,I
'll
force
'
e
!
God
's
on
the
side
o
'
right
!
"
Hereupon
Joan
,
not
judging
correctly
of
the
black
storm
signs
on
her
father
's
face
or
the
force
of
the
voice
,
now
grating
into
a
shriek
as
passion
tumbled
to
flood
,
prayed
yet
again
for
that
pardon
which
her
parent
was
powerless
to
grant
.
The
boon
denied
grew
precious
in
her
eyes
.
She
wept
and
importuned
,
falling
on
her
knees
to
him
.
"
God
can
do
it
,
God
can
do
it
,
faither
.
Please
—
please
,
for
the
sake
o
'
the
God
as
leads
you
,
forgive
.
Oh
,
God
in
heaven
,
make
en
forgive
me
—
'
tis
all
I
wants
.
"
But
a
religious
delirium
gripped
Tregenza
and
poisoned
the
blood
in
him
.
His
breast
rose
,
his
fists
clinched
,
his
mouth
was
dragged
sidewise
and
his
underlip
shook
.
A
damned
soul
,
looking
up
with
wild
eyes
into
his
,
was
all
he
saw
—
the
very
off
scouring
and
filth
of
human
nature
—
hell
tinder
,
to
touch
which
in
kindness
was
to
risk
his
own
salvation
.
"
Gaw
,
gaw
!
Else
the
Lard
'll
make
me
His
weapon
.
He
's
whisperin
'
—
He
's
whisperin
'
!
"
There
was
something
horribly
akin
to
genuine
madness
in
the
frenzy
of
this
utterance
.
Mrs.
Tregenza
screamed
;
Joan
struggled
to
her
feet
in
some
terror
and
her
head
swam
.
She
turned
to
get
her
hat
from
the
dresser-ledge
,
and
,
as
she
did
so
,
the
little
blue
plate
,
tied
up
in
paper
beside
it
,
fell
and
broke
,
like
the
last
link
of
a
snapping
chain
.
Gray
Michael
was
making
a
snorting
in
his
nostrils
and
his
head
seemed
to
grow
lower
on
his
shoulders
.
Then
Mr.
Chirgwin
found
his
opportunity
and
spoke
.
"
I
've
heard
you
,
an
'
it
ba
n't
human
nachur
to
knuckle
down
dumb
,
so
I
be
gwaine
to
speak
,
an
'
you
can
mind
or
not
as
you
please
.
"
He
flung
his
old
hat
upon
the
ground
and
walked
without
fear
close
beside
the
fisherman
who
towered
above
him
.
"
God
be
with
'
e
,
I
sez
,
for
you
need
En
fine
an
'
bad
for
sartain
—
worse'n
that
poor
'
mazed
lamb
shakin
'
theer
.
You
talk
o
'
the
ways
o
'
God
to
men
an
'
knaw
no
more
'
bout
'
em
than
the
feesh
what
you
draw
from
the
sea
!
You
'm
choustin
'
yourself
cruel
wi
'
your
self-righteousness
—
take
it
from
me
.
You
'm
saved
,
be
you
?
You
be
gwaine
to
heaven
,
are
'
e
?
Who
tawld
'
e
so
,
Michael
Tregenza
?
Did
God
A'mighty
send
a
flyin
'
angel
to
tell
'
e
a
purpose
?
Look
in
your
heart
,
man
,
an
'
see
how
much
o
'
Christ
be
in
it
.
Christ
,
I
tell
'
e
,
Christ
—
Christ
—
Jesus
Christ
.
It
's
Him
as
'll
smuggle
us
all
into
heaven
,
not
your
psalm-smitin
'
,
knock-me-down
,
ten-commandment
,
cussin
'
God
.
I
'm
grawin
'
very
auld
an
'
I
knaw
what
I
knaw
.
Your
God
's
a
devil
,
fisherman
—
a
graspin
'
,
cruel
devil
;
an
'
them
the
devil
saves
is
damned
.
'
Tis
Christ
as
you
've
turned
your
stiff
back
'
pon
—
Christ
as
'll
let
this
poor
lass
into
heaven
afore
ever
you
gets
theer
!
You
ba
n't
in
sight
o
'
the
gates
o
'
pearl
,
not
you
,
for
all
your
cold
prayers
.
You
'm
young
in
well-doin
'
;
an
'
'
tis
a
'
ard
road
you
'll
fetch
home
by
,
I
'll
swear
;
an
'
'
tis
more'n
granite
the
Lard
'll
use
to
make
your
heart
bleed
.
He
'll
break
you
,
Tregenza
—
you
,
so
bold
,
as
looks
dry-eyed
'
pon
the
sun
an
'
reckons
your
throne
'll
wan
day
be
as
bright
.
He
'll
break
you
,
an
'
bring
you
to
your
knees
,
an
'
that
'
fore
your
gray
hairs
be
turned
,
as
mine
,
to
white
.
Oh
,
Christ
Jesus
,
look
you
at
this
blind
sawl
an
'
give
en
somethin
'
better
to
lay
hold
'
pon
than
his
poor
bally-muck
o
'
religion
what
's
nort
but
a
gert
livin
'
lie
!
"
Thomas
Chirgwin
seemed
mightily
transfigured
as
he
spoke
.
The
words
came
without
an
effort
,
but
he
uttered
them
with
pauses
and
in
a
loud
voice
not
lacking
solemnity
.
His
head
shook
,
yet
he
stood
firm
and
motionless
upon
his
feet
;
and
he
made
his
points
with
a
gesture
,
often
repeated
,
of
his
open
right
hand
.
As
for
Tregenza
,
the
man
listened
through
all
,
though
he
heard
but
little
.
His
head
was
full
of
blood
;
there
was
a
weight
on
his
tongue
striking
it
silent
and
forcing
his
mouth
open
at
the
same
moment
.
The
world
looked
red
as
he
saw
it
;
his
limbs
were
not
bearing
him
stiffly
.
Thomasin
had
her
eye
upon
him
,
for
she
was
quite
prepared
to
throw
over
her
previous
statements
and
support
her
husband
against
an
attack
so
astounding
and
unexpected
.
And
the
more
so
that
he
had
not
himself
hurled
an
immediate
and
crushing
answer
.
Meantime
the
old
farmer
's
sudden
fires
died
within
him
;
he
shrank
to
his
true
self
,
and
the
voice
in
which
he
now
spoke
seemed
that
of
another
man
.
"
Give
heed
to
what
I
've
said
to
'
e
,
Michael
,
an
'
be
humble
afore
the
Lard
same
as
your
darter
be
.
Go
in
fear
,
as
you
be
forever
biddin
'
all
flaish
to
go
.
Never
say
no
sawl
's
lost
while
you
give
all
power
to
the
Maker
o
'
sawls
.
Go
in
fear
,
I
sez
,
else
theer
'll
come
a
whirlwind
o
'
God-sent
sorrer
to
strike
wheer
your
heart
's
desire
be
rooted
.
'
Tis
allus
so
—
allus
—
"
Tom
entered
upon
these
words
,
and
Uncle
Chirgwin
's
eyes
dropping
upon
him
as
he
spoke
,
his
utterance
sounded
like
a
prophecy
.
So
the
boy
's
mother
read
it
,
and
with
a
half
sob
,
half
shriek
,
she
turned
in
all
the
frenzy
of
sudden
maternal
wrath
.
Her
sharp
tongue
dropped
mere
vituperation
,
but
did
so
with
boundless
vigor
,
and
the
woman
's
torrent
of
unbridled
curses
and
threats
swept
that
scene
of
storm
to
its
close
.
Joan
went
first
from
the
door
,
while
Mr.
Chirgwin
,
picking
up
his
hat
and
buttoning
his
coat
,
retreated
after
her
before
the
volume
of
Thomasin
's
virago
attack
.
Tom
stood
open-mouthed
and
silent
,
dumfounded
at
the
tremendous
spectacle
of
his
mother
's
rage
and
his
father
's
stricken
silence
.
Then
,
as
Mrs.
Tregenza
slammed
the
door
and
wept
,
her
husband
sunk
slowly
down
with
something
strangely
like
terror
in
his
eyes
.
