w a veil over the scene of
her discomfiture.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

INTRODUCES A STRANGER, DESCRIBES A PICNIC, AND REVEALS SOME SECRETS OF
MINING.

Somewhere in the vicinity of that magnificent piece of coast scenery in
West Cornwall, known by the name of Gurnard's Head, there sauntered, one
fine afternoon, a gentleman of tall, commanding aspect. All the parts
of this gentleman were, if we may so speak, _prononce_. Everything
about him savoured of the superlative degree. His head and face were
handsome and large, but their size was not apparent because of the
capacity of his broad shoulders and wide chest. His waist was slender,
hair curly and very black, only to be excelled by the intense blackness
of his eyes. His nose was prominent; mouth large and well shaped;
forehead high and broad; whiskers enormous; and nostrils so large as to
appear dilated. He was a bony man, a powerful man--also tall and
straight, and a little beyond forty. He was to all appearance a hero of
romance, and his mind seemed to be filled with romantic thoughts, for he
smiled frequently as he gazed around him from the top of the cliffs on
the beautiful landscape which lay spread out at his feet.

Above him there were wild undulating slopes covered with rich green
gorse; below were the cliffs of Gurnard's Cove, with rocky projections
that resemble the castellated work of man's hand, and intermingled
therewith much of the _materiel_ connected with the pilchard fishery,
with masses of masonry so heavy and picturesque as to resemble Nature's
handiwork. Beyond lay the blue waters of the Atlantic, which at that
time were calm almost as a mill-pond, studded with a hundred sails, and
glittering in sunshine.

The spot appeared a beautiful solitude, for no living thing was visible
save the romantic gentleman and a few seagulls and sheep. The pilchard
fishery had not yet commenced, and the three or four fishermen who
pitched and repaired their boats on the one little spot of sand that
could be seen far below on that rugged coast appeared like mice, and
were too far distant to break the feeling of solitude--a feeling which
was not a little enhanced by the appearance, on a spot not far distant,
of the ruined engine-house of a deserted mine.

It was indeed a lovely afternoon, and a beautiful scene--a very
misanthrope would have gazed on it with an approach at least to
benignity. No wonder that George Augustus Clearemout smiled on it so
joyously