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 Lying Prophets 
 
 A Novel 
 
 By 
 
 Eden ^Phillpotts 
 
 Author of "Children of the Mist '," "Some 
 Everyday Folks" "The End of a Life" etc. 
 
 " 'Tis like this: your man did take plain Nature for God, an 1 he 
 did talk fulishness 'bout finding Him in the scent o' flowers, the 
 hum o' bees an' sichlike. Mayhap Nature is a gude working God 
 for a selfish man but she ed'n wan for a maid, as you knaws by 
 now. Then your faither — his God do sit everlastingly alongside 
 hell-mouth, an' do laugh an' girn to see all the world a walkin' 
 in, same as the beasts walked in the Ark. Theer's another pick- 
 sher of a God for 'e; but mark this, gal, they be lying prophets 
 — lying prophets both!" — Book II., Chapter XL 
 
 Jftetu |3orfe 
 
 Frederick A. Stokes Company 
 Publishers 
 
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 Ertim&fac*rding to Act ofCongret$ in th« year 1896, by 
 
 PETER FENELON COLLIER 
 
 1% Uk» Office. *f the Librarian of Congress at Washington 
 
 FOURTH EDITION. 
 
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 5177 
 
 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 BOOK ONE 
 
 ART 
 
 CHAPTER ONE 
 
 NEWLYN 
 
 Away beyond the village stands a white cot- 
 
 tage with the sea lapping at low cliffs beneath 
 it. Plum and apple orchards slope upward be- 
 hind this building, and already, upon the former 
 trees, there trembles a snowy gauze where blos- 
 som buds are breaking. Higher yet, dark 
 plowed fields, with hedges whereon grow 
 straight elms, cover the undulations of a 
 great hill even to its windy crest, and be- 
 low, at the water line, lies Newlyn — a village 
 of gray stone and blue, with slate roofs now 
 shining silver-bright under morning sunlight 
 and easterly wind. Smoke softens every out- 
 line; red-brick walls and tanned sails bring 
 warmth and color through the blue vapor of 
 many chimneys; a sun-flash glitters at this 
 point and that, denoting here a conservatory, 
 there a studio. Enter this hive and you shall 
 find a network of narrow stone streets; a flutter 
 
 yVi
 
 4 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 of flannel underwear, or blue stockings, and 
 tawny garments drying upon lines; little win- 
 dows, some with rows of oranges and ginger- 
 beer bottles in them; little shops; little doors, 
 at which cluster little children and many cats, 
 the latter mostly tortoise-shell and white. In- 
 fants watch their elders playing marbles in the 
 roadway, and the cats stretch lazy bodies on 
 the mats, made of old fishing-net, which lie at 
 every cottage door. Newly n stands on slight 
 elevations above the sea level, and at one point 
 the road bends downward, breaks and fringes 
 the tide, leading among broken iron, rusty an- 
 chors, and dismantled fishing-boats, past an 
 ancient buoy whose sides now serve the pur- 
 poses of advertisement and tell of prayer-meet- 
 ings, cheap tea, and so forth. Hard by, the 
 mighty blocks of the old breakwater stand, their 
 fabric dating from the reign of James I., and 
 taking the place of one still older. But the old 
 breakwater is no more than a rialto for ancient 
 gossips noAv ; and far beyond it new piers stretch 
 encircling arms of granite round a new harbor, 
 southward of which the lighthouse stands and 
 winks his sleepless golden eye from dusk to 
 dawn. Within this harbor, when the fishing 
 fleet is at home, lie jungles of stout masts, row 
 upon row, with here and there a sail, carrying 
 on the color of the plowed fields above the vil- 
 lage, and elsewhere, scraps of flaming bunting 
 flashing like flowers in a reed bed. Behind the 
 masts, along the barbican, the cottages stand 
 close and (hick, then clamber and straggle up
 
 LYING PROPHETS 5 
 
 the acclivities behind, decreasing' in their num- 
 bers as they ascend. Smoke trails inland on the 
 wind — black as a thin crepe veil, from the fun- 
 nel of a coal "tramp" about to leave the harbor, 
 blue from the dry wood burning on a hundred 
 cottage hearths. A smell of fish — where great 
 split pollocks hang drying in the sun — of tar 
 and tan and twine — where nets and cordage lie 
 spread upon low walls and open spaces — gives 
 to Newlyn an odor all its own; but aloft, above 
 the village air, spring is dancing, sweet-scented, 
 light-footed in the hedgerows, through the woods 
 and on the wild moors which stretch inland 
 away. There the gold of the gorse flames in 
 many a sudden sheet and splash over the wastes 
 whereon last year's ling-bloom, all sere and 
 gray, makes a sad-colored world. But the sea- 
 son's change is coming fast. Celandines twinkle 
 everywhere, and primroses, more tardy and more 
 coy, already open wondering eyes. The sea lies 
 smooth with a surface just wind-kissed and 
 strewed with a glory of sun-stars. Away to 
 the east, at a point from which brown hills, 
 dotted with white dwellings, tend in long undu- 
 lations to the cliffs of the Lizard, under fair 
 clouds all banked and sunny white against the 
 blue, rises St. Michael's Mount, with a man's 
 little castle capping Nature's gaunt escarpments 
 and rugged walls. Between Marazion and New- 
 lyn stretches Mount's Bay; while a mile or two 
 of flat sea-front, over which, like a string of 
 pearls, roll steam clouds, from a train, bring us 
 to Penzance. Then — noting centers of industry
 
 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 where freezing works rise and smelting of ore 
 occupies many men (for Newlyn labors at the 
 two extremes of fire and ice) — we are back in 
 the fishing -village again and upon the winding 
 road which leads therefrom, first to Penlee Point 
 and the blue-stone quarry, anon to the little 
 hamlet of Mousehole be} T ond. 
 
 Beside this road lay our white cottage, with 
 the sunshine lighting up a piece of new golden 
 thatch let into the old gray, and the plum-trees 
 behind it bursting into new-born foam of flow- 
 ers. Just outside it, above the low cliff, stood 
 two men looking down into the water, seen dark 
 green below through a tangle of brier and black- 
 thorn and emerald foliage of budding elder. The 
 sea served base uses here, for the dust and dirt 
 of many a cottage was daily cast into the lap of 
 the great scavenger who carried all away. The 
 low cliffs were indeed spattered with filth, and 
 the coltsfoot, already opening yellow blossoms 
 below, found itself rudely saluted with cinders 
 and potato-peelings, fishes' entrails, and such- 
 like unlovely matter. 
 
 The men were watching a white fleet of bird 
 boats paddling on the sea, hurrying this way 
 and that, struggling — with many a plunge and 
 flutter and plaintive cry — for the food a retreat- 
 ing tide was bearing from the shore. 
 
 " 'White spirits and gray,' I call them," said 
 the younger of the two spectators. "The gulls 
 fascinate me always. They are beautiful to see 
 and hear and paint. Swimming there, and 
 wheeling between the seas in rough weather,
 
 LYING PROPHETS 7 
 
 or hanging' almost motionless in midair with 
 their heads turning first this way, then that } 
 and their breasts pressed against the wind — 
 why, they are perfect always, the little winged 
 gods of the sea." 
 
 "Gods kissing carrion," sneered the other. 
 "Beautiful enough, no doubt, but their music 
 holds no charm for me. Nothing is quite beau- 
 tiful which has for its cause something ugly. 
 Those echoing cries down there are the expres- 
 sion of a greed}^ struggle, no more. I hate your 
 Newlyn gulls. They are ruined, like a thou- 
 sand other wild things, by civilization. I see 
 thorn scouring the fields and hopping after the 
 plowman like upland crows. A Cornish sea- 
 bird should fight its battle with the sea and 
 find its home in the heart of the dizzy cliffs, 
 sharing them with the samphire. But your 
 'white spirits and gray' behave like gutter-fed 
 ducks." 
 
 The first speaker laughed and both strolled 
 upon their way. They were artists, but while 
 Edmund Murdoch dwelt at Newlyn and lived 
 by his profession, the older man, John Barron, 
 was merely on a visit to the place. He had 
 come down for change and with no particular 
 intention to work. Barron was wealthy and 
 wasted rare talents. He did not paint much, 
 and the few who knew his pictures deplored the 
 fact that no temporal inducement called upon 
 him to handle his brush oftener. A few ex- 
 cused him on the plea of his health, which was 
 at all times indifferent, but he never excused
 
 S LYING PROPHETS 
 
 himself. It needed something far from the 
 beaten track to inspire him, and inspiration was 
 rare. But let a subject once grip him and the 
 artist's life centered and fastened upon it until 
 his work was done. He sacrificed everything 
 at such a time ; he slaved ; labor was to him as 
 a debauch to the drunkard, and he wearied body 
 and mind and counted his health nothing while 
 the frenzy held him. Then, his picture finished, 
 at the cost of the man's whole store of nervous 
 energy and skill, he would probabl} T paint no 
 more for many months. His subject was al- 
 ways some transcript from nature, wrought out 
 with almost brutal vigor and disregard of every- 
 thing but truth. His looks belied his work curi- 
 ously. A small, slight man he was, with slop- 
 ing shoulders and the consumptive build. But 
 the breadth of his head above the ears showed 
 brain, and his gray eyes spoke a strength of 
 purpose upon which a hard, finely - modeled 
 mouth set the seal. Once he had painted in 
 the West Indies: a picture of two negresses 
 bathing at Tobago. Behind them hung low 
 tangles oC caotus, melo-cactus and white-bloa- 
 somed orchid ; while on the tawny rocks glim- 
 mered snowy cotton splashed with a crimson 
 turban; but the marvel of the work lay in the 
 figures and the refraction of their brown limbs 
 seen through crystal-clear water. The picture 
 brought reputation to a man who cared nothing 
 for it; and Barron's "Bathing Negresses" are 
 only quoted here because they illustrate his 
 method of work. He had painted from the
 
 LYING PROPHETS '.) 
 
 sea in a boat moored fore and aft; he had kept 
 the two women shivering and whining in the 
 water for two hours at a time. They could not 
 indeed refuse the gold he offered for their ser- 
 vices, but one never lived to enjoy the money, 
 for her prolonged ablutions in the cause of art 
 killed her a week after her work was done. 
 
 John Barron was a lonely sybarite with a real 
 love for Nature and absolutely primitive instincts 
 with regard to his fellow-creatures. The Land's 
 End had disappointed him ; he had found Nature 
 neither grand nor terrific there, but sleepy and 
 tame as a cat after a full meal. Nor did he de- 
 rive any pleasure from the society of his craft at 
 Newlvn. He hated the clatter of art iargon, he 
 flouted all schools, and pointed out what nobody 
 doubts now : that the artists of the Cornish vil- 
 lage in realit} T represented nothing but a com- 
 munity of fellow-workers, all actuated indeed 
 by love of art, but each developing his own bent 
 without thought for his neighbor's theory. Bar- 
 ron indeed made some enemies before he had 
 been in the place a week, and the greater lights 
 liked him none the better for vehemently dis- 
 claiming the honor when they told him he was 
 one of themselves. "The shape of a brush does 
 not make men paint alike," he said, "else we 
 were all equal and should o\Aj differ in color. 
 Some of you can no more paint with a square 
 brush than you can with a knife. Some of you 
 could not paint though your palettes were set 
 with Nature's own sunset colors. And others 
 of you, if you had a rabbit's scut at the end of
 
 10 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 a hop-pole and the gray mud from a rain pud- 
 dle, would produce work worth considering-. 
 You are a community of painters — some clever, 
 some hopeless— but you are not a school, and 
 you may thank God for it." 
 
 John Barron was rough tonic, but the fearless 
 little man generally found an audience at the 
 end of the day in this studio or that. The truth 
 of much that he said appealed to the lofty- 
 minded and serious; his dry cynicism, savage 
 dislike of civilization, and frank affection for 
 Nature, attracted others. He hit hard, but he 
 never resented rough knocks in return, and no 
 man had seen him out of temper with anything 
 but mysticism and the art bred therefrom. Upon 
 the whole, however, his materialism annoyed 
 more than his wit amused. 
 
 Upon the evening which followed his insult to 
 the Newlyn gulls, Barron, with Edmund Mur- 
 doch and some other men, was talking in the 
 studio of one Brady, known to fame as the 
 "Wrecker," from his love for the artistic repre- 
 sentation of maritime disaster. Barron liked this 
 man, for he was outspoken and held vigorous 
 views, but the two quarreled freely. 
 
 "Pate was a fool when she chucked her pres- 
 ents into the lap of a lazy beggar like you," said 
 Brady, addressing the visitor. "And thrice a 
 fool," he added, "to assort her gifts so ill." 
 
 ; 'Fate is a knave, a mad thing playing at 
 cat's cradle with the threads of our wretched 
 little lives," answered John Barron, "she is a 
 coward— a bully. She hits the hungry below
 
 LYING PROPHETS 11 
 
 the belt; she heaps gold into the lap oi' the old 
 man, but not till he has already dug his own 
 grave to come at it; she gives health to those 
 who must needs waste all their splendid strength 
 on work; and wealth to worthless beings like 
 myself who are always ailing and who never 
 spend a pound with wisdom. Make no dark 
 cryptic mystery of Fate when you paint her. 
 She looks to me like a mischievous monke3 r pok- 
 ing sticks into an ant-hill." 
 
 "She's a woman," said Murdoch. 
 
 "She's three," corrected Brady; "what can 
 you expect from three women rolled into 
 one?" 
 
 "Away with her! Waste no incense at her 
 shrine. She'll cut the thread no sooner because 
 you turn your back on her. Fling overboard 
 your mythologies, dead and alive, and kneel to 
 Nature. A budding spike of wild hyacinth is 
 worth all the gods put together. Go hand in 
 hand with Nature, I say. Ask nothing from 
 her; walk humbly; be well content if she lets 
 you but turn the corner of one page none else 
 have read. That's how I live. My life is not a 
 prayer exactly — " 
 
 "I shoidd say not," interrupted Brady. 
 
 "But a hymn of praise — a purely impersonal 
 existence, lived all alone, like a man at a prison 
 window. This carcass, with its shaky machinery 
 and defective breathing apparatus, is the prison. 
 I look out of the window till the walls crumble 
 away — " 
 
 "And then?" asked one Paul Tarrant, a
 
 12 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 painter who prided himself on being' a Chris- 
 tian as well. 
 
 "Then, the spark which I call myself, goes 
 back to Nature, as the cloud gives the rain- 
 drop back to the sea from whence the sun 
 drew it." 
 
 "A lie, man!" answered the other both'. 
 
 "Perhaps. It matters nothing. God — if there 
 be a God — will not blame me for making a mis- 
 take. Meantime I live like the rook and the 
 thrush. They never pray, they praise, they 
 sing 'grace before meat' and after it, as Nature 
 taught them." 
 
 "A simple child of Nature — beautiful spec- 
 tacle," said Brady. "But I'm sorry all the 
 same," he continued, "that you've found noth- 
 ing in Cornwall to keep you here and make you 
 do some work. You talk an awful deal of rot, 
 but we want to see you paint. Isn't there any- 
 thing or anybody worthy of you here?" 
 
 "As a matter of face, I've found a girl," said 
 Barron. 
 
 There was a clamor of excitement at this news, 
 above which Brad3^'s bull voice roared approval. 
 
 "Proud girl, proud parents, proud Newlyn!" 
 he bellowed. 
 
 "The mood ripens too," continued Barron 
 quietly. " 'Sacrifice all the world to mood' is 
 my motto. So I shall stop and paint. ' ' 
 
 A moment later derisive laughter greeted 
 Barron's decision, for Murdoch, in answer to a 
 hail of questions, announced the subject of his 
 friend's inspiration.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 13 
 
 "We strolled round this morning and saw 
 Joan Tregenza in an iron hoop with a pail of 
 water slung at either hand." 
 
 "So your picture begins and ends where it is, 
 Barron, my friend; in your imagination. Did 
 it strike you when you first saw that vision of 
 loveliness in dirty drab that she was hardly 
 the girl to have gone unpainted till now?" asked 
 Brady. 
 
 "The possibility of previous pictures is hardly 
 likely to weigh witb> me. Why, I would paint 
 a drowned sailor if the subject attracted me, 
 and that though you have done it," answered 
 the other, nodding toward a big canvas in the 
 corner, where Brady's picture for the year ap- 
 proached completion. 
 
 "My dear chap, we all worship Joan — at a 
 distance. She is not to be painted. Tears and 
 prayers are useless. She has a flinty father — a 
 fisherman, who looks upon painting as a snare 
 of the devil and sees every artist already wrig- 
 gling on the trident in his mind's eye. Joan 
 has also a lover, who would rather behold her 
 dead than on canvas." 
 
 "In fact these Methodist folk take us to be 
 what you really are, ' ' said Brad}* bluntly. "Old 
 Tregenza tars us every one with the same brush. 
 We are lost sinners all." 
 
 "Well, why trouble him? A fisherman would 
 have his business on the sea. Candidly, I must 
 paint her. The wish grows upon me." 
 
 "Even mouey yon don't get as much as a 
 sketch," said Murdoch.
 
 14 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "Have any of you tried approaching her di- 
 rectly, instead of her relations?' ' 
 
 "She's as shy as a hawk, man." 
 
 "That makes me the more hopeful. You fel- 
 lows, with your Tarn o' Shanters and aggressive 
 neckties and knickerbockers and calves, would 
 frighten the devil. I'm shy myself. If she's 
 natural, then we shall possibly understand each 
 other." 
 
 "I'll bet you ten to one in pounds you won't 
 have your wish," said Brad3 r . 
 
 "No, shan't bet. You're all so certain. Prob- 
 ably I shall find myself beaten like the rest of 
 you. But it's worth trying. She's a pretty 
 thing. ' ' 
 
 "How will you paint her if you get the 
 chance?" 
 
 "Don't know yet. I should like to paint her 
 in a wolf-skin with a thread of wolf's teeth 
 round her neck and a celt-headed spear in her 
 hand." 
 
 "Art will be a loser by the pending repulse," 
 declared Brady. "And now, as my whisky-bot- 
 tle's empty and my lamp going out, you chaps 
 can follow its example whenever you please." 
 
 So the men scattered into a starry night, and 
 went, each his way, through the streets of the 
 sleeping village.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 15 
 
 CHAPTER TWO 
 
 IN A HALO OF GOLD 
 
 Edmund Murdoch's studio stood high on 
 Newlyn hill, and Barron had taken comfortable 
 rooms in a little lodging-house close beside it. 
 The men often enjoyed breakfast in each other's 
 company, but on the following morning, when 
 Murdoch strolled over to see his friend, he found 
 that his rooms were empty. 
 
 Barron, in fact, was already nearly a mile 
 from Newlyn, and, at the moment when the 
 younger artist sought him, he stood upon a foot- 
 path which ran through plowed fields to the vil- 
 lage of Paul. In the bottom of his mind ran a 
 current of thought occupied with the problem of 
 Joan Tregenza, but, superficially, he was con- 
 cerned with the spring world in which he walked. 
 He stood where Nature, like Artemis, appeared as 
 a mother of many breasts. Brown and solemn 
 in their undulations, they rose about and around 
 him to the sky-line, where the land cut sharply 
 against a pale blue heaven from which tinkled 
 the music of larks. He watched a bird wind 
 upward in a spiral to its song throne; he noted 
 the young wheat brushing the earth with a veil 
 of green; he dawdled where elms stood, their
 
 16 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 high tops thick with blossom; and he delayed 
 for full fifteen minutes to see the felling of one 
 giant tree. A wedge-shaped cut had been made 
 upon the side where the great elm was to fall, 
 and, upon the other side, two men were sawing 
 through the trunk. There was no sound but 
 the steady hiss of steel teeth gnawing inch by 
 inch to the wine-red heart of the tree. Sunshine 
 glimmered on its leafy crown, and as yet distant 
 branch and bough knew nothing of the midgets 
 and Death below. 
 
 Barron took pleasure in seeing the great god 
 Change at work, but he mourned in that a mas- 
 terpiece, on which Nature had bestowed half a 
 century and more of love, must now vanish. 
 
 "A pity," he said, while the executioners 
 rested a few moments from their labors, "a pity 
 to cut down such a noble tree." 
 
 One woodman laughed, and the other — an old 
 rustic, brown and bent — made answer: 
 
 "I sez 'dang the tree!' Us doan't take no joy 
 in thrawin' en, mister. I be bedoled wi' pain, 
 an' this 'ere sawin's just food for rheumatiz. 
 My back's that bad. But Squire must 'ave 
 money, an' theer's five hundred pounds' value 
 o' ellum comin' down 'fore us done wi' it." 
 
 The saw won its way; and between each spell 
 of labor, the ancient man held his back and 
 grumbled. 
 
 "Er's Billy Jago," confided the second laborer 
 to Barron, when his companion had turned aside 
 to get some steel wedges and a sledge-hammer. 
 "Er's well-knawn in these paarts -a reg'lar
 
 LYING PROPHETS 17 
 
 cure. Er used tu work up Drift wi' Mister 
 Chirgwin." 
 
 Billy added two wedges to those already ham- 
 mered into the saw-cut, then, with the sledge, 
 lie drove them home and finished his task. The 
 sorrowful strokes rang hollow and mournful over 
 the land, sadder to Barron's ear than fall of 
 earth-clod on coffin-lid. And, upon the sound, 
 a responsive shiver and uneasy tremor ran 
 through trunk and bough to topmost twig of 
 the elm — a sudden sense, as it seemed, of awful 
 evil and ruin undreamed of, but now imminent. 
 Then the monster staggered and the midget 
 struck his last blow and removed himself and 
 his rheumatism. Whereupon began that mag- 
 nificent descent. Slowly, with infinitely solemn 
 sweep, the elm's vast height swung away from 
 its place, described a wide aerial arc, and so, 
 with the jolting crash and rattle of close thun- 
 der, roared headlong to the earth, casting up a 
 cloud of dust, plowing the grass with splintered 
 limbs, then lying very still. From glorious tree 
 to battered log it sank. No man ever saw more 
 instant wreck and ruin fall lightning-like on a 
 fair thing. The mass was crushed flat and 
 shapeless by its own vast weight, and the larger 
 boughs, which did not touch the earth, were 
 snapped short off by the concussion of their fall. 
 