The
man
in
truth
had
just
passed
through
a
physical
crisis
of
alarming
nature
.
He
sat
in
his
easy-chair
now
,
removed
his
hat
,
and
wiped
the
perspiration
from
his
forehead
with
hands
that
shook
.
It
was
not
what
he
had
heard
or
beheld
that
woke
alarm
in
a
spirit
which
had
never
known
it
till
then
,
but
what
he
had
felt
:
a
horror
which
crowded
down
upon
every
sense
,
gripped
his
volition
with
unseen
hands
,
blinded
him
,
stopped
his
ears
,
held
his
limbs
,
stirred
his
brains
into
a
whirling
waste
.
He
knew
now
that
in
his
moment
of
passion
he
had
stood
upon
the
very
brink
of
some
terrific
,
shattering
evil
,
possibly
of
death
itself
.
Body
or
brain
or
both
had
passed
through
a
great
,
unknown
danger
;
and
now
,
dazed
and
for
the
time
much
aged
,
he
looked
about
him
with
slow
eyes
—
mastered
the
situation
,
and
realized
the
incident
was
ended
.
"
The
Lard
—
'
the
Lard
is
King
,
'
"
he
said
,
and
stopped
a
moment
.
Then
he
slowly
rose
to
his
feet
and
with
the
old
voice
,
though
it
shook
and
slurred
somewhat
upon
his
tongue
,
spoke
that
text
which
served
him
in
all
occasions
of
unusual
stress
and
significance
.
"
'
The
Lard
is
King
,
be
the
people
never
so
impatient
;
He
sitteth
between
the
cherubims
,
be
the
airth
never
so
unquiet
'
!
"
Then
he
sat
again
and
long
remained
motionless
with
his
face
buried
in
his
hands
.
Meantime
the
old
horse
dragged
Uncle
Chirgwin
and
his
niece
away
along
the
level
road
to
Mousehole
.
Joan
was
wrapped
in
a
tarpaulin
and
they
proceeded
silently
a
while
under
cold
rains
,
which
swept
up
from
a
leaden
south
over
the
sea
.
The
wind
blew
strong
,
tore
green
leaves
from
the
hedges
,
and
chimed
with
the
thoughts
of
the
man
and
his
niece
.
"
How
did
you
come
to
speak
so
big
an
'
braave
,
Uncle
Thomas
?
I
couldn
'
say
no
more
to
en
,
for
the
lights
rose
up
in
my
throat
an
'
choked
me
;
but
you
swelled
out
somethin
'
grand
to
see
,
an
'
spawk
as
no
man
ever
yet
spawk
to
faither
afore
.
"
"
'
Twas
put
in
me
to
say
;
I
doa
n't
knaw
how
ever
I
done
it
,
but
my
tongue
weer
n't
my
awn
for
the
time
.
Pull
that
thing
tighter
about
'
e
.
This
rain
would
go
through
a
barn
door
.
"
At
the
steep
hill
rising
from
Mousehole
to
Paul
,
Uncle
Chirgwin
got
out
and
walked
,
while
the
horse
,
with
his
shoulders
to
the
collar
,
plodded
forward
.
Then
,
down
the
road
came
the
laboring
man
,
Billy
Jago
,
mentioned
aforetime
as
one
who
had
worked
for
Mr.
Chirgwin
in
the
past
.
He
touched
his
hat
to
his
old
master
and
greeted
him
with
respect
and
regard
.
For
a
moment
the
farmer
also
stopped
.
No
false
sentiment
tied
Billy
's
tongue
and
he
spoke
of
matters
personal
to
those
before
him
,
having
first
mournfully
described
his
own
state
of
health
.
"
But
theer
,
us
gaws
down
to
the
tomb
to
make
way
for
the
new
born
.
I
do
say
,
an
'
swear
tu
,
that
the
butivulest
things
in
all
wild
nachur
be
a
ship
in
full
sail
an
'
a
wummon
in
the
fam'ly
way
.
Ba
n't
nothin
'
to
beat
'
em
.
An
'
I
'll
say
it
here
,
'
pon
this
spot
,
though
the
rain
's
bitin
'
into
my
bones
like
teeth
.
So
long
to
'
e
,
maaster
,
an
'
good
cheeldin
'
to
'
e
,
miss
!
"
The
man
rolled
with
loutish
gait
down
the
hill
;
the
darkness
gathered
;
the
wind
whistled
through
high
hedges
on
the
left
;
farmer
Chirgwin
made
sounds
of
encouragement
to
his
horse
,
which
moved
onward
;
and
Joan
thought
with
curious
interest
of
those
things
that
Billy
Jago
had
said
.
"
'
Tis
straange
us
met
that
poor
,
croony
antic
at
sich
a
moment
,
"
mused
Uncle
Thomas
;
"
the
words
of
en
jag
sore
'
pon
a
body
's
mind
,
comin
'
arter
what
's
in
our
thots
like
.
"
"
Maybe
'
tis
paart
o
'
the
queerness
o
'
things
as
us
should
fall
'
pon
en
now
,
"
answered
Joan
.
Then
,
through
a
stormy
gloaming
,
they
returned
in
sadness
to
the
high
lands
of
Drift
.
CHAPTER
FOUR
A
GLEN-ADER
"
A
new
broom
sweeps
clean
,
but
'
tis
the
auld
wan
as
is
good
for
corners
,
"
said
Uncle
Chirgwin
,
when
with
his
nieces
he
sat
beside
the
kitchen
fire
that
night
and
discussed
the
events
of
the
day
.
"
By
which
I
means
,
"
he
added
,
"
that
these
new-fangled
ways
of
approaching
the
A'mighty
may
go
to
branch
and
trunk
an
'
make
a
clean
sweep
o
'
evil
,
but
they
leaves
the
root
o
'
pride
stickin
'
in
a
man
's
sawl
.
'
Tis
the
auld
broom
as
Christ
brought
in
the
world
as
routs
into
the
dark
corners
like
nothin
'
else
.
"
"
I
be
glad
you
spawk
to
en
,
"
said
Mary
.
"
Seed
sawed
do
bring
forth
fruit
in
a
'
mazin
'
'
way
.
"
"
I
reckoned
he
'd
a
smote
me
,
but
he
dedn
'
.
He
just
turned
rosy
red
an
'
stood
glazin
'
at
me
as
if
I
was
a
ghost
.
"
"
I
never
see
en
look
like
that
afore
,
"
declared
Joan
;
"
he
'
peared
to
be
afeared
.
But
the
door
's
shut
'
gainst
me
now
.
I
caa
n't
do
no
more'n
I
have
done
.
He
'll
never
forgive
.
"
"
As
to
that
,
Joan
,
I
wo
n't
say
.
You
bide
quiet
till
the
seed
sprouts
.
I
lay
now
as
you
'll
hear
tell
about
your
faither
an
'
maybe
get
a
message
from
en
'
fore
the
year
's
a
month
older
.
"
With
which
hopeful
prediction
Uncle
Chirgwin
ended
the
discussion
.
That
night
the
circular
storm
,
which
had
died
away
at
dark
,
turned
upon
itself
and
the
wind
moaned
at
window
latches
and
down
chimneys
,
prophesying
autumn
.
Dawn
broke
on
a
drenched
,
gray
world
,
but
the
storm
had
clean
passed
,
and
at
noon
the
gray
brightened
to
silver
and
burned
to
gold
when
the
sun
came
out
.
The
wind
wore
to
the
west
,
and
on
to
northwest
;
the
weather
settled
down
and
days
of
a
rare
late
summer
pursued
their
even
way
.
A
fortnight
passed
,
and
the
farmer
's
belief
that
Gray
Michael
would
communicate
with
his
daughter
began
to
waver
.
"
Pharaoh
's
a
soft-'earted
twoad
to
this
wan
,
"
he
declared
gloomily
.
"
It
do
beat
me
to
picksher
sich
a
man
.
I
've
piped
to
en
hot
an
'
strong
,
as
Joan
knaws
,
but
he
ba
n't
gwaine
to
dance
'
tall
seemin'ly
.
