thegathering
gale
,
now
beating
back
against
it
,
now
dancing
in
a
fleet
and
making
music
far
away
in
the
foam
.
Upon
the
beach
the
dry
sand
whipped
round
in
little
whirls
and
eddies
where
wind-gusts
caught
it
;
the
naked
rocks
poked
shining
weed-covered
heads
out
of
a
low
tide
,
and
the
wet
white
light
of
them
glimmered
raw
through
the
gray
tones
of
the
atmosphere
.
Now
and
then
a
little
cloud
of
dust
would
puff
out
from
the
cliff-face
where
the
wind
dislodged
a
dry
particle
of
stone
or
mould
;
elsewhere
Barren
saw
the
sure-rooted
samphire
and
tufts
of
sea-pink
,
innocent
of
flowers
as
yet
;
and
sometimes
little
squeaking
dabs
of
down
might
also
be
observed
below
where
infant
gulls
huddled
together
in
the
ledges
outside
their
nests
and
gazed
upon
a
condition
of
things
as
yet
beyond
their
experience
.
Joan
came
presently
to
find
the
artist
looking
out
at
the
sea
.
"
You
ba
n't
gwaine
to
paint
,
I
s'pose
,
'
cause
o
'
this
ugly
fashion
weather
?
"
she
said
.
"
No
,
sweetheart
!
All
the
gold
has
gone
out
of
the
world
,
and
there
is
nothing
left
but
lead
and
dross
.
See
how
sharp
the
green
is
under
the
gray
,
and
note
the
clearness
of
the
air
.
Everything
is
keen
and
hard
upon
the
eye
to-day
;
the
sky
is
full
of
rain
and
the
sea
is
a
wild
harmony
in
gray
and
silver
.
"
"
Iss
,
the
cleeves
be
callin
'
this
marnin
'
.
'
Tis
a
sort
o
'
whisper
as
comes
to
a
body
's
ear
,
an
'
it
means
that
the
high
hills
knaws
the
rain
is
nigh
.
An
'
they
tell
it
wan
to
t'other
,
and
moans
it
mournful
over
the
valleys
'
pon
the
wind
.
'
The
storm
be
comin
'
,
the
storm
be
comin
'
,
'
they
sez
.
"
The
south
and
west
regions
of
distance
blackened
as
they
sat
there
on
the
cliff
,
and
upon
the
sea
separate
heavy
gusts
of
wind
roughened
up
the
hollows
of
the
waves
.
Which
effect
seen
from
afar
flickered
weirdly
like
a
sort
of
submarine
lightning
shivering
white
through
dark
water
.
Presently
a
cloud
broke
,
showing
a
bank
of
paler
gray
behind
,
and
misty
silver
arrows
fell
in
broad
bands
of
light
upon
the
sea
.
They
sped
round
,
each
upon
the
last
,
like
the
spokes
of
a
gigantic
wheel
trundling
over
the
world
;
then
the
clouds
huddled
together
again
and
the
gleam
of
brightness
died
.
"
You
'm
wisht
this
marnin
'
,
Mister
Jan.
You
abbun
so
much
as
two
words
for
me
.
'
Tis
'
cause
you
caa
n't
paint
your
picksher
,
I
reckon
.
"
He
sighed
and
took
her
hand
in
his
.
"
Do
n't
think
that
,
my
Joan
.
Once
I
cared
nothing
for
you
,
everything
for
my
picture
;
now
I
care
nothing
for
my
picture
,
everything
for
you
.
And
the
better
I
love
you
,
the
worse
I
paint
you
.
That
's
funny
,
is
n't
it
?
"
"
Iss
,
'
tis
coorious
.
But
I
'm
sure
you
do
draw
me
a
mighty
sight
finer
than
I
be
.
'
Tis
wonnerful
clever
,
an
'
theer
edn
'
no
call
to
be
sad
,
for
no
man
else
could
a
done
better
,
I
lay
.
"
He
did
not
answer
,
and
still
held
her
hand
.
Then
there
came
a
harder
breath
of
wind
with
a
sob
of
sound
in
it
,
while
already
over
the
distant
sea
swept
separate
gray
curtains
of
rain
.
"
It
's
coming
,
Joan
;
the
storm
.
It
's
everywhere
,
in
earth
and
air
and
water
;
and
in
my
blood
.
I
am
savage
to-day
,
Joan
,
savage
and
thirsty
.
What
will
be
the
end
of
it
?
"
He
spoke
wildly
,
like
the
weather
.
She
did
not
understand
,
but
she
felt
his
hand
clinch
tightly
over
hers
,
and
,
looking
at
the
white
thin
fingers
crooked
round
her
wrist
,
they
brought
to
her
mind
the
twisted
claws
of
a
dead
sea-gull
she
remembered
to
have
found
upon
the
beach
.
"
What
will
be
the
end
of
it
,
Joan
?
Ca
n't
you
answer
me
?
"
"
Doa
n't
'
e
,
Mister
Jan
;
you
'm
hurtin
'
my
hand
.
I
s'pose
as
a
sou'westerly
gale
be
comin
'
.
Us
knaws
'
em
well
enough
in
these
paarts
.
Faither
reckoned
theer
was
dirty
weather
blawin
'
up
'
fore
he
sailed
.
He
was
away
by
daylight
.
The
gales
do
bring
trouble
to
somebody
most
times
.
"
"
What
will
be
the
end
of
us
,
I
mean
,
not
of
the
weather
?
The
rain
will
come
and
the
clouds
will
melt
,
and
we
know
,
as
sure
as
God
's
in
heaven
,
that
we
shall
see
sunshine
and
blue
sky
again
.
But
what
about
our
storm
,
Joan
;
the
storm
of
love
that
's
burst
in
my
heart
for
you
—
what
follows
that
?
"
His
question
frightened
her
.
She
had
asked
herself
the
same
and
been
well
content
to
leave
an
answer
to
him
.
Here
he
was
faced
with
a
like
problem
and
now
invited
her
to
solve
it
.
"
I
dunnaw
.
I
thot
such
love
never
comed
to
no
end
,
Mister
Jan.
I
thot
'
tweer
good
to
wear
;
but
—
but
how
do
I
knaw
if
you
doa
n't
?
"
"
You
trust
me
,
Joan
?
"
"
Why
,
who
should
I
trust
,
if
'
tweer
n't
you
?
I
never
knawed
any
person
else
as
set
such
store
'
pon
the
truth
.
I
doa
n't
s'pose
the
cherrybims
in
heaven
loves
it
more'n
what
you
do
.
"
"
Here
's
the
rain
on
the
back
of
the
wind
,
"
he
said
.
A
few
heavy
drops
fell
,
cold
as
ice
upon
his
burning
face
,
and
Joan
laughed
as
she
held
out
her
hand
,
on
which
a
great
splash
as
big
as
a
shilling
had
spread
.
"
That
be
wan
of
Tregagle
's
tears
,
"
she
said
,
"
an
'
'
tis
the
voice
of
en
as
you
can
hear
howlin
'
in
the
wind
.
He
's
allus
a
bawlin
'
an
'
squealin
'
,
poor
sawl
,
but
you
can
awnly
hear
en
now
an
'
again
'
fore
a
storm
when
the
gale
blaws
his
hollerin
'
this
way
.
"
"
Who
was
Tregagle
?
"
"
He
was
a
lawyer
man
wance
,
an
'
killed
a
many
wives
,
an
'
did
a
many
shameful
deeds
'
fore
he
went
dead
.
Then
,
to
Bodmin
Court
,
theer
comes
a
law
case
,
an
'
they
wanted
Tregagle
,
an
'
a
man
said
Tregagle
was
the
awnly
witness
,
and
another
said
he
wadden
.
The
second
man
up
an
'
swore
'
If
Tregagle
saw
it
done
,
then
I
wish
to
God
he
may
rise
from
's
graave
and
come
this
minute
.