 Billy Jago held his back and whined while 
 Barron spoke, as much to himself as the wood- 
 man. 
 
 "Dear God!" he said, "to think that this 
 glory of the hedge-row— this kingdom of song
 
 IS LYING PROPHETS 
 
 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 ad- 
 mitted it, then turned his back on the fallen 
 king and pursued his way with thoughts revert- 
 ing 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. Bar- 
 ron 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 glorified into ;i fairy
 
 LYING PROPHETS 19 
 
 palace of romance built by immortal things in 
 a night. Seen thus, it even challenged the bo- 
 holder's admiration, of which he was at all times 
 sparing. Until that hour, he had found nothing 
 but laughter for this same mount, likening the 
 spectacle of it, with its castle and cottages, now 
 to a senile monarch with moth-eaten ermine 
 about his toes and a lop-sided crown on his head, 
 now to a monstrous sea-snail creeping shoreward. 
 Barron, having walked down the hill to Mouse- 
 hole, breasted slowly the steep acclivity which 
 leads therefrom toward the west. Presently he 
 turned, where a pleateau of grass sloped above 
 the cliffs into a little theater of banks ablaze 
 with gorse. And here his thoughts and the 
 image they were concerned with perished before 
 reality. Framed in a halo of golden furze, her 
 hands making a little penthouse above her brow, 
 and in her blue eyes the mingled hue of sea and 
 sky, stood a girl looking out at the horizon. The 
 bud of a wondrous fair woman she was, and Bar- 
 ron saw her slim yet vigorous figure accentuated 
 under its drab -brown draperies by a kindly 
 breeze. He noted the sweet, childish freshness 
 of her face, her plump arms filling the sleeves of 
 rusty black, and her feet in shoes too big for 
 them. Her hair was hidden under a linen sun- 
 bonnet, but one lock had escaped, and he noted 
 that it was the color of wheat ripe for the reap- 
 ing. He regretted it had not been darker, but 
 observed that it chimed well enough with the 
 flaming flowers behind it. And then he fraukly 
 praised Nature in his heart for sending her ser-
 
 aO LYING PROPHETS 
 
 vant such a splendid harmony in gold and brown. 
 There stood his picture in front of him. He 
 gazed a brief second only, and then his quick 
 mind worked to find what human interest had 
 brought Joan Tregenza to this place and turned 
 her eyes to the sea. It might be that herein ex- 
 isted the possibility of the introduction he desired. 
 He felt that victory probably depended on the 
 events of the next two or three minutes. He 
 owed a supreme effort of skill and tact to Fate, 
 which had thus befriended him, and he rose to 
 the occasion. 
 
 The girl looked up as he came suddenly upon 
 her, but his eyes were already away and fixed 
 upon the horizon before she turned. Observing 
 that he was not regarding her, she put up her 
 hands again and continued to scan the remote 
 sea-line where a thin trail of dark smoke told 
 of a steamer, itself apparently invisible. Barron 
 took his glasses from their case, and seeing that 
 the girl made no movement of departure, acted 
 deliberately, and presently began to watch a 
 fleet of brown sails and black hulls putting forth 
 from the little harbor below. Then, without 
 looking at her or taking his eyes from the 
 glasses, he spoke. 
 
 "Would you kindly tell me what those small 
 vessels are below there just setting out to sea?" 
 he asked. 
 
 The girl started, looked round, and, realizing 
 that he had addressed her, made answer : 
 
 "Tbey'm Mouzle* luggers, sir." * 
 
 * Mouzle— Mousehole.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 21 
 
 ''Luggers, are they? Thank you. And where 
 are they sailing to? Do you know? 1 ' 
 
 "Away down-long, southward o' the Scillies 
 mostly, arter mackerl. Theer's a power o' 
 mackerl bein' catched just now — thousands an' 
 thousands — but some o' they booats be laskin' — 
 that's just fishin' off shore." 
 
 "Ah, a busy time for the fishermen." 
 
 "Iss, 'tis." 
 
 "Thank you. Good-morning." 
 
 "Good-marnin', sir." 
 
 He started as though to continue his walk 
 along the cliffs beyond the plateau and the 
 gorse; then he stopped suddenly, actuated, as 
 it seemed, by a chance thought, and turned back 
 to the girl. She was looking out to sea again. 
 
 "By the way," he said, unconcernedly, and 
 with no suggestion that anything in particular 
 was responsible for his politeness. "I see you 
 are on the lookout there for something. You 
 may have my glass a moment, if you like, be- 
 fore I go on. They bring the ships very close." 
 
 The girl flushed with shy pleasure and seemed 
 a little uncertain what to answer. Barron, mean- 
 while, showed no trace of a smile, but looked 
 bored if anything, and, with a serious face, 
 handed her the glass, then walked a little way 
 off. He was grave and courteous, but made no 
 attempt at friendship. He had noticed when 
 Joan smiled that her teeth were fine, and that 
 her full face, though sweet enough, was a shade 
 too plump. 
 
 "Thank 'e kindly, sir," she said, taking the
 
 22 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 glass. "You see theer's a gert ship passiir 
 down Channel, an : — an' my Joe's aboard 'er, 
 an' they'm bound for furrin' paarts, an' I prom- 
 ised as I'd come to this here horny-winky * 
 plaace to get a last sight o' the vessel if I 
 could." 
 
 He made no answer, and, after a pause, she 
 spoke again. 
 
 "I caan't see naught, but that's my fault, 
 p'raps, not bein' used to sich things." 
 
 "Let me try and find the ship," he said, tak- 
 ing the glass, which he had put out of focus pur- 
 posely. 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 atten- 
 
 * Horny- w inky—Lonely. Fit place for horny-winks.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 23 
 
 tion was occupied, had leisure to look at her. 
 She was more thau 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 seemed. Her 
 dress had a button or two missing in front, and 
 a safety-pin had taken their place. Her drab 
 skirt was frayed a little and patched in one cor- 
 ner with a square of another material. But the 
 colors were well enough, from the artist's point 
 of view. He noted also that the girl's stockings 
 were darned and badly needed further attention, 
 for above her right shoe-heel a white scrap of 
 Joan was visible. Her hands were a little large, 
 but well shaped; her pose was free and fine, 
 though the field-glasses spoiled the picture and 
 the sun-bonnet hid the contour of her head. 
 
 "So you walked out from Mouzle to see the 
 last of Joe's ship?" he asked, quite seriously 
 and with no light note in his voice. 
 
 "From Newlyn. I ed'n a Mouzle maid," she 
 answered. 
 
 "Is the 'Anna' coming home again soon?" 
 
 "No, sir. Her's bound for the Gulf of Cali-
 
 24 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 forny, round t'other side the world, Joe sez. 
 He reckons to be back agin' come winter." 
 
 "That's a long time." 
 
 "Iss, 'tis." 
 
 But there was no sentiment about the answer. 
 Joan gazed without a shadow of emotion at the 
 vanishing ship, and alluded to the duration of 
 her sweetheart's absence in a voice that never 
 trembled. Then she gave the glass back to Bar- 
 ron with many thanks, and evidently wanted to 
 be gone, but stopped awkwardly, not quite know- 
 ing how to depart. 
 
 Meanwhile, showing no further cognizance of 
 her, Barron took the glasses himself and looked 
 at the distant ship. 
 
 "A splendid vessel," he said. "I expect you 
 have a picture of her, haven't you?" 
 
 "No," she answered, "but I've got a HI ship 
 Joe cut out o' wood an' painted butivul. Awnly 
 that's another vessel what Joe sailed in afore." 
 
 "I'll tell you what I'll do," he said, "because 
 you were good enough to explain all about the 
 fishing-boats. I'll make a tiny picture of the 
 'Anna' and paint it and give it to you." 
 
 But the girl took fright instantly. 
 
 " You'm a artist, then?" she said, with alarm 
 in her face and voice. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "No, no. Do I look like an artist? I'm only 
 a stranger down here for a day or two. I paint 
 things sometimes for my own amusement, that's 
 all." 
 
 "Pickshers?"
 
 LYING PROPHETS 25 
 
 "They are not worth calling pictures. Just 
 scraps of the sea and trees and cliffs and sky, to 
 while away the time and remind me of beautiful 
 things after I have left them." 
 
 "You ban't a artist ezacally, then?" 
 "Certainly not. Don't you like artists?" 
 "Faither don't. He'm a fisherman an' caan't 
 abear many things as happens in the world. 
 An' not artists. Genlemen have arsked him to 
 let 'em take my picksher, 'cause they've painted 
 a good few maidens to Newlyn ; an' some of 'em 
 wanted to paint faither as well; but he up an' 
 sez 'No!' short. Paintin's vanity 'cordin' to 
 faither, same as they flags an' cannels an' 
 moosic to Newlyn church is vanity. Most 
 purty things is vanity, faither reckons." 
 
 "I'm sure he's a wise man. And I think 
 he's right, especially about the candles and flags 
 in church. And now I must go on my walk. 
 Let me see, shall I bring you the little picture 
 of Joe's ship here? I often walk out this way." 
 He assumed she would take the picture, and 
 now she feared to object. Moreover, such a 
 sketch would be precious in her eyes. 
 "Maybe 'tis troublin' of 'e, sir?" 
 "I've promised you. I always keep my word. 
 I shall be here to-morrow about mid-afternoon, 
 because it is lonely and quiet and beautiful. I'm 
 going to try and paint the gorse, all blazing so 
 brightly against the sky." 
 "Them prickly fuzz-bushes?" 
 "Yes; because they are very beautiful." 
 "But they'm everywheres. You might so
 
 2C> LYING PROPHETS 
 
 well paint the bannel* or the yether on the 
 moors, mightn't 'e?" 
 
 "They are beautiful, too. Remember, I 
 shall have Joe's ship for you to-morrow." 
 
 He nodded without smiling, and turned away 
 until a point of the gorse had hidden her from 
 sight. Then he sat down, loaded his pipe, and 
 reflected. 
 
 " 'Joe's ship,' " he said to himself, "a happ) 7 
 title enough." 
 
 And meantime the girl had looked after him 
 with wonder and some amusement in her eyes, 
 had rubbed her chin reflective!}" — a habit caught 
 from her father — and had then scampered off 
 smiling to herself. 
 
 "What a funny gent," she thought, "never 
 laughs nor no thin'. An' I judged he was a 
 artist! But wonnerful kind, an' wonnerful 
 queer, wi' it, sure 'nough.' 
 
 CHAPTER THREE 
 
 THE TREGENZAS 
 
 Joan Tregenza lived in a white cottage al- 
 ready mentioned: that standing just beyond 
 Newly n upon a road above the sea. The cot 
 was larger than it appeared from the road and 
 
 * Bannel — Broom.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 2? 
 
 extended backward into an orchard of plum and 
 apple-trees. The kitchen which opened into this 
 garden was stone-paved, cool, comfortable, sweet 
 at all times with the scent of wood smoke, and 
 frequently not innocent of varied fishy odors. 
 But Newlyn folk suck in a smell of fish with 
 their mothers' milk. 'Tis part of the atmos- 
 phere of home. 
 
 When Joan returned from her visit to Gorse 
 Point, she found a hard-faced woman, thin of 
 figure, with untidy hair, wrinkled brow and 
 sharp features, engaged about a pile of washing 
 in the garden at the kitchen-door. Mrs. Tre- 
 genza heard the girl arrive, and spoke without 
 lifting her little gray eyes from the clothes. Her 
 voice was hard and high and discontented, like 
 that of one who has long bav/led into a deaf 
 man's ear and is weary of it. 
 
 "Drabbityou! Wheer you bin? Alius traps- 
 ing out when you'm wanted ; alius caddlin' round 
 doin' nothin' when you ban't. I s'pose you think 
 breakfus' can be kep' on the table till dinner, 
 washing-day or no?" 
 
 "I don't want no breakfus', then. I tuke 
 some bread an' drippin' long with me. Wheer's 
 Tom to?" 
 
 "Gone to schule this half-hour. 'Tis nine 
 o'clock an' past. Wheer you bin, I sez? 'Tain't 
 much in your way to rise afore me of a marnin'." 
 
 "Out through Mouzle to Gorse P'int to see 
 Joe's ship pass by; an' I seen en butivul." 
 
 "Thank the Lard he's gone. Now, I s'pose, 
 theer'll be a bit peace in the house, an' you'll
 
 28 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 bide home an' work. My fingers is to the bone 
 day an' night." 
 
 "He'll be gone a year purty nigh." 
 
 "Well, the harder you works, the quicker the 
 time'll pass by. Theer's nuthin' to grizzle at. 
 Sea-t'arin' fellers must be away most times. 
 But he'm a good, straight man, an' you'm 
 tokened to en, an' that's enough. Bide cheer- 
 ful an' get the water for washin'. If they 
 things of faither's bant dry come to-morrer, 
 he'll knaw the reason why." 
 
 Joan accepted Mrs. Tregenza's comfort philo- 
 sophically, though her sweetheart's departure 
 had not really caused her any emotion. Sl^ 
 visited the larder, drank a cup of milk, and 
 then, fetching an iron hoop and buckets, went 
 to a sunken barrel outside the cottage door, into 
 which, from a pipe through the road-bank, tum- 
 bled a silver thread of spring water. 
 
 Of the Tregenza household a word must needs 
 be spoken. Joan's own mother had died twelve 
 years ago, and the anxious-natured woman who 
 took her place proved herself a good step-parent 
 enough. Despite a disposition prone to worry 
 and to dwell upon the small tribulations of life, 
 Thomasin Tregenza was not unhappy, for her 
 husband enjoyed prosperity and a reputation 
 for godliness unequaled in Newlyn. A great, 
 weather-worn, gray, hairy man was he, with 
 a big head and a furrowed cliff of a forehead 
 that looked as though it had been carved by its 
 Creator from Cornish granite. Tregenza indeed 
 might have stood for a typical Cornish fisher —
 
 LYING PKOPHETS 29 
 
 or a Breton. Like enough, indeed, he had old 
 Armorican blood in his veins, for many hun- 
 dreds of Britons betook themselves to ancient 
 Brittany when the Saxon invasion swept the 
 West, and many afterward returned, with for- 
 eign wives, to the homes of their fathers. 
 Michael Tregenza had found religion, of a sort 
 fiery and unlovely enough, but his convictions 
 were definite, with iron-hard limitations, and he 
 looked coldly and without pity on a damned 
 world, himself saved. Gray Michael had no 
 sympathy with sin and less with sinners. He 
 found the devil in most unexpected quarters and 
 was always dragging him out of surprising hid- 
 ing-places and exhibiting him triumphantly, as 
 a boy might show a bird's egg or butterfly. His 
 devil dwelt at penny readings, at fairs and festi- 
 vals, in the brushes of the artists, in a walk on 
 a Sunday afternoon undertaken without a defi- 
 nite object, sometimes in a primrose given by a 
 boy to a girl. Of all these bitter, self-righteous, 
 censorious little sects which raise each its own 
 ladder to the Throne of Grace at Newlyn, the 
 Luke Gospelers was the most bitter, most self- 
 righteous, most censorious. And of all those 
 burning lights which reflected the primitive sav- 
 agely of the Pentateuch from that fold, Gray 
 Michael's beacon flamed the fiercest and most 
 bloody red . There was not a Gospeler, including 
 the pastor of the flock, but feared the austere 
 fisherman while admiring him. 
 
 Concerning his creed, at the risk of wearying 
 you, it must be permitted to speak here; for only
 
 30 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 by grasping its loading features and its vast un- 
 likeness to the parent tree can a just estimate of 
 Michael Tregenza be arrived at. Luke Gospel- 
 dom had mighty little to do with the Gospel of 
 Luke. The sect numbered one hundred and 
 thirty-four just persons, at war with principali- 
 ties and powers. They were saturated with the 
 spirit of Israel in the Wilderness, of Esau, when 
 every man's hand was against him. At their 
 chapel one heard much of Jehovah, the jealous 
 God, of the burning lakes and the damnation 
 reserved for mankind, as a whole. Every Luke 
 Gospeler was a Jehovah in his own right. They 
 walked hand in hand with God ; they realized 
 the dismay and indignation Newly n must occa- 
 sion in His breast; they sympathized heartily 
 with the Everlasting and would have called 
 down fire from Heaven themselves if they 
 could. Many openly wondered that He de- 
 layed so long, for, from a Luke Gospeler's point 
 of view, the place with its dozen other chapels — 
 each held in error by the rest, and all at deadly 
 war among themselves — its most vile ritualis- 
 tic church of St. Peter, its public- houses, scan- 
 dals, and strifes, was riper for destruction than 
 Sodom. However, the hundred and thirty- 
 four served to stave off celestial brimstone, as 
 it seemed. 
 
 It is pitiable, in the face of the majestic work 
 
 of John Wesley in Cornwall, to see the shattered 
 
 ruins of it which remain. When the Wesleys 
 
 achieved their notable revival and swept off the 
 
 In I of a dead Anglicanism which covered re-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 31 
 
 ligious Cornwall like a pall in the days of the 
 Georges, the old Celtic spirit, though these 
 heroes found it hard enough to rekindle, burst 
 from its banked-up furnaces at last and blazed 
 abroad once more. That spirit had been bred 
 by the saint bishops of Brito-Celtic days, and 
 Wesley's ultimate success was a grand repeti- 
 tion of history, as extant records of the ancient 
 use of the Church in Cornwall prove. Its prin- 
 ciple was that he who filled a bishop's office 
 should, before all things, conduct and develop 
 missionary enterprise ; and the moral and physi- 
 cal courage of the Brito-Celtic bishops, having 
 long slumbered, awoke again in John Wesley. 
 He built on the old foundations, he gave to the 
 laymen a power at that time blindly denied them 
 by the Church — the power which Irish and Welsh 
 and Breton missionary saints of old had vested 
 in them. Wesley — himself a giant — made wise 
 use of the strong where he found them, and if a 
 man — tinker or tinner, fisher or jowster — could 
 preach and grip an audience, that man might do 
 so. Thus had the founders of the new creed de- 
 veloped it; thus does the Church to-daj-; but 
 when John Wesley filled his empty belly with 
 blackberries at St. Hilary, in 1743; when he 
 thundered what he deemed eternal truth through 
 Cornwall, year after year for half a century; 
 when he faced a thousand perils by sea and laud 
 and spent his arduous days "in watchings often, 
 in hunger and thirst, in "fasting often, in cold 
 and nakedness"; when, in fine, this stupendous 
 man achieved the foundations of Method ism,
 
 32 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 the harvest was overripe, at any rate, in Corn- 
 wall. No Nonconformist was he, though few 
 enough of his followers to-day remember that, 
 if they ever knew it. He worked for his church ; 
 he was a link between it and his party ; his last 
 prayer was for church and king — a fact which 
 might have greatly shocked the Luke Gospelers 
 had such come to their ears. For John Wesley 
 was their only saint, and they honestly believed 
 that the}' alone of all Methodist communities 
 were following in his footsteps. Poor souls! 
 they lived as far from what Wesley taught as 
 it is easily possible to conceive. As for Gray 
 Michael, he was under the impression that he 
 and his sect worthily held aloft the true light 
 which Wesley brought in person to Newlyn, 
 and he talked with authorit} r upon the subject 
 of his master and his master's doings. But he 
 knew little about the founder of Methodism in 
 reality, and still less about the history of the 
 Methodist movement. Had he learned that 
 John Wesley himself was once accused of Pop- 
 ish practices; had he known that not until some 
 years after the great preacher's death did his 
 party, in conference assembled, separate itself 
 from the Church of England, he had doubtless 
 been much amazed. Though saturated with 
 religious feeling, the man was wholly ignorant 
 of religious history in so far as it affected his 
 own country. To him all saints not mentioned 
 in Scripture were an abomination and invention 
 of Rome. Had he been informed that the ven- 
 erable missionary saints of his mother land wer<
 
 LYING PKOPHETS 33 
 
 in no case Romish, another vast surprise must 
 have awaited him. 
 
 Let it not for an instant be supposed that the 
 Luke Gospelers represented right Methodism. 
 But they fairly exemplified a sorry side of it; 
 those little offshoots of which dozens have sepa- 
 rated from the parent tree ; and they exhibited 
 most abundantly in themselves that canker- 
 worm of Pharisaism which gnaws at the root 
 of all Nonconformity. This offense, combined 
 with such intolerance and profound ignorance 
 as was to be found amid the Luke Gospelers, 
 produced a community merely sad or comic to 
 consider according to the point of view. 
 
 An instance of Michael Tregenza's attitude to 
 the Church will illustrate better than analysis 
 the lines of thought on which he served his 
 Creator. 
 
 Once, when she was thirteen, Joan had gone 
 to an evening service at St. Peter's, because a 
 friend had dared her to do so. Her father was 
 at sea and she believed the delinquency could by 
 no possibility reach his ears. But a Luke Gos- 
 peler heard the dread tidings and Michael Tre- 
 genza was quickly informed of his daughter's 
 lapse. He accused Joan quietly enough, and 
 she confessed. 
 
 : 'Then you'm a damned maiden," he said, 
 " 'cause you sinned open-eyed." 
 
 He thought the matter over for a week, and 
 finally an idea occurred to him. 
 
