he
was also very much at Elizabeth's commands. He had little time to give
to the pursuit of Denas, and that little at hours unsuitable for the
purpose. But at the Black Lion his time was all his own. He could
breakfast and dine at whatever hour suited his occupation; he could
watch the movements of Denas without being constantly suspected and
brought to book.

Her temper the previous evening, while it seriously annoyed, did not
dishearten him. He really liked her better for its display. He never
supposed that it would last. He expected her to make a visit to St.
Penfer the next day; she would hope that he would be on the watch for
her; she would be sure of it.

But Denas did not visit St. Penfer that week, and Roland grew
desperate. On Saturday night he went down the cliff after dark and
hung around John's cottage, hoping that for some reason or other Denas
would come to the door. He had a note in his hand ready to put into
her hand if she did so. He could see her plainly, for the only screen
to the windows was some flowering plants inside and a wooden shutter
on the outside, never closed but in extreme bad weather. Joan was
making the evening meal, John sat upon the hearth, and Denas, with her
knitting in her hands, was by his side. Once or twice he saw her rise
and help her mother with some homely duty, and finally she laid down
her work, and, kneeling on the rug at her father's feet, she began to
toast the bread for their tea. Her unstudied grace, the charm of her
beauty and kindness, the very simplicity of her dress, fascinated him
afresh.

"That is the costume--the very costume--she ought to sing in," he
thought. "With some fishing nets at her feet and the mesh in her
hands, how that dark petticoat and that little scarlet josey would
tell; the scarlet josey cut away just so at the neck. What a ravishing
throat she has! How white and round!"

At this point in his reverie he heard footsteps, and he walked
leisurely aside. His big ulster in the darkness was a sufficient
disguise; he had no fear of being known by any passer-by. But these
footsteps stopped at John's door and then went inside the cottage.
That circumstance roused in Roland's heart a tremor he had never known
before. He cautiously returned to his point of observation. The
visitor was a young and handsome fisherman. It was Tris Penrose.
Roland saw with envy his welcome and his familiarity. He saw that Joan
had placed for him a chair on the hearth opp