'
Then
,
sure
enough
,
the
ghost
of
Tregagle
'
peared
in
the
court-house
an
'
shawed
the
man
was
a
liar
.
But
they
couldn
'
lay
the
ghost
no
more
arter
;
an
'
it
was
a
devil-ghost
,
which
is
the
worstest
kind
;
an
'
it
stuck
close
to
thicky
lyin
'
man
an
'
wouldn
'
leave
en
nohow
.
But
at
last
a
white
witch
bound
the
spirit
an
'
condemned
it
to
empty
out
Dosmery
Pool
wi
'
a
crogan
wi
'
a
hole
in
it
.
A
crogan
's
a
limpet
shell
,
which
you
might
n't
knaw
,
Mister
Jan.
Tregagle
,
he
done
that
party
quick
,
an
'
then
he
was
at
the
man
again
;
but
a
passon
got
the
bettermost
of
en
an
'
tamed
en
wi
'
Scripture
till
Tregagle
was
as
gentle
as
a
cheel
.
Then
they
set
en
to
work
agin
an
'
bid
en
make
a
truss
o
'
sand
down
in
Gwenvor
Cove
,
an
'
carry
it
'
pon
his
shoulder
up
to
Carn
Olva
.
Tregagle
weer
a
braave
time
doin
'
that
,
I
can
'
sure
'
e
,
but
theer
comed
a
gert
frost
wan
winter
,
an
'
he
got
water
from
the
brook
an
'
poured
it
'
pon
the
truss
o
'
sand
,
so
it
froze
hard
.
Then
he
carried
it
up
Carn
Olva
;
an
'
then
,
bein
'
a
free
spirit
agin
,
he
flew
off
quicker'n
lightning
to
that
lyin
'
man
to
tear
en
to
pieces
this
time
.
But
by
good
chance
,
when
Tregagle
comed
to
en
,
the
man
weer
carryin
'
a
lil
baaby
in
's
arms
—
a
lil
cheel
as
had
never
done
a
single
wicked
act
,
bein
'
tu
young
;
so
Tregagle
couldn
'
do
no
hurt
.
An
'
they
caught
en
again
,
an
'
passon
set
en
'
pon
another
job
:
to
make
a
truss
o
'
sand
in
Whitsand
Bay
wi'out
usin
'
any
fresh
water
.
But
Tregagle
caa
n't
never
do
that
;
so
he
cries
bitter
sometimes
,
an
'
howls
;
an
'
when
'
e
howls
you
knaw
the
storm
's
a
comin
'
to
scatter
the
truss
o
'
sand
he
's
builded
up
.
"
Barron
followed
the
legend
with
interest
.
Tregagle
and
his
victim
and
the
charm
of
the
pure
child
that
saved
one
from
the
other
filled
his
thought
and
the
event
to
which
Fate
was
now
relentlessly
dragging
him
.
He
argued
with
himself
a
little
;
then
the
rain
came
down
and
the
wind
leaped
like
a
lion
over
the
edge
of
the
land
,
and
the
man
's
blood
boiled
as
he
breathed
ocean
air
.
"
Us
'll
be
wetted
proper
.
I
'll
run
for
it
,
Mister
Jan
,
an
'
you
'd
best
to
go
up-long
to
your
lil
lew
house
.
Wet
's
bad
for
'
e
,
I
reckon
.
"
"
No
,
"
he
said
,
"
I
ca
n't
let
you
go
,
Joan
.
Look
over
there
.
Another
flood
is
going
to
burst
,
I
think
.
Follow
me
quickly
,
quickly
.
"
The
rain
came
slanting
over
the
gorse
in
earnest
,
but
Joan
hesitated
and
hung
back
.
Louder
than
the
wind
,
louder
than
the
cry
of
the
birds
,
than
the
howling
of
Tregagle
,
than
the
calling
of
the
cleeves
,
spoke
something
.
And
it
said
"
Turn
,
on
the
wing
of
the
storm
;
fly
before
it
,
alone
.
Let
this
man
walk
in
the
teeth
of
the
gale
if
he
will
;
but
you
,
Joan
Tregenza
,
follow
the
wind
and
set
your
face
to
the
east
,
where
the
sole
brightness
now
left
in
the
sky
is
shining
.
"
Sheets
of
gray
swept
over
them
;
the
world
was
wet
in
an
instant
;
a
little
mist
of
water
splashed
up
two
inches
high
off
the
ground
;
the
gorse
tossed
and
swayed
its
tough
arms
;
the
sea
and
the
struggling
craft
upon
it
vanished
like
a
dream
;
from
the
heart
of
the
storm
cried
gulls
,
themselves
invisible
.
"
Come
,
Joan
,
we
shall
be
drowned
.
"
He
had
wrapped
her
in
a
part
of
the
mackintosh
,
and
laughed
as
he
fastened
them
both
into
it
and
hugged
her
close
to
himself
.
But
she
broke
away
,
greatly
fearing
,
yet
knowing
not
what
she
feared
.
"
I
reckon
I
'd
best
run
down
fast
.
Indeed
an
'
I
want
to
go
.
"
"
Go
?
Where
?
Where
should
you
go
?
Come
to
me
,
Joan
;
you
shall
;
you
must
.
We
two
,
sweetheart
—
we
two
against
the
rain
and
the
wind
and
the
world
.
Come
!
It
will
kill
me
to
stand
here
,
and
you
do
n't
want
that
.
"
"
But
—
"
"
Come
,
I
say
.
Quicker
and
quicker
!
We
two
—
only
we
two
.
Do
n't
make
me
command
you
,
my
priceless
treasure
of
a
Joan
.
Come
with
me
.
You
are
mine
now
and
always
.
Quicker
and
quicker
,
I
say
.
God
!
what
rain
!
"
Still
she
hesitated
and
he
grew
angry
.
"
This
is
folly
,
madness
.
Where
is
your
trust
and
belief
?
You
do
n't
trust
,
nor
love
,
nor
—
"
"
Doa
n't
'
e
say
that
!
Never
say
that
!
It
edn
'
true
.
You
'm
all
to
me
,
an
'
you
knaws
it
right
well
,
an
'
I
'll
gaw
to
the
world
's
end
with
'
e
,
I
will
—
ay
,
an
'
trust
'
e
wi
'
my
life
!
"
He
moved
away
and
she
followed
,
hastening
as
he
hastened
.
Unutterable
desolation
marked
the
spot
.
Life
had
vanished
save
only
where
sheep
clustered
under
a
bank
with
their
tails
to
the
weather
,
and
long-legged
lambs
blinked
their
yellow
eyes
and
bleated
as
the
couple
passed
.
Despite
their
haste
the
man
and
the
girl
were
very
wet
before
reaching
the
shelter
of
the
byre
.
Rain-water
dribbled
off
his
cap
on
to
his
hot
face
and
his
feet
were
soaking
.
Joan
was
breathless
with
haste
;
her
draggled
skirts
clung
to
her
;
and
the
struggle
against
the
storm
made
her
giddy
.
So
they
reached
the
place
of
shelter
;
and
the
gale
burst
over
it
with
a
great
,
crowning
yell
of
wind
and
hurtle
of
rain
.
Then
John
Barren
opened
the
byre
door
and
Joan
Tregenza
passed
in
before
him
;
whereupon
he
followed
and
shut
the
door
.
A
loose
slate
clattered
upon
the
roof
,
and
from
inside
the
byre
it
sounded
like
a
hand
tapping
high
above
the
artist
's
bed
of
brown
fern
—
tapping
some
message
which
neither
the
man
nor
the
girl
could
read
—
tapping
,
tapping
,
tapping
tirelessly
upon
ears
wholly
deaf
to
it
.
