. St. Penfer isn’t at the door-step, I’m sure.”

“You see, Joan, it is like this: Denas she be what she is, thank God! but Roland Tresham, he be near to the quality, and they do say a great scholar, and can speak langwidges; and aw, my dear, if rich and poor do ride together the poor must ride behind, and a wayless way they take through and over. I have seen that often and often.”

“We mustn’t be quick to think evil, John, must we? I’m sure Denas do know her place and her right, and she isn’t one to be put down below it. You do take a sight of trouble you aren’t asked to take, father.”