Poor
sawl
!
When
the
hand
o
'
the
Lard
do
fall
,
God
send
'
two
n't
crush
en
all
in
all
.
'
Saved
'
—
him
—
dear
,
dear
!
"
"
The
likes
of
Tregenza
be
saved
'
pon
St.
Tibbs
Eve
,
[
Footnote
:
St.
Tibbs
Eve
—
Equivalent
to
the
"
Greek
Calends
.
"
]
I
reckon
,
an
'
no
sooner
,
"
answered
Mary
scornfully
.
Then
she
modified
her
fiery
statement
according
to
her
custom
,
for
the
woman
's
zeal
always
had
first
call
upon
her
tongue
,
and
her
judgment
usually
took
off
the
edge
of
every
harsh
statement
immediately
upon
its
utterance
.
"
Leastways
'
tis
hard
to
see
how
sich
bowldashious
standin
'
up
in
the
eye
o
'
God
should
prosper
.
But
us
can
be
saved
even
from
our
awnselves
,
I
s'pose
.
So
Tregenza
have
got
his
chance
along
o
'
the
best
.
"
Joan
never
resented
the
outspoken
criticisms
on
her
parent
.
She
listened
,
but
rarely
joined
the
discussion
.
The
whole
matter
speedily
sank
to
a
position
of
insignificance
.
Her
own
mind
was
clear
,
and
the
deadlock
only
cut
off
one
more
outer
interest
and
reduced
Life
's
existing
influences
to
a
smaller
field
.
She
drew
more
and
more
into
herself
,
slipped
more
and
more
from
out
the
routine
life
of
Drift
.
She
became
self-centered
,
and
when
her
body
was
not
absent
,
as
happened
upon
most
fine
days
,
her
mind
abstracted
itself
to
extreme
limits
.
She
grew
shy
of
fellow-creatures
,
found
no
day
happy
of
which
a
part
had
not
been
spent
beside
a
cross
,
showed
a
gradual
indifference
to
the
services
of
the
church
which
not
long
since
had
attracted
her
so
strongly
and
braced
the
foundations
of
her
soul
.
There
came
at
last
a
black
Sunday
when
Joan
refused
to
accompany
Mary
and
the
farmer
to
morning
worship
at
Sancreed
.
She
made
no
excuse
,
but
designed
a
pilgrimage
of
more
than
usual
length
,
and
,
having
driven
as
far
as
the
church
with
her
uncle
and
cousin
,
left
them
there
and
walked
on
her
way
.
Even
the
fascinations
of
a
harvest
festival
failed
to
charm
her
;
and
the
spectacle
of
fat
roots
,
mighty
marrows
,
yellow
corn
and
red
apples
on
the
window-ledges
,
of
grapes
and
tomatoes
,
flowers
and
loaves
upon
the
altar
,
pulpit
and
font
,
did
not
appeal
overmuch
to
Joana
—
a
fact
perhaps
surprising
.
With
a
plump
pasty
of
meat
and
flour
in
her
pocket
and
one
of
Uncle
Chirgwin
's
walking-sticks
to
help
her
footsteps
,
Joan
went
on
her
way
,
passed
the
Wesleyan
Chapel
of
Sancreed
,
and
then
maintained
a
reasonably
direct
line
to
her
destination
by
short
cuts
and
field
paths
.
She
intended
to
visit
Mên
Scryfa
,
that
famous
"
long
stone
"
which
stands
away
in
a
moor
croft
beyond
Lanyon
.
She
knew
that
it
was
no
right
cross
,
but
she
remembered
it
well
,
having
visited
the
monument
frequently
in
the
past
.
It
was
holy
with
infinite
age
,
and
the
writing
upon
it
fascinated
her
as
a
mystery
fascinates
most
of
us
.
The
words
,
"
Rialobrani
Cunovali
Fili
,
"
which
probably
mark
the
fact
that
Rialobran
,
son
of
Cunoval
,
some
Brito-Celtic
chieftain
of
eld
,
lies
buried
not
far
distant
,
meant
nothing
to
Joan
,
but
the
old
gray-headed
stone
,
perhaps
the
loneliest
in
all
Cornwall
,
was
pleasant
to
her
thoughts
,
and
she
trudged
forward
gladly
with
her
eyes
open
for
all
the
beauties
of
a
smiling
world
.
Summer
clouds
,
sunny-hearted
and
towering
against
the
blue
,
dropped
immense
shadows
on
the
glimmering
gold
of
much
stubble
and
on
the
wastes
of
the
moor
rising
above
them
.
In
the
cornfields
,
visible
now
that
the
crops
were
cut
and
gathered
into
mows
,
stood
little
gray-green
islands
—
a
mark
distinctive
of
Cornish
husbandry
.
Here
grew
cow-cabbages
in
rank
luxuriance
,
on
mounds
of
manure
which
would
be
presently
scattered
over
the
exhausted
land
.
The
little
oases
in
the
deserts
of
the
fields
were
too
familiar
to
arrest
Joan
's
eye
.
She
merely
glanced
at
the
garnered
wheat
and
thought
what
a
brief
time
the
arrish
geese
,
stuffing
themselves
in
the
stubble
,
had
yet
to
live
.
A
solemn
,
splendid
peace
held
the
country-side
,
and
hardly
a
soul
was
abroad
where
the
road
led
upward
to
wild
moor
and
waste
.
Sometimes
a
group
of
calves
crowding
under
the
shady
side
of
hedges
regarded
Joan
with
youthful
interest
;
sometimes
,
in
a
distant
coomb-bottom
,
where
blackberries
grew
,
little
sunbonnets
bobbed
above
the
fern
and
a
child
's
shrill
voice
came
clear
to
her
upon
the
wind
.
But
the
loneliness
grew
,
and
,
anon
,
turning
from
her
way
a
while
,
the
traveler
sat
on
the
gray
crown
of
Trengwainton
Carn
to
rest
and
look
at
the
wide
world
.
From
the
little
tor
,
over
undulations
of
broad
light
and
blue
shadow
,
Joan
could
see
afar
to
Buryan
's
lofty
tower
,
to
Paul
above
the
sea
,
to
Sancreed
's
sycamores
and
to
Drift
beyond
them
.
Wild
sweeps
of
fell
and
field
faded
on
the
sight
to
those
dim
and
remote
hues
of
distance
only
visible
upon
days
of
exceeding
aerial
brilliancy
.
Immediately
beneath
the
eminence
subtended
ragged
expanses
of
rainbow-colored
heath
and
fern
and
furze
spotted
with
small
fir
trees
which
showed
blue
against
the
tones
of
the
moor
.
The
heather
's
pink
clearly
contrasted
with
the
paler
shades
of
the
ling
,
and
an
additional
silvery
twinkle
of
light
inhabited
the
latter
plant
,
its
cause
last
year
's
dead
white
branches
and
twigs
still
scattered
through
the
living
foliage
and
flower
.
Out
of
a
myriad
bells
that
wild
world
spoke
,
and
the
murmur
of
the
heath
came
as
the
murmur
of
a
wise
voice
to
the
ear
on
which
it
fell
.
There
was
a
soul
in
the
day
;
it
lived
,
and
Joan
looked
into
the
eyes
of
a
glorious
,
conscious
entity
,
herself
a
little
part
of
the
space-filling
whole
.
Presently
,
refreshed
by
brief
rest
,
the
pilgrim
journeyed
on
over
a
road
which
climbs
the
moor
above
deep
fox-covers
of
rhododendron
,
already
mentioned
as
visible
from
Madron
chapel
.
The
way
dipped
presently
,
crossed
a
rivulet
and
mounted
again
past
the
famous
cromlech
of
Lanyon
.
But
Joan
passed
the
quoit
unheeding
,
and
kept
upon
flint
roads
through
Lanyon
farm
,
where
its
irregular
buildings
stretch
across
the
hill-crest
.
