r
love. He was what they said he was, a scamp without principle or
honour.

Paul whistled himself out of the Shelley lane and over the hill. Then
he flung himself down under the spruces, crushed his face into the
spicy frosted ferns, and had his black hour alone.

But when Captain Alec's schooner sailed out of the harbour the next
day, Paul King was on board of her, the wildest and most hilarious of
a wild and hilarious crew. Prospect people nodded their satisfaction.

"Good riddance," they said. "Paul King is black to the core. He never
did a decent thing in his life."

A Soul That Was Not at Home

There was a very fine sunset on the night Paul and Miss Trevor first
met, and she had lingered on the headland beyond Noel's Cove to
delight in it. The west was splendid in daffodil and rose; away to the
north there was a mackerel sky of little fiery golden clouds; and
across the water straight from Miss Trevor's feet ran a sparkling path
of light to the sun, whose rim had just touched the throbbing edge of
the purple sea. Off to the left were softly swelling violet hills and
beyond the sandshore, where little waves were crisping and silvering,
there was a harbour where scores of slender masts were nodding against
the gracious horizon.

Miss Trevor sighed with sheer happiness in all the wonderful,
fleeting, elusive loveliness of sky and sea. Then she turned to look
back at Noel's Cove, dim and shadowy in the gloom of the tall
headlands, and she saw Paul.

It did not occur to her that he could be a shore boy--she knew the
shore type too well. She thought his coming mysterious, for she was
sure he had not come along the sand, and the tide was too high for him
to have come past the other headland. Yet there he was, sitting on a
red sandstone boulder, with his bare, bronzed, shapely little legs
crossed in front of him and his hands clasped around his knee. He was
not looking at Miss Trevor but at the sunset--or, rather, it seemed as
if he were looking through the sunset to still grander and more
radiant splendours beyond, of which the things seen were only the pale
reflections, not worthy of attention from those who had the gift of
further sight.

Miss Trevor looked him over carefully with eyes that had seen a good
many people in many parts of the world for more years than she found
it altogether pleasant to acknowledge, and she concluded that he was
quite the handsomest lad she had ever seen. He had a lithe,