again--never!"

Roland laughed lightly at her passion and answered with a provoking
pleasantry: "You feel too, too, too furiously, Denasia. It is not
ladylike. Your emotions will wear away your beauty."

So Roland went by the night train to St. Penfer, and Denasia took the
train after his for the same place. She was determined to see her
parents once more, and all their habits were so familiar to her that
she had no fear of accomplishing her desire unknown to them. She timed
her movements so well that she arrived at a small wayside station near
St. Penfer about dusk. No one noticed her, and she sped swiftly across
the cliff-path, until it touched the path leading downward to her own
home.

The little village was quite still. The children had gone to bed. The
men were at sea. The women were doing their last daily duties. Denasia
kept well in the shadow of the trees till she was opposite her home. A
few steps across the shingle would bring her to the door. She tried to
remember what her mother might be doing just at that hour, and while
thus employed Joan came to the door, stood a moment on the threshold,
and then went slowly to the next cottage. She had her knitting in her
hand, and she was likely going to sit an hour with Ann Trewillow. When
Joan's footsteps no longer crunched the shingle there was no sound but
the ocean beating on the shore and the wind stirring the tree-tops,
and when Joan and Ann Trewillow went inside Ann's cottage there was
not another human creature visible.

Swiftly, then, Denasia crossed the shingle. She was at the door of her
home. It stood wide open. She entered and looked around. Nothing was
changed; the same glow of red fire on the white hearth, the same order
and spotless cleanliness, the same atmosphere of love and peace and of
life holy and simple. She was not hungry, but she was very thirsty and
exceedingly weary. The bucket was full of freshly drawn water; she
drank and then turned her face to her own room. A strong, sweet
curiosity tempted her to enter it, and its air of visible welcome made
her smile and weep. It was then impossible to resist the desire that
filled her heart; she shut the door, she unclothed herself, and once
more lay down in her home to sleep.

"It is hardly likely mother comes into this room more than once a
week; she will not, at any rate, come into it to-night. I shall hear
her return and go to bed. When she is asleep I will look once
more--once more on her