out on the rough moorland near the coast. They drove to the solitary
little inn perched over the steep cliffs, and here the horses were put
up and luncheon ordered. Would Mrs. Rosewarne venture down to the great
rocks at the promontory? No, she would rather stay indoors till the
young people returned; and so these two went along the grassy path
themselves.

They clambered down the slopes, and went out among the huge blocks of
weather-worn granite, many of which were brilliant with gray, green and
orange lichens. There was a low and thunderous noise in the air: far
below them, calm and fine as the day was, the summer sea dashed and
roared into gigantic caverns, while the white foam floated out again on
the troubled waves. Could anything have been more magical than the
colors of the sea--its luminous greens, its rich purples, its brilliant
blues, lying in long swaths on the apparently motionless surface? It was
only the seething white beneath their feet and the hoarse thunder along
the coast that told of the force of this summer-like sea; and for the
rest the picture was light and calm and beautiful; but there the black
rocks basked in the sunlight, the big skarts standing here and there on
their ledges, not moving a feather. A small steamer was slowly making
for the island farther out, where a lighthouse stood. And far away
beyond these, on the remote horizon, the Scilly Isles lay like a low
bank of yellow fog under the pale-blue skies.

They were very much by themselves out here at the end of the world, and
yet they did not seem inclined to talk much. Wenna sat down on the warm
grass; her companion perched himself on one of the blocks of granite;
they watched the great undulations of the blue water come rolling on to
the black rocks and then fall backward seething in foam.