got in. They drove away again without saying
a word.

"What is the matter with you, Wenna? Why are you so downcast?" her
mother said.

"Oh, nothing," the girl said hastily. "But--but one does not care to
talk much on so beautiful an evening."

"Yes, that is quite true," said Mr. Trelyon, quite as eagerly, and
with something of a blush: "one only cares to sit and look at things."

"Oh, indeed!" said Mrs. Rosewarne with a smile: she had never before
heard Mr. Trelyon give expression to his views upon scenery.

They drove round by the Mouse Hole, and when they came in sight of
Penzance again, the bay and the semicircle of houses and St. Michael's
Mount were all a pale gray in the twilight. As they drove quietly
along they heard the voices of people from time to time: the occupants
of the cottages had come out for their evening stroll and chat.
Suddenly, as they were passing certain huge masses of rock that sloped
suddenly down to the sea, they heard another sound--that of two or
three boys calling out for help. The briefest glance showed what was
going on. These boys were standing on the rocks, staring fixedly at
one of their companions, who had fallen into the water and was wildly
splashing about, while all they could do to help him was to call for
aid at the pitch of their voices.

"That chap's drowning," Trelyon said, jumping out of the carriage.
The next minute he was out on the rocks, hastily pulling of his coat.
What was it he heard just as he plunged into the sea?--the agonized
voice of a girl calling him back?

Mrs. Rosewarne was at this moment staring at her daughter with almost
a horror-stricken look on her face. Was it really Wenna Rosewarne who
had been so mean? and what madness possessed her to make her so? The
girl had hold of her mother's arm with both her hands, and held it
with the grip of a vice, while her white face was turned to the rocks
and the sea. "Oh, mother!" she cried, "it is only a boy, and he is a
man; and there is not another in all the world like him!"

"Wenna, is it you who are speaking, or a devil? The boy is drowning."

But he was drowning no longer. He was laid hold of by a strong arm,
dragged in to the rocks, and there fished out by his companions. Then
Trelyon got up on the rocks and calmly looked at his dripping clothes.
"You are a nice little beast, you are!" he said to the small boy, who
had swallowed a good deal of salt water, but was otherwise quite
unhurt. "How do you