 " 'Tis wi'in the power o' God to reach even 
 you bark." he declared to Joan, "an' He's p •'
 
 34 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 in my mind that chastenin' might do it. A 
 sore body's saved many so wis 'fore now." 
 
 Whereupon he took his daughter into the lit- 
 tle parlor, shut the door, and then flogged her 
 as he would have flogged a boy — only using his 
 hard hand instead of a stick. "Get thee behind 
 her, Satan! Get thee behind her, Satan! Get 
 thee behind her, Satan!" he groaned with every 
 blow, while Joan grit her teeth and bore it as 
 long as she could, theD screamed and fainted. 
 That was how the truth about heaven and hell 
 came to her. She had never felt physical pain 
 before, and eternal torment was merely an idea. 
 From that day, however, she was frightened and 
 listened to her father gladly and wept tears of 
 thankfulness when, a month after her flogging, 
 he explained that he had wrestled with the Lord 
 for her soul and how it had been borne in upon 
 him that she was saved alive. She had reached 
 the age of seventeen now, and felt quite confi- 
 dent upon the subject of eternity as became a 
 right Luke Gospeler. Unlike other women of 
 the sect, however, and despite extreme igno- 
 rance on all subjects, the girl had a seed of hu- 
 mor in her nature only waiting circumstances 
 to ripen. She felt pity, too, for the great 
 damned world, and though religion turned life 
 sad-colored, her own simple, health}', animal 
 nature and high spirits brought ample share of 
 sunshine and delight. She was, in fact, her 
 mother's child rather than her father's. His 
 ancestors before him had fought the devil and 
 lived honest lives under a cloud of fear; Michael's
 
 LYING PROPHETS 35 
 
 own brother had gone religious mad, when still 
 a young man, and died in a lunatic asylum ; in- 
 deed the awful difficulty of saving his soul had 
 been in the blood of every true Tregenza for 
 generations. But Joan's mother came of differ- 
 ent stock. The Chirgwins were upland people. 
 They dwelt at Drift and elsewhere, went to the 
 nearest church, held simple views, and were 
 content with orthodox religion. Mr. Tregenza 
 said of them that they always wanted and ex- 
 pected God to do more than His share. But he 
 married Joan Chirgwin, nevertheless; and now 
 he saw her again, fair, trustful, light-hearted, 
 in his daughter. The girl indeed had more of 
 her mother in her than Gray Michael liked. 
 She was superstitious, not after the manner of 
 the Tregenzas, but in a direction that must have 
 brought her father's loudest thunders upon her 
 head if the matter had come to his ears. She 
 loved the old stories of the saints and spirits, she 
 gloried secretly in the splendid wealth of folk- 
 lore and tradition her mother's people and those 
 like them possessed at command. Her dead 
 parent had whispered and sung these matters 
 into Joan's baby ears until her father stopped 
 it. She remembered how black he looked when 
 she lisped about the piskeys; and though to-day 
 she half believed in demon and fairy, goblin and 
 giant, and quite believed in the saints and their 
 miracles, she kept this side of her intelligence 
 close locked when at home, and only nodded 
 very gravely when her father roared against the 
 blighting credulity of men's minds and the follies
 
 36 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 for which fishers and miners, and indeed the 
 bulk of the human family in Cornwall, must 
 some day burn. 
 
 People outside the fold said that the Luke 
 Gospelers killed Tregenza's first wife. She, of 
 course, accepted her husband's convictions, but 
 it had never been in her tender heart to catch 
 the true Luke Gospel spirit. She was too full 
 of the milk of human kindness, too prone to for- 
 give and forget, too tolerant and ready to see 
 good in all men. The fiery sustenance of the 
 new tenets withered her away like a scorched 
 flower, and she died five years after her child 
 was born. For a space of two years the widower 
 remained one ; then he married again, being at 
 that time a hale man of forty, the owner of his 
 own fishing boat, and at once the strongest per- 
 sonality and handsomest person in Newlyn. 
 Thomasin Strick, his second wife, was already 
 a Luke Gospeler and needed no conversion. 
 People laughed in secret at their wooing, and 
 likened it to the rubbing of granite rocks or a 
 miner's pick striking fire from tin ore. A boy 
 presently came to them ; and now he was ten 
 aud his mother forty. She passed rightly for a 
 careful, money-loving soul, and a good wife, 
 with the wit to be also a good Luke Gospeler. 
 But her tongue was harder than her heart. 
 Father aud mother alike thought the wide world 
 of their boy, though the child was brought up 
 under an iron rod. Joan, too, loved her half- 
 brother, Tom, very dearly, and took a pride only 
 second to her stepmother's in the lad's progress
 
 LYING PROPHETS 37 
 
 and achievements. More than once, though only 
 Joan and he knew it, she had saved his skin from 
 punishment, and she worshiped him with a frank 
 admiration which was bound to win Mrs. Tre- 
 genza's regard. Joan quite understood the care- 
 ful and troubled matron, never attached undue 
 importance to her sharp words, and was usually 
 at her elbow with an ear for all grievances and 
 even a sympathetic word if the same seemed 
 called for. Mrs. Tregenza had to grumble to 
 live, and Joan was the safety-valve, for 'when 
 her husband came off the sea he would have 
 none of it. 
 
 Life moved uniformly for these people, being 
 varied only by the seasons of the year and the dif- 
 ferent harvests from the sea which each brought 
 with it. Pollock, mackerel, pilchards, herrings 
 — all had their appointed time, and the years 
 rolled on, marked by events connected with the 
 secular business of life on one hand and that 
 greater matter of eternity upon the other. Thus 
 mighty catches of fish held the memory with 
 mighty catches of men. One year the take of 
 mackerel had been beyond all previous recollec- 
 tion; on another occasion three entire families 
 had joined the Luke Gospelers, and so promised 
 to increase the scanty numbers of the chosen. 
 There were black memories, too, and black 
 years, casting gloomy shadows. Widows and 
 orphans knew what it was to watch for brown 
 sails that came into the harbor's sheltering arms 
 no more ; and spiritual death had overtaken more 
 than one Luke Gospeler. Such turned their 

 
 38 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 backs upon the light and exchanged Truth for 
 the benighted parody of religion displayed by 
 Bible Christians, by Plymouth Brethren or 
 by the Church of England. 
 
 Six months before the day on which she 
 saw his ship through Barron's glasses, Joan 
 had been formally affianced to Joe Noy, with 
 her father's permission and approval. The cir- 
 cumstances of the event demand a word, for Joe 
 had already been engaged once before : to Mary 
 Chirgwin, a young woman who was first cousin 
 to Joan and a good deal older. She was an 
 orphan and dwelt at Drift with Thomas Chirg- 
 win, her uncle. The sailor had thereby bright- 
 ened an unutterably lonely life and brought 
 earthly joy to one who had never known it. 
 Then Gray Michael got hold of the lad, who was 
 naturally of a solid and religious temperament, 
 and up to that time of the order of the Rechab- 
 ites. As a result, Joe Noy joined the Luke 
 Gospelers and called upon his sweetheart to do 
 likewise. But she recollected her aunt, Joan's 
 mother, and being made of stern stuff, stuck to 
 the Church of England as she knew it, counting 
 salvation a greater thing than even a home of 
 her own. The struggle was sharp between 
 them; neither would give way; their engage- 
 ment was therefore broken, and the girl's soli- 
 tary golden glimpse of happiness in this world 
 shattered. She found it hard to forgive the 
 Tregenzas, and when, six months afterward, 
 the sleepy farm life at Drift was startled by 
 news of Joan's love affair, Mary, in the first
 
 LYING PROPHETS 39 
 
 ilush of her reawakened agony, spoke bitterly 
 enough; and even that most mild-mannered of 
 men, her uncle, said that Michael Tregenza had 
 done an ugly act. 
 
 But the fisherman was at no time concerned 
 with Mary or with Joan. The opportunity to 
 get a soul into the fold had offered and been 
 accepted. An}' matter of earthly love-making 
 counted little beside this. When Joe broke 
 with Mary, his mentor declared the action in- 
 evitable, as the girl would not alter her opin- 
 ions, and when, presently, young ISToy fell in 
 love with Joan, her father saw no objection, for 
 the sailor was honest, already a stanch Luke 
 Gospeler and a clean liver. 
 
 Perhaps at that moment there was hardly an- 
 other eligible youth in Newljm from Tregenza's 
 point of view. He held Joan a girl to be put 
 under stern marital rule as soon as possible, and 
 Joe promised to make a godly husband with a 
 strong will, while his convictions and view of 
 life were altogether satisfactory, being modeled 
 on Michael's own. The arrangement suited 
 Joan. She believed she loved Joe very dear- 
 ly, and she looked forward with satisfaction to 
 marrying him in about a year's time, when he 
 should have won a ship-master's certificate. 
 But she viewed his departure without suffer- 
 ing and would not have willingly foregone her 
 remaining year of freedom. She respected Joe 
 very much and knew he would make a good 
 partner and give her a position above the every- 
 day wives of Newlyn; moreover, he was a fine
 
 40 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 figure of a man. But he lacked mental breadth, 
 and that fact sometimes tickled her dormant 
 sense of humor. He copied her father so ex- 
 actly, and she, who lived with the real thunder, 
 never could show sufficient gravity or convic- 
 tion in the presence of the youthful and narrow- 
 minded Noy's second-hand echoes. Mary Chirg- 
 win was naturally a thousand times more re- 
 ligious-minded than Joan, and sometimes Joe 
 wished the sober mind of his first love could be 
 transported to the beautiful body of his second ; 
 but he kept this notion to himself, studied to 
 please his future father-in-law, which he suc- 
 ceeded in doing handsomely, and contented him- 
 self, in so far as his lady was concerned, by 
 reflecting that the necessary control over her 
 somewhat light mind would be his in due season. 
 To return from this tedious but necessary 
 glimpse at the position and belief of these peo- 
 ple to Joan and the washing, it is to be noted 
 that she quickly made up for lost time, and, 
 without further mentioning the incidents of her 
 morning's excursion, began to work. She pulled 
 up her sleeves, dragged her dress about her waist, 
 then started to cleanse the thick flannels her 
 father wore at sea, his long-tailed shirts and 
 woolen stockings. The Tregenzas were well- 
 to-do folk, and did not need to use the open 
 spaces of the village for drying of clothes. 
 Joan presently set up a line among the plum- 
 trees, and dawdled over the hanging out of wet 
 garments, for it was now noon, sunny, mild, 
 and fresh, with a cool salt breeze off the sea.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 41 
 
 The winter repose of the bee-butts had been 
 broken at last, and the insects were busy with 
 the plum-blossom and among the little green 
 flowerets on the gooseberry bushes. Beyond, 
 sun-streaked and bright, extended apple-trees 
 with whitewashed stems and a twinkle of crim- 
 son on their boughs, where buds grew ripe for 
 the blowing. 
 
 Joan yawned and blinked up at the sun to see 
 if it was dinner time. Then she watched a kit- 
 ten hunting the bees in the gooseberry bushes. 
 Presently the little creature knocked one to the 
 ground and began to pat it and pounce upon it. 
 Then the bee, using Nature's weapon to pre- 
 serve precious life, stung the kitten; and the 
 kitten hopped into the air much amazed. It 
 shook its paw, licked it, shook it again. Joan 
 laughed, and two pigs at the bottom of the gar- 
 den heard her and grunted and squealed as they 
 thrust expectant noses through the palings of 
 their sty. They connected the laugh with their 
 dinner, but Joan's thoughts were all upon her 
 own. 
 
 A few minutes later Thomasin Tregenza called 
 her, and, as they sat down, Tom arrived from 
 school. He was a brown-faced, dark-eyed, 
 black-haired youngster, good-looking enough, 
 but not at that moment. 
 
 "Aw! Jimmery! fightin' agin," said his 
 mother, viewing two swollen lips, a bulged 
 ear, and an eye half closed. 
 
 "I've downed Matthew Bent, Joan! Ten 
 fair rounds, then he gived up."
 
 42 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "Fight, fight, fight— 'tis all you think of,'* 
 said his parent, while Joan poured congratula- 
 tions on the conqueror. 
 
 " 'Tweer bound to come arter the football, 
 when he played foul, an' I tawld en so. Now, 
 we'm friends." 
 
 "Be he bruised same as you?" 
 
 "A sight worse; he's a braave picksher, I tell 
 'e ! I doubt he won't come to schule this arter- 
 noon. That'll shaw. I be gwaine, if I got to 
 crawl theer." 
 
 "An' him a year older than what you be!" 
 said Joan. 
 
 "Iss, Mat's 'leben year old. I'll have some 
 vinegar an' brown paper to this here eye, 
 mother. ' ' 
 
 "Ait your mayte, ait your mayte fust," she 
 answered. "Plague 'pon your fightin'!" 
 
 "But that Bent bwoy's bin at en for months; 
 an' a year older too," said Joan. 
 
 "Iss, the bwoy's got no more'n what 'e de- 
 sarved. For that matter, they Bents be all 
 puffed up, though they'm so poor as rats, an' 
 wi'out 'nough religion to save the sawl of a 
 new-born babe 'mongst the lot of 'em." 
 
 Tom, with his mouth full of fish and potato 
 pie, told the story of his victory, and the women 
 made a big, hearty meal and listened. 
 
 "He cockled up to me, an' us beginned fight- 
 in' right away, an' in the third round I scat en 
 on the mouth an' knocked wan 'is teeth out. 
 An' in the fifth round he dropped me a whister- 
 cuff 'pon the eye as made me blink proper."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 43 
 
 "Us doan't want to knaw no more 'bout 
 it," declared his mother after dinner was over. 
 "You've laced en an' that's enough. You 
 knaw what faither'll say. You did ought to 
 fight no battle bat the Lard's. Now clap this 
 here over your eye for a bit, then be off with 'e." 
 
 Tom marched away to school earlier than 
 usual that afternoon, while the women went to 
 the door and watched him trudge off, both 
 mightily proud of his performance and his bat- 
 tered brown face. 
 
 "He be a reg'lar lil apty-cock,* sure 'nough!" 
 said Joan. 
 
 Mrs. Tregenza answered with a nod and 
 looked along the road after her son. There was 
 a softer expression in her eyes as she watched 
 him. Besides, she had eaten well and was com- 
 fortable. Now she picked her teeth with a pin, 
 and snuffed the sea air,, and gave a passing 
 neighbor "good-afternoon" svith greater warmth 
 of manner than usual. Presently her mood 
 changed; she noisily rated herself and her 
 stepdaughter for standing idling; then both 
 went back to their work. 
 
 * Apty-cock — Brave, plucky youngster.
 
 1 i LYING PROPHETS 
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 BARRON BEGINS TO LEARN THE GORSE 
 
 Between four and five o'clock in the morning 
 of the following day the master of the white cot- 
 tage came home. His wife expected him and 
 was getting breakfast w T hen Michael tramped in 
 — a very tall, square-built man, clad to the eye 
 in tanned oilskin overalls, sou'wester, and jack- 
 boots. The fisherman returned to his family in 
 high good temper; for the sea had yielded silvery 
 thousands to his drift-nets, and the catch had 
 alreadv been sold in the harbor for a handsome 
 figure. The brown sails of Tregenza's lugger 
 flapped in the bay among a crowd of others, and 
 every man was in a hurry to be off again at the 
 earliest opportunity. Already the first boats 
 home were putting to sea once more, making a 
 wide tack across the mouth of the bay until 
 nearly abreast of St. Michael's Mount, then 
 tearing away like race horses with foam flying 
 as they sailed before the eastern wind for the 
 Scilly Islands and the mackerel. 
 
 Michael kissed his wife and Joan also, as she 
 came to the kitchen sleepy-eyed in the soft light 
 to welcome him. Then, while Mrs. Tregenza 
 was busied with breakfast and the girl cleaned
 
 LYING PROPHETS 45 
 
 some fish, he went to his own small room off the 
 kitchen and changed his clothes — all silvery, 
 scale-spotted and blood-smeared — for the clean 
 garments which were spread and waiting. First 
 the man indulged in luxuries. He poured out a 
 large tub of fresh water and washed himself ; he 
 even cleaned his nails and teeth — hyberbolic re- 
 finements that made the baser sort laugh at him 
 behiud his back. 
 
 At the meal which followed his toilet Tregenza 
 talked to his wife and daughter upon various 
 subjects. He spoke slowly and from the lungs 
 with the deep echoing voice of one used to vocal 
 exercise in the open air. 
 
 "I seed the 'Anna' yesterday, Joan," he said, 
 "a proud ship, full-rigged wi' butivul lines. 
 Her passed wi'in three mile of us or less off 
 the islands." 
 
 Joan did not hiut at her visit to Gorse Point 
 of the previous day, but her stepmother men- 
 tioned it, and her father felt called upon to rep- 
 rimand his daughter, though not very seriously. 
 : 'Twas a empty, vain thing to do," he said. 
 
 "I promised Joe, faither. " 
 
 "Why, then you was right to go, though a 
 fulish thing to promise en. Wheer's Tom 
 to?" 
 
 Tom came down a minute later. The swell- 
 ing of his lips was lessened, but his ear had not 
 returned to a normal size and his eye was black. 
 
 "Fighting again?" Michael begau, looking up 
 from his saucer and fixing his eyes on his son. 
 
 "Please, faither, [— "
 
 46 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "Doan't say naught. You'm so fond of it 
 that I judges you'd best begin fightin' the battle 
 o' life right on end. 'Tain't no use keepin' 
 you to schule no more. 'Tis time you corned 
 aboard." 
 
 Tom crowed with satisfaction, and Mrs. Tre- 
 genza sighed and stopped eating. This event 
 had been hanging over her head for many a 
 long day now; but she had put the thing away, 
 and secretly hoped that after all Tregenza would 
 change his mind and apprentice the boy to a 
 shore trade. However, Tom had made his 
 choice, and his father meant him to abide by 
 it. No other life appealed to the boy ; heredity 
 marked him for the sea, and he longed for the 
 hard business to begin. 
 
 "I'll larn you something besides fisticuffs, my 
 beauty. 'Tis all well-a-fine, this batterin' an' 
 bruisin', but it awnly breeds the savage in 'e, 
 same as raw meat do in a dog. No more fightin' 
 'cept wi' dirty weather an' high seas an' con- 
 trary winds, an' the world, the flaish an' the 
 devil. I went to sea as a lugger-bwoy when I 
 was eight year old, an' ain't bin off the water 
 more'n a month to wance ever since. This day 
 two week you come along wi' me. That'll give 
 mother full time to see 'bout your kit." 
 
 Joan wept, Thomasin Tregenza whined, and 
 Tom danced a break-down and rolled away to 
 see some fisher-boy friends in the harbor before 
 school began. Then Michael, calling his daugh- 
 ter to him, walked with her among his plum- 
 trees, talked of God with some quotations, and
 
 LYING PR©PHETS 47 
 
 looked at his pigs. Presently he busied himself 
 and made ready for sea in a little outhouse 
 where paint and ship's chandlery were stored ; 
 and finally, the hour then being half past seven, 
 he returned to his labors. Joan walked with 
 him to the harbor and listened while he talked 
 of the goodness of God to the Luke Gospelers at 
 sea; how the mackerel had been delivered to 
 them in thousands, and how the Bible Christians 
 and Primitive Methodists had fared by no means 
 so happily. The tide was high, and Gray 
 Michael's skiff waited for him at the pierhead 
 beside the lighthouse. He soon climbed down 
 into it, and the little boat, rowed by two strong 
 pairs of hands, danced away to the fleet. Al- 
 ready the luggers were stretching off in a long 
 line across the bay ; and among them appeared 
 a number of visitors: Lowestoft 3^awls come 
 down to the West after the early mackerel. 
 They were big, stout vessels, and many had 
 steam-power aboard. Joan watched her father's 
 lugger start and saw it overhaul not a few 
 smaller ships before she turned from the busy 
 harbor homeward. That morning she designed 
 to work with a will, for the afternoon was to be 
 spent on Gorse Point if all went well, and she 
 already looked forward somewhat curiously to 
 her next meeting with the singular man who 
 had lent her his field-glass. 
 
 Mrs. Tregenza was in sorry, snappy case all 
 day. The blow had fallen, and within a fort- 
 night Tom would go to sea. This dismal fact 
 depressed her i Hit a little, and she snuffled over
 
 4-B LYING PROPHETS 
 
 her ironing, and her voice grated worse than 
 usual upon the ear. 
 
 "He's such a hot-headed twoad of a bwoy. I 
 kuaw he'll never get on 'pon the water. I doubt 
 us'll hear he's bin knocked overboard or some 
 sich thing some day; an' them two brothers 
 they Pritchards, as alius sails 'long wi' Tre- 
 genza, they'm that comical-tempered every one 
 knaws. Oh, my God, why couldn' he let the 
 bwoy larn a land trade — carpenterin' or sich 
 like?" 
 
 "But, you see, faither \s a rich man, an' some 
 time Tom'll fill his shoes. Faither do awn his 
 bwoat an' the nets tu, which is more'n most 
 Newlyn men does." 
 
 "Iss, I should think 'twas," said Mrs. Tre- 
 genza, forgetting her present sorrow in the 
 memory of such splendid circumstances. "Theer 
 ban't wan feller as awns all like what faither do. 
 The Lard helps His chosen, not but what Tre- 
 genza alius helped hisself an' set the example to 
 Newlyn from his boyhood." 
 
 Mrs. Tregenza always licked her lips when 
 she talked about money or religion, and she did 
 so now. 
 
 Among Cornish drifters Gray Michael's posi- 
 tion was undoubtedly unique, for under the rules 
 of the Cornish fishery he enjoyed exceptional 
 advantages owing to his personal possession both 
 of boat and nets. The owner of a drift-boat 
 takes one-eighth part of the gross proceeds of a 
 catch, and the remaining seven-eighths are 
 divided into two equal parts of which onp> part is
 
 LYING PROPHETS 49 
 
 subdivided among the crew of the boat, while 
 the other goes to the owner or owners of the nets 
 used on board. The number of nets to a boat is 
 about fifty as a rule, and a man to possess his 
 ,Own boat and outfit must be unusually well-to- 
 do. 
 
