Penelles,
you are a murderess! Hanging is too little for you. Get out of this
life and go to your own place'--and you know where that would be."

"You silly, bigoted little Methodist! People do not die of grief in
these days, they have too much to do. You would soon be able to send
them a great deal of money, and that would put all right."

"For shame, Roland! Little you know of St. Penfer fishermen, nothing
at all you know of John and Joan Penelles, if you think a city full of
gold would atone to them for my dishonour. What is the use of going
around about our words when there are straight ones enough to say? I
will go to London as your wife, or I will not go at all."

There was a momentary expression on Roland's face which might have
terrified Denas if she had seen it, but her gaze was far outward; she
was looking down on the waves and the boats of St. Penfer and on one
little cottage on its shingle. And Roland's hasty glance into her
resolute face convinced him that all parleying was useless. He was
angry and could not quite control himself. His voice showed decided
pique as he answered:

"Very well, Denas. Take care of your own honour, by all means; mine is
of no value, of course."

"If you think marrying me makes it of no value, take care of your own
honour, Roland. I will not be your wife; no, indeed. And as for
London, I will not go near it. And as for my voice, it may be worth
money, but it is not worth my honour, and my good name, and my
father's and mother's life. Why should I sing for strangers? I will
sing for my father and the fishers on the sea; and I will sing in the
chapel--and there is an end of the matter."

She rose with such an air of decision and wounded feeling that Roland
involuntarily thought of her attitude when Elizabeth offended her.
From the position taken at that hour she had never wavered; she was
still as angry at Mrs. Burrell as she had been when she left the Court
in the first outburst of her indignation. And she was so handsome in
her affected indifference and her real indignation that Roland was
ready to sacrifice everything rather than lose her. He let all other
considerations slip away from him; he vowed that his chief longing,
his most passionate desire, was to marry her--to make her his and his
only; and that nothing but a chivalric sense of the wrong he might be
doing her future had made him hesitate. And then he eloquently praised
himself for such a nicety of honour, and