BOOK
TWO
NATURE
CHAPTER
ONE
AN
INTERVAL
For
a
week
the
rain
came
down
and
it
blew
hard
from
the
west
.
Then
the
weather
moderated
,
and
there
were
intervals
of
brightness
and
mild
,
damp
warmth
that
brought
a
green
veil
trembling
over
the
world
like
magic
.
The
elms
broke
into
a
million
buds
,
the
pear
trees
in
sunny
corners
put
forth
snowy
flowers
;
the
crimson
knobs
of
the
apple-blossom
prepared
to
unfold
.
In
the
market
gardens
around
and
about
Newlyn
the
plums
were
already
setting
,
the
wallflowers
,
which
make
a
carpet
of
golden-brown
beneath
the
fruit-trees
in
many
orchards
,
were
velvety
with
bloom
;
the
raspberry
canes
,
bent
hoop-like
in
long
rows
,
beautifully
brightened
the
dark
earth
with
young
green
;
and
verdure
likewise
twinkled
even
to
the
heart
of
the
forests
,
to
the
stony
nipples
of
the
moor
's
vast
,
lonely
bosom
.
So
spring
came
,
heralded
by
the
thrush
;
borne
upon
the
wings
of
the
western
wind
.
And
then
followed
a
brief
change
with
more
heavy
rains
and
lower
temperature
.
The
furzes
on
Gorse
Point
were
a
scented
glory
now
—
a
nimbus
of
gold
for
the
skull
of
the
lofty
cliff
.
Here
John
Barren
and
Joan
Tregenza
had
met
but
twice
since
the
beginning
of
the
unsettled
weather
.
For
her
this
period
was
in
a
measure
mysterious
and
strange
.
Centuries
of
experience
seemed
to
separate
her
from
the
past
,
and
,
looking
backward
,
infinite
spaces
of
time
already
stretched
between
what
had
been
and
what
was
.
Now
overmuch
sorrow
mingled
with
her
reflections
,
though
a
leaven
of
it
ran
through
all
—
a
sense
of
loss
,
of
sacrifice
,
of
change
,
which
flits
,
like
the
shadow
of
a
summer
cloud
,
even
through
the
soul
of
the
most
deeply
loving
woman
who
ever
opened
her
eyes
to
smile
upon
the
first
day-dawn
of
married
life
.
But
Joan
's
sorrow
was
no
greater
than
that
,
and
little
unquiet
or
uneasiness
went
with
it
.
She
had
his
promises
;
from
him
they
could
but
be
absolute
;
and
not
a
hundred
attested
ceremonies
had
left
her
heart
more
at
ease
.
In
fact
she
believed
that
John
Barren
was
presently
going
to
marry
her
,
and
that
when
he
vanished
from
Newlyn
,
she
,
as
the
better-loved
part
of
himself
,
would
vanish
too
.
It
was
the
old
,
stale
falsehood
which
men
have
told
a
hundred
thousand
times
;
which
men
will
go
on
telling
and
women
believing
,
because
it
is
the
only
lie
which
meets
all
requirements
of
the
case
and
answers
its
exact
purpose
effectively
.
Age
cannot
wither
it
,
for
experience
is
no
part
of
the
armor
of
the
deceived
,
and
Love
and
Trust
have
never
stopped
to
think
since
the
world
began
.
As
for
the
artist
,
each
day
now
saw
him
slipping
more
deeply
,
more
comfortably
back
into
the
convolutions
of
his
old
impersonal
shell
.
He
had
been
dragged
out
,
not
unwilling
,
by
a
giant
passion
,
and
he
had
sacrificed
to
it
,
sent
it
to
sleep
again
,
and
so
returned
.
He
felt
infinitely
kind
to
Joan
.
A
week
after
her
visit
to
the
linhay
he
,
while
sitting
alone
there
,
had
turned
her
picture
about
on
the
easel
,
withdrawn
its
face
from
the
wall
and
studied
his
work
.
And
looking
,
with
restored
critical
faculty
and
cold
blood
,
he
loved
the
paint
for
itself
and
deemed
it
very
good
.
The
storm
was
over
,
the
transitory
lightnings
drowned
lesser
lights
no
more
,
and
that
steady
beacon-flame
of
his
life
,
which
had
been
merged
,
not
lost
,
in
the
fleeting
blaze
,
now
shone
out
again
,
steadfast
and
clear
.
Such
a
revulsion
of
feeling
argued
well
for
the
completion
of
his
picture
,
ill
for
the
model
of
it
.
They
sat
one
day
,
as
the
weather
grew
more
settled
,
beside
a
granite
bowlder
,
which
studded
the
short
turf
at
the
extremity
of
Gorse
Point
,
where
it
jutted
above
the
sea
.
Joan
,
with
her
chin
upon
her
hands
,
looked
out
upon
the
water
;
Barron
,
lying
on
a
railway-rug
,
leaned
back
and
smoked
his
pipe
and
studied
her
face
with
the
old
,
keen
,
passionless
eagerness
of
their
earliest
meetings
.
"
When
'll
'
e
tell
me
,
Jan
love
?
When
'll
'
e
tell
me
what
'
e
be
gwaine
to
do
?
Us
be
wan
now
—
you
an
'
me
—
but
the
lines
be
all
the
lovin'est
wife
can
p'int
to
in
proof
she
be
a
wife
.
Could
n't
us
be
axed
out
in
church
purty
soon
?
"
He
did
not
make
immediate
answer
,
but
only
longed
for
his
easel
.
There
,
in
her
face
,
was
the
wistful
,
far-away
expression
he
had
sighed
for
;
a
measure
of
thought
had
come
to
the
little
animal
—
her
brains
were
awake
and
her
blue
eyes
had
never
looked
liked
this
before
.
Joan
asked
the
question
again
,
and
Barren
answered
.
"
The
same
matter
was
in
my
own
mind
,
sweetheart
.
I
am
in
a
mighty
hurry
too
,
believe
it
.
You
are
safe
with
your
husband
,
Joan
.
You
belong
to
me
now
,
and
you
must
trust
the
future
with
me
.
All
that
law
demands
to
make
us
man
and
wife
it
shall
have
;
and
all
religion
clamors
for
as
well
,
if
that
is
a
great
matter
to
you
.
But
not
here
—
in
this
Newlyn
.
I
think
of
you
when
I
say
that
,
Joan
,
for
it
matters
nothing
to
me
.
"
"
Iss
.
I
dunnaw
what
awful
sayin
's
might
go
abroad
.
Things
is
all
contrary
to
home
as
'
tis
.
Mother
's
guessed
part
an
'
she
tawld
faither
I
weer
gwaine
daft
or
else
in
love
wi
'
some
pusson
else
than
Joe
.
An
'
faither
was
short
an
'
sharp
,
an
'
took
me
out
walkin
'
,
an
'
bid
me
bide
at
home
an
'
give
over
trapsin
'
'
bout
.
An
'
'
e
said
as
'
ow
I
was
tokened
to
Joe
Noy
an
'
bound
by
God
A'mighty
to
wait
for
en
if
'
twas
a
score
years
.
But
if
faither
had
knawed
I
weer
never
for
Noy
,
he
'd
a
'
said
more'n
that
.
I
ba
n't
'
feared
o
'
faither
now
I
knaws
you
,
Jan
,
but
I
be
cruel
'
feared
o
'
bein
'
cussed
,
'
cause
theer
's
times
when
cusses
doa
n't
fall
to
the
ground
but
sticks
.
'
Twouldn
'
be
well
for
the
likes
o
'
you
to
have
a
ill-wished
,
awver-luked
body
for
wife
.
An
'
if
faither
knawed
'
bout
you
,
then
I
lay
he
'd
do
more'n
speak
.
So
like
's
not
he
'd
strike
me
dead
for't
,
bein
'
that
religious
.
But
you
must
take
me
away
,
Jan
,
dear
heart
.