She
saw
the
stacks
roped
strangely
in
nets
with
heavy
stones
to
secure
them
against
winter
gales
;
she
observed
the
various
familiar
objects
of
Drift
repeated
on
a
greater
scale
;
then
,
going
down
hill
yet
again
,
Joan
struck
up
the
course
of
another
stream
and
passed
steadily
over
broad
,
granite-dotted
tangles
of
whin
,
heather
and
rank
grasses
to
her
destination
.
Here
the
heath
was
blasted
and
scarred
with
summer
fires
.
Great
patches
of
the
waste
had
been
eaten
naked
by
past
flames
,
and
Mên-an-tol
—
the
"
crick-stone
"
—
past
which
she
progressed
,
stood
with
its
lesser
granite
pillars
in
a
dark
bed
of
scorched
earth
and
blackened
furze-stems
stripped
bare
by
the
fire
.
She
stood
in
a
wide
,
desolate
cup
of
the
Cornish
moor
.
To
the
south
Ding-Dong
Mine
reared
its
shattered
chimney-stack
,
toward
the
northwest
Carn
Galvas
—
that
rock-piled
fastness
of
dead
giants
—
reared
a
gray
head
against
the
blue
.
A
curlew
piped
;
a
lizard
rustled
into
a
tussock
of
grass
where
pink
bog-heather
and
seeding
cotton
grasses
splashed
the
sodden
ground
;
a
dragon-fly
from
the
marsh
stayed
a
moment
upon
Mên-an-tol
,
and
the
jewel
of
his
eyes
was
a
little
world
holding
all
the
colors
of
the
larger
.
Joan
,
keeping
her
way
to
where
Carn
Galvas
rose
over
the
next
ridge
,
walked
another
few
hundred
yards
,
crossed
a
disused
road
,
climbed
a
stony
bank
,
and
then
stood
in
the
little
croft
sacred
to
Mên
Scryfa
.
At
the
center
,
above
a
land
almost
barren
save
for
stunted
heath
and
wind-beaten
fern
it
rose
—
a
tall
stone
of
rough
and
irregular
shape
.
The
bare
black
earth
,
in
which
shone
quartz
crystals
,
stretched
at
hand
in
squares
.
From
these
raw
spaces
,
peat
had
been
cut
,
to
be
subsequently
burned
for
manure
;
and
it
stood
hard
by
stacked
in
a
row
of
beat-burrows
or
little
piles
of
overlapping
pieces
,
the
cut
side
out
.
Near
the
famous
old
stone
itself
,
surmounting
a
barrow-like
tumulus
,
grew
stunted
bracken
;
and
here
Joan
presently
sat
down
full
of
happiness
in
that
her
pilgrimage
had
been
achieved
.
The
granite
pillar
of
Mên
Scryfa
was
crested
with
that
fine
yellow-gray
lichen
which
finds
life
on
exposed
stones
;
upon
the
windward
side
clung
a
few
atoms
of
golden
growth
;
and
its
rude
carved
inscription
straggled
down
the
northern
face
.
The
monument
rose
sheer
above
black
corpses
of
crooked
furze
,
for
fire
had
swept
this
region
also
,
adding
not
a
little
to
the
prevailing
sobriety
of
it
,
and
only
the
elemental
splendor
of
weather
and
the
canopy
of
blue
and
gold
beneath
which
spread
this
desolation
rendered
it
less
than
mournful
.
Even
under
these
circumstances
imagination
,
as
though
rebelling
against
the
conditions
of
sunshine
and
summer
then
maintaining
,
leaped
to
picture
Mên
Scryfa
under
the
black
screaming
of
winter
storm
or
rising
darkly
upon
deep
snows
;
casting
a
transitory
shadow
over
a
waste
ghastly
blue
under
flashes
of
lightning
,
or
throbbing
to
its
deep
roots
when
thunder
roared
over
the
moor
and
the
levin
brand
hissed
unseen
into
quag
and
fen
.
The
double
crown
of
Carn
Galvas
fronted
Joan
as
she
presently
sat
with
her
back
resting
against
the
stone
;
and
a
medley
of
the
old
thoughts
rose
not
unwelcome
in
her
mind
.
Giant
mythology
seemed
a
true
thing
in
sight
of
these
vast
regular
piles
of
granite
;
and
the
thought
of
the
kind
simple
monsters
who
had
raised
that
earn
led
to
musings
on
the
"
little
people
.
"
Her
mind
brooded
over
the
fairies
and
their
strange
ways
with
young
human
mothers
.
She
remembered
the
stories
of
changelings
,
and
vowed
to
herself
that
her
own
babe
should
never
be
out
of
sight
.
These
reflections
found
no
adverse
criticism
in
faith
.
The
Bible
was
full
of
giants
;
and
if
no
fairies
were
mentioned
therein
,
she
had
read
nothing
aimed
against
them
.
Presently
she
prayed
for
the
coming
child
.
Her
soul
went
with
the
words
;
and
they
were
addressed
with
vagueness
as
became
her
vague
thoughts
,
half
to
Mên
Scryfa
,
half
to
God
,
all
in
the
name
of
Christ
.
Going
home
again
,
after
noon
,
Joan
found
a
glen-ader
,
[
Footnote
:
Glen-ader
—
The
cast
skin
of
an
adder
.
Once
accounted
a
powerful
amulet
,
and
still
sometimes
secretly
preserved
by
the
ignorant
,
as
sailors
treasure
a
caul
.
]
which
circumstance
is
here
mentioned
to
illustrate
the
conflicting
nature
of
those
many
forces
still
active
in
her
mind
.
That
they
should
have
coexisted
and
not
destroyed
each
other
is
the
point
of
most
peculiarity
.
But
it
seemed
for
a
moment
as
though
the
girl
had
intellectually
passed
at
least
that
form
of
superstition
embraced
by
coveted
possession
of
a
glen-ader
;
for
,
upon
finding
the
thing
lying
extended
like
a
snake
's
ghost
,
she
hesitated
before
picking
it
up
.
The
old
tradition
,
however
,
sucked
in
from
a
credulous
parent
with
much
similar
folly
at
a
time
when
the
mind
accepts
impressions
most
readily
,
was
too
strong
for
Joan
.
Qualms
she
had
,
and
some
whisper
at
the
bottom
of
her
mind
was
heard
with
a
clearness
sufficient
to
make
her
uncomfortable
,
but
reason
held
a
feeble
citadel
at
best
in
Joan
's
mind
.
The
whisper
died
,
memory
spoke
of
the
notable
value
which
wise
men
through
long
past
years
had
placed
upon
this
charm
,
and
in
the
face
of
the
future
it
seemed
wicked
to
reject
a
thing
of
such
proven
efficacy
.
So
she
picked
up
the
adder
's
slough
,
designing
to
sew
it
upon
a
piece
of
flannel
and
henceforth
wear
it
against
her
skin
until
her
baby
should
be
born
.
But
she
determined
to
tell
neither
Mary
nor
her
uncle
,
though
she
did
not
stop
to
ask
why
secrecy
thus
commended
itself
to
her
.
That
evening
Mary
came
primed
from
church-going
with
grave
admonition
,
Mr.
Chirgwin
was
tearful
,
and
hinted
at
his
own
sorrow
arising
from
Joan
's
backsliding
,
but
Mary
did
not
mince
language
and
spoke
what
she
thought
.
"
You
'm
wrong
,
an
'
you
knaw
you
'm
wrong
,
"
she
said
.
"
The
crosses
be
very
well
,
an
'
coorious
,
butivul
things
to
see
'
pon
the
land
tu
,
but
they
'm
poor
food
to
a
body
's
sawl
.
They
caa
n't
shaw
wheer
you
'm
out
;
they
caa
n't
lead
'
e
right
.
"
"
Iss
they
can
,
then
,
an
'
they
do
,
"
declared
Joan
.
"
The
more
I
bide
along
wi
'
'
em
the
better
I
feel
an
'
the
nearer
to
God
A'mighty
,
so
theer
!
They
'm
allus
the
same
,
an
'
they
puts
thots
in
my
head
that
's
good
to
think
;
an
'
I
must
go
my
ways
,
Polly
,
same
as
you
go
yours
.
"
When
night
came
Joan
slept
within
the
mystic
circumference
of
the
glen-ader
;
and
that
she
derived
a
growing
measure
of
mental
satisfaction
from
its
embrace
is
unquestionable
.