 But it was partly for this reason that Mrs. 
 Tregenza refused to be comforted. She grudged 
 every farthing spent on anything, and much 
 disliked the notion of tramping to Penzance to 
 expend the greater part of a five-pound note on 
 Tom's sea outfit. In a better cause she would 
 not have thought it ill to expend money upon 
 him. His position pointed to something higher 
 than a fisherman's life. He might have aspired 
 to a shop in the future together with a measure 
 of worldly prosperity and importance not to be 
 expected for any mere seafarer. But Tom had 
 settled the matter by deciding for himself, and 
 his father had approved the ambition, so there 
 the matter ended, save for grumbling and sigh- 
 ing. Joan, too, felt sore enough at heart when 
 she heard that the long-dreaded event lay but a 
 fortnight in the future. But she knew her 
 father, and felt sure that the certainty of Tom's 
 going to sea at the appointed time would now 
 only be defeated by death or the Judgment Day. 
 So she did not worry or fret. Nothing served to 
 soothe her stepmother, however, and the girl 
 was glad to slip off after dinner, leaving Thorn - 
 asin with her troubles. 
 
 Joan made brisk way through Mousehole an6 
 in less than an hour stood out among the furzes
 
 50 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 in the little lonely theater above the cliffs. For 
 a moment she saw nothing of John Barron, then 
 she found him sitting on a camp-stool before a 
 light easel which looked all legs with a mere 
 little square patch of a picture perched upon 
 them. Joan walked to within a few yards of 
 the artist and waited for him to speak. But 
 eye, hand, brain were all working together on 
 the sketch before him, and if he saw the visitor 
 at all, which was doubtful, he took no notice of 
 her. Joan came a little closer, and still John 
 Barron ignored her presence. Then she grew 
 uncomfortable, and, feeling she must break the 
 silence, spoke. 
 
 "I be come, sir, 'cordin' to what you said." 
 
 He added a touch and looked up with no 
 recognition in his eyes. His forehead frowned 
 with doubt apparently, then he seemed to re- 
 member. "Ah, the young woman who told me 
 about the luggers." Suddenly he smiled at her, 
 the first time she had seen him do so. 
 
 "You never mentioned your name, I think?" 
 
 "Joan Tregenza, sir." 
 
 "I promised you a little picture of that big 
 ship, didn't I?" 
 
 "You was that kind, sir." 
 
 "Well, I haven't forgotten it. I finished the 
 picture this morning and I think you may like 
 it, but I had to leave it until to-morrow, beoause 
 the paints take so long to dry." 
 
 "I'm sure I thank you kindly, sir," 
 
 "No need. To-morrow it will be quite ready 
 for you, with a frame and all complete. You
 
 LYING PROPHETS 51 
 
 see I've begun to try and paint the gorse." He 
 invited her by a gesture to view his work. She 
 came closer, and as she bent he glanced up at 
 her with his face for a moment close to hers. 
 Then she drew back quickly, blushing. 
 
 "'Tis butivul — just like them fuzzes." 
 
 He had been working for two hours before she 
 came, painting a small patch of the gorse. Old 
 gnarled stems wound upward crookedly, and 
 beneath them lay a dead carpet of gorse needles 
 with a blade or two of grass shooting through. 
 From the roots and bases of the main stems 
 sprouted many a shoot of young gorse, their 
 prickles tender as the claws of a new-born kit- 
 ten, their shape, color, and foliage of thorns 
 quite different to the mature plant above. 
 There, in the main masses of the shrub, mossy 
 brown buds in clumps foretold future splendor. 
 But already much gold had burst the sheath and 
 was ablaze, scenting the pure air, murmured 
 over by many bees. 
 
 'You could a'most pick thicky theer flowers," 
 declared Joan of the picture. 
 
 ; ' Perhaps presently, when they are painted as 
 I hope to paint them. This is only a rough bit 
 of work to occupy my hand and eye while I am 
 learning the gorse. Men who paint seriously 
 have to learn trees and blossoms just as they 
 have to learn faces. And we are never satis- 
 fied. When I have painted this gorse, with its 
 thorns and buds, I shall sigh for more truth. I 
 cannot paint the soul of each little yellow flower 
 that opens to the sun; I cannot paint the sunny
 
 52 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 smell that is sweet in our nostrils now. God's 
 gorse scents the air; mine will only smell of fat 
 oil. What shall I do?" 
 
 "I dunnaw." 
 
 "No more does anybody. It can't be helped. 
 But I must try my best and make it real — each 
 spike, as I see it — the dead gray ones on the 
 ground and the live green ones on the tree, and 
 the baby ones and the old gray-pointed ones, 
 which have seen their best days and will pres- 
 ently die and fall — I must paint them all, Joan." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 "Don't laugh," he said, very seriously. "Only 
 an artist would laugh at me, not you who love 
 Nature. There lives a great painter, Joan, who 
 paints pictures that nobody else in the wide 
 world can paint. He is growing old, but he is 
 not too old to take trouble still. Once, when he 
 was a young man, he drew a lemon-tree far 
 away in Italy. It was only a little lemon-trcc, 
 but the artist rose morning after morning and 
 drew it leaf by leaf, twig by twig, until every 
 leaf and bud and lemon and bough had ap- 
 peared. It was not labored and false; it was 
 grand because it was true : a joy forever ; work 
 Old Masters had loved; full of distinction and 
 power and patience almost Oriental. A thing, 
 Joan Tregenza, worth a wilderness of 'har- 
 monies' and 'impressions,' 'nocturnes' and 
 'notes,' smudges and audacities. But I suppose 
 that is all gibberish to you?" 
 
 "Iss, so it be," she admitted. 
 
 "Learn to love everything that is beautiful,
 
 LYING PROPHETS 53 
 
 my good child. But I think you do, uncon- 
 sciously perhaps." 
 
 "I don't take much 'count of things." 
 
 "Yes, unconsciously. You have a cowslip 
 there stuck in your frock, though where you got 
 it from I can't imagine. The flower is a month 
 too early." 
 
 "Iss, 'tis, I found en in a lew, sunshiny plaace. 
 Us have got a frame for growin' things under 
 glass, an' it had bin put down 'pon top this 
 cowslip an' drawed 'en up." 
 
 "Will you give it to me?" 
 
 She did so, and he smelled it. 
 
 "D'you know that the green of the cowslip is 
 the most beautiful green in all Nature, Joan? 
 Here, I have a flower, too ; we will exchange if 
 you like." 
 
 He took a scrap of blackthorn bloom from his 
 coat and held it out to her, but she shrank back- 
 ward and he learned something. 
 
 "Please not that — truly 'tis the dreadfulest 
 wicked flower. Doan't 'e arsk I to take en." 
 
 "Unlucky?" 
 
 "Iss fay! Him or her as first brings black- 
 thorn in the house dies afore it blows again. 
 Truth — solemn — us all knaws it down in these 
 paarts. 'Tis a bewitched thing — a wicked plant, 
 an' you can see it grawin' all humpetty-backed 
 an' bent an' crooked. Wance, when a man 
 killed hisself, they did use to bury en wheer 
 roads met an' put a blackthorn stake through 
 en; an' it alius grawed arter; an' that's the 
 worstest sort o' all."
 
 54 LYING PKOPHETS 
 
 "Dear, dear, I'm glad you told me, Joan; I 
 will not wear it, nor shall you," he said, and 
 flung it down and stamped on it very seriously. 
 
 The girl was gratified. 
 
 "I judge you'm a furriner, else you'd knawn 
 'bout the wickedness o' blackthorn." 
 
 "I am. Thank you very much. But for you 
 I should have gone home wearing it. That puts 
 me in your debt, Joan." 
 
 '"Tain't nothin', awnly there's a many coori- 
 ous Carnish things like that. An' coorious cus- 
 toms what some doan't hold with an' some 
 does." 
 
 She sat down near the cliff edge with her back 
 to him, and he smiled to himself to find how 
 quickly his mild manners and reserve had put 
 the girl at her ease. She looked perfect that 
 afternoon and he yearned to begin painting her; 
 but his scheme of action demanded time for its 
 perfect fulfillment and ultimate success. He let 
 the little timorous chatterbox talk. Her voice 
 was soft and musical as the cooing of a wood- 
 dove, and the sweet full notes chimed in strik- 
 ing contrast to her uncouth speech. But Joan's 
 diction gave pleasure to the listener. It had 
 freedom and wildness, and was almost wholly 
 innocent of any petrifying educational influ- 
 ences. 
 
 Joan, for her part, felt at ease. The man was 
 so polite and so humble. He thanked her for 
 her information so gratefully. Moreover, he 
 evidently cared so little about her or her looks. 
 She felt perfectly safe, for it was easy to see
 
 LYING PROPHETS 55 
 
 that he thought more of the gorse than any- 
 thing. 
 
 "My faither's agin such things an' sayin's," 
 she babbled on, "but I tlunnaw. They seems 
 truth to me, an' to many as is wiser than what 
 I be. My mother b'lieved in 'em, an' Joe did, 
 till faither turned en away from 'em. But 
 when us plighted troth, I made en jine hands 
 wi' me under a livin' spring o' water, though 
 he said 'twas heathenish. Awnly, somehow, I 
 knawed 'twas a proper thing to do." 
 
 "I should like to hear more about these old 
 customs some day," he said, as though Joan 
 and he were to meet often in the future, "and I 
 should be obliged to you for telling me about 
 them, because I always delight in such mat- 
 ters." 
 
 She was quicker of mind than he thought, 
 and rose, taking his last remark as a bint that 
 he wished to be alone. 
 
 "Don't go, Joan, unless you must. I'm a 
 very lonely man, and it is a great pleasure to 
 me to hear you talk. Look here." 
 
 She approached him, and he showed her a 
 pencil sketch now perched on the ease — a drawl- 
 ing considerably larger than that upon which he 
 had been working when she arrived. 
 
 "This is a rough idea of my picture. It is 
 going to be much larger though, and I have 
 sent all the way to London for a canvas on 
 which to paint it." 
 
 "'Twill be a gert big picksher then?" 
 
 "So big that I think I must try and get some-
 
 5G LYING PROPHETS 
 
 thing into it besides the gorse. I want some- 
 thing or other in the middle, just for a change. 
 What could I paint there?" 
 "I dunnaw." 
 
 ' ' No more do I. I wonder how that little white 
 pony tethered yonder would do?" 
 Joan laughed. 
 
 "You'd never get the likes o' him to bide still 
 for 'e." 
 
 "No, I'm afraid not; and I doubt if I'm 
 clever enough to paint him either. You see, 
 I'm only a beginner — not like these clever artists 
 who can draw anything. Well, I must think : 
 to-morrow is Sunday. I shall begin my big 
 picture on Monday if the weather keeps kind. 
 I shall paint here, in the open air. And I will 
 bring your ship, too, if you care to take the 
 trouble to come for it." 
 
 "Yes, an' thank 'e, sir." 
 
 "Not at all. I owe you thanks. Just think 
 if I had gone home with that horrid black- 
 thorn." 
 
 He turned to his work as though she were no 
 longer present and the girl prepared to depart. 
 
 "I'll bid you good-arternoon now, sir," she 
 said timidly. 
 
 He looked up with surprise. 
 
 "Haven't you gone, Joan? I thought you 
 had started. Good-by until Monday. Re- 
 member, if it is cold or rainy I shall not be 
 here." 
 
 The girl trotted off; and when she had gone 
 Barron drew her from memory in the center of
 
 LYINfi PROPHETS 57 
 
 his sketch. L'he golden glories of the gorse were 
 destined to 
 thing fairer. 
 
 destined to be no more than a frame for some 
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 COLD COMFORT 
 
 John Barron made other preparations for his 
 picture besides those detailed to Joan Tregenza. 
 He designed a large canvas and proposed to paint 
 it in the open air according to his custom. His 
 health had improved, and the sustained splen- 
 dor of the spring weather flattered hopes that, 
 his model once won, the work he proposed would 
 grow into an accomplished fact. There was no 
 cottage where he might house his picture and 
 materials within half a mile of Gorse Point, but 
 a granite cow-byre rose considerably nearer, at 
 a corner of an upland field. Wind- worn and 
 lichen-stained it stood, situated not more than 
 two hundred yards from the spot on which Bar- 
 ron's picture was to be painted. A pathway to 
 outlying farms cut the fields hard by the byre, 
 and about it lay implements of husbandry — a 
 chain harrow and a rusty plow. Black, tar- 
 pitched double dooi*s gave entrance to the shed, 
 and light entered from a solitary window now 
 roughly nailed up from the outside with boards. 
 A padlock fastened the door, but, by wrenching
 
 58 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 down the covering of the window, Barron got 
 sight of the interior. A smell of vermin and 
 decay rose from the inner darkness ; then, as his 
 eyes focused the gloom, he noted a dry, spa- 
 cious chamber likely enough to answer his pur- 
 pose. Brown litter of last year's fern filled one 
 corner, and in it was marked a lair as of some 
 medium-sized beast; elsewhere a few sacks with 
 spades and picks and a small pile of potatoes ap- 
 peared : the roots were all sprouting feebly from 
 white eyes, as though they knew spring held the 
 world, though neither sunshine warmed them 
 nor soft earth aided their struggle for life. Here 
 the man might well keep his canvas and other 
 matters. Assuming that temporary possession 
 of the shed was possible, his property would cer- 
 tainly be safe enough there ; for artists are re- 
 spected in and about Newlyn, and their needs 
 considered when possible. A farm, known as 
 Middle Hemyll, showed gray chimneys above 
 the fields, half a mile distant, and, after finding 
 the shed, Barron proceeded thither to learn its 
 ownership. The master of Middle Hemyll 
 speedily enlightened him, and the visitor learned 
 that not only did he speak to the possessor of 
 the cow-byre, but that Farmer Ford was a keen 
 supporter of art, and would be happy to rent his 
 outhouse for a moderate consideration. 
 
 "The land ban't under pasture now, an' the 
 plaace ed'n much used just this minute, so 
 you'm welcome if you mind to. My auld goat 
 did live theer wance, but er's dead this long 
 time. Maybe you seed the carcass of en, out-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 59 
 
 side? I'll have the byre cleared come to-mor- 
 rer; an' if so be you wants winders in the roof, 
 same as other paintin' gents, you'll have to put 
 'em theer wi' your awn money." 
 
 Barron explained that he only needed the shed 
 as a storehouse for his picture and tools. 
 
 "Just so, just so. Then you'll find a bwoy 
 wi' the key theer to-morrer, an' all vitty; an' 
 you can pay in advancement or arter, as you 
 please to. Us'll say half-a-crown a week, if 
 that'll soot 'e." 
 
 The listener produced half-a-sovereign, much 
 to Farmer Ford's gratification, and asked that 
 a lad or man might be found to return with him 
 there and then to the shed. 
 
 "I am anxious to see the place and have it in 
 order before I go back to Newlyn," he explained. 
 "I will pay you extra for the necessaiy labor, and 
 it should not take above an hour." 
 
 "No more 'twill, an' I'll come 'long with 'e 
 myself this minute," answered the other. 
 
 Getting a key to the padlock, and a big birch 
 broom, he returned with Barron, and soon had 
 the doors of the disused bj-re thrown open to the 
 air. 
 
 "I shut en up when the auld goat went dead. 
 Theer a used to lie in the corner, but now he'm 
 outside, an' I doubt the piskeys, what the}" talks 
 'bout, be mighty savage wi' me for not buryin' 
 the beast, 'cause all fairies is 'dieted to goats, 
 they do say, an' mighty fond o' the milk of 
 'em." 
 
 Farmer Ford soon cleared the place of pota-
 
 60 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 toes, sacks, and tools. Then, taking his broom, 
 he made a clean sweep of dust and dirt. 
 
 "Theer's a many more rats here than I knawed 
 seemin'ly," he said, as he examined a sink in the 
 stones of the floor, used for draining the stalls ; 
 "they come up here for sartain, an' runs out 
 'long the heydge to the mangel-wurzel mound, 
 I lay." 
 
 Without, evidences of the vermin were clear 
 enough. Long hardened tracks, patted down 
 by many paws, ran this way and that ; and the 
 main rat thoroughfare extended, as the farmer 
 foretold, to a great mound where, stowed snugly 
 in straw under earth, lay packed the remains of 
 a mangel-wurzel crop. At one end the store 
 had been opened and drawn upon for winter 
 use ; but a goodly pile of the great tawny globes 
 still remained, small lemon-colored leaves sprout- 
 ing from them. Farmer Ford, however, viewed 
 the treasure without satisfaction. 
 
 "Us killed a power o' sheep wi' they blarsted 
 roots last winter,*' he said. "You'd never think 
 now as the frost could touch 'em, but it did 
 though, awin' to the wicked long winter. It 
 got to 'em, sure 'nough, an' theer was frost in 
 'em when us gived 'em to the sheep, an' it rotted 
 theer innards, poor twoads, an' they died, more'n 
 a score." 
 
 Barron listened thoughtfully to these details, 
 then pointed to an ugly sight beyond the wurzel 
 mound. 
 
 "I should like that removed," he said. 
 
 It was the dead goat, withered to a mummy
 
 LYING PROPHETS 61 
 
 almost, with horns and hide intact, and a rat- 
 way bored through the body of the beast under 
 a tunnel of its ribs. 
 
 "Jimmery! to see what them varmints have 
 done to 'en! But I'll bury what's left right on 
 en; an' I'll stop the sink in the house, then 
 you'll be free of 'em." 
 
 These things the farmer did, and presently 
 departed, promising to revisit the spot ere long 
 with some dogs and a ferret or two. So Barron 
 was left master of the place. He found it dry, 
 weather-proof and well suited to his require- 
 ments in every respect. The concerns which he 
 had ordered from London would be with him by 
 Saturday night if all went well, and he decided 
 that they should be conveyed to the byre at an 
 early hour on Monday morning. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, and half a dozen 
 men, with Barron and Murdoch among them, 
 strolled into Brady's great whitewashed studio 
 to see and criticise his academy picture which 
 was finished. Everybody declared that the art- 
 ist had excelled himself in "The End of the Voy- 
 age. " It represented a sweep of the rocky coast 
 by the Lizard, a wide gray sand, left naked by 
 the tide, with the fringe of a heavy sea churn- 
 ing on it, and sea-fowl strutting here and there. 
 In the foreground, half buried under tangles of 
 brown weed torn from the rocks by past storms, 
 lay a dead sailor, and a big herring-gull, with 
 its head on one side and a world of inquiry in 
 its yellow eyes, was looking at him. Tremen- 
 dous vigor marked the work, and only a Brady
 
 62 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 could have come safely through the difficulties 
 which had been surmounted in its creation. 
 Everybody sang praises, and Barron nodded 
 warm approval, but said nothing until chal- 
 lenged. 
 
 "Now, find the faults, then tell me what's 
 good," said the gigantic painter. He stood 
 there, burly, hearty, physically splendid — the 
 man of all others in that throng who might 
 have been pointed to as the creator of the solemn 
 gray picture before them. 
 
 "Leave fault-finding to Fleet Street," said 
 Barron; "let the press people tell you where 
 you are wrong. I am no critic and I know 
 what a mountain of hard work went to this. ' ' 
 
 "That's all right, old man; never mind the 
 work — or me. Be impartial." 
 
 "Why should I? To be impartial, as this 
 world wags, is to be friendless." 
 
 "Good Lord! d'you think I mind mauling? 
 There's something wrong or you wouldn't be 
 so deucedly evasive. Out with it!" 
 
 "Well, your sailor's not dead." 
 
 Brady roared with laughter. 
 
 "Man! the poor devil's been in the water a 
 week!" 
 
 "Not he. 'Tis a mistake in nine painted 
 corpses out of ten. If you want to paint a 
 drowned man, wait till you've seen one close. 
 That sailor in the seaweed's asleep. Sleep is 
 graceful, remember; death by drowning is gen- 
 erally ugly— stiff, stark, hideous, eyeless, fish- 
 gnawed a week after the event. But what does
 
 LYING PROPHETS 63 
 
 it matter? You've painted a great picture. 
 That sea, with the circular swirl, as each wave 
 goes back into the belly of the next, is well done ; 
 and those lumps of spume fluttering above water- 
 mark—that was finely noted. Easy to write 
 down in print, but difficult as the fiend to paint. 
 And the picture is full of wind too. Your troubles 
 are amply repaid and I congratulate you. A 
 man who could paint that will go as far as he 
 likes." 
 
 The simple Brady forgot the powder in swal- 
 lowing the jam, Barron had touched those 
 things in his work which were precious to him. 
 His impulsive nature took fire, and there was al- 
 most a qui ver of emotion in his big voice as he 
 answered : 
 
 "Damn it, vou're a brick! I'd sooner hear 
 you praise those lumps of sea-spume, racing 
 over the sand there, than see my picture on the 
 line." 
 
 But sentiment was strange to John Barron's 
 impersonal nature, and he froze. 
 
 "Another fault exists which probably nobody 
 will tell you but me. Your seaweed's great, 
 and you knew it by heart before you painted it 
 — that I'll swear to, but your sleeper there would 
 never lie in the line of it as you have him. Re- 
 flect : the sea must float the light weed after it 
 could move him no more. He should be stogged 
 in the sand nearer the sea. ' ' 
 
 Brady, however, contested this criticism, and 
 so the talk wore on until the men separated. 
 But the Irishman called on Barron after midday
 
 64 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 dinner and together they strolled through New- 
 lyn toward the neighboring village. Chance 
 brought them face to face with two persons 
 more vital to the narrative than themselves, 
 and, pausing to chronicle the event of the meet- 
 ing, we may leave the artists and follow those 
 whom they encountered. 
 