I
'm
yourn
now
an
'
you
must
go
on
lovin
'
me
allus
,
'
cause
theer
'll
never
be
nobody
else
to
not
now
.
I
've
chose
you
an
'
gived
'
e
myself
an
'
I
caa
n't
do
no
more
.
"
He
listened
to
her
delicious
voice
,
and
shut
out
the
crude
words
as
much
as
might
be
while
he
marked
the
music
.
He
was
thinking
that
if
Joan
had
possessed
a
reasonable
measure
of
intellect
,
a
foundation
for
an
education
,
he
would
have
been
satisfied
to
keep
her
about
him
during
that
probably
limited
number
of
years
which
must
span
his
existence
.
But
the
gulf
between
them
was
too
wide
;
and
,
as
for
the
present
position
,
he
considered
that
no
harm
had
been
done
which
time
would
not
remedy
.
Joan
was
not
sufficiently
intelligent
to
suffer
long
or
much
.
She
would
forget
quickly
.
She
was
very
young
.
Her
sailor
must
return
before
the
end
of
the
year
.
Then
he
began
to
think
of
money
,
and
then
sneered
at
himself
.
But
,
after
all
,
it
was
natural
that
he
should
follow
step
by
step
upon
the
beaten
track
of
similar
events
.
"
Better
not
attempt
originality
,
"
he
thought
,
"
for
the
thing
I
have
done
is
scarce
capable
of
original
treatment
.
I
suppose
the
curtain
always
rings
down
on
a
check
—
either
taken
or
spurned
.
"
"
So
you
think
you
can
give
them
all
up
for
poor
me
,
Joan
?
Your
home
,
your
father
,
brother
,
mother
—
all
?
"
"
I
've
gived
up
a
sight
more'n
them
,
Jan.
I
've
gived
'
e
what
's
all
to
a
maiden
.
But
my
folks
weer
n't
hard
to
give
up
.
'
Tis
long
since
they
was
ought
to
me
now
.
I
gaws
an
'
comes
from
the
cottage
an
'
sez
,
all
the
time
,
'
this
ba
n't
home
no
more
.
Mister
Jan
's
home
be
mine
,
'
I
sez
to
myself
.
An
'
each
time
as
I
breaks
bread
,
an
'
sleeps
,
an
'
wakes
,
an
'
looks
arter
faither
's
clothes
I
feels
'
tis
wan
time
nigher
the
last
.
They
'll
look
back
an
'
think
what
a
snake
'
twas
they
had
'
bout
the
house
,
I
s'pose
.
Mother
'll
whine
an
'
say
,
'
Ah
!
'
er
was
a
bitter
weed
for
sartain
,
'
an
'
faither
'll
thunder
till
the
crocks
rattle
an
'
bid
none
dare
foul
the
air
wi
'
my
name
no
more
.
But
I
be
wearyin
'
of
'
e
wi
'
my
clackin
'
,
Jan
,
dear
heart
?
"
"
Not
so
,
Joan
—
never
think
that
.
I
could
listen
to
you
till
Doomsday
.
Only
we
must
act
now
and
talk
presently
.
I
know
you
're
tired
of
the
picture
,
and
you
were
cross
last
time
we
met
because
I
could
speak
of
it
;
but
I
must
for
a
moment
more
.
It
cries
out
to
be
finished
.
A
few
hours
'
good
work
and
all
's
done
.
The
weather
steadies
now
and
the
glass
is
rising
,
so
our
sittings
may
begin
in
a
day
or
two
.
Let
me
make
one
last
,
grand
struggle
.
Then
,
if
I
fail
,
I
shall
fling
the
picture
over
this
cliff
,
and
my
palette
and
brushes
after
it
.
So
we
will
keep
our
secret
a
little
longer
.
Then
,
when
the
picture
is
made
or
marred
,
away
we
'll
go
,
and
by
the
time
they
miss
you
from
your
old
home
you
will
be
half
way
to
your
new
one
.
"
But
she
did
not
heed
the
latter
part
of
his
remarks
,
for
her
thoughts
were
occupied
with
what
had
gone
before
.
"
'
Pears
,
when
all
's
said
,
you
'd
sooner
have
the
picksher
Joan
than
the
real
wan
.
'
Tis
all
the
picksher
an
'
the
picksher
an
'
the
picksher
.
"
This
was
not
less
than
the
truth
,
but
of
course
he
blamed
her
for
so
speaking
,
and
said
her
words
hurt
him
.
"
'
Tis
this
way
,
"
she
said
,
"
I
've
larned
so
much
since
I
knawed
'
e
,
an
'
I
be
like
as
if
I
was
woke
from
a
sleep
.
Things
is
all
differ'nt
now
;
but
'
tis
awnly
my
gert
love
for
'
e
as
makes
me
'
feared
sometimes
'
cause
life
's
too
butivul
to
last
.
An
'
the
picksher
frights
me
more'n
fancy
,
'
cause
,
seemin'ly
,
theer
's
two
Joans
,
an
'
the
picksher
Joan
's
purtier
than
me
.
'
Er
's
me
,
but
better'n
me
.
'
Er
's
allus
bright
an
'
bonny
;
'
er
's
never
crossed
an
'
wisht
;
'
er
'
olds
'
er
tongue
an
'
doa
n't
talk
countrified
same
as
me
.
Theer
'll
never
be
no
tears
nor
trouble
in
her
eyes
;
she
'll
bring
'
e
a
name
,
an
'
bide
purty
an
'
—
an
'
I
hates
the
picksher
now
,
so
I
do
.
"
Barron
listened
with
considerable
interest
to
these
remarks
.
There
was
passion
in
Joan
's
voice
as
she
concluded
,
and
her
emotion
presently
found
relief
in
tears
.
She
only
uttered
thoughts
long
in
her
mind
,
without
for
an
instant
guessing
the
grim
truth
or
suspecting
what
his
work
was
to
the
man
;
yet
,
things
being
as
they
were
,
she
felt
some
real
passing
pain
to
find
him
devote
so
much
thought
to
it
.
Before
the
storm
his
painting
had
sunk
to
insignificance
,
since
then
it
began
to
grow
into
a
great
matter
again
;
and
Joan
was
honestly
jealous
of
the
attention
the
artist
bestowed
upon
it
now
.
If
she
had
dared
,
she
would
have
asked
him
to
destroy
it
;
but
something
told
her
he
would
refuse
.
No
fear
for
the
future
was
mingled
with
this
emotion
.
Only
his
mighty
interest
in
the
work
annoyed
her
.
It
was
a
natural
petty
jealousy
;
and
when
John
Barron
laughed
at
her
and
kissed
her
tears
away
,
she
laughed
too
and
felt
a
little
ashamed
,
though
none
the
less
glad
that
she
had
spoken
.
But
while
he
flung
jests
at
her
anger
,
Barron
felt
secretly
surprised
to
note
the
strides
his
Awdrey
's
mind
was
making
.
Much
worth
consideration
appeared
in
her
sudden
attack
upon
the
picture
.
She
had
evidently
been
really
reflecting
,
with
coherence
and
lucidity
.
That
astonished
him
.
But
still
he
answered
with
a
laugh
.
"
Jealous
,
Joan
!
Jealous
of
yourself
—
of
the
poor
painted
thing
which
has
risen
from
the
contents
of
small
tubes
smeared
over
a
bit
of
canvas
!
My
funny
little
dear
delight
!
Will
you
always
amuse
me
,
I
wonder
?
I
hope
you
will
.
Nobody
else
can
.
Why
,
the
gorse
there
will
grumble
next
and
think
I
love
my
poor
,
daubed
burlesque
of
its
gold
better
than
the
thing
itself
.
If
I
find
pleasure
in
the
picture
,
how
much
the
more
must
I
love
the
soul
of
it
?
