"Let me try and find the ship," he said, taking the glass, which he had put
out of focus purposely. Then, while scanning the horizon where he had noted
the smoke-trail, he spoke, his head turned from her.

"Who's Joe, if I may ask? Your brother, I daresay?"

"No, sir; Joe'm my sweetheart."

"There's a big three-masted ship being taken down the Channel by a small
steamer."

"Ah! then I reckon that's the 'Anna,' 'cause Joe said 'twas tolerable
certain they'd be in tow of a tug."

"You can see the smoke on the edge of the sea. Look below it."

He handed the glasses to her again and heard a little laugh of delight
break from her lips. The surprise of the suddenly-magnified spectacle,
visible only as a shadow to the naked eye, brought laughter; and Barron,
now that the girl's attention was occupied, had leisure to look at her. She
was more than a pretty cottage maid, and possessed some distinction and
charm. There was a delicacy about her too--a sweet turn of lip, a purity of
skin, a set of limb--which gave the lie to her rough speech. She was all
Saxon to look at, with nothing of the Celt about her excepting her name and
the old Cornish words upon her lips. Those he rejoiced in, for they showed
that she still remained a free thing, primitive, innocent of School Boards,
or like frost-biting influences.

Barron took mental notes. Joan Tregenza was a careless young woman, it