 Gray Michael kept ashore on Sundays, and to- 
 day, having come off the sea at dawn, was not 
 again putting forth until next morning. He 
 had attended meeting with his wife, his daugh- 
 ter and his son ; he had dined also, and was now 
 walking over to Mousehole that he might bring 
 some religious comfort to a sorely stricken Luke 
 Gospeler — a young sheep but lately won to the 
 fold and who now lay at the point of death. 
 Joan accompanied him, and upon the way they 
 met John Barron and his companion. The girl 
 blushed hotly and then chilled with a great dis- 
 appointment, for Barron's eyes were on the sea; 
 he was talking as he passed by, and he appar- 
 ently saw neither her nor her Sunday gown; 
 which circumstance was a sorrow to Joan. But 
 in reality Barron missed nothing. He had shiv- 
 ered at her green dress and poor finery long be- 
 fore she reached him . Her garb ruffled his senses 
 and left him wounded. 
 
 "There goes your beauty," laughed Brady; 
 "how would you like to paint her in that frock 
 with those sinful blue flowers in her hat?" 
 
 "Nature must weep to see the bizarre carni- 
 val these people enjoy on the Seventh Day," an- 
 swered the other. "Their duns and drabs, their
 
 LYING PROPHETS 65 
 
 russets and tawny tones of red and orange, are 
 of their environment, the proper skins for their 
 bodies; but to think of that girl brightening the 
 eyes of a hundred louts by virtue of those fine 
 feathers ! Dream of her in the Stone Age, clad 
 in a petticoat torn from a wolf, with her straw- 
 colored hair to her waist and a necklace of shells 
 or wild beasts' teeth between her breasts! And 
 the man — her father, I suppose — what a picture 
 his cursed broadcloth and soft black hat make 
 of him — like the head of a patriarch stuck on a 
 tailor's dummy." 
 
 Meanwhile, ignorant of these startling criti- 
 cisms, Mr. Tregenza and his daughter pursued 
 their road, and presently stopped before a cot- 
 tage in one of the cobble-paved alley-ways of 
 Mousehole. A worn old woman opened the 
 door and courtesied to Gray Michael. He 
 wished her good-afternoon, then entered the 
 cottage, first bidding Joan return in an hour. 
 She had friends near at hand, and hurried off, 
 glad to escape the sight of sickness and the 
 prayers she knew that her father would pres- 
 ently deliver. 
 
 "How be en?" inquired the fisherman, and 
 the widowed mother of the patient answered : 
 
 "Better, I do pray. Er was in the doldrums 
 issterday an' bad by night also, a dwaling an' 
 moaning gashly, but, the Lard be praised, he'm 
 better in mind b} r now, an' I do think 'tis more 
 along of Bible-readin' than all the doctor's 
 traade * he've took. I read to en 'bout that 
 
 * Traade — Physic.
 
 66 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 theer bwoy, the awuly son o' his mother, an' 
 her a widder-wumman, an' how as the Lard 
 brought en round arter he'd gone dead." 
 
 Gray Michael sniffed and made no comment. 
 
 "I'll see en an' put up a praj r er or so," he 
 said. 
 
 "An' the Lard'll reward it, Mr. Tregenza." 
 
 Youug Albert Vallack greeted the visitor with 
 even greater reverence than his mother had done. 
 He and the old woman were Falmouth folks and 
 had drifted Westerly upon the father's death, 
 until chance anchored them in Newlyn. Now 
 the lad — a dissolute youth enough, until sudden 
 illness had frightened him to religion — was dy- 
 ing of consumption, and dying fast, though as 
 yet he knew it not. 
 
 " 'Tis handsome in you, a comin' to see the 
 likes o' me," said the patient, flushing with sat- 
 isfaction. " You'm like the stickler at a wras'- 
 lin' match, Mister Tregenza, sir; you sees fair 
 play betwixt God an' man." 
 
 "So you'm better, Albert, your mother sez." 
 
 "Iss, a bit. Theer's more kick an' sprawl* 
 in me than theer 'ave bin ; an' I feels more hope- 
 ful like 'bout the future." 
 
 Self-righteousness in a new-fledged Luke Gos- 
 peler, who had been of the fold but three months 
 and whose previous record was extremely unsat- 
 isfactory, irritated Gray Michael not a little. 
 
 "Bwoy!" he said loudly, "doan't 'e be de- 
 ceived that way. 'Gird 'e wi' sackcloth, lament 
 
 * Kick ari sprawl — Strength, vitality.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 67 
 
 and howl; for the fierce anger o' the Lard is not 
 turned back from us. ' Three months o' right- 
 eousness is a purty bad set off 'gainst twenty 
 years o' sin, an' it doan't become 'e to feel hope- 
 ful, I 'sure ye." 
 
 The sick man's color paled, and a certain note 
 as of triumph in his voice died out of it. His 
 mother had left them, feeling that her presence 
 might hinder conversation and lessen the com- 
 fort which Mr. Tregenza had brought. 
 
 "I did ought to be chap-fall'n, I s'pose." 
 
 "Iss, you did, my son, nobody more'n you. 
 Maybe you'll live; maybe you'll die; but keep 
 humble. I doan't wish to deceive 'e. Us ain't 
 had time to make no certainty 'bout things. 
 You'm in the Lard's hand, an' it becomes 'e 
 to sing small, an' remember what your life's 
 bin." 
 
 The other grew uneasy and his voice faltered 
 while he still fought for a happy eternity. 
 
 "I'd felt like 'twas all right arter what mother 
 read." 
 
 "Not so. God's a just God 'fore everything. 
 Theer ed'n no favorin' wi' Him. I hopes you'll 
 live this many a day, Vallack ; an' then, when 
 your hour comes, you'll have piled up a tidy 
 record an' can go wi' a certainty faacin' you. 
 Seems you'm better, an' us at chapel's prayed 
 hot an' strong to the Throne that you might be 
 left to work out your salvation now your foot's 
 'pon the right road." 
 
 "But if I dies, mister?" 
 
 " 'The prayer of the righteous man availeth
 
 68 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 much,' " answered Gray Michael evasively. "I 
 be come," he added, "to read the Scriptures 
 to 'e." 
 
 "You all prayed for me, sir?" 
 
 "Iss, every man, but theer was no mincin' 
 matters, Albert. Us was arskin' for a miser- 
 able sinner, a lost sheep awnby just strayed 
 back, an' we put it plain as that was so." 
 
 " 'Tweer mighty kind o' the Luke Gosp'lers, 
 sir." 
 
 " 'Twas their dooty. Now I be gwaine to 
 read the Book." 
 
 "I feels that uneasv now," whined the suf- 
 ferer, in a voice where fear spoke instead of 
 hope, "but I s'pose 'tis a sign o' graace I should 
 be?" 
 
 "Iss, 'tis. I've corned to tell 'e the truth, for 
 'tis ill as a man should be blind to facts on what 
 may be his last bed 'bove the airth. Listen to 
 this, my son, an' if theer's anything you doan't 
 onderstand, arsk me an' I'll thraw light 'pon it." 
 
 He read, with loud, slow voice, the fifty-fifth 
 chapter of Isaiah, and that glorious clarion of 
 great promise gave Michael the lie and drowned 
 his own religious opinions as thunder drowns 
 the croaking of marsh frogs; but he knew it 
 not. The brighter burned his own shining light, 
 the blacker the shadows it threw upon the future 
 of all sinners. 
 
 As Tregenza finished and put down his Bible, 
 the other spoke and quoted eagerly : 
 
 " 'Incline your ear an' come unto Me; fear, 
 an' your savvl shall live!' Theer do seem a hope
 
 LYING PROPHETS 69 
 
 in that if ited'n awver-bold me thinkin' so?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "That's like them Church o' Englanders, a 
 tearin' wan text away from t'others an' readin' 
 it accordin' as they pleases. I'll expound it all 
 to wance, as a God-fearin' man did ought to 
 treat the Scriptures." 
 
 Gray Michael's exposition illustrated nothing 
 beyond his own narrow intellectual limitations. 
 His cold cloud of words obscured the prophet's 
 sunshine, and the light went out of the dying- 
 man's eyes, leaving only alarm. He trembled 
 on the brink of the horrid truth; he heard it 
 thinly veiled in the other's stern utterance, saw 
 it looking from his hard blue eyes. After the 
 sermon, silence followed, broken by Vallack, 
 who coughed once and again, then raised him- 
 self and braced his heart to the tremendous 
 question that demanded answering. 
 
 "I wants your awn feelin' like, mister. I 
 must have it. I caan't sleep no more wi'out 
 knawin' the best or worst. You be the justest 
 man ever I seed or heard tell on out the Script- 
 ures. An' I wants 'e to gimme your opinion 
 like. S'pose you was the Judge an' I corned 
 afore 'e an' the Books was theer and you'd read 
 'em an' had to conclude 'pon 'em — ?" 
 
 The fisherman reflected. Vallack's proposi- 
 tion did not strike him as particularly grotesque. 
 He felt it was a natural question, and he only 
 regretted that it had been put, because, though 
 he had driven more than one j'oung man to 
 righteousness along the path of terror, in this
 
 70 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 present case the truth came too late save to add 
 another horror to death. He believed in all sin- 
 cerity that as surely as the young* man before 
 him presently died, so surely would he be 
 damned, but he saw no particular object in 
 stating the fact. Such intelligence might tell 
 upon Vallack's physical condition — a thing of 
 all others to be avoided, for Gray Michael held 
 that the sufferer's only chance of a happy eter- 
 nity was increased and lengthened opportunity 
 in time. 
 
 "It ed'n for me to sit in the Judgment Seat, 
 Albert. 'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lard.' 
 You must alius hold in mind that theer's mighty 
 few saved alive, best o' times. Many be called, 
 but few chosen. Men go down to the graave 
 every second o' the day an' night, but if you 
 could see the sawls a streamin' away, thicker'n 
 a cloud of starlings, you'd find a mass, black as 
 a storm, went down long, an' awnly just a sum- 
 mer cloud like o' the blessed riz up. Hell's big- 
 ger'n Heaven; an' er's need to be, for Heaven's 
 like to be a lonely plaace, when all's said. I 
 won't speak no more 'bout that subjec'. 'Tis 
 good fashion weather for 'e just now, an us'll 
 hope as you ban't gwaine to die for many a 
 day." 
 
 "Say it out, mister, say it out. I knaws 
 what you means. You reckons if I gaws I'm 
 lost."' 
 
 "My poor sawl, justice is justice; an' the 
 Lard's all for justice an' no less. Theer's no 
 favorin' wi' Him, Albert."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 71 
 
 "But mightn't He favor the whole bilin' of 
 us — good'n bad — 'cause He made us?" 
 
 "Surely not. Wheer's the justice o' that? If 
 He done that, how'd the godly get their fair 
 dues — eh? Be the righteous man to share God's 
 Heaven \vi' publicans an' sinners? That ed'n 
 justice anyhow. Don't fret, lad; tears won't 
 mend bad years. Bide quiet an' listen to me 
 whiles I pray for 'e. ' ' 
 
 The man in the bed had grown very white, 
 his eyes burned wildly out of a shrunken face, 
 and he gripped the sheets and shivered in pure 
 physical terror. 
 
 "I caan't die, I caan't die, not yet," he 
 groaned, "pray to the Lard to keep me from 
 dyin' yet a while, mister. Arsk en to give me 
 just a lil time, 'cause I'm that sorry for my 
 scarlet sins." 
 
 Thereupon Michael knelt, clasped his hands 
 so close that the bent finger-joints grew white, 
 raised his massive head upward and prayed with 
 his eyes closed. The intercession for life ended, 
 he rose up, shook Vallack by the hand, and so 
 departed. 
 
 "Alius, when you've got the chance, bear the 
 balm o' Gilead to a sinner's couch," he said to 
 his daughter as they walked home. " 'Tis the 
 duty of man an' maid to spread the truth an' 
 bring peace to the troubled, an' strength to the 
 weak-hearted, an' rise up them that fall." 
 
 A week later Mr. Tregenza heard how Albert 
 Vallack had burst a blood-vessel and died, fight- 
 ing horribly with awful invisible terrors.
 
 73 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "Another sawl gone down into the Pit," he 
 said. "I reckon fewer an' fewer be chosen 
 every year as the world do grow older an' riper 
 for the last fires." 
 
 CHAPTER SIX 
 
 FAIRY STORIES 
 
 Joan found her sketch waiting for her the 
 next day when she reached Gorse Point about 
 eleven o'clock; and she also discovered John 
 Barron with a large canvas before him. He 
 had constructed his picture and already made 
 many drawings for it. Now he knew exactly 
 what he wanted, and he designed to paint Joan 
 standing looking out at a distant sea which 
 would be far behind the spectator of the picture. 
 When she arrived, on a fine morning and mild, 
 Barron rose from his camp-stool, lifted up a lit- 
 tle canvas which stood framed at his side and 
 presented it to her. The sketch in oils of the 
 "Anna" was cleverer than Joan could possibly 
 know, but she took no small delight in it and in 
 the setting of rough deal brightly gilded. 
 
 "Sure 'tis truly good of 'e, sir!" 
 
 "You are more than welcome. Only let me 
 say one word, Joan. Keep your picture hidden 
 awav until Joe comes back from sea and mar-
 
 LYING I'WOIMIKTS 73 
 
 ries you. From what you tell me, your father 
 might not like you to have this trifle, and I 
 should be very sorry to annoy him." 
 
 "I waddun' gvvaine to show en," she con- 
 fessed. "I shall store the picksher away as you 
 sez." 
 
 "You are wise. Now look here, doesn't this 
 promise to be a big affair? The gorse will be 
 nearly as large as life, and I've been wondering 
 ever so long what I shall put in the middle; and 
 whatever do you think I've thought of?" 
 
 "I dunnaw. That white pony us saw, p'raps?" 
 
 "No; something much prettier. How would 
 it do, d'you think, if you stood here in front of 
 the gorse, just to fill up the middle piece of the 
 picture?" 
 
 ' ' Oh, no, no ! My f aither— " 
 
 "You misunderstand, Joan. I don't want a 
 picture of you, you know; I'm going to paint 
 the gorse. But if you just stood here, you'd 
 make a sort of contrast with your brown frock. 
 Not a portrait at all, only just a figure to help 
 the color. Besides, you mustn't think I'm an 
 artist, I shouldn't go selling the picture or hang- 
 ing it up for everybody to stare at it. I'm cer- 
 tain your father wouldn't mind, and I'll tell him 
 all about it afterward, if you like." 
 
 She hesitated and reflected with trouble in her 
 eyes, while Barron quietly took the picture he 
 had brought her and wrapped it up in a piece of 
 paper. His object was to remind her without 
 appearing to do so of her obligation to him, and 
 Joan was clever enough to take the hint, though
 
 ?4 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 not clever enough to see that it was an iuteu- 
 tional one. 
 
 "Would it be a long job, sir?" she asked at 
 length. 
 
 "Yes, it would; because I'm a slow painter 
 and rather stupid. But I should think it very, 
 very kind of you. I'm not strong, you know,, 
 and I daresay this is the last picture I shall ever 
 paint. ' ' 
 
 "You ed'n strong, sir?" 
 "Not at all." 
 
 She was silent, and a great sympathy rose in 
 her girl's heart, for frail health always made her 
 sad. 
 
 "You don't judge 'tis wrong then for a maiden 
 to be painted in a picksher?' ' 
 
 "Certainly not, Joan. I should never suggest 
 such a thing to you if I thought it was in the 
 least wrong. I know it isn't wrong." 
 
 "I seed you issterday," she said, changing 
 the subject suddenly, "but you dedn see me, 
 did 'e?" 
 
 "Yes, I did, and your father. He is a grand- 
 looking man. By the way, Joan, I think I never 
 told you my name. I'm called John; that's 
 short and simple, isn't it?" 
 "Mister Jan," she said. 
 
 "No, not 'mister'— just 'Jan,' " he answered, 
 adopting her pronunciation. "I don't call you 
 'Miss' Joan." 
 
 She looked at once uncomfortable and 
 pleased. 
 "We must be friends," the man continued
 
 LYING PROPHETS 75 
 
 calmly, "now you have promised to let me put 
 you here among the gorse bushes." 
 
 "Sure, I dunnaw 'bout the picksher, Mister 
 Jan." 
 
 "Well, you would be doing me a great service. 
 I want to paint 3 T ou very much and I think you 
 will be kind." 
 
 He looked into her eyes with a steady, inquir- 
 ing glance, and Joan experienced a new emo- 
 tion. Joe had never looked like that; nor yet 
 her father. She felt a will stronger than her 
 own was busy with her inclinations. Volition 
 remained free, and yet she doubted whether un- 
 der any circumstances could she refuse his peti- 
 tion. As it happened, however, she already 
 liked the man. He was so respectful and po- 
 lite. Moreover, she felt sad to hear that he 
 suffered in health. He would not ask her to 
 do wrong and she felt certain that she might 
 trust him. A trembling wish and a longing to 
 comply with his request already mastered her 
 mind. 
 
 "You'm sure— gospel truth — theer ed'n no 
 harm in it?" 
 
 "Trust me." 
 
 In five minutes he had posed her as he wished 
 and was drawing, while every word he spoke 
 put Joan more at her ease. The spice of ad- 
 venture and secrecy fired her and she felt the 
 spirit of romance in her blood, though she knew 
 no name for it. Here was a secret delight knock- 
 ing at the gray threshold of every-day life — an 
 adventure which might last for many days.
 
 7G LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Barron, to touch the woman in her if he could, 
 harped upon her gown and the color of it, on 
 her shoes and sun-bonnet — on everything but 
 herself. Presently he reaped his reward. 
 
 "Ban't you gwaine to paint my faa.ce as well, 
 Mister Jan." 
 
 "Yes, if I can. But your eyes are blue, and 
 blue eyes are hard to paint well. Yours are so 
 very blue, Joan. Didn't Joe ever tell you that?" 
 
 "No— that's all fulishness." 
 
 "Nothing that's true is foolish. Now I'm go- 
 ing to make some little sketches of you, so as to 
 get each fold and shadow in your dress right." 
 
 Barron drew rapidly, and Joan — ever ready 
 to talk to a willing listener when her confidence 
 was won — prattled on, turning the conversation 
 as usual to the matters she loved. Upon her 
 favorite subjects she dared not open her mouth 
 at home, and even her lover refused to listen to 
 the legends of the land, but they were part of 
 the girl's life notwithstanding, drawn into her 
 blood from her mother, a thousand times more 
 real and precious than even the promised heaven 
 of Luke Gospeldom, not to be wholly smothered 
 at any time. Occasionally, indeed, uneasy fears 
 that discussion of such concerns was absolutely 
 sinful kept her dumb for a week, then the relig- 
 ious wave swept on, and Cornish folk-lore, with 
 its splendor and romance, again filled her heart 
 and bubbled from her lips. Her little stories 
 pleased Barron mightily. Excitement height- 
 ened Joan's beauty. Her absolute innocence 
 at the age of seventeen struck him as remark-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 77 
 
 able. It seemed curious that a child bom in a 
 cottage, where realities and facts are apt to 
 roughly front boy and girl alike, should know- 
 so little. She was a beautiful, primitive creat- 
 ure, with strange store of fairy fable in her 
 mind ; a treasury which brought color and joy 
 into life. So she prattled, and the man painted. 
 
 Pare artistic interest filled Barron's brain at 
 this season; not a shadow of passion made his 
 pencil shaky or his eye dim ; he began to learn 
 the girl with as little emotion as he had learned 
 the gorse. He asked her to unfasten the top 
 button of her dress that he might see the lines 
 of her plump throat, and she complied without 
 hesitation or ceasing from her chatter. He noted 
 where the tan on her neck faded to white under 
 her dress, and occupied himself with all the 
 artistic problems she unconsciously spread be- 
 fore him ; while she merely talked, garnered in 
 his questions and comments on all she said, and 
 found delight in the apparent interest and enter- 
 tainment her conversation afforded him. 
 
 "I seed a maggotty-pie* comin' along this 
 marnin'," she said. "Wan's bad an' a sign o' 
 sorrer; but if you spits twice over your left 
 shoulder it doan't matter so much. But I be 
 better off than many maidens, 'cause I be saint- 
 protected like." 
 
 "That's interesting, Joan." 
 
 "Faither'd be mad if I let on 'bout it to him, 
 so I doesn't. He doan't b'lieve much in dead 
 
 * Maggotty-pie— Magpie.
 
 78 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 saints, though Carn wall's full of 'em. Have 'e 
 heard tell 'bout Saint Madera?" 
 
 "Ah, the saint of the well?" 
 
 "Iss, an' the brook as runs by the Madern 
 chapel." 
 
 "I sketched the little ruin of the baptistery 
 some time ago. ' ' $ 
 
 " 'Twas tho't a deal of wance, an' the holy 
 water theer was reckoned better for childern 
 than any doctor's traade as ever was. My 
 mother weer a Madern cheel; an' 'er ordained 
 I should be as well, an' when faither was to sea, 
 as fell out just 'pon the right day, mother took 
 me up theer. That was my awn mother as is 
 dead. More folks b'lieved in the spring then 
 than what do now, 'cause that was sebenteen 
 year agone. An' from bein' a puny cheel I 
 grawed a bonny wan arter dipping. But some 
 liked the crick-stone better for lil baabies than 
 even the Madern brook." 
 
 "Men-an-tol that stone is called?" 
 