You
see
,
I
'm
ambitious
.
You
are
quite
the
hardest
thing
I
ever
found
to
paint
,
and
so
I
go
on
trying
and
trying
.
Hard
to
win
and
hard
to
paint
,
Joan
.
"
She
stretched
out
her
hands
to
him
and
shook
her
head
.
"
Not
hard
to
win
,
Jan.
Easy
enough
to
win
to
you
.
I
ne'er
seed
the
likes
o
'
you
in
my
small
world
.
Not
hard
to
win
I
was
n't
.
"
"
You
wo
n't
refuse
me
a
few
more
sittings
,
then
,
because
you
have
become
my
precious
wife
?
"
"
In
coorse
not
.
An
'
I
'm
so
sorry
I
was
cranky
.
I
'
dedn
'
mean
what
I
said
ezacally
.
"
To-day
,
coming
fresh
to
his
ear
after
a
week
's
interval
,
after
several
days
spent
with
cultured
friends
and
acquaintances
in
Newlyn
,
Joan
's
rustic
speech
grated
more
painfully
than
usual
.
Once
he
had
found
pleasure
in
it
;
but
he
was
not
a
Cornishman
to
love
the
sound
of
those
venerable
words
which
sprinkled
Joan
's
utterances
and
which
have
long
since
vanished
from
all
vocabularies
save
those
of
the
common
people
;
and
now
her
language
began
to
get
upon
his
nerves
and
jar
them
.
He
was
tired
of
it
.
Often
,
while
he
painted
,
she
had
prattled
and
he
,
occupied
with
his
work
,
had
heard
nothing
;
but
to-day
he
recognized
the
debt
he
owed
and
listened
patiently
for
a
considerable
time
.
Her
deep
expectancy
irritated
him
too
.
He
had
anticipated
that
,
however
,
and
was
aware
that
her
trust
and
confidence
in
him
were
alike
profound
.
Perhaps
a
shadow
of
fear
,
distrust
or
uneasiness
had
pleased
him
better
.
He
was
snugly
back
in
his
tub
of
impersonality
from
which
he
liked
to
view
the
fools
'
show
drift
pass
.
His
last
experiment
in
the
actively
objective
had
ruined
a
girl
and
promised
to
produce
a
fine
picture
.
And
that
was
the
end
of
it
.
No
fellow-creature
could
ever
share
this
cynic
's
barrel
with
him
.
Presently
Joan
departed
upon
her
long
tramp
home
.
She
had
gone
to
convey
a
message
to
one
of
Thomasin
Tregenza
's
friends
at
Paul
.
And
when
the
girl
left
him
,
with
a
promise
to
come
at
all
costs
upon
the
next
sunny
morning
,
Barron
began
to
think
about
money
again
.
He
found
that
the
larger
the
imaginary
figures
,
the
smaller
shadow
of
discomfort
clouded
his
thoughts
.
So
he
decided
upon
an
act
of
princely
generosity
,
as
the
result
of
which
resolve
peace
returned
and
an
unruffled
mind
.
For
the
musty
conventionality
of
his
conclusion
,
it
merely
served
as
a
peg
upon
which
to
hang
thoughts
not
necessary
to
set
down
here
.
CHAPTER
TWO
THE
PARTING
Joan
had
only
told
her
lover
a
part
of
what
happened
in
her
home
when
Thomasin
broke
her
suspicions
to
Gray
Michael
.
He
had
taken
the
matter
very
seriously
indeed
,
delivered
a
stern
homily
and
commanded
his
daughter
to
read
the
Book
of
Ecclesiasticus
through
thrice
.
"
'
The
gad-about
is
a
vain
thing
and
a
mighty
cause
for
stumblin
'
.
'
You
mind
that
,
an
'
take
better
care
hencefarrard
to
set
a
right
example
to
other
maids
an
'
not
lead
'
em
wrong
.
Theer
sha
n't
be
no
froward
liver
under
this
roof
,
Joan
Tregenza
,
an
'
you
,
as
be
my
awn
darter
's
the
last
I
'd
count
to
find
wanderin
'
.
"
She
lied
as
to
particulars
.
She
had
no
fear
of
her
father
now
as
a
man
,
but
hard
words
always
hurt
her
,
and
superstition
,
though
she
was
fast
breaking
from
many
forms
of
it
under
Barron
's
tuition
,
still
chained
her
soul
in
some
directions
.
Did
her
father
know
even
a
shadow
of
the
truth
,
some
dire
and
blasting
prediction
would
probably
result
from
it
,
and
though
personally
he
was
little
to
her
now
,
as
a
mouthpiece
of
supernatural
powers
he
might
bring
blighting
words
upon
her
;
for
he
walked
with
God
.
But
Michael
's
God
was
Joan
's
no
more
.
She
had
fled
from
that
awful
divinity
to
the
more
beautiful
Creator
of
John
Barron
.
He
was
kind
and
gentle
,
and
she
loved
to
hear
His
voice
in
the
hum
of
the
bees
upon
the
gorse
and
see
His
face
everywhere
in
the
fair
on-coming
of
spring
.
Nature
,
as
she
understood
it
now
,
chimed
with
the
things
her
mother
had
taught
Joan
.
She
found
room
for
all
the
old
,
pretty
stories
in
this
new
creed
.
The
dear
saints
fitted
in
with
it
,
and
their
wonders
and
mysteries
,
and
the
comprehensive
if
vague
knowledge
that
"
God
is
Love
.
"
She
believed
she
understood
the
truth
about
religion
at
last
;
and
Nature
smiled
very
sweetly
at
her
and
shared
in
the
delight
of
the
time
.
So
she
walked
dreaming
on
toward
the
invisible
door
of
her
fool
's
paradise
,
and
never
guessed
how
near
it
was
or
what
Nature
would
look
like
from
the
other
side
.
She
still
dwelt
at
the
little
home
on
the
cliff
,
so
unreal
and
shadowy
now
;
she
built
cloud
castles
ablaze
with
happiness
;
she
found
falsehood
not
difficult
,
for
her
former
absolute
truthfulness
deadened
her
stepmother
's
suspicion
.
Certain
lies
told
at
home
enabled
her
to
keep
faith
with
the
artist
;
and
the
weather
also
befriending
him
,
three
more
sittings
in
speedy
succession
brought
John
Barron
to
the
end
of
his
labors
.
After
Joan
's
exhibition
of
jealousy
he
was
careful
to
say
little
about
his
work
and
affect
no
further
interest
in
it
.
He
let
her
chatter
concerning
the
future
,
told
her
of
his
big
house
in
London
,
and
presently
took
care
to
drop
hints
from
time
to
time
that
the
habitation
was
by
no
means
as
yet
ready
to
receive
his
bride
.
She
always
spoke
on
the
assumption
that
when
the
picture
was
done
he
would
leave
for
London
and
take
her
with
him
.
She
already
imagined
herself
creeping
off
to
join
him
at
the
station
,
sitting
beside
him
in
the
train
,
and
then
rolling
away
,
past
Marazion
,
into
the
great
unfamiliar
world
which
lay
beyond
.
And
he
knew
that
no
such
thing
would
happen
.
He
intended
that
Joan
should
become
a
pleasant
memory
,
with
the
veil
of
distance
and
time
over
it
to
beautify
what
was
already
beautiful
.
He
wanted
to
remember
the
music
of
her
throbbing
voice
,
and
forget
the
words
it
used
to
utter
.
The
living
girl
's
part
was
played
and
ended
.
Their
lives
had
crossed
at
right
angles
and
would
never
meet
again
.
"
Nature
makes
a
glorious
present
to
Art
,
and
I
am
privileged
to
execute
the
deed
of
gift
,
"
thought
Barron
;
"
that
is
the
position
in
an
epigram
.
"
He
felt
very
grateful
to
Joan
.
