have come."
She had outwitted us, and there was nothing to be done.

It was a very pleasant sail. The breeze was light from the south-east,
the sun warm, the air soft. Presently Pasiance began singing:

"Columbus is dead and laid in his grave, Oh! heigh-ho! and laid in his
grave; Over his head the apple-trees wave Oh! heigh-ho! the apple-trees
wave....

"The apples are ripe and ready to fall, Oh! heigh-ho! and ready to
fall; There came an old woman and gathered them all, Oh! heigh-ho! and
gathered them all....

"The apples are gathered, and laid on the shelf, Oh! heigh-ho! and laid
on the shelf; If you want any more, you must sing for yourself, Oh!
heigh-ho! and sing for yourself."

Her small, high voice came to us in trills and spurts, as the wind let
it, like the singing of a skylark lost in the sky. Pearse went up to her
and whispered something. I caught a glimpse of her face like a startled
wild creature's; shrinking, tossing her hair, laughing, all in the same
breath. She wouldn't sing again, but crouched in the bows with her chin
on her hands, and the sun falling on one cheek, round, velvety, red as a
peach....

We passed Dartmouth, and half an hour later put into a little wooded
bay. On a low reddish cliff was a house hedged round by pine-trees. A
bit of broken jetty ran out from the bottom of the cliff. We hooked on
to this, and landed. An ancient, fish-like man came slouching down and
took charge of the cutter. Pearse led us towards the house, Pasiance
following mortally shy all of a sudden.

The house had a dark, overhanging thatch of the rush reeds that grow
in the marshes hereabouts; I remember nothing else remarkable. It was
neither old, nor new; neither beautiful, nor exactly ugly; neither
clean, nor entirely squalid; it perched there with all its windows over
the sea, turning its back contemptuously on the land.

Seated in a kind of porch, beside an immense telescope, was a very
old man in a panama hat, with a rattan cane. His pure-white beard and
moustache, and almost black eyebrows, gave a very singular, piercing
look to his little, restless, dark-grey eyes; all over his mahogany
cheeks and neck was a network of fine wrinkles. He sat quite upright, in
the full sun, hardly blinking.

"Dad!" said Zachary, "this is Pasiance Voisey." The old man turned his
eyes on her and muttered, "How do you do, ma'am?" then took no further
notice. And Pasiance, who seemed to resent this, soon slipped away and