 "So 'tis, awnly us knaws it as the crick-stone. 
 Theer's a big hole in en, an' if a cheel was passed 
 through nine times runnin', gwaine 'gainst the 
 way of the sun every time, it made en as strong 
 as a lion. An' 'tis good for grawn people tu, 
 awnly folks is afeared to try now 'cause t'others 
 laugh at en. But I reckon the Madern brook's 
 holy water still. An' theer's wonnerful things 
 said 'bout the crick-stones an' long stones tu. 
 A many of 'em stands round 'bout these 
 paarts." 
 
 "D'you know Men Scry fa— the stone with the
 
 LYING PROPHETS 79 
 
 writing on it? That's a famous long stone, up 
 beyond Lanyon Farmhouse." 
 
 "I've seed en, 'pon the heath. "lis butivul 
 an' solemn an' still, all aloan out theer in a croft 
 to itself. I trapsed up-long wan day an' got be- 
 side of en an' ate a pasty wi' Joe. But Joe chid 
 me, an' said 'tweer a heathenish thing sticked 
 theer by the Phoenicians, as corned for tin in 
 Solomon's times." 
 
 "Don't you believe that, Joan. Men Scryfa 
 marks the memory of a good Briton — one who 
 knew King Arthur, very likely. I love the old 
 stones too. You are right to love them. They 
 are landmarks in time, books from which we 
 may read something of a far, fascinating past." 
 
 "Iss, but I ded'n tell 'e all 'bout the Madern 
 waters. The best day for 'em be the fust Sun- 
 day in May; an' come that, the mothers did use 
 to gaw up to the chapel — dozens of 'em — wi' 
 poor lil baabies. They dipped 'em naked in the 
 brook, an' 'twas just a miracle for rashes and 
 braggety legs and sich like. An', arterward, 
 the mothers made offerin's to the saint. 'Tvvas 
 awnly the thot like, but folks reckoned the saint 
 'ud take the will for the act, 'cause poor people 
 couldn' give a saint nothin' worth namin'." 
 
 Barron had heard of the votive offerings left 
 by the faithful in past days at St. Madron's 
 shrine, but felt somewhat surprised to find the 
 practice dated back to a time so recent as Joan's 
 infancy. He let her talk on, for the subject was 
 evidentlv dear to the girl. 
 
 "And what did the mothers give the saint?"
 
 80 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "Why, rags mostly. Just a rag tored off a 
 petticoat, or some sick thing. They hanged 'em 
 up around about on the thorn bushes to shaw as 
 they'd a done more for the good saint if they'd 
 had the power. An' theer's another marvelous 
 thing as washin' in thicky waters done : it kep' 
 the fairies off — the bad fairies, I mean. 'Cause 
 theer'm gude an' bad piskeys, same as gude an' 
 bad men folks." 
 
 "You believe in fairies, Joan?" 
 
 She looked at him shyly, but he had appar- 
 ently asked for information and was not in the 
 least amused. 
 
 "I dunnaw. P'raps. Iss, I do, then! Many 
 wiser'n me do b'lieve in 'em. You arsk the tin- 
 ners — them as works deep. They knaws; they've 
 'eard the knackers an' gathorns many a time, an' 
 some's seen 'em. But the mine fairies be mostly 
 wicked lil humpetty-backed twoads as'll do harm 
 if they can ; an' the buccas is onkind to fisher- 
 men most times; an' 'tis said they used to bide 
 in the shape of a cat by day. But theer be land 
 fairies as is mighty good-hearted if a body be- 
 haves seemly." 
 
 "I believe in the fairies too," said Barron 
 gravely, "but I've never seen one." 
 
 "Do 'e now, Mister Jan! Then I'm sure 
 theer is sich things. I ne'er seed wan neither; 
 but I'd love to. Some maids has vanished 
 away an' dwelt 'mong 'ern for many days an' 
 then corned home. Theer's Robin o' the Cam 
 as had a maiden to work for en. You may have 
 heard the tale?"
 
 LYING PROPHETS 81 
 
 1 1 
 
 ; No, never." 
 
 'Tis a fine tale; an' the gal had a braave 
 time 'mongst the lil people till she disobeyed 
 'em an' found herself back 'mongst men folk 
 agin. But in coorse some of them — the piskeys, 
 I mean — works for men folk themselves. My 
 gran'mother Chirgwin, when she was very auld, 
 seed 'em a threshin' corn in a barn up Drift. 
 The.y was tiny fellers wi' beards an' red faaces, 
 an' they handled the flails cruel clever. Then, 
 arter a bit, they done the threshin' an' was kick- 
 in' the short straw out the grain, which riz a 
 gert dust; an' the piskeys all beginned sneezin'. 
 An' my gran'mother, as was peepin' through 
 the door unbeknown to 'em, forgot you must 
 never speak to a piskey, an' sez, 'God bless "e, 
 lil men!' 'cause that's what us alius sez if a 
 body sneezes. Then they all took fright an' 
 vanished away in the twinkle of a eye. Which 
 must be true, 'cause my awn gran'mother tawld 
 it. But they ded'n leave the farm, though no- 
 body seed 'em again, for arter that 'tis said as 
 the cows gived a wonnerful shower o' milk, bet- 
 ter'n ever was knawn before. An' I 'sure 'e I'd 
 dearly like to be maiden to good piskeys if they'd 
 let me work for 'em." 
 
 "Ah, I'm certain you would suit them well, 
 Joan; and they would be lucky to get you, I 
 think; but I hope they won't go and carry you 
 off until I've done with you, at any rate." 
 
 She laughed, and he bid her put down her 
 hand from her eyes and rest. He had brought 
 some oranges for her, but judged the friendship
 
 82 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 had gone far enough, and first decided not to 
 produce them. Half an hour later, however, 
 when the sitting was ended, he changed his 
 mind. 
 
 "Can you come to-morrow, Joan? I am en- 
 tirely in your hands, remember, and must con- 
 sider your convenience always. In fact, I am 
 your servant and shall wait your pleasure at all 
 times. 
 
 Joan felt proud and rather important. 
 
 "I'll come at 'leben o'clock to-morrow, but I 
 doubt I caan't be here next day, Mister Jan." 
 
 "Thank you very much. To-morrow at eleven 
 will do splendidly. By the way, I have an orange 
 here — two, in fact. I thought we might be 
 thirsty. Will you take one to eat going home?" 
 
 He held out the fruit and she took it. 
 
 ' ' My ! What a buti vul orange ! ' ' 
 
 "Good-by until to-morrdw, Joan; and thank 
 you for your great kindness to a very friendless 
 man. You'll never be sorry for it, I'm sure." 
 
 He bowed gravely and took off his cap, then 
 turned to his easel; and she blushed with a 
 lively pleasure. She had seen gentlemen take 
 off their hats to ladies, but no man had ever 
 paid her that respect until then, and it seemed 
 good to her. She marched off with her picture 
 and her orange, but did not eat the fruit until ' 
 out of sight of Gorse Point. 
 
 The man painting there already began to fill 
 a space in Joan's thoughts. He knew so much 
 and yet was glad to learn from her. He never 
 laughed or talked lightly. He put her in mind
 
 LYING PROPHETS S3 
 
 of her father for that reason, but then his heart 
 was soft, and he loved Nature and beautiful 
 things, and believed in fairies and spoke no ill 
 of anybody. Joan speculated as to how these 
 meetings could be kept a secret and came to the 
 conclusion it would not be difficult to hide them. 
 Then, reaching home, she hid her picture be- 
 hind the pig-sty until opportunity offered for 
 taking it indoors' to her own bedroom unob- 
 served. 
 
 As for John Barron, he felt kindly enough 
 toward his model. He could hold himself with 
 an iron hand when he pleased, and proposed that 
 the growing friendship should ripen into a fine 
 work of art and no more. But what might go 
 to the making of the picture could not be fore- 
 told. He would certainly allow nothing to check 
 inspiration or stand between him and the very 
 best he had power to achieve. No sacrifice could 
 be too great for Art, and Barron, who was now 
 awake and alive for an achievement, would, ac- 
 cording to his rule, count nothing hard, nothing 
 impossible that might add a grain of value to 
 the work. His own skill and Joan's beauty 
 were brought in contact and he meant to do 
 everything a man might do to make the result 
 immortal. But the human instruments neces- 
 sary to such work counted for nothing, and their 
 personal prosperity and welfare would weigh no 
 more with him than the future of the brushes 
 which he might use, after he had done with 
 them.
 
 84- LYING PROPHETS 
 
 CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 UNCLE CHIRGWIN 
 
 Joan's first announcement upon the following 
 morning was a regret that the sitting must be 
 short. 
 
 "We'm mighty busy, come wan thing an' an- 
 other," she said. "Mother's gwaine to Penzance 
 wi' my brother to buy his seafarin' kit; and 
 Uncle Chirgwin, as keeps a farm up Drift, be 
 comin' to dinner, which he ain't done this loug 
 time; an' faither may by chance be home tu, so 
 like as not, for the first bwoats be tackin' back 
 from the islands a'ready." 
 
 "You shall stop just as short a time as you 
 choose, Joan. It was very good of you to come 
 at all under these circumstances," declared the 
 artist. 
 
 "Us be fine an' busy when uncle comes down- 
 long, an' partickler this time, 'cause theer've 
 bin a differ'nce of 'pinion 'bout— 'bout a matter 
 betwixt him and faither, but now he's wrote 
 through the post to say as he'm comin', so 'tis 
 all right, I s'pose, an' us' 11 have to give en a 
 good dinner anywa3 7 s." 
 
 "Of course you must," admitted Barron, work- 
 ing steadily the while.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 85 
 
 "He'm a dear sawl, an' I likes en better'n 
 anybody in the world, I think, 'cept faither. 
 But he's easier to please than faither, an' so 
 humble as a beggar-man. An' I wants to make 
 some cakes for en against tea-time, 'cause when 
 he comes, he bides till candle-lighting or later." 
 
 Present!}* the artist bid her rest for a short 
 while, and her thoughts reverted to him and the 
 picture. 
 
 "I hope as you'm feelin' strong an' no worser, 
 Mister Jan," she said timidly. 
 
 He was puzzled for a moment, then recollected 
 that he had mentioned his health to her. 
 
 "Thank you very much for asking, Joan. It 
 was good and thoughtful. I am no worse — 
 rather better if anything, now I come to think 
 about it. Your Cornish air is kind to me, and 
 when the sun shines I am happy." 
 
 "How be the picksher farin'?" 
 
 "I get on well, I think." 
 
 " "lis cruel clever of 'e, Mister Jan. An' 
 you'll paint me wi' the fuzz all around?" 
 
 "That is what I hope to do; a harmony in 
 brown and gold." 
 
 "You'll get my likeness tu, I s'pose, same as 
 the photograph man done it last winter to Pen- 
 zance? Me an' Joe was took side by side, an' 
 folks reckoned 'twas the moral of us, specially 
 when the gen'leman painted Joe's hair black an' 
 mine yeller for another shillin' cost." 
 
 "It must have been very excellent." 
 
 "Iss, 'twas for sartain." 
 
 "What did Mr. Tregenza say of it?"
 
 80 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "Well, faither, he'm contrary to sicli things, 
 as I tawld 'e, Mister Jan. Faither said Joe'd 
 better by a deal keep his money in his purse ; 
 but he let me have the picksher, an' 'tis nailed 
 up in a lil frame, what Joe made, at home in 
 the parlor." 
 
 She stopped a moment and sighed, then spoke 
 again. 
 
 "Faither's a wonnerful God-fearin' man, sure 
 'nough." 
 
 "Is he a God-loving man too, Joan?" 
 
 "I duimaw. That ed'n 'sackly the same, I 
 s'pose?" 
 
 "As different as fear and love. I'm not an 
 atom frightened of God myself — no more than I 
 am of you." 
 
 "Lard! Mister Jan." 
 
 ' ' Why should I be? You are not frightened 
 of the air you breathe — yet that is part of God ; 
 you are not frightened of the gold gorse or the 
 blue sky — yet they are part of God too. God 
 made you — you are part of God — a deliberate 
 manifestation of Him. What's the use of being 
 frightened? You and I can only know God by 
 the shapes He takes — by the bluebells and the 
 ferns and the larks in the sky, and the rabbits 
 and wild things." 
 
 His effort to inspire the girl with Nature- wor- 
 ship, though crudely cast in a fashion most likely 
 to attract her, yet failed just then, and failed 
 ludicrously. Her mind comprehended barely 
 enough to accept his idea in a sense suggested 
 by her acquaintance with fable, and when he
 
 LrYING PROPHETS 87 
 
 instanced a rabbit as an earthly manifestation 
 of the Everlasting, she felt she could cap the 
 example from her own store of knowledge. 
 
 "I reckon I sees what you'm meanin', Mister 
 Jan. Theer's things us calls witch-hares in 
 these paarts up-long. The higher-quarter peo- 
 ple have seed 'em 'fore now; nothin' but siller 
 bullets will kill 'em. They goes loppettin' about 
 down lawnly lanes on moonlight nights, an' they 
 draws folks arter 'em. But if you could kill 
 wan of 'em 'tis said as they'd turn into witches 
 theer an' then. So you means that God A'- 
 mighty takes shaapes sometimes same as they 
 witches do, doan't 'e?" 
 
 "Not quite that, Joan. What I want you to 
 know is that the great Being you call God is 
 nearer to you here, on Gorse Point, than in the 
 Luke Gospelers' meeting-house, and He takes 
 greater delight in a bird's song than in all your 
 father's prayers and sermons put together. That 
 is because the great Being taught the bird to sing 
 Himself, but He never taught your father to 
 pray." 
 
 "I dunnaw 'sackly what you means, Mister 
 Jan, but I judges you ban't so religious like as 
 what f aither is. ' ' 
 
 "Religion came from God to man, Joan, be- 
 cause man wanted it and couldn't get on com- 
 fortably without it; but theology — if you know 
 what that means — man invented for himself. 
 Religion is the light; theology is the candle- 
 stick. Never quarrel with anj r man's candle- 
 stick as long as you can see his light burning
 
 88 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 bravely. Mr. Tregenza thinks all men are mis- 
 taken but the Luke Gospelers— so you told me. 
 But if that is the case, what becomes of all your 
 good Cornish saints? They were not Luke Gos- 
 pelers — at least I don't think they were." 
 
 Joan frowned over this tremendous problem, 
 then dismissed it for the pleasanter and simpler 
 theme John Barron's last remark suggested. 
 
 "Them saints was righteous men anyhow, an' 
 they worked miracles tu, so it ban't no gude 
 sayin' they wasn't godly in their ways, the 
 whole boilin' of 'em. Theer's St. Piran, St. 
 Michael, St. Austell, St. Blazey, St. Buryan, 
 St. Ives, St. Sennen, St. Levau, an' a many 
 more, I could call home if I was to think. Did 
 'e ever hear tell 'bout St. Neot, Mister Jan?" 
 
 "No, Joan; I'm afraid I don't know much 
 about him." 
 
 "Not 'bout they feesh?" 
 
 "Tell me, while you rest a minute or two." 
 
 " 'Tis a holy story, an' true as any Bible tale, 
 I should guess. St. Neot had a well, an' wan 
 day he seed three feesh a swimmin' in it an' he 
 was 'mazed to knaw how they corned theer. So 
 a angel flew down an' tawld en that they was 
 put theer for his eatin', but he must never draw 
 out more'n wan at a time. Then he'd alius find 
 three when he corned again. An' so he did; 
 but wance he failed sick an' his servant had tc 
 look arter his vittles meantime. He was a man 
 by the name of Barius, an' he judged as maybe 
 a change of eatin' might do the saint good. So 
 he goes an' takes two n? them feesh 'stead o'
 
 i.n i\<; PROPHETS 89 
 
 wan as the angel said. An' he bailed wan feesh, 
 an' fried t'other, an' took 'em to St. Neot; an' 
 when he seed what his man been "bout, he was 
 flustered, I tell 'e. Then the saint up and done 
 a marvelous straange thing-, for he Hinged them 
 feesh back in the well, just as they was, and be- 
 gan praayin' to the Lard to forgive his man. 
 An' the feesh coined alive ag'in and swimmed 
 around, though Barius had cleaned 'em, I 
 s'pose, an' took the guts out of 'em an' every- 
 thing. Then the chap just catched wan feesh 
 proper, an' St. Neot ate en, an' gravved well by 
 sundown. So he was a saint anyways." 
 
 "You can't have a miracle without a saint, of 
 course, Joan?" 
 
 "Or else the Lard. But Til hold in mind 
 what you sez 'bout Him bein' hid in flowers an' 
 birds an' sich like, 'cause that's a butivul thing 
 to knaw." 
 
 "And in the stars and the sun and the moon, 
 Joan; and in the winds and clouds. See how 
 I've got on to-day. I don't think I ever did so 
 much work in an hour before." 
 
 She looked and blushed to note her brown 
 frock and shoes. 
 
 "You've done a deal more to them fuzzes than 
 what you have to me, seemin'ly," she said. 
 
 "That's because the gorse is always here and 
 you are not. I work at the gorse morning after 
 morning, when the sun is up, until my fingers 
 ache. You'll see great changes in the picture 
 of yourself soon though."
 
 90 LY1N<; PROPHETS 
 
 But she was not satisfied, of course misunder- 
 standing the unfinished work. 
 
 "You mustn't say anything yet, you know, 
 Joan," added the artist, seeing her pouting lips. 
 
 ''But— but you've drawed me as flat as a 
 cheeld, an' I be round as a wummon, ban't I?" 
 she said, holding out her hands that he might 
 see her slight figure. Her blue eyes were 
 clouded, for she deemed that he had put an 
 insult upon her budding womanhood. Barron 
 showed no sign of his enjoyment, but explained 
 as clearly as possible that she was looking at a 
 thing wholly unfinished, indeed scarce begun. 
 
 "You might as well grumble with me for not 
 painting your fingers or your face, Joan. I told 
 you I was a slow artist; only be patient; I'm 
 going to do all fitting honor to every scrap of 
 you, if only you will let me." 
 
 Warmer words had come to his lips, but he 
 did not suffer them to pass. Then the girl's 
 beautiful face broke into a smile again. 
 
 "I be nigher eighteen than sebenteen, you 
 knaw, Mister Jan. But, coorse, I hadn't no 
 bizness to talk like that to 'e, 'cause what do I 
 knaw 'bout sich things?" 
 
 "You shan't see the picture again till it is fin- 
 ished, Joan. It was my fault for showing it to 
 you like that, and you had every right to pro- 
 test. Now you must go, for it's long past twelve 
 o'clock." 
 
 "I'm afeared I caan't come to-morrer." 
 
 "As you please. I shall be here every day, 
 ready and only too glad to see you."
 
 LYING PKOPHETS "I 
 
 u 
 
 An'— an' you ban't cross wi' me for speak- 
 in' so rude, Mister Jan?" 
 
 "Cross, Joan? No, I'm never cross with any- 
 body but myself. I couldn't be cross with my 
 kind little friend if I tried to be." 
 
 He shook hands; it was the first occasion that 
 he had done so, and she blushed. His hand was 
 cold and thin, and she heard one of the bones in 
 it give a little crack as he held her palm within 
 his own for the briefest space of time. Then, 
 as usual, the moment after he had said "good- 
 by," he appeared to become absolutely uncon- 
 scious of her presence, and returned to his 
 picture. 
 
 Joan's mind dwelt much upon the artist after 
 she had departed, and every train of reflection 
 came back to the last words Barron spoke that 
 morning. He had called her his kind little 
 friend. It was very wonderful, Joan thought, 
 and a statement not to be explained at all. Her 
 stepmother's voice cut these pleasant memories 
 sharply, and she returned home to find that 
 Uncle Chirgwin had already arrived — a fact 
 his old gray horse, tethered in the orchard, 
 and his two-wheeled market cart, drawn up in 
 the side-lane, testified to before Mrs. Tregenza 
 announced it. 
 
 "Out again, of coorse, just because you 
 knawed I was to be drove off my blessed legs 
 to-day. I'll tell your faither of 'e, so I will. 
 Gals like you did ought to be chained 'longside 
 theer work till 'tis done." 
 
 Uncle Chirgwin sat by the fireside with a
 
 92 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 placid if bored expression on his round face. 
 His hands were folded on his stomach ; his short 
 legs were stuck out before him ; his head was 
 quite bald, his color high, his gray eyes weak, 
 though they had some laughter hidden in them. 
 His double chin was shaved, but a very white 
 bristle of stubbly whisker surrounded it and 
 ascended to where all that remained of his hair- 
 stuck, like two patches of cotton wool, above his 
 ears. The old man wore a suit of gray tweed 
 and blinked benignly through a pair of spec- 
 tacles. He had already heard enough of Mrs. 
 Tregenza's troubles to last some time, and turned 
 with pleasure to Joan as she entered. So hearty 
 indeed was the greeting and a kiss which ac- 
 companied it that his niece felt the displeasure 
 which her uncle had recorded by post upon the 
 occasion of her engagement to Mary Chirgwin's 
 former sweetheart existed no more. 
 
 "My ivers! a braave, bowerly maid you'm 
 grawin', sure 'nough! Joan'll be a wummon 
 'fore us can look round, mother." 
 
 "Iss — an' a fine an' lazy wummon tu. I wish 
 you could make her work like what Mary does 
 up Drift." 
 
 "Well, I dunnaw. You see there's all sorts 
 of girls, same as plants an' 'osses an' cetera. 
 Some's for work, some's for shaw. You 'specks 
 a flower to be purty, but you doan't blame a 
 'tater plant 'cause 'e ed'n particular butivul. 
 Same wi' 'osses, an' wi' gals. Joan's like that 
 chinee plate 'pon the bracket, wi' the pickshers 
 o' Saltash Burdge 'pon en, an' gold writin' un-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 93 
 
 der; an' Mary's like that pie-dish, what you put 
 in the ubben a while back. Wan's for shaw, 
 t'other 's for use — eh?" 
 