He
knew
her
arm
must
have
ached
often
enough
,
but
whether
her
heart
would
presently
do
so
he
hardly
felt
qualified
to
judge
.
The
incidents
of
that
stormy
day
might
have
been
buried
in
time
ten
years
,
so
faint
was
his
recollection
of
them
now
.
He
remembered
the
matter
with
no
greater
concern
than
the
image
of
the
shivering
negresses
in
the
blue
water
at
Tobago
.
And
so
the
picture
,
called
"
Joe
's
Ship
,
"
was
finished
,
and
while
it
fell
far
short
of
what
Barron
had
hoped
,
yet
he
knew
his
work
was
great
and
the
best
thing
he
had
done
.
A
packing
case
for
the
canvas
was
already
ordered
and
he
expected
it
upon
the
identical
day
that
saw
his
farewell
to
Joan
.
Bit
by
bit
he
had
broken
to
her
that
it
was
not
his
intention
to
take
her
with
him
,
but
that
he
must
go
to
his
house
alone
and
order
things
in
readiness
.
Then
he
would
come
back
and
fetch
her
.
And
she
had
accepted
the
position
and
felt
wondrous
sad
at
the
first
meeting
with
Barren
after
the
completion
of
the
picture
.
It
seemed
as
though
a
great
link
was
broken
between
them
,
and
she
realized
now
what
folly
her
dislike
of
his
work
had
been
.
"
I
wish
I
could
take
you
right
away
with
me
,
Joan
,
my
little
love
;
but
a
bachelor
's
house
is
a
comfortless
concern
from
a
woman
's
point
of
view
.
You
will
hear
from
me
in
a
day
or
two
.
You
must
call
at
the
post-office
in
Penzance
for
letters
,
because
I
shall
not
send
them
here
.
"
"
You
'll
print
out
what
you
writes
big
,
so
's
I
doa
n't
miss
nort
,
wo
n't
'
e
?
"
"
I
'll
make
the
meaning
as
clear
as
possible
,
Joan
.
"
"
'
Tis
wisht
to
think
as
theer
'll
be
hunderds
o
'
miles
'
twixt
us
.
I
doa
n't
know
how
I
be
gwaine
to
live
the
days
out
.
"
"
Only
a
fortnight
,
remember
.
"
"
Fourteen
whole
days
an
'
nights
.
"
"
Yes
,
indeed
.
It
seems
a
terribly
long
time
.
You
must
comfort
me
,
sweetheart
,
and
tell
me
that
they
will
be
very
quickly
done
with
.
"
Joan
laughed
at
this
turning
of
the
tables
.
"
I
reckon
a
man
's
allus
got
a
plenty
things
to
make
time
pass
for
en
.
But
'
tis
different
wi
'
a
gal
.
"
She
trusted
him
as
she
trusted
God
to
lift
the
sun
out
of
the
eastern
sea
next
morning
and
swing
it
in
its
solemn
course
over
heaven
.
And
as
there
was
no
fear
of
danger
and
no
shadow
of
distrust
upon
her
,
Joan
made
a
braver
parting
than
her
lover
expected
.
"
Some
men
are
coming
to
see
my
picture
presently
,
"
he
said
,
very
gently
.
"
I
expect
my
sweet
Joan
would
like
to
be
gone
before
they
arrive
.
"
She
took
the
hint
,
braced
her
heart
for
the
ordeal
,
and
rose
from
where
they
had
been
sitting
on
Gorse
Point
.
She
looked
dreamily
a
moment
at
the
furzes
and
the
place
whereon
she
had
stood
so
often
,
then
turned
to
the
man
and
came
close
and
held
up
four
little
spring
lilies
which
she
had
brought
with
her
.
Her
voice
grew
unsteady
,
but
she
mastered
it
again
and
smiled
at
him
.
"
I
brot
these
for
'
e
,
dear
Jan.
Us
calls
'
em
butter-an'-eggs
,
'
cause
o
'
the
colors
,
I
s'pose
.
They
'm
awnly
four
lil
flowers
.
Will
'
e
keep
'
em
?
An
'
—
an
'
give
me
summat
as
I
can
knaw
's
just
bin
in
your
hand
,
will
'
e
?
'
Tis
fulishness
,
dear
heart
,
but
I
'm
thinkin
'
'
twould
make
the
days
a
dinky
bit
shorter
.
"
He
took
the
gift
,
thought
a
moment
,
and
gave
her
a
little
silver
ring
off
his
finger
.
Then
he
kissed
her
,
pressed
her
close
to
him
and
said
"
good-by
,
"
asking
God
to
bless
her
,
and
so
forth
.
With
but
a
few
tears
rebelling
against
her
determination
,
Joan
prayed
good
upon
his
head
,
repaid
the
caress
,
begged
him
for
his
love
to
come
quickly
back
again
,
then
tore
herself
away
,
turned
and
hastened
off
with
her
head
held
bravely
up
.
But
the
green
fields
swam
and
the
sea
danced
for
her
a
moment
later
.
The
world
was
all
splashed
and
blotched
and
misty
.
"
I
'll
be
braave
like
him
,
"
she
thought
,
smothering
the
great
sobs
and
rubbing
her
knuckles
into
her
eyes
till
she
hurt
them
.
But
she
could
not
stem
the
sorrow
in
a
moment
,
and
,
climbing
through
a
gap
in
the
hedge
,
she
sat
down
,
where
only
ewes
and
lambs
might
see
,
and
cried
bitterly
a
while
.
And
so
weeping
,
a
sensation
,
strange
,
vague
,
tremendous
,
came
into
her
being
;
and
she
knew
not
what
it
meant
;
but
the
mystery
of
it
filled
her
with
great
awe
.
"
'
Tis
God
,
"
she
said
to
herself
,
"
'
tis
God
's
hand
upon
me
.
He
've
touched
me
,
He
've
sealed
me
to
dear
,
dear
Jan.
'
Tis
a
feelin
'
to
bring
happiness
along
with
it
,
nor
sorrer
.
"
She
battled
with
herself
to
read
the
wonder
aright
,
and
yet
at
the
bottom
of
her
heart
was
fear
.
Then
physical
sensations
distracted
her
;
she
found
her
head
was
aching
and
her
body
feeling
sick
.
Truly
the
girl
had
been
through
an
ordeal
that
day
,
and
so
she
explained
her
discomfort
.
"
I
be
wivvery
an
'
wisht
along
o
'
leavin
'
en
,
"
she
said
;
"
oh
!
kind
,
good
God
A'mighty
,
as
hears
all
,
send
en
back
to
me
,
send
en
back
to
me
very
soon
,
for
I
caa
n't
live
wi'out
en
no
more
.
"
As
for
the
man
,
he
sighed
when
Joan
disappeared
;
and
the
expiration
of
breath
was
short
and
sharp
as
the
sound
of
a
key
in
a
lock
.
He
had
in
truth
turned
the
key
upon
a
diary
to
be
opened
no
more
;
for
the
sweetness
of
the
closed
chapter
was
embalmed
in
memory
,
blazoned
on
canvas
.
Yet
there
was
bitterness
,
too
,
of
a
sort
in
his
sigh
,
and
the
result
of
this
sunken
twinge
at
his
heart
appeared
when
Brady
,
Tarrant
and
one
or
two
other
artists
presently
joined
him
.
They
saw
their
companion
was
perturbed
,
and
found
him
plunged
into
a
black
,
cynic
fit
more
deeply
than
usual
.
He
spared
no
subject
,
no
individual
,
least
of
all
himself
.
Paul
Tarrant
—
a
Christian
painter
,
already
mentioned
—
was
the
first
to
find
fault
with
Barron
's
picture
.
The
rest
had
little
but
praise
for
it
,
and
Brady
,
who
grew
madly
enthusiastic
,
swore
that
"
Joe
's
Ship
"
was
the
finest
bit
of
work
that
ever
went
out
of
Cornwall
.