CHAPTER
FIVE
"
COME
TO
ME
!
"
A
space
of
time
six
weeks
in
duration
may
be
hastily
dismissed
as
producing
no
alteration
in
Joan
's
method
of
thought
and
life
.
It
swept
her
swiftly
through
shortening
days
and
the
last
of
the
summer
weather
to
the
climax
of
her
fortunes
.
As
the
season
waned
she
kept
nearer
home
,
going
not
much
further
than
Tremathick
Cross
on
the
St.
Just
road
or
to
that
relic
already
mentioned
as
lying
outside
Sancreed
churchyard
.
These
,
in
time
,
she
associated
as
much
with
her
child
as
with
herself
.
The
baby
had
now
taken
its
natural
place
in
her
mind
,
and
she
prayed
every
day
that
it
might
presently
forgive
her
for
bringing
it
into
the
world
at
all
.
Misty-eyed
,
not
unhappy
,
with
her
beauty
still
a
startling
fact
,
Joan
mused
away
long
hours
at
the
feet
of
her
granite
friends
through
the
waning
splendors
of
many
an
autumn
noon
.
Then
,
within
the
brief
space
of
two
weeks
,
a
period
of
weather
almost
unexampled
in
the
memory
of
the
oldest
agriculturists
drew
to
its
close
.
That
mighty
rains
must
surely
come
all
knew
,
but
none
foretold
their
tremendous
volume
or
foresaw
the
havoc
,
ruin
and
destruction
to
follow
upon
their
outpouring
.
Meantime
,
with
late
September
,
the
leaves
began
to
hustle
early
to
earth
under
great
winds
.
Rain
fell
at
times
,
but
not
heavily
at
first
,
and
a
thirsty
world
drank
open-mouthed
through
deep
sun-cracks
in
field
and
moor
and
dried-up
marsh
.
But
bedraggled
autumn
's
robes
were
soon
washed
colorless
;
the
heath
turned
pallid
before
it
faded
to
sere
brown
;
rotten
banks
of
decaying
leaves
rose
high
under
the
hedges
.
There
was
no
dry
,
crisp
whirl
of
gold
on
the
wind
,
but
a
sodden
condition
gradually
overspread
the
land
.
The
earth
grew
drunken
with
the
later
rains
and
could
hold
no
more
.
October
saw
the
last
of
the
purple
and
crimson
,
the
tawny
browns
and
royal
yellows
.
Only
beeches
,
their
wet
leaves
by
many
shades
a
darker
auburn
than
is
customary
,
still
retained
lower
foliage
.
The
trees
put
on
their
winter
shapes
unduly
early
.
The
world
was
dark
and
sweated
fungus
.
Uncouth
children
of
the
earth
,
whose
hour
is
that
which
sees
the
leaf
fall
,
sprang
into
short-lived
being
.
Black
goblins
and
gray
,
white
goblins
and
brown
,
spread
weird
life
abroad
.
With
fleshy
gills
,
squat
and
lean
,
fat
and
thin
,
bursting
through
the
grass
in
companies
and
circles
,
lurking
livid
,
gigantic
and
alone
on
the
trunks
of
forest
trees
,
gemming
the
rotten
bough
with
crimson
,
twinkling
like
topaz
on
the
crooked
stems
of
the
furze
,
battening
upon
death
,
rising
into
transitory
vigor
from
the
rack
and
rot
of
a
festering
earth
,
they
flourished
.
Heavy
mists
now
stretched
their
draperies
over
the
high
lands
;
and
exhalations
from
the
corpse
of
the
summer
hung
bluish
under
the
rain
in
the
valleys
.
One
night
a
full
moon
shone
clearly
,
and
through
the
ambient
light
ominous
sheets
and
splashes
of
silver
glimmered
in
the
low
fields
.
Here
they
had
slowly
and
silently
spread
into
existence
,
their
birth
hidden
under
the
mists
,
their
significance
marked
by
none
but
anxious
farmers
.
All
men
hoped
that
the
full
moon
would
bring
cessation
of
this
rainfall
;
but
another
gray
dawn
faced
them
on
the
morrow
and
a
thousand
busy
rills
murmured
and
babbled
down
the
lanes
round
Drift
.
Here
and
there
unsuspected
springs
burst
their
hidden
chambers
and
swept
by
steep
courses
over
the
green
grass
to
join
these
main
waters
which
now
raced
through
the
valley
.
The
light
of
day
was
heavy
and
pressed
upon
the
sight
.
It
acted
like
a
telescope
in
the
intervals
of
no
rain
and
brought
distant
objects
into
strange
distinctness
.
The
weather
was
much
too
warm
even
for
"
Western
Cornwall
.
A
few
leaves
still
hung
on
the
crown
of
the
apple
trees
,
and
such
scanty
peach
and
nectarine
foliage
as
yet
remained
was
green
.
The
red
currants
flaunted
a
gold
leaf
or
two
and
the
remaining
leaves
of
the
black
currant
were
purple
after
his
fashion
.
Joan
marveled
to
see
sundry
of
her
favorites
thrusting
forth
tokens
of
spring
almost
before
autumn
was
ended
.
Lilac
buds
swelled
to
bursting
;
a
peony
pushed
many
pink
points
upward
through
the
brown
ruins
of
the
past
;
bulbs
were
growing
rapidly
;
Nature
had
forgotten
winter
for
once
,
thought
Joan
.
Thus
the
sodden
,
sunless
,
steaming
days
followed
each
on
the
last
until
farming
folk
began
to
grow
grave
before
a
steady
increase
of
water
on
the
land
.
Much
hay
stood
in
danger
and
some
ricks
had
been
already
ruined
.
Many
theories
were
rife
,
Uncle
Chirgwin
's
being
,
upon
the
whole
,
the
most
fatuous
.
"
Tis
a
thunder-planet
,
"
he
told
his
nieces
,
"
an
'
till
us
get
a
rousin
'
storm
o
'
crooked
forks
an
'
heavy
thunder
this
rain
'll
go
on
fallin
'
.
But
not
so
much
as
a
flap
o
'
the
collybran
[
Footnote
:
Collybran
—
Sheet
lightning
.
]
do
us
get
for
all
the
heat
o
'
the
air
.
I
should
knaw
,
if
any
,
for
I
be
out
turnin
'
night
into
day
an
'
markin
'
the
water
in
the
valley
every
evenin
'
long
after
dark
now
.
I
'm
fearin
'
graave
for
the
big
stack
;
an
'
theer
's
three
paarts
o
'
last
year
's
hay
beside
,
an
'
two
tidy
lil
mows
of
the
aftermath
.
So
sure
's
the
waters
do
rise
another
foot
and
a
half
,
'
tis
'
good-by
'
to
the
whole
boilin
'
.
Not
but
'
twill
be
a
miracle
for
the
stream
to
get
much
higher
.
The
moor
's
burstin
'
wi
'
rain
,
but
the
coffins
[
Footnote
:
Coffins
—
Ancient
mining
excavations
.
]
do
hold
it
up
,
I
s'pose
,
an
'
keep
it
aloft
.
A
penn'orth
o
'
frost
now
would
save
a
pound
of
produce
from
wan
end
o
'
Carnwall
to
t'other
.
"
Joan
spent
many
long
days
in
the
house
at
this
time
and
practiced
an
unskillful
needle
,
while
her
thoughts
wandered
far
and
near
through
the
sullen
weather
to
this
old
cross
and
that
.
Then
came
a
night
of
rainless
darkness
through
which
past
augmentations
of
water
still
thundered
.
Nature
rested
for
some
hours
before
her
final
,
shattering
deluge
,
but
the
brief
peace
was
more
tremendous
than
rain
or
wind
,
for
a
mighty
foreboding
permeated
it
,
and
all
men
felt
the
end
was
not
yet
,
though
none
could
say
why
they
feared
the
silence
more
than
storm
.
It
happened
upon
this
black
night
that
Joan
was
alone
in
the
kitchen
.