 "Grwan! you'm jokin', Uncle Thomas!" said 
 Joan. 
 
 "An' a poor joke tu, so 'tis. You'd turn any 
 gal's 'ead wi' your stuff, Chirgwin. Wheer's 
 the gude of a fuzz-pole o' yeller hair an' a pair 
 o' blue eyes stuck 'pon top of a idle, good-for- 
 nothin' body? Maidens caan't live by looks in 
 these paarts, an' they'll find theerselves in 
 trouble mighty quick if the} 7 tries to." 
 
 Uncle Chirgwin instantly admitted that Mrs. 
 Tregenza had the better of the argument. He 
 was a simple man with a soft heart and no 
 brains worth naming. Most people laughed at 
 him and loved him. As sure as he went to Pen- 
 zance on market-day, he was cordially greeted 
 and made much of, and robbed. People sus- 
 pected that his shrewd, black-eyed niece stood 
 between him and absolute misfortune. She 
 never let him go to market without her if she 
 could help it; for, on those infrequent occasions 
 when he jogged to town with his gray horse and 
 cart alone, he always went with a great trust of 
 the world in his heart and endeavored to con- 
 duct the sale of farm produce in the spirit of 
 Christianity, which was magnificent but not 
 business. Mr. Chirgwin's simple theories had 
 kept him a poor man; yet the discovery, often 
 repeated, that his knowledge of human nature 
 was bad, never imbittered him, and he mildly 
 persisted in his pernicious system of trusting
 
 94 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 everybody until he found lie could not; unlike 
 his neighbors who trusted nobody until they 
 found that they could. The farmer had blazed 
 with indignation when Joe Noy flung over Mary 
 Chirgwin because she would not become a Luke 
 Gospeler. But the matter was now blown over, 
 for the jilted girl, though the secret bitterness 
 of her sorrow still bred much gall in her bosom, 
 never paraded it or showed a shadow of it in her 
 dark face. Uncle Thomas greatly admired Mary 
 and even feared her; but he loved Joan, for she 
 was like her dead mother outwardly and like 
 himself in character: a right Chirgwin, loving 
 sunshine and happiness, herself sunshiny and 
 happy. 
 
 " 'Pears I've corned the wrong day, Joan," 
 he said presently, when Mrs. Tregenza's back 
 was turned, "but now I be here, you must do 
 with me as you can." 
 
 "Mother's gwaine to town wi' Tom bimebye; 
 then me an' you'll have a talk, uncle, wi'out 
 nothin' to let us. You'm lookin' braave, me 
 auld dear." 
 
 He liked a compliment, and anticipated pleas- 
 ure from a quiet afternoon with his niece. She 
 bustled about, as usual, to make up for lost time ; 
 and presently, when the cloth was laid, walked 
 to the cottage door to see if her father's lugger 
 was at its moorings or in sight. Meantime Mrs. 
 Tregenza, having brought forth dinner from the 
 oven, called at the back door to her son in a 
 voice harsh and shrill beyond customary meas- 
 ure, as became her exceptional tribulations.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 95 
 
 "Come in, will 'e, an' ait your food, bwoy. 
 Theer ed'n no call to kick out they boots agin' 
 the pig's 'ouse because I be gwaine to buy new 
 wans for 'e presently. ' ' 
 
 Fired by a word which she had heard from 
 John Barron, that flowers became the house as 
 well as the garden, Joan plucked an early sprig 
 of pink ribe and the first buds of wall-flower be- 
 fore returning to the kitchen. These she put in 
 a j ug of water and planted boldly upon the din- 
 ner-table as Mrs. Tregenza brought out a pie. 
 
 "Butivul, sure 'nough," said Mr. Chirgwin, 
 drawing in his chair. His eye was on the pie- 
 dish, but Joan thought he referred to her 
 bouquet. 
 
 "Lard! what '11 'e do next? Take they things 
 off the table to wance, Joan." 
 
 "But Uncle Thomas sez they'm butivul," she 
 pleaded. 
 
 "They be pleasant," admitted Mr. Chirgwin, 
 "but bloody-warriors* be out o' plaace 'pon the 
 dinner-table. I was 'ludin' to this here. You 
 do brown a 'tater to rights, mother." 
 
 Mrs. Tregenza's shepherd's pies had a reputa- 
 tion, and anybody eating of one without favor- 
 able comment was judged to have made a hole 
 in his manners. Now .she helped the steaming 
 delicacy and sighed as she sat down before her 
 own ample share. 
 
 "Lard knaws how I done it to-day. 'Tib just a 
 enstance how some things comes nachrul to some 
 people. You wants a light hand wi' herbs an' 
 
 * Bloody wai rior — Wall-flower.
 
 96 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 to knaw your ubben. Get the brandy, Joan. 
 Uncle alius likes the edge off drinkin' water." 
 
 The Tregenzas were teetotalers, but a bottle 
 of brandy for medicinal purposes occupied the 
 corner of a certain cupboard. 
 
 "You puts it right, mother. 'Tis just the 
 sharpness I takes off. 1 can't drink no beer 
 nowadays, though fond o' it, 'cause 'tis belly- 
 vengeance stuff arter you gets past a certain 
 time o' life. But I'd as soon have tea." 
 
 "That's bad to drink 'long wi' vlaish," said 
 Mrs. Tregenza. "Tea turns mayte leather-hard 
 an' plagues the stomach cruel, as I knaws to my 
 cost."^ 
 
 They ate in silence a while, then, having ex- 
 pressed and twice repeated a wish that Mary 
 could be taught to make shepherd's pies after 
 the rare fashion of his hostess, Mr. Chirgwin 
 turned to Tom. 
 
 "So you'm off for a sailor bwoy, my lad?" 
 
 "Iss, uncle, an' mother gwaine to spend fi' 
 puns o' money on my kit." 
 
 "By Golles! be she now? I lay you'll be 
 smart an' vitty!" 
 
 "That he will!" said Joan, but Mrs. Tregenza 
 shook her head. 
 
 "I did sadly want en to be a landsman an' 
 'prenticed to some good body in bizness. It's 
 ruunin' 'gainst dreams as I had 'fore the bwoy 
 was born, an' the voice I heard speakin' by 
 night arter I were churched by the Luke Gos- 
 p'lers. But yon knaw Michael. What's dreams 
 to him, nor yet voices?"
 
 LYING PROPHETS 97 
 
 "The worst paart 'bout 'em, if I may say it, 
 is that they'm so uncommon well acquainted like 
 wi' theer awn virtues. I mean the Gosp'lers 
 an' all chapel-members likewise. It blunts my 
 pleasure in a good man to find he knaws how 
 good he is. Same as wan doan't like to see a 
 purty gal tossin' her head tu high." 
 
 "You caan't say no sich thing o' Michael, I'm 
 sure," remonstrated Mrs. Tregenza instantly; 
 "he'm that modest wi' his righteousness as can 
 be. I've knawn en say open in prayer, 'fore the 
 whole chapel, as he's no better'n a crawlin' 
 worm. An' if he's a worm, what's common 
 folks like you an' me? Awnly Michael doan't 
 seem to take 'count in voices an' dreams, but I 
 knaws they'm sent a purpose an' not for nort." 
 
 Mr. Chirgwin admitted his own ridiculous re- 
 ligious insignificance as contrasted with Gray 
 Michael. Indeed the comparison, so little in his 
 favor, amused him extremely. He sipped his 
 brandy and water and enjoyed a treacle-pud- 
 ding which followed the pie. Then, when Joan 
 was clearing up and Mrs. Tregenza had departed 
 to prepare for her visit to Penzance, Uncle 
 Thomas began to puff out his cheeks, and blow, 
 and frown, and look uneasily to the right and 
 left — actions invariably performed when he con- 
 templated certain monetary achievements of 
 which he was only too fond. The sight of 
 Mary's eyes upon him had often killed such indis- 
 cretions in the bud, but she w r as not present just 
 then, so, with further furtive glances, he brought 
 out his purso, opened it, and found a half-sov-
 
 9S LYING PROPHETS 
 
 ereign which reposed alone in the splendor of 
 a separate compartment. Uncle Chirgwin then 
 beckoned to Tom, who had gone into the garden 
 till his mother should be ready to start. 
 
 "Good speed to 'e, bwoy," he said, "an' may 
 the Lard watch over 'e by land an' sea. Take 
 you this lil piece o' money to buy what you've 
 a mind to; an' knaw you've got a auld man's 
 blessin' 'long wi' it." 
 
 "Mother," said Tom, a minute later, "uncle 
 have gived me a bit o' gawld!" 
 
 She took the coin from him and her eyes 
 rested on it lovingly while the outlines of her 
 face grew softer and she moistened her lips. 
 "First gawld's ever I had," commented Tom. 
 "You'm 'mazin' generous wi' your moneys, 
 uncle, an' I thank 'e hearty for the bwoy. 
 Mighty good of 'e — so much money to wance, ' ' 
 said Thomasin, showing more gratification than 
 she knew. 
 
 "I wants en to be thrifty," answered the old 
 man, very wisely. "You knavvs how hard it is 
 to teach young people the worth o' money." 
 
 "Ay, an' some auld wans! Blest if I doan't 
 think you'd give your head away if 'e could. 
 But I'll take this here half-suvrin' for Tom. 
 'Tis a nest-egg as he shall add to as he may." 
 
 Tom did not foresee this arrangement, and 
 had something to say as he tramped off with his 
 mother to town ; but though he could do more 
 with her and get more out of her than anybody 
 else in the world, money was a subject concern- 
 ing which Mrs. Tregenza always had her way.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 99 
 
 She understood it and loved it and allowed no in- 
 terference from anybody, Michael alone excepted. 
 But he cared not much for money and was well 
 content to let his wife hold the purse ; yet when 
 he did occasionally demand an account, it was 
 always forthcoming to the uttermost farthing, 
 and he fully believed what other people told 
 him that Thomasin could make a sixpenny-piece 
 go further than any other woman in Newlyn. 
 
 Mother and son presently departed ; while Mr. 
 Chirgwin took off his coat, lighted his pipe, and 
 walked with Joan round about the orchard. He 
 foretold great things for the plums, now in full 
 flower; he poked the pigs with his stick and 
 spoke encouragingly of their future also. Then 
 he discussed Joan's prospects and gladdened her 
 heart by telling her the past must be let alone 
 and need never be reverted to again. 
 
 "Mary's gettin' over it tu," he said, "least- 
 ways I think she is. Her knaws wheer to look 
 for comfort, bless her. Us must all keep friendly 
 for life's not long enough to do 'nough good in, 
 I alius says, let alone the doin' o' bad." 
 
 Then he discussed Joe Noy, and Joan was 
 startled to find, when she came to think seri- 
 ously upon the subject, that though but a week 
 and three days had passed since she bid her lover 
 "good-by," yet the picture of him in her mind 
 alread\ T grew a trifle dim, and the prospect of 
 his absence for a year held not the least sorrow 
 in it for her. 
 
 Presently, after looking to his horse, Uncle 
 Thomas hinted at forty winks, if the same would
 
 100 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 be quite convenient, and Joan, settling him with 
 some approach to comfort upon a little horse- 
 hair sofa in the parlor, turned her attention to 
 the making of saffron cakes for tea. 
 
 CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 THE MAKING OF PROGRESS 
 
 John Barron held strong theories about the 
 importance of the mental condition when work 
 was in hand. Once fairly engaged upon a pict- 
 ure, he painted very fast, labored without cessa- 
 tion, and separated himself as far as might be 
 from every outside influence. No new interests 
 were suffered to intrude upon his mind ; no dis- 
 tractions of any sort, intellectual or otherwise, 
 were permitted to occupy even those leisure in- 
 tervals which of necessity lay between the pe- 
 riods of his work. On the present occasion be 
 merely fed and slept and dwelt solitary, shunning 
 society of every sort and spending as little time in 
 Newlyn as possible. Fortunately for his achieve- 
 ment the weather continued wonderfully fine and 
 each successive day brought like conditions of 
 sunshine and color, light and air. This circum- 
 stance enabled him to proceed rapidly, and an- 
 other fact also contributed to progress; the tem- 
 perature kept high and the cow-byre, wherein 
 Barron stored his implements and growing pict-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 101 
 
 lire, proved so well-built and so snug withal that 
 on more than one occasion he spent the entire 
 night there. Sweet brown bracken filled a 
 manger, and of this he pulled down sufficient 
 quantities to make, with railway rugs, an ample 
 bed. The outdoor life appeared to suit his 
 health well; some color had come to his pale 
 cheeks; he felt considerabl}' stronger in bodj 7- 
 and mentally invigorated by the strain of work 
 now upon him. 
 
 But though he turned his back on his fellow- 
 men they sought him out, and rumors at length 
 grew to a certainty that Barron was busy paint- 
 ing somewhere on the cliffs beyond Mousehole. 
 Everybody supposed he had abandoned his am- 
 bition to get a portrait of Joan Tregenza; but 
 one man was in his confidence: Edmund Mur- 
 doch. The young artist had been useful to Bar- 
 ron. On many occasions he tramped out from 
 Newlyn with additions to the scanty larder kept 
 at the cow-byre. He would bring hard-boiled 
 eggs, sandwiches, bottles of soda - water and 
 whisky ; and once he arrived at six o'clock in 
 the morning with a pony cart in which was a 
 little oil stove. Barron had confided in Mur- 
 doch, but begged he would let it be known that 
 he courted no society for the present. As the 
 work grew he spent more and more time upon 
 it. He explained to his friend quite seriously 
 that he was painting the gorse, but that Joan 
 Tregenza had consented to fill a part of the pict- 
 ure — a statement which amused the younger 
 artist not a little.
 
 102 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "But the gorse is extraordinary, I'll admit. 
 You must have worked without ceasing. She 
 will be exquisite. Where shall you get the blue 
 for her eyes?" 
 
 "Out of the sky and the sea." 
 
 "Does the girl inspire you herself, John? I 
 swear something has. This is going to be 
 great. ' ' 
 
 "It's going to be true, that's all. No, Joan 
 is a dear child, but her body's no more than a 
 perfect casket to a commonplace little soul. She 
 talks a great deal and I like nothing better than 
 to listen ; for although what she says is naught, 
 yet her manner of saying it does not lack charm. 
 Her voice is wonderfully sweet — it comes from 
 her throat like a wood-pigeon's, and education 
 has not ruined her diction. ' ' 
 
 "She's as shy as any wood-pigeon, too — we 
 all know that; and you've done a clever thing 
 to tame her." 
 
 "God forbid that I should tame her. We met 
 and grew friendly as wild things both. She is 
 a child of Nature, her mind is as pure as the 
 sea. Moreover, Joan walks saint-guided. Folk- 
 lore and local twaddle does not appeal overmuch 
 to me, as you know, yet the stories drop prettily 
 from her lips and I find pleasure in listening." 
 
 Murdoch whistled. 
 
 "By Jove! I never heard you so enthusias- 
 tic, so positive, so personally alive and awake 
 and interested. Don't fall in love with the girl 
 before you know it." 
 
 To this warning Barron made a curious reply.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 103 
 
 "Every thing" depends on my picture. You 
 know my rule of life; to sacrifice all things 
 to mood. I shall do so here. The best I can 
 do must be done whatever the cost." 
 
 A shadow almost sinister lay behind the ut- 
 terance, yet young Murdoch could not fathom 
 it. Barron spoke in his usual slow, unaffected 
 tones, and painted all the time ; for the conver- 
 sation took place on Gorse Point. 
 
 "Not sure if I quite understand you, old man," 
 said Murdoch. 
 
 "It doesn't matter in the least if you don't, 
 my dear fellow. ' ' 
 
 His words were hardly civil, but the tone in 
 which Barron spoke robbed the utterance of any 
 offense. 
 
 "All you need do," he continued, "is to keep 
 silent in the interests of art and of Joan. I 
 don't want her precious visits to me to get back 
 to her father's ears or they will cease, and I 
 don't wish to do her a bad turn in her home, for 
 I owe her a great debt of gratitude. If men ask 
 what I'm doing, lie to them and beg them not to 
 disturb me, for the sake of Art. What a glint 
 the east wind gives to color! Yet this is hardly 
 to be called an east wind, so soft and balmy 
 does it keep." 
 
 "Well, you seem to be the better for your 
 work, at any rate. You're getting absolutely 
 fat. If Newlyn brings you health as well as 
 fame, I hope you'll retract some of the many 
 hard things you have said about it." 
 
 : It has brought me an interest, and for that 
 
 (c
 
 104 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 at any rate I am grateful. Good-by. I shall 
 probably come down to-night, despite the fact 
 that you have replenished my stores so hand- 
 somely." 
 
 Murdoch started homeward and met Joan 
 Tregenza upon the way. She had given Bar- 
 ron one further sitting after Uncle Ohirgwin's 
 call at Newlyn, but since the last occasion, and 
 for a period of two days, chance prevented the 
 girl from paying him another visit. Now she 
 arrived, however, as early as half-past ten, and 
 Murdoch, while he passed her on the hill from 
 Mousehole, envied his friend the morning's work 
 before him. 
 
 Joan was very hot and very apologetic upon 
 her arrival. 
 
 ' ' I began to fear you had forgotten me, ' ' the 
 artist said, but she was loud in protestations to 
 the contrar} r . 
 
 "No, no, Mister Jan. I've fretted 'bout not 
 comin' up like anything; ay, an' I've cried of a 
 night 'cause I thot you'd be reckoning I wad- 
 dun comin' no more. But 'tweern't my doin' 
 no ways." 
 
 "You hadn't forgotten me?" 
 
 "Indeed an' 1 hadn't. An' I'd be sorrerful 
 if I thot you thot so. ' ' 
 
 She walked to the old position before the gorse 
 and fell naturally into it, speaking the while. 
 
 " "lis this way: mother's been bad wi' faace 
 ache arter my brother Tom went to sea wi' 
 faither. An' mother grizzled an' worrited her- 
 self reg'lar ill an' stopped in bed two days an'
 
 LYING PROPHETS 105 
 
 kep on whinin' 'bout what I was to do if she 
 died; cause she s'posed she was gwained to. 
 But so soon as Tom corned off his first trip, 
 mother cheered wonnerful, an' riz up to see to 
 en, an' hear tell 'bout how he fared on the 
 water." 
 
 "Your head a wee bit higher, Joan. Well, 
 I'm thankful to see you again. I was getting 
 very, very lonely, I promise you. And the 
 more I thought about the picture the more un- 
 happy I became. There's such a lot to do and 
 only such a clumsy hand to do it. The better 
 I know you, Joan, the harder become the prob- 
 lems you set me. How am I going to get your 
 soul looking out of your eyes, d'you think? 
 How am I to make those who may see my 
 picture some day — years after you and I are 
 both dead and gone, Joan — fall in love with 
 you?" 
 
 "La! I dunnaw, Mister Jan." 
 
 "Nor do I. How shall I make the picture so 
 true that generations unborn will delight in the 
 portrait and deem it great and fine?" 
 
 "I dunnaw." 
 
 "And yet you deserve it, Joan, for I don't 
 think God ever made anything prettier." 
 
 She blushed and looked softly at him, but 
 took no alarm; for though such a compliment 
 had never before been paid her, yet, as Barron 
 spoke the words, slowly, critically, without en- 
 thusiasm or any expression of pleasure on his 
 face, they had little power to alarm. He merely 
 stated what he seemed to regard as a fact.
 
 106 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 There was almost a suggestion oi' irritation in 
 his utterance, as though his model's rare beauty- 
 only increased his own artistic difficulties; and, 
 perhaps fearing from her smile that she found 
 undue pleasure in his statement, he added to it : 
 
 "I don't say that to natter you, Joan. I hate 
 compliments and never pay them. I told you, 
 remember, that your wrists were a thought too 
 big." 
 
 "You needn't be sayin' it over an' over, Mis- 
 ter Jan," she answered, her smile changing to 
 a pout. 
 
 "But you wouldn't like me any more if I 
 stopped telling you the truth. We have agreed 
 to love what is true and to worship Mother Nat- 
 ure because she always speaks the truth." 
 
 The girl made no answer, and he went on 
 working for a few moments, then spoke again. 
 
 "I'm selfish, Joan, and think more of my 
 picture than I do of my little model. Put down 
 your arm and take a good rest. I tried holding 
 my hand over my eyes yesterday to see how 
 long I could do so without wearying myself. I 
 found that three minutes was quite enough, but 
 I have often kept you posed for five." 
 
 "It hurted my arm 'tween the shoulder an' 
 elbow a lil bit at first, but I've grawed used to 
 it now." 
 
 "How ever shall I repay you, kind Joan, for 
 all your trouble and your long walks and pretty 
 stories?" 
 
 "I doan't need no pay. If 'twas a matter o' 
 payin', 'twould be a wrong thing to do, I reckon.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 107 
 
 Theer's auld Bascombe up Paul— him wi' curls 
 o' long hair an' gawld rings in's ears. Gents 
 pays en to take his likeness; an' theer's gals 
 make money so, more'n wan; but faither says 
 'tis a heathenish way of livin' an' not honest. 
 An'— an' I'd never let nobody paint me else but 
 you, Mister Jan, 'cause you'm different." 
 
 ""Well, you make me a proud man, Joan. I'm 
 afraid I must be a poor substitute for Joe." 
 
 He noticed she had never mentioned her sweet- 
 heart since their early interviews, and wanted to 
 ascertain of what nature was Joan's affection 
 for the sailor. He did not yet dream how faint 
 a thing poor Joe had shrunk to be in Joan's 
 mind, or how the present episode in her life was 
 dwarfing and dominating all others, present and 
 past. 
 
 Nor did the girl's answer to his remark en- 
 lighten him. 
 
