o 'ee hear what I'm speaking, my
young handsome?"

Granfa bent down and tickled the boy.

"Bless his heart," said Jenny.

"I were down to Trewinnard yesterday," said Granfa, "and I were talking
about him to a gentleman, or I should say an artist, who belongs
painting down along. Says he's in a mind to bide here all the
summertime. He do like it very well, I believe."

"What's he like?" Jenny asked.

"This artist? Oh, he's a decent-looking young chap. Nothing anyone could
dislike about him. Very quiet, they're telling, and a bit melan-choly.
But I believe that's a common case with artists. And I'm not surprised,
for it must be a brim melancholy job painting an old cliff that any
ornary man wouldn't want to look at twice, leave alone days at a
stretch. But he told me he didn't properly belong to paint at all. He
said his own trade was writing."

Unquestionably this was Maurice. All day Jenny thought of him out on the
cliffs. The idea began to oppress her, and she felt haunted by his
presence; it would be better to meet him and forbid his longer stay.
To-morrow would offer a fine opportunity, because Zachary was going to
Plymouth to arrange about the purchase of some farm implements and would
not only be away to-night, but was unlikely to be back till late the
next day. Not that it mattered whether he went away or not; yet somehow
she would like to lie awake thinking of what she would say to Maurice,
and to lie awake beside her husband was inconceivable to Jenny. How much
better to be alone with young Frank. She would certainly go to-morrow.
Maurice might not be there: if he were not, she would be glad, and there
would be an end of the dismay caused by his presence, for she would not
move a step from Bochyn till she heard of his departure.

Trewhella now came out into the garden where they were sitting. He was
equipped for Plymouth, and looked just the same as on the afternoon
Jenny met him at Hagworth Street. He was wearing the same ill-fitting
suit of broadcloth and the same gleaming tie of red satin.

"Well, I'm going Plymouth," he announced.

"You're staying the night?" she asked.

"Ess, I think."

"Well, are you?"

"Ess, I believe."

He never would commit himself to a definite statement.

"What time are you coming back to-morrow?"

"In the afternoon, I suppose."

"In the afternoon?" she repeated.

Trewhella looked at her quickly.

"Kiss me good-bye, my dear."

"No, I don't want to," said Jenn