Supper
had
been
but
a
scrambling
meal
and
her
uncle
with
Amos
Bartlett
and
all
the
men
on
the
farm
were
now
somewhere
in
the
valley
under
the
darkness
fighting
for
the
hay
with
rising
water
.
Where
Mary
was
just
then
,
Joan
did
not
know
.
Her
thoughts
were
occupied
with
her
own
affairs
,
and
in
the
oppressive
silence
she
sat
watching
some
little
moving
threadlike
concerns
which
hung
in
a
row
through
a
crack
below
the
mantelpiece
above
the
open
fire
.
They
were
the
tails
of
mice
which
often
here
congregated
nigh
the
warmth
and
sat
in
a
row
,
themselves
invisible
.
The
tails
moved
,
and
Joan
noted
some
shorter
tails
beside
long
ones
,
telling
of
infant
vermin
at
their
mothers
'
sides
.
In
the
silence
she
could
hear
the
squeaking
of
them
,
and
now
and
then
she
talked
to
them
very
softly
.
"
Thank
God
,
you
lil
mice
,
as
you
abbun
got
no
brains
in
your
heads
an
'
no
call
to
look
far
in
the
future
.
I
lay
you
'm
happier
than
us
,
wi
'
nort
to
fear
'
bout
'
cept
crumbs
an
'
a
lew
snug
spot
to
live
in
.
"
Thus
she
stumbled
on
the
lowest
note
of
pessimism
:
that
conscious
intelligence
is
a
supreme
mistake
.
But
the
significance
of
her
idea
she
knew
not
.
Then
Joan
rose
up
,
shivered
with
a
sudden
sense
of
chill
,
stamped
her
feet
,
and
caused
the
row
of
tails
below
the
mantel
to
vanish
.
"
Goose-flaish
down
the
spine
do
mean
as
theer
's
feet
walkin
'
'
pon
my
graave
,
I
s'pose
,
"
she
thought
,
as
a
heavy
knock
at
the
front
door
interrupted
her
reflections
.
Hastening
to
open
it
,
Joan
found
the
postman
—
a
rare
visitor
at
Drift
.
He
handed
her
a
letter
and
prepared
to
depart
immediately
.
"
I
'm
grievous
afeared
o
'
Buryas
Bridge
tonight
,
"
he
said
;
"
when
I
comed
over
,
two
hour
back
,
the
water
was
above
the
arches
,
an
'
,
so
like
's
not
,
I
wo
n't
get
'
cross
'
tall
if
it
's
riz
higher
.
An
'
somethin
'
cruel
's
comin
'
,
I
'll
lay
my
life
,
'
fore
marnin
'
.
This
pitch-black
silence
be
worse
than
the
noise
o
'
the
rain
.
"
He
vanished
down
the
hill
,
and
,
returning
to
the
kitchen
,
Joan
lighted
a
candle
and
examined
the
letter
.
A
fit
of
trembling
shook
the
girl
to
the
hidden
seat
of
her
soul
as
she
did
so
,
for
her
own
name
greeted
her
,
in
neat
printed
letters
akin
to
those
on
the
superscription
of
another
letter
she
had
received
in
the
past
.
From
John
Barron
it
was
that
this
communication
came
,
and
the
reception
of
it
begot
a
wild
chaos
of
mind
which
now
carried
Joan
headlong
backward
.
Images
swept
through
her
brain
with
the
bewildering
rapidity
and
brilliance
of
lightning
flashes
;
she
was
whirled
and
tossed
on
a
flood
of
thoughts
;
a
single
sad-eyed
figure
retained
permanency
and
rose
clear
and
separated
itself
from
the
phantasmagorial
procession
of
personages
and
events
wending
through
her
mind
,
dissolving
each
into
the
other
,
stretching
the
circumstances
of
eight
short
months
into
an
eternity
,
crowding
the
solemn
aisles
of
time
past
with
shadows
of
those
emotions
which
had
reigned
over
the
dead
spring
time
of
the
year
and
were
themselves
long
dead
.
Thus
she
stood
for
a
space
of
vast
apparent
duration
,
but
in
reality
most
brief
.
That
trifling
standpoint
in
time
needed
for
a
dream
or
for
the
brain-picture
of
his
past
which
dominates
the
mind
of
the
drowning
was
all
that
had
sped
with
Joan
.
Then
,
shaking
herself
clear
of
thought
,
she
found
her
candle
,
which
burned
dim
when
first
lighted
,
was
only
now
melting
the
wax
and
rising
to
its
full
flame
.
A
mist
of
damp
had
long
hung
on
the
inner
walls
of
the
kitchen
at
Drift
,
begotten
not
of
faulty
building
but
by
the
peculiar
condition
of
the
atmosphere
;
and
as
the
candle
flickered
up
in
a
chamber
dark
save
for
its
light
and
the
subdued
glow
of
a
low
fire
,
Joan
noticed
how
the
gathering
moisture
on
the
walls
had
coalesced
,
run
into
drops
and
fallen
,
streaking
the
misty
gray
with
bright
bars
and
networks
,
silvery
'
as
the
slime
of
snails
.
With
shaking
hand
,
she
set
the
candle
upon
a
table
,
dropped
into
a
chair
beside
it
and
opened
her
letter
.
For
a
moment
the
page
with
its
large
printed
characters
danced
before
her
eyes
,
then
they
steadied
and
she
was
able
to
read
.
Like
a
message
from
one
long
dead
came
the
words
;
and
in
truth
,
though
the
writer
lived
,
he
wrote
upon
the
threshold
of
the
grave
.
John
Barren
had
put
into
force
his
project
,
which
was
,
as
may
be
remembered
,
to
write
to
Joan
when
the
end
of
his
journey
came
in
sight
.
The
words
were
carefully
chosen
,
for
he
remembered
her
sympathy
with
suffering
and
her
extensive
ignorance
.
He
wrote
in
simple
language
,
therefore
,
and
dwelt
on
his
own
helpless
condition
,
exaggerating
it
to
some
extent
.
"
No.
6
Melbury
Gardens
,
London
.
"
My
own
dear
love
—
What
can
I
say
to
make
you
know
what
has
kept
me
away
from
you
?
There
is
but
one
word
and
that
is
my
poor
sick
and
suffering
body
.
I
wrote
to
you
and
tore
up
what
I
wrote
,
for
I
loved
you
too
much
to
ask
you
to
come
and
share
my
sad
life
.
It
was
very
,
very
awful
to
be
away
and
know
you
were
waiting
and
waiting
for
Jan
;
yet
I
could
not
come
,
because
Mother
Nature
was
so
hard
.
Then
I
went
far
away
and
hoped
you
had
forgotten
me
.
Doctors
made
me
go
to
a
place
over
the
sea
where
tall
palm
trees
grew
up
out
of
a
dry
yellow
desert
;
but
my
poor
lungs
were
too
sick
to
get
well
again
and
I
came
home
to
die
.
Yes
,
sweetheart
,
you
will
forgive
me
for
all
when
you
know
poor
lonely
Jan
will
soon
be
gone
.
He
cannot
live
much
longer
,
and
he
is
so
weak
now
that
he
has
no
more
power
to
fight
against
the
love
of
Joan
.
"
For
your
own
good
,
dear
one
,
I
made
myself
keep
away
and
hid
myself
from
you
.
Now
the
little
life
left
to
me
cries
out
by
night
and
by
day
for
you
.
Joan
,
my
own
true
love
,
I
cannot
die
until
I
have
seen
you
again
.
Come
to
me
,
Joan
,
love
,
if
you
do
not
hate
me
.
Come
to
me
;
come
;
and
close
my
eyes
and
let
poor
Jan
have
the
one
face
that
he
loves
quite
near
him
at
the
end
.
Even
your
picture
has
gone
,
for
they
came
when
I
was
away
and
took
it
and
put
it
in
a
place
with
many
others
for
people
to
see
.
And
all
men
and
women
say
it
is
the
best
picture
.
I
shall
be
dead
before
they
send
it
back
to
me
.
So
now
I
have
nothing
but
the
thoughts
of
my
Joan
.
Oh
,
come
to
me
,
my
love
,
if
you
can
.