But
Tarrant
cherished
a
private
grievance
,
and
,
as
his
view
of
art
and
ethics
made
it
possible
for
him
,
from
his
standpoint
,
to
criticise
the
picture
unfavorably
in
some
respects
,
he
did
so
.
It
happened
that
he
had
recently
finished
a
curious
work
for
the
Academy
:
a
painting
called
"
The
Good
Shepherd
.
"
It
represented
a
young
laboring
man
with
a
face
of
rare
beauty
but
little
power
,
plodding
homeward
under
setting
sunlight
.
Upon
his
arm
he
bore
a
lamb
,
and
behind
his
head
the
sinking
sun
made
a
glorious
nimbus
.
Barron
had
seen
this
work
,
admired
some
of
the
painting
,
but
bluntly
sneered
at
the
false
sentiment
and
vulgar
parade
of
religious
conviction
which
,
as
he
conceived
,
animated
the
whole
.
And
now
,
the
other
man
,
in
whose
heart
those
contemptuous
words
still
rankled
,
found
his
turn
had
come
.
He
had
bitterly
resented
Barron
's
sarcastic
reference
to
those
holy
things
which
guided
his
life
;
there
was
something
of
feminine
nature
in
him
too
;
so
he
did
not
much
regret
the
present
opportunity
.
"
And
you
,
Tarrant
?
This
gives
you
scant
pleasure
—
eh
?
"
asked
Barron
.
"
It
is
very
wonderful
painting
,
but
there
's
nothing
under
the
paint
that
I
can
see
.
"
"
Nothing
but
the
canvas
—
in
so
far
at
least
as
the
spectator
is
concerned
.
Every
work
of
art
must
have
a
secret
history
only
known
to
its
creator
.
"
"
What
the
divil
d'you
mean
,
Paul
?
"
asked
Brady
.
"
You
know
what
I
mean
well
enough
,
"
answered
the
first
speaker
coldly
.
"
My
views
are
not
unfamiliar
to
any
of
you
.
Here
is
a
thing
without
a
soul
—
to
me
.
"
"
God
!
you
say
that
!
You
can
look
at
those
eyes
and
say
that
?
"
"
I
admire
the
painting
,
but
cui
bono
?
Who
is
the
better
,
the
wiser
?
There
is
nothing
under
the
paint
.
"
"
You
are
one
of
those
who
turn
shadows
into
crosses
,
clouds
into
angels
.
Is
it
not
so
?
"
asked
Barron
smiling
;
and
the
other
fired
at
this
allusion
to
his
best
known
picture
.
"
I
am
one
of
those
who
know
that
Art
is
the
handmaid
of
God
,
"
he
answered
hotly
.
"
I
happen
to
believe
in
Jesus
Christ
,
and
I
conceive
that
no
picture
is
worthy
to
be
called
great
or
worthy
of
any
Christian
's
painting
unless
it
possess
some
qualities
calculated
to
ennoble
the
mind
of
those
who
see
.
Art
is
the
noblest
labor
man
can
employ
time
upon
.
The
thing
comes
from
God
;
it
is
a
talent
only
to
be
employed
in
the
highest
sense
when
devoted
to
His
glory
.
"
"
Then
what
of
heathen
art
?
You
let
your
religion
distort
your
view
of
Nature
.
You
sacrifice
truth
to
a
dogma
.
Nature
has
no
ethics
.
You
profess
to
paint
facts
and
paint
them
wrong
.
You
are
not
a
mystic
;
that
we
could
understand
and
criticise
accordingly
.
You
try
to
run
with
the
hare
and
hunt
with
the
hounds
.
You
talk
about
truth
and
paint
things
not
true
.
"
"
From
your
standpoint
possibly
.
Yours
is
the
truth
of
naturalism
;
mine
is
the
truth
of
Faith
.
"
"
If
you
are
going
to
entrench
yourself
behind
Faith
,
I
have
done
,
of
course
.
Only
,
do
n't
go
about
saying
,
as
you
did
just
now
,
that
Art
is
the
noblest
labor
man
can
employ
time
upon
.
That
's
bosh
,
pure
and
simple
.
There
are
some
occupations
not
so
noble
,
that
is
all
.
Art
is
a
heathen
and
always
will
be
,
and
you
missionary-men
,
with
a
paint-brush
in
one
hand
and
a
Bible
in
the
other
,
are
even
worse
than
certain
objectionable
literary
celebrities
,
whose
novels
reek
of
the
'
new
journalism
'
and
the
Sermon
on
the
Mount
—
the
ridiculous
and
sublime
in
tasteless
combination
.
You
missionaries
,
I
say
,
sap
the
primitive
strength
of
Art
;
you
demoralize
her
.
To
dare
to
make
Art
pander
to
a
passing
creed
is
vile
—
worse
than
the
spectacle
of
the
Salvation
Army
trying
to
convert
Buddhists
.
That
I
saw
in
India
,
and
laughed
.
But
we
wo
n't
quarrel
.
You
paint
Faith
's
jewelry
;
I
'll
amuse
myself
with
Truth
's
drabs
and
duns
.
The
point
of
view
is
all
.
I
depict
pretty
Joan
Tregenza
looking
over
the
sea
to
catch
a
glimpse
of
her
sweetheart
's
outward-bound
ship
.
I
paint
her
just
as
I
saw
her
.
There
was
no
occasion
to
leave
out
or
put
in
.
I
reveled
in
a
mere
brutal
transcript
of
Nature
.
You
would
have
set
her
down
by
one
of
the
old
Cornish
crosses
praying
to
Christ
to
guard
her
man
.
And
round
her
you
would
have
wrought
a
world
of
idle
significance
.
You
would
have
twisted
dogma
into
the
flowers
and
grass-blades
.
The
fact
that
the
girl
happened
to
be
practically
brainless
and
a
Luke
Gospeler
would
not
have
weighed
with
you
a
moment
.
"
"
I
'm
weary
of
the
old
cant
about
Nature
,
"
said
Tarrant
.
"
You
're
a
naturalist
and
a
materialist
.
That
ends
it
.
There
is
no
possibility
of
argument
between
us
.
"
"
Would
the
man
who
painted
that
gorse
cant
?
"
burst
out
Brady
.
"
Damn
it
all
,
Tarrant
,
if
a
chap
can
teach
us
to
paint
,
perhaps
he
can
teach
us
something
else
as
well
.
Look
at
that
gorse
,
I
tell
you
.
That
's
the
truth
,
won
with
many
a
wrestle
and
heartache
,
I
'll
swear
.
You
know
as
well
as
I
do
what
went
to
get
that
,
and
yet
you
say
there
's
nothing
behind
the
paint
.
That
's
cant
,
if
you
like
.
And
as
to
your
religious
spirit
,
what
's
the
good
of
preaching
sermons
in
paint
if
the
paint
's
false
?
We
're
on
it
now
and
I
'll
say
what
I
believe
,
which
is
that
your
'
Good
Shepherd
'
is
all
wrong
,
apart
from
any
question
of
sentiment
at
all
.
Your
own
party
will
probably
say
it
's
blasphemous
,
and
I
say
it
's
ridiculous
.
You
've
painted
a
grand
sky
and
then
ruined
it
with
the
subject
.
Did
you
ever
see
a
man
's
head
bang
between
you
and
a
clear
setting
sun
?
Any
way
,
that
figure
of
yours
was
never
painted
with
a
sunset
behind
him
,
I
'll
swear
.
"
"
You
ca
n't
paint
truth
as
you
find
it
and
preach
truth
as
you
believe
it
on
the
same
canvas
if
you
belong
to
any
creed
but
mine
,
"
said
Barron
calmly
.
"
You
build
on
the
foundations
of
Art
a
series
of
temples
to
your
religious
convictions
.
