Billy Jago held his back and whined while Barron spoke, as much to himself
as the woodman.

"Dear God!" he said, "to think that this glory of the hedge-row--this
kingdom of song birds--should come to the making of pauper coffins and
lodging-house furniture!"

"Squire must have money; an' folks must have coffins," said Billy. "You can
sleep your last sleep so sound in ellum as you can in oak, for that
matter."

Feeling the truth of the assertion, Barron admitted it, then turned his
back on the fallen king and pursued his way with thoughts reverting to the
proposed picture. There was nothing to alarm Joan Tregenza about him; which
seemed well, as he meant to approach the girl herself at the first
opportunity, and not her parents. Barron did not carry "artist" stamped
upon him. He was plainly attired in a thick tweed suit and wore a cap of
the same material. The man appeared insignificantly small. He was
clean-shaved and looked younger than his five-and-thirty years seen a short
distance off, but older when you stood beside him. He strolled now onward
toward the sea, and his cheeks took some color from the fine air. He walked
with a stick and carried a pair of field-glasses in a case slung over his
shoulder. The field-glasses had become a habit with him, but he rarely used
them, for his small slate-colored eyes were keen.

Once and again John Barron turned to look at St. Michael's Mount, seen afar
across the bay. The magic of morning made it beautiful and the great pile
towered grandly through a sunny haze. No detail disturbed the eye under
this effect of light, and the mount stood vast, dim, golden, magnified and