It
will
not
be
for
long
,
and
when
Jan
lies
under
the
ground
all
that
he
has
is
yours
.
I
have
fought
so
hard
to
keep
from
you
and
from
praying
you
to
come
to
me
,
but
I
can
fight
no
more
.
My
home
is
named
at
the
top
of
this
letter
.
You
have
but
to
enter
the
train
for
London
and
stop
in
it
until
it
gets
to
the
end
of
its
journey
.
My
servant
shall
wait
each
day
for
your
coming
.
I
can
write
no
more
,
I
can
only
pray
to
the
God
we
both
love
to
bring
you
to
me
.
And
if
you
come
or
do
not
I
shall
have
the
same
great
true
love
for
you
.
I
will
die
alone
rather
than
trouble
you
to
come
if
you
have
forgotten
me
and
not
forgiven
me
for
keeping
silence
.
God
bless
you
,
my
only
love
.
JAN.
"
This
feeble
stuff
rang
like
a
clarion
on
the
ear
of
the
reader
,
for
he
who
had
written
it
knew
how
best
to
strike
,
how
best
to
appeal
with
overwhelming
force
to
Joan
Tregenza
.
Her
mind
plunged
straight
into
the
struggle
and
the
billows
of
the
storm
,
sweeping
aside
lesser
obstructions
,
were
soon
beating
against
the
new-built
ramparts
of
faith
.
The
rush
of
thought
which
had
coursed
through
her
brains
before
reading
the
letter
now
made
the
task
of
deciding
upon
it
easier
.
Indeed
it
can
hardly
be
said
that
any
real
doubt
from
first
to
last
assailed
Joan
's
decision
.
Faith
did
not
crumble
,
but
,
at
a
second
glance
,
appeared
to
her
wholly
compatible
with
obedience
to
this
demand
.
There
was
an
electric
force
in
every
word
of
the
letter
.
It
proved
Mister
Jan
's
wondrous
nobility
of
character
,
his
unselfishness
,
his
love
.
He
had
suffered
,
too
,
had
longed
eternally
for
her
,
had
denied
himself
out
of
consideration
for
her
future
happiness
,
had
struggled
with
his
love
,
and
only
broken
down
and
given
way
to
it
in
the
shadow
of
death
.
Grief
shook
Joan
upon
this
thought
,
but
joy
was
uppermost
.
The
long
months
of
weary
suffering
faded
from
her
recollection
as
nocturnal
mists
vanish
at
the
touch
of
the
sun
's
first
fire
.
She
had
no
power
to
analyze
the
position
or
reflect
upon
the
various
courses
of
action
the
man
might
have
taken
to
spare
her
so
much
agony
.
She
accepted
his
bald
utterance
word
for
word
,
as
he
knew
she
would
.
Every
inclination
and
desire
swept
her
toward
him
now
.
His
cry
of
suffering
,
his
love
,
his
loneliness
,
her
duty
,
as
it
stood
blazoned
upon
her
mind
ten
minutes
after
reading
his
letter
;
the
child
to
be
born
within
two
months
—
all
these
considerations
united
to
establish
Joan
's
mind
at
this
juncture
.
"
Come
to
me
!
"
Those
were
the
words
echoing
within
her
heart
,
and
her
soul
cried
upon
Christ
to
shorten
time
that
she
might
reach
him
the
sooner
.
Before
the
world
was
next
awake
,
she
would
be
upon
her
way
;
before
another
night
fell
,
Mister
Jan
's
arms
would
be
round
her
.
The
long
,
dreary
nightmare
had
ended
for
her
at
last
.
Then
came
tears
of
bitter
remorse
,
for
she
saw
how
his
love
had
never
left
her
,
how
he
had
been
true
as
steel
,
while
she
,
misled
by
appearances
,
had
lost
faith
and
lapsed
into
forgetfulness
.
A
wild
,
unreasoning
yearning
superior
to
time
and
space
and
the
service
of
railways
got
hold
upon
her
.
"
Come
to
me
,
"
"
Come
to
me
,
"
sounded
in
Joan
's
ears
in
the
live
voice
she
had
loved
and
lost
and
found
again
.
An
hour
's
delay
,
a
minute
's
,
a
moment
's
seemed
a
crime
.
Yet
delay
there
must
be
,
but
the
tension
and
terrific
excitement
of
her
whole
being
at
this
period
demanded
some
immediate
outlet
in
action
.
She
wanted
to
talk
to
Uncle
Chirgwin
,
and
she
desired
instant
information
upon
the
subject
of
her
journey
.
First
she
thought
of
seeking
the
farmer
in
the
valley
;
then
it
struck
her
,
the
hour
being
not
later
than
eight
o'clock
,
that
by
going
into
Penzance
she
might
learn
at
what
time
the
morning
train
departed
to
London
.
Out
of
doors
it
was
inky
black
,
very
silent
,
very
oppressive
.
Joan
called
Mary
twice
before
departing
,
but
received
no
answer
.
Indeed
the
house
was
empty
,
though
she
did
not
know
it
.
Finally
,
thrusting
the
letter
into
her
bosom
,
taking
her
hat
and
cloak
from
a
nail
in
the
kitchen
and
putting
on
a
pair
of
walking
shoes
,
the
girl
went
abroad
.
Her
present
medley
of
thoughts
begot
a
state
of
exceeding
nervous
excitation
.
For
the
letter
touched
the
two
poles
of
extreme
happiness
and
utmost
possible
sorrow
.
"
Mister
Jan
"
was
calling
her
to
him
indeed
,
but
only
calling
her
that
she
might
see
him
die
.
Careless
of
her
steps
,
soothed
unconsciously
by
rapid
motion
,
she
walked
from
the
farm
,
her
mind
full
of
joy
and
grief
;
and
the
night
,
silent
no
longer
for
her
,
was
full
of
a
voice
crying
"
Come
to
me
,
Joan
,
love
,
come
!
"
CHAPTER
SIX
THE
FLOOD
In
the
coomb
beneath
Drift
,
flashing
as
though
red-hot
from
a
theater
of
Cimmerian
blackness
,
certain
figures
,
flame-lighted
,
flickered
hurriedly
this
way
and
that
about
a
dark
and
monstrous
pile
which
rose
in
their
midst
.
From
the
adjacent
hill
,
superstitious
watchers
might
have
supposed
that
they
beheld
some
demoniac
throng
newly
burst
oat
of
the
bowels
of
earth
and
to
be
presently
re-engulfed
;
but
seen
nearer
,
the
toiling
creatures
,
fighting
with
all
their
hearts
and
souls
to
save
a
haystack
from
flood
,
had
merely
excited
human
interest
and
commiseration
.
Farmer
Chirgwin
and
his
men
were
girt
as
to
the
legs
in
old-fashioned
hay-bands
;
some
held
torches
while
others
toiled
with
ropes
to
anchor
the
giant
rick
against
the
gathering
waters
.
There
was
no
immediate
fear
,
for
the
pile
still
stood
a
clear
foot
above
the
stream
on
a
gentle
undulation
distant
nearly
two
yards
from
the
present
boundary
of
the
swollen
river
.
But
,
on
the
landward
side
,
another
danger
threatened
,
because
in
that
quarter
the
meadow
sank
in
a
slight
hollow
which
had
now
changed
to
a
lake
fed
by
a
brisk
rivulet
from
the
main
river
.
The
great
rick
thus
stood
almost
insulated
,
and
much
further
uprising
of
the
flood
would
place
it
in
a
position
not
to
be
approached
by
man
without
danger
.
Above
the
stack
,
distant
about
five-and-twenty
yards
,
stood
a
couple
of
stout
pollarded
willows
,
and
by
these
Uncle
Chirgwin
had
decided
to
moor
his
hay
,
trusting
that
they
might
hold
the
great
mass
of
it
secure
even
though
the
threatened
flood
swept
away
its
foundations
.
Nine
figures
worked
amain
,
and
to
them
approached
a
tenth
,
appearing
from
the
darkness
,
skirting
the
lake
and
splashing
through
the
streamlet
which
fed
it
.