You
blaze
Christianity
on
every
canvas
.
I
suppose
that
is
natural
in
a
man
of
your
opinions
,
but
to
me
it
is
as
painful
as
the
spectacle
of
advertisements
of
quack
nostrums
planted
,
as
you
shall
see
them
,
beside
railway
lines
—
here
in
a
golden
field
of
buttercups
,
there
rising
above
young
barley
.
Of
course
,
I
do
n't
presume
to
assert
that
your
faith
is
a
quack
nostrum
;
only
real
Art
and
Religion
wo
n't
run
in
double
harness
for
you
or
anybody
.
They
did
once
,
but
the
world
has
passed
beyond
that
point
.
"
"
Never
,
"
answered
Tarrant
.
"
We
have
proof
of
it
.
Souls
have
been
saved
by
pictures
.
That
is
as
certain
as
that
God
made
the
earth
and
everything
on
it
.
"
"
There
again
!
Every
word
you
speak
only
shows
how
difficult
it
is
for
us
to
exchange
ideas
.
Why
is
it
so
positively
certain
that
God
made
the
earth
and
everything
on
it
?
To
attribute
man
's
origin
direct
to
God
is
always
,
in
my
mind
,
the
supreme
proposition
of
human
conceit
.
Did
it
need
a
God
to
manufacture
you
or
me
or
Brady
?
I
do
n't
think
so
.
Consider
creation
.
I
suppose
if
an
ant
could
gauge
the
ingenuity
of
a
steam
engine
,
he
would
attribute
it
without
hesitation
to
God
,
but
it
happens
that
the
steam
engine
is
the
work
of
a
creature
—
a
being
standing
somewhere
between
God
and
the
ant
,
but
much
nearer
the
latter
than
the
former
.
You
follow
me
?
Even
Tarrant
will
admit
,
for
it
is
an
article
of
his
creed
,
that
there
exist
many
beings
nearer
to
God
than
man
.
They
have
wings
,
he
would
tell
us
,
and
are
eternal
,
immortal
,
everlasting
.
"
"
I
see
,
"
said
Brady
,
"
you
're
going
to
say
next
that
faulty
concerns
like
this
particular
world
are
the
work
of
minor
intelligences
.
What
rot
you
can
talk
at
times
,
old
man
!
"
"
Yet
is
it
an
honor
to
God
Almighty
that
we
attribute
the
contents
of
this
poor
pill
of
a
planet
to
Him
?
I
think
it
would
be
an
insult
if
you
ask
me
.
Out
of
respect
to
the
Everlasting
,
I
would
rather
suppose
that
the
earth
,
being
by
chance
a
concern
too
small
for
His
present
purposes
,
He
tosses
it
,
as
we
toss
a
dog
a
bone
,
to
some
ingenious
archangel
with
a
theory
.
Then
you
enjoy
the
spectacle
of
that
seraph
about
as
busy
over
this
notable
world
as
a
child
with
a
mud
pie
.
The
winged
one
sets
to
work
with
a
will
.
A
little
pinch
of
life
;
develops
under
his
skillful
manipulation
;
evolution
takes
its
remorseless
course
through
the
wastes
of
Time
until
—
behold
!
the
apotheosis
of
the
ape
at
last
.
Picture
that
well-meaning
but
muddle-headed
archangel
's
dismay
at
such
a
conclusion
!
All
his
theories
and
conceits
—
his
splendid
scheme
of
evolution
and
the
rest
—
end
in
a
mean
but
obstinate
creature
with
conscious
intelligence
and
an
absolute
contempt
and
disregard
for
Nature
.
This
poor
Frankenstein
of
a
cherub
watches
the
worm
he
has
produced
defy
him
and
refuse
absolutely
to
obey
his
most
fundamental
postulates
or
accept
his
axioms
.
The
fittest
survive
no
more
;
these
gregarious
,
new-born
things
presently
form
themselves
into
a
pestilential
society
,
they
breed
rubbish
,
they
—
"
"
By
God
!
stop
it
,
John
,
"
said
Murdoch
.
"
Now
you
're
going
too
far
.
Look
at
Tarrant
.
He
'd
burn
you
over
a
slow
fire
for
this
if
he
could
.
Speak
for
yourself
at
any
rate
,
not
for
us
.
"
"
I
do
,
"
answered
the
other
bitterly
.
"
I
speak
for
myself
.
I
know
what
a
poor
,
rotten
cur
I
am
physically
and
mentally
—
not
worth
the
bread
I
eat
to
keep
me
alive
.
And
shall
I
dare
say
that
God
made
me
?
"
"
But
what
's
the
end
of
this
philosophy
of
despair
,
old
chap
?
"
asked
Brady
;
"
what
becomes
of
your
worst
of
all
possible
planets
?
"
"
The
end
?
Dust
and
ashes
.
My
unfortunate
workman
,
having
blundered
on
for
certain
millions
of
years
tinkering
and
patching
and
improving
his
dismal
colony
,
will
give
the
thing
up
;
and
God
will
laugh
and
show
him
the
mistakes
and
then
blot
the
essay
out
,
as
a
master
runs
his
pen
through
the
errors
in
a
pupil
's
exercise
.
The
earth
grows
cold
at
last
,
and
the
herds
of
humanity
die
,
and
the
countless
ages
of
agony
and
misery
are
over
.
Yes
,
the
poor
vermin
perish
to
the
last
one
;
then
their
black
tomb
goes
whirling
on
until
it
shall
be
allowed
to
meet
another
like
itself
,
when
a
new
sun
shines
in
heaven
and
space
is
the
richer
by
one
more
star
.
"
"
May
God
forgive
you
for
your
profanity
,
John
Barren
,
"
said
Tarrant
.
"
That
He
places
in
your
hand
such
power
and
suffers
your
brain
to
breed
the
devil
's
dung
that
fills
it
,
is
to
me
a
mystery
.
May
you
live
to
learn
your
errors
and
regret
them
.
"
He
turned
away
and
two
men
followed
him
.
Conversation
among
those
who
remained
reverted
to
the
picture
;
and
presently
all
were
gone
,
excepting
only
Barren
,
who
had
to
wait
and
see
his
work
packed
.
Remorse
will
take
strange
shapes
.
His
bitter
tirade
against
his
environment
and
himself
was
the
direct
result
of
this
man
's
recent
experiences
.
He
knew
himself
for
a
mean
knave
in
his
dealings
with
an
innocent
girl
and
the
thought
turned
the
aspect
of
all
things
into
gall
.
Solitude
brought
back
a
measure
of
peace
.
The
picture
was
packed
and
started
to
Penzance
railway-station
,
while
Barron
's
tools
also
went
,
by
pony-cart
,
back
to
his
rooms
in
Newlyn
.
He
was
to
leave
upon
the
following
morning
with
Murdoch
and
others
who
were
taking
their
work
to
the
Exhibitions
.
Now
he
looked
round
the
cow-byre
before
locking
it
for
the
last
time
and
returning
the
key
to
Farmer
Ford
's
boy
,
who
waited
outside
to
receive
it
.
"
The
chapter
is
ended
,
"
he
said
to
himself
.
"
The
chapter
which
contains
the
best
thing
that
ever
I
did
,
and
,
I
suppose
,
the
worst
,
as
morals
have
it
.
Yet
Art
happily
rises
above
those
misty
abstractions
which
we
call
right
and
wrong
.
She
resembles
Nature
herself
there
.
Both
demand
their
sacrifices
.
'
The
white
martyrdom
of
self-denial
,
the
red
martyrdom
of
blood
—
each
is
a
thousand
times
recorded
in
the
history
of
painting
and
will
be
a
thousand
times
again
.
"
CHAPTER
THREE
THE
ACT
OF
FAITH
So
John
Barren
set
forth
,