Mary
Chirgwin
it
was
who
now
arrived
—
a
grotesque
figure
with
her
gown
and
petticoats
fastened
high
and
wearing
on
her
legs
a
pair
of
her
uncle
's
leather
gaiters
.
Mary
had
been
up
to
the
farm
for
more
rope
,
but
the
clothesline
was
all
that
she
could
find
,
and
this
she
now
returned
with
.
Already
three
ropes
had
been
passed
round
the
rick
and
made
fast
to
the
willows
,
but
none
among
them
was
of
great
stoutness
,
nor
had
they
been
tied
at
an
elevation
best
calculated
to
resist
a
possible
strain
.
Amos
Bartlett
took
the
line
from
Mary
and
set
to
work
with
many
assistants
;
while
the
farmer
himself
,
waving
a
torch
and
stumping
hither
and
thither
,
now
directed
Bartlett
,
now
encouraged
two
men
who
worked
with
all
their
might
at
the
cutting
of
a
trench
from
the
lake
in
order
that
this
dangerous
body
of
water
might
be
drained
back
to
the
main
stream
.
The
flame-light
danced
in
many
a
flash
and
splash
over
the
smooth
surface
of
the
face
of
the
inland
pond
.
Indeed
it
reflected
like
a
glass
at
present
,
for
no
wind
fretted
it
,
neither
did
a
drop
of
rain
fall
.
Intense
,
watchful
silence
held
that
hour
.
The
squash
of
men
's
feet
in
the
mud
,
the
soft
swirl
of
the
water
,
the
cry
of
voices
alone
disturbed
the
night
.
"
God
be
praised
!
I
do
think
'
tis
'
bating
,
"
cried
the
farmer
presently
.
He
ran
every
few
minutes
to
the
water
and
examined
a
stake
hammered
into
it
a
foot
from
the
edge
.
It
seemed
,
as
far
as
might
be
judged
by
such
fitful
light
and
rough
measurement
,
that
the
river
had
sunk
an
inch
or
two
,
but
it
was
running
in
undulations
,
and
what
its
muddy
mass
had
lost
in
volume
was
gained
in
speed
.
The
water
chattered
and
hissed
;
and
Amos
Bartlett
,
who
next
made
a
survey
,
declared
that
the
flood
had
by
no
means
waned
,
but
rather
risen
.
Then
,
the
last
ropes
being
disposed
to
the
best
advantage
,
all
joined
the
laborers
who
were
digging
.
Twenty
minutes
later
,
however
,
and
before
the
trench
was
more
than
three
parts
finished
,
there
came
a
tremendous
change
.
Turning
hastily
to
the
river
,
Bartlett
uttered
a
shout
of
alarm
and
called
for
light
.
He
had
approached
the
telltale
stake
,
and
suddenly
,
before
he
reached
it
,
found
his
feet
in
the
water
.
The
river
was
rising
with
fierce
rapidity
at
last
,
and
five
minutes
later
began
to
lick
at
the
edge
of
the
hay-rick
,
and
churn
along
with
a
strange
hidden
force
and
devil
in
it
.
The
pace
increased
with
the
volume
,
and
told
of
some
prodigious
outburst
on
the
moor
.
The
uncanny
silence
of
the
swelling
water
as
it
slipped
downward
was
a
curious
feature
of
it
in
this
phase
.
Chirgwin
and
his
men
huddled
together
at
the
side
of
the
rick
;
then
Bartlett
held
up
his
hand
and
spoke
.
"
Hark
'
e
all
!
'
Tis
comin
'
now
,
by
God
!
"
They
kept
silence
and
listened
with
straining
ears
and
frightened
eyes
,
fire-rimmed
by
the
flickering
torchlight
.
A
sound
came
from
afar
—
a
sound
not
unmelodious
but
singular
beyond
power
of
language
to
express
—
a
whisper
of
sinister
significance
to
him
who
knew
its
meaning
,
of
sheer
mystery
to
all
others
.
A
murmur
filled
the
air
,
a
murmur
of
undefined
noises
still
far
distant
.
They
might
have
been
human
,
they
might
have
arisen
from
the
flight
and
terror
of
beasts
,
from
the
movement
of
vast
bodies
,
from
the
reverberations
of
remote
music
;
Earth
or
Heaven
might
have
bred
them
,
or
the
upper
chambers
of
the
air
midway
between
.
They
spoke
of
terrific
energies
,
of
outpourings
of
force
,
of
elemental
chaos
come
again
,
of
a
crown
of
unimagined
horror
set
upon
the
night
.
All
listened
fearfully
while
the
solemn
cadences
crept
on
their
ears
,
fascinated
them
like
a
siren
song
,
wakened
wild
dread
of
tribulations
and
terrors
unknown
till
now
.
It
was
indeed
a
sound
but
seldom
heard
and
wholly
unfamiliar
to
those
beside
the
stack
save
one
.
"
'
Tis
the
callin
'
o
'
the
cleeves
,
"
said
Uncle
Chirgwin
.
"
Nay
,
man
,
'
tis
a
live
,
ragin
'
storm
comed
off
the
sea
an
'
tearin
'
ower
the
airth
like
a
legion
out
o
'
hell
!
'
Tis
the
floodgates
o
'
God
opened
you
'm
hearin
'
!
Ay
,
an
'
the
four
winds
at
each
other
's
throats
,
an
'
a
outburst
o
'
all
the
springs
'
pon
the
hills
!
'
Tis
death
and
ruin
for
the
whole
country-side
as
be
yelling
up-long
now
.
An
'
'
tis
comin
'
faster'n
thot
.
"
As
Bartlett
spoke
,
the
voice
of
the
tempest
grew
rapidly
nearer
,
all
mystery
faded
out
of
it
and
its
murmuring
changed
to
a
hoarse
rattle
.
Thunder
growled
a
bass
to
the
shriek
of
coming
winds
and
a
flash
of
distant
lightning
bridged
the
head
of
the
coomb
with
a
crooked
snake
of
fire
.
"
Us
'd
best
to
get
'
pon
high
land
out
o
'
this
,
"
shouted
Bartlett
.
"
All
as
men
can
do
us
have
done
.
The
hay
's
in
the
hand
o
'
Providence
,
but
I
would
n't
be
perched
on
top
o
'
that
stack
not
for
diamonds
all
the
same
.
"
A
cry
cut
him
short
.
Mary
had
turned
and
found
the
way
to
higher
ground
already
cut
off
.
The
lake
was
rising
under
their
eyes
,
and
that
in
spite
of
the
fact
that
the
waters
had
already
reached
the
trench
cut
for
them
,
and
now
tumbled
in
a
torrent
back
to
the
parent
stream
.
Escape
in
this
direction
was
clearly
impossible
.
It
only
remained
to
wade
through
the
head
of
the
lake
,
and
that
without
a
moment
's
delay
.
Mary
herself
,
holding
a
torch
,
went
first
through
water
above
her
knees
and
the
men
hastily
followed
,
Uncle
Chirgwin
coming
last
and
being
nearly
carried
off
his
short
legs
as
he
turned
to
view
the
rick
.
Once
through
the
water
,
all
were
in
safety
,
for
the
meadow
sloped
steeply
upward
.
An
increasing
play
of
lightning
made
the
torches
useless
,
and
they
were
dropped
,
while
the
party
pressed
close
beneath
an
overhanging
hedge
which
ran
along
the
upper
boundary
of
the
meadow
.
From
this
vantage-ground
they
beheld
a
spectacle
unexampled
in
the
memory
of
any
among
them
.
Screaming
like
some
incarnate
and
mad
manifestation
of
all
the
elements
massed
in
one
,
the
hurricane
launched
itself
upon
that
valley
.
As
a
wall
the
wind
heralded
the
water
,
while
forked
lightnings
,
flaming
above
both
,
tore
the
black
darkness
into
jagged
rags
and
lighted
a
chaos
of
yellow
foaming
torrent
which
battled
with
livid
front
straight
down
the
heart
of
the
coomb
.
The
swollen
river
was
lost
in
the
torrent
of
it
;
and
the
hiss
of
the
rain
was