 "In coorse you an' Joe's differ 'nt as can be. 
 You knaws everything seemin'ly an' be a gen'le- 
 man; Joe's only a seafarin' man, an' 'e doan't 
 knaw much 'cept what he's larned from faither. 
 But Joe used to say a sight more'n what you 
 do, for all that. ' ' 
 
 "I like to hear you talk, Joan; perhaps Joe 
 liked to hear himself talk. Most men do. But, 
 you see, the things you have told me are pleas- 
 ant to me and they were not to Joe, because he 
 didn't believe in them. Don't look at me, Joan ; 
 look right away to the edge of the sea." 
 
 'You'm surprised like as I talks to ye, Mister 
 Jan. Doan't ladies talk so free as what I do?"
 
 108 LYINC4 PROPHETS 
 
 "Other women talk, but they are very seldom 
 in earnest like you are, Joan. They don't be- 
 lieve half they say, they pretend and make 
 believe; they've got to do so, poor things, be- 
 cause the world the}' live in is all built up on 
 ancient foundations of great festering lies. The 
 lies are carefully coated over and disinfected as 
 much as possible and quite hidden out of sight, 
 but everybody knows they are there — everybody 
 knows the quaking foundations they tread upon. 
 Civilization means universal civility, I suppose, 
 Joan; and to be civil to everybody argues a 
 great power of telling lies. People call it tact. 
 But I don't like polite society myself, because 
 my nose is sensitive and I smell the stinking 
 basis through all the pretty paint. You and I, 
 Joan, belong to Nature. She is not always 
 civil, but you can trust her; she is seldom po- 
 lite, but she never says what is not true." 
 
 "You talk as though 'e ded'n much like ladies 
 an' gen'lemen, same as you be." 
 
 "I don't, and I'm not what you understand 
 by 'a gentleman,' Joan. Gentlemen and ladies 
 let me go among them and mix with them, be- 
 cause I happen to have a great deal of money — 
 thousands and thousands of pounds. That opens 
 the door to their drawing-rooms, if I wanted to 
 open it, but I don't. I've seen them and gone 
 about among them, and I'm sick of them. If a 
 man wishes to know what polite society is let 
 him go into it as a very wealthy bachelor. I'm 
 not 'a gentleman,' you know, Joan, fortunately. " 
 
 "Surely, Mister Jan!"
 
 LYING PROPHETS 109 
 
 "No more than you're a lady. But I can try 
 to be gentle and manly, which is better. You 
 and I come from the same class, Joan ; from the 
 people. The only difference is that my father 
 happened to make a huge fortune in London. 
 Guess what he sold?" 
 
 "I dunnaw." 
 
 "Fish — just plaice and flounders and herrings 
 and so forth. He sold them by tens of thou- 
 sands. Your father sells them too. But what 
 d'you think was the difference? Why, your 
 father is an honest man; mine wasn't. The 
 fishermen sold their fish, after they had had the 
 trouble and danger of catching them, to my 
 father ; and then my father sold them again to 
 the public ; and the fishermen got too little and 
 the public paid too much, and so — I'm a very 
 rich man to-day — the son of a thief. ' ' 
 
 "Mister Jan!" 
 
 "Nobody ever called him a thief but me. He 
 was a great star in this same polite society I 
 speak of. He fed hundreds of fat people on the 
 money that ought to have gone into the fisher- 
 men's pockets; and he died after eating too 
 much salmon and cucumber at his own table. 
 Poetic justice, you know. There are stained 
 glass windows up to his memory in two 
 churches and tons of good white marble were 
 wasted when they made his grave. But he 
 was a thief, just as surely as your father is an 
 honest man ; so you have the advantage of me, 
 Joan. I really doubt if I'm respectable enough 
 for you to know and trust."
 
 110 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "I'd trust 'e with anything, Mister Jan, 'cause 
 you'm plain-spoken an' true." 
 
 "Don't be too sure — the son of a thief may 
 have wrong ideas and lax principles. Many 
 things not to be bought can easily be stolen." 
 
 Again he struck a sinister note, but this time 
 on an ear wholly unable to appreciate or suspect 
 it. Joan was occupied with Barron's startling 
 scraps of biography, and, as usual, when he be- 
 gan talking in a way she could not understand, 
 turned to her own thoughts. This sudden al- 
 teration of his position she took literally. It 
 struck her in a happ}- light. 
 
 "If you'm not a gen'leman then you wouldn' 
 look down 'pon me, would 'e?" 
 
 "God forbid! I look up to you, Joan." 
 
 She was silent, trying to master this remark- 
 able assertion. The artist stood no longer upon 
 that lofty pedestal where she had placed him ; 
 but the change of attitude seemed to bring him 
 a little closer, and Joan forgot the fall in con- 
 templating the nearer approach. 
 
 "That's why I asked you not to call me 'Mis- 
 ter Jan, ' ' ' Barron added after a pause. ' ' We are, 
 you see, only different because I'm a man and 
 you're a woman. Money merely makes a dif- 
 ference to outside things, like houses and clothes. 
 But you've got possessions which no money can 
 bring to me : a happy home and a lover coming 
 back to you from the sea. Think what it must 
 be to have nobody in the world to care whether 
 von live or die. Why, I haven't a relation near
 
 LYING PROPHETS Hi 
 
 enough to be even interested in all my money — 
 there's loneliness for you!" 
 
 Joan felt full of a great pity, but could not 
 tell how to express it. Even her dull brains 
 were not slow enough to credit his frank asser- 
 tion that he and she were equals ; but she ac- 
 cepted the statement in some degree, and now, 
 with her mind wandering in his lonely existence, 
 wondered if she might presume to express sym- 
 pathy for him and proclaim herself his friend. 
 She hesitated, for such friendship as hers, though 
 it came hot from her little heart, seemed a lu- 
 dicrous thing to offer this man. Every day of 
 intercourse with him filled her more with won- 
 der and with admiration; every day he occupied 
 a wider place in her thoughts ; and at that mo- 
 ment his utterances and his declaration of a 
 want in life made him more human than ever 
 to her, more easily to be comprehended, more 
 within the reach of her understanding. And 
 that was not a circumstance calculated to lessen 
 her regard for him by any means. Until that 
 day he had appeared a being far apart, whose 
 interests and main threads of life belonged to 
 another sphere; now he had deliberately come 
 into her world and declared it his own. 
 
 The silence became painful to Joan, but she 
 could not pluck up courage enough to tell the 
 artist that she at least was a friend. Finally 
 she spoke, feeling that he waited for her to do 
 so, and her words led to the point, for she found, 
 in his answer to them, that he took her goodwill 
 for granted.
 
 112 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "Ain't you got no uncles nor nothin' o' that 
 even, Mister Jan?" 
 
 He laughed and shook his head. 
 
 "Not one, Joan — not anybody in all the world 
 to think twice about me but you." 
 
 Her heart beat hard and her breath quick- 
 ened, but she did not speak. Then Barron, put- 
 ting down his brushes and beginning to load a 
 pipe, that his next remark might not seem too 
 serious, proceeded: 
 
 "I call you 'friend,' Joan, because I know 
 you are one. And I want you to think of me 
 sometimes when I am gone, will you?" 
 
 He went on filling his pipe, and then, looking 
 suddenly into her eyes, saw there a light that 
 was strange— a light that he would have given 
 his soul to put into paint — a light that Joe's 
 name never had kindled and never could. Joan 
 wiped her hand across her mouth uneasily ; then 
 she twisted her hands behind her back, like a 
 schoolgirl standing in class, and made answer 
 with her eyes on the ground. 
 
 "Iss, I will, then, Mister Jan; an' maybe I 
 couldn't help it if I would." 
 
 He lighted his pipe carefully before answer- 
 ing. 
 
 "Then I shall be happy, Joan." 
 
 But while she grew rose-red at the boldness of 
 her sudden announcement, he took care neither 
 to look at her nor to let her know that he had 
 realized the earnestness with which she spoke. 
 And when, ten minutes later, she had departed, 
 ho mused speculatively on the course of their
 
 LYING PROPHETS 113 
 
 conversation, asking himself what whim had led 
 him to pretend to so much human feeling and 
 to lament his loneliness. This condition of his 
 life he loved above all others. No man, woman 
 or child had the right to interfere with his self- 
 ish, impersonal existence, and he gloried in the 
 fact. But to the scraps of his life's history, 
 which he had spread before Joan in their abso- 
 lute truth, he had added this fiction of friendless 
 loneliness, and it had worked a wonder. He saw 
 that he was growing to be much to her, and the 
 problem lying in his path rose again, as it had 
 for a moment when Murdoch warned him in jest 
 against falling in love with Joan Tregenza. Dim 
 suspicions crossed his mind with greater fre- 
 quency, and being now a mere remorseless sav- 
 age, hunting to its completion a fine picture, he 
 made no effort to shut their shadows from his 
 calculation. Everything which bore even indi- 
 rectly upon his work received its share of atten- 
 tion ; to mood must all sacrifices be made ; and 
 now a new mood began to dawn in him. He 
 knew it, he accepted it. He had not sought it, 
 but the thing was there, and Nature had sent it 
 to him. To shun it and fly from it meant a lie 
 to his art ; to open his arms to it promised the 
 destruction of a human unit. Barron was not 
 the man to hesitate between two such courses. 
 If any action could heighten his inspiration, add 
 a glimmer of glory to his picture, or get a shadow 
 more soul into the painted blue eyes of the sub- 
 ject, he held such action justified. For the pres- 
 ent his mind was chaos on the subject, and he
 
 114 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 left the future to work itself out as chance might 
 determine. 
 
 His painting was all he concerned himself 
 with, and should Nature ultimately indicate that 
 greater perfection might be achieved through 
 worship and even sacrifice at her shrine, neither 
 worship nor sacrifice would be withheld. 
 
 CHAPTER NINE 
 
 A WEDDING 
 
 Joan Tregenza went home in a dream that 
 day. She did not know where to begin think- 
 ing. "Mister Jan" had told her so many 
 astounding things; and her own heart, too, had 
 made bold utterances — concerning matters which 
 she had crushed out of sight with some shame 
 and many secret blushes until now. But, seen 
 in the light of John Barron's revelations, this 
 emotion which she had thrust so resolutely to 
 the back of her mind could remain there no 
 more. It arose strong, rampant and ridiculous; 
 only from her point of view no humor distin- 
 guished it. This man, then, was like herself, 
 made of the same flesh and blood, sprung from 
 the people. That fact, though possessing abso- 
 lutely no significance whatever in reality, struck 
 Joan with great force. Her highly primitive
 
 LYING PROPHETS 115 
 
 instincts stretched a wide gulf between the thing 
 called "gentleman" and other men; which was 
 the result of training from parents of the old- 
 fashioned sort, whose world lay outside and 
 behind the modern spirit ; who had reached the 
 highest development of their intelligence and 
 formed their opinions before the passing of the 
 Education Act. Gray Michael naturally held 
 the great ones of the earth as objects of pity 
 from an eternal standpoint, but birth weighed 
 with him, and, in temporal concerns, he treated 
 his superiors with all respect and civility when 
 rare chance brought him into contact with 
 them. He viewed uneasily the last outcome of 
 progress and the vastly increased facilities for 
 instruction of the juvenile population. The age 
 was sufficiently godless, in his judgment; and he 
 had found that a Board School education was 
 the first nail in the coffin of every young man's 
 faith. 
 
 Joan, therefore, allowing nothing for the 
 value of riches, of education, of intellect, was 
 content to accept Barron's own cynical state- 
 ment in a spirit widely different from the speak- 
 er's. He had sneered at himself, just as he had 
 sneered at his own dead father. But Joan 
 missed all the bitterness of his speech. To her 
 he was simply a wondrously honest man who 
 loved truth for itself, who could never utter 
 anything not true, who held it no offense to 
 speak truth even of the dead. Gentle or simple, 
 he seemed infinitely superior to all men whom 
 she had met with. And yet this beautiful nat-
 
 116 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 ure walked through the world quite alone. He 
 had asked her to remember him when he was 
 gone; be had said that she was his friend. And 
 he cared little for women — there was perhaps 
 no other woman in the world he had called a 
 friend. Then the girl's heart fluttered at the 
 presumption of her silly, soaring thoughts, and 
 she glanced nervously to the right and to the 
 left of the lonely road, as though fearful that 
 some hidden eavesdropper might peep into her 
 open mind. The magic spell was upon her. 
 This little, pale, clever man, so quiet, so strange, 
 so unlike anything else within her seventeen 
 years of experience, had wrought Nature's vital 
 miracle, and Joan, who, until then, believed 
 herself in love with her sailor sweetheart, now 
 stood aghast before the truth, stood bewildered 
 between the tame and bloodless fantasy of her 
 affection for Joe Noy and this wild, live reality. 
 She looked far back into a past already dim and 
 remembered that she had told Joe many times 
 how she loved him with all her heart. But the 
 words were spoken before she knew that she 
 possessed a heart at all. Yet Joe then formed 
 no inconsiderable figure in life. She had looked 
 forward to marriage with him as a comfortable 
 and sufficient background for present existence; 
 she had viewed Joe as a handsome, solid figure 
 — a man well thought of, one who would give 
 her a home with bigger rooms and better furni- 
 ture in it than most fishermen's daughters might 
 reasonably hope for. But this new blinding- 
 light, was more than the memory of Joe could
 
 LYING PROPHETS 117 
 
 *ace uninjured. He shriveled and shrank in it. 
 Like St. Michael's Mount, seen afar, through 
 curtains of rain, Joe had once bulked large, 
 towering, even grand, but under noonday sun 
 the great mass dwindles as a whole though every 
 detail becomes more apparent; and so with poor 
 Joe Noy. Removed to a distance of a thousand 
 miles though he was, Joan had never known 
 him better, never realized the height, breadth, 
 depth of him so acutely as now she did. The 
 former ignorance in such a case had been bliss 
 indeed, for whereunto her present acquired wis- 
 dom might point even she dared not consider. 
 Any other girl must have remained sufficiently 
 alive to the enormous disparity every way be- 
 tween herself and the artist; and Joan grasped 
 the difference, but from the wrong point of view. 
 The man's delicacy of discernment, his wisdom, 
 his love of the things which she loved, his fine 
 feeling, his humility — all combined in Joan's 
 judgment to place him far above herself, though 
 she had not words to name the qualities; but 
 whereas another lowly woman, reaching this 
 point, must, if she possessed any mother- wit or 
 knowledge of the world, have awakened to the 
 danger and grown guarded, Joan, claiming little 
 wit to speak of, and being an empty vessel so 
 far as knowledge of the world was concerned, 
 saw no danger and allowed her thoughts to run 
 away with her in a wholly insane direction. 
 This she did for two reasons: because she felt 
 absolutely safe, and because she suspected that 
 Nature, who was "Mister Jan's" God, had now
 
 118 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 come to be her God also. The man was very 
 wise, and he hated everything which lacked 
 truth : therefore he would always do what was 
 right, and he would not be less true to her than 
 he was to the world. Truth was his guiding 
 star, and he had always found Nature true. 
 Therefore, why should not Joan find it true? 
 Nature was talking to her now and teaching her 
 rapidly. She must be content to wait and learn. 
 The two men, Noy and Barron, fairly repre- 
 sented the opposite views of life each enter- 
 tained, and Joan felt the new music wake a 
 thousand sleeping echoes in her heart while the 
 old grew more harsh and unlovely as she con- 
 sidered it. Joe had so many opinions and so 
 little information; "Mister Jan" knew every- 
 thing and asserted nothing save what Nature 
 had taught him. Joe was so self-righteous and 
 overbearing, so like her father, so convinced 
 that Luke Gospeldom was the only gate to 
 glory; "Mister Jan" had said there was more 
 of the Everlasting God in a bluebell than in the 
 whole of the Old Testament; he had declared 
 that the smell of the gorse and the sunshine on 
 the deep sea were better things than the incense 
 and banners at St. Peter's ; he had asserted that 
 the purring of kittens was sweeter to the Father 
 of all than the thunder of a mighty organ played 
 in the noblest cathedral ever made with hands. 
 All these foolish and inconsequent comparisons, 
 uttered thoughtlessly by Barron's lips while his 
 mind was on his picture, seemed very fine to 
 Joan ; and the finer because she did not under-
 
 LYIN'tt PUnl'HKI'S 119 
 
 stand theui. Again, Joe rarely listened to her; 
 this man always did, and he liked to hear her 
 talk : he had declared as much. 
 
 Her brains almost hurt Joan on her way back 
 to the white cottage that morning;. The3 r seemed 
 so loaded ; they lifted her up high above the 
 working-da} 7- world and made her feel many 
 years older. Such reflections and ideas came to 
 grown women doubtless, she thought. A great 
 unrest arose from the shadows of these varied 
 speculations — a great unrest and disquiet — a 
 feeling of coming change, like the note in the 
 air when the swallows meet together in autumn, 
 like the whisper of the leaves on the high tops 
 of the forest before rain. Her heart was very 
 full. She walked more slowly as the thoughts 
 weighed heavier; she went back to her home 
 round-eyed and solemn, wondering at many 
 things, at the extension of the horizon of life, at 
 the mental picture of Joe standing clearly out of 
 the mists, viewed from a woman's standpoint. 
 
 That day much serving awaited her; but, at 
 every turn and pause in the small affairs of her 
 duty, Joan's mind swooped back like a hawk to 
 the easel on Gorse Point; and when it did, her 
 cheeks flushed and she turned to bend over sink 
 or pig's trough to hide the new fire that burned 
 in her heart and lighted her eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Tregenza, who had suffered from neu- 
 ralgia and profound depression of spirit upon 
 Tom's departure to the sea, but who comforted 
 herself even in her darkest hour by reflection 
 that no lugger boy ever joined the fishing fleet
 
 120 LYING TROPHETS 
 
 with such ail equipment of new clothes as her 
 son, was somewhat better and more cheerful 
 now that the lad had made his first trip and sur- 
 vived it. Moreover, Tom would be home again 
 that night in all probability, and, since Michael 
 was last ashore, the butcher from Paul had 
 called and offered three shillings and sixpence 
 more for the next pig to be killed than ever a 
 Tregenza pig had fetched until that day. Life 
 therefore held some prosperity in it, even for 
 Thomasin. 
 
 After their dinner both women, the elder with 
 a shawl muffled about her face, went down the 
 road to Newlyn to see a sight. They stopped at 
 George Trevennick's little house. It had a gar- 
 den in front of it with a short flagstaff erected 
 thereon, and all looked neat, trim and ship-shape 
 as became the home of a retired Royal Navy 
 man. A wedding was afoot, and Mr. Treven- 
 nick, who never lost an opportunity to display 
 his rare store of bunting, had plentifully shaken 
 out bright reds and yellows, blues and greens. 
 The little flags fluttered in four streamers from 
 the head of the flagstaff, and their colors looked 
 harsh and crude until associated with the human 
 interests they marked. 
 
 Already many children gazed with awe from 
 the road, while a favored few, including the 
 Tregenzas, stood in Mr. Trevennick's garden, 
 which was raised above the causeway. Great 
 good-humor prevailed, together with some ques- 
 tionable jesting, and Joan heard the merriment 
 with a sense of discomfort. They would talk
 
 LYING PROPHETS 131 
 
 like this when Joe came back to marry her; but 
 the great day of a maid's life had lost its great- 
 ness for her now. The rough, good-natured fun 
 grated on her nerves as it had never grated be- 
 fore; because, though she only guessed at the 
 sly jokes of her elders, something told her that 
 "Mister Jan" would have found no pleasure in 
 such merriment. Mrs. Tregenza talked, Mr. 
 Trevennick smoked, and Sally Trevennick, the 
 old sailor's daughter, entertained the party and 
 had a word for all. She was not young, and 
 not well-favored, and unduly plump, but a sweet- 
 hearted woman nevertheless, with a great love 
 for the little children. This indeed presently 
 appeared, for while the party waited there hap- 
 pened a tragedy in the street which brought 
 extreme sorrow to a pair of very small people. 
 They had a big crabshell full of dirt off the road 
 which they drew after them by a string, and in 
 which they took no small pride and pleasure; 
 but a young sailor, coming hastily round a 
 corner, trampled upon the shell, smashed it, and 
 passed laughing on. The infants, overwhelmed 
 by this sudden disaster to their most cherished 
 earthly possession, crushed to the earth by this 
 blotting out of the sunshine of the day, lifted up 
 their voices and wept before the shattered ruins. 
 One, the biggest, dropped the useless string and 
 put his face against the wall, that his extreme 
 grief might be hidden ; but the smaller hesitated 
 not to make his sorrows widely known. He 
 bawled, then took a deep breath and bawled 
 again. As the full extent of his loss was borne
 
 132 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 in upon him, he absolutely danced with access 
 of frenzied grief; and everybody laughed but 
 fat Sally Trevennick. Her black eyes grew 
 clouded, and she went down into the road to 
 bring comfort to the sufferers. 
 
 "Never mind, then; nevermind, you bwoys; 
 us'll get 'e another braave shell,so us will. Theer, 
 theer, give over an' come 'long wi' me an' see 
 the flags. Theer's many bigger auld crabshells 
 wheer that corned from, I lay. Your faither'll 
 get 'e another." 
 
 She took a hand of each babe and brought 
 them into the garden, from which they could look 
 down upon their fellows. Such exaltation nat- 
 urally soothed their sufferings, and amid many 
 gasps and gurgles they found a return to peace 
 in the close contemplation of Mr. Trevennick's 
 flagstaff and the discussion of a big saffron 
 pasty. 
 
 Presently the bridegroom and his young 
 brother passed on the way to church. Both 
 looked the reverse of happy; both wore their 
 Sunday broadcloth, and both swung along as 
 fast as their legs would carry them. They were 
 red hot and going five miles an hour ; but, though 
 Mousehole men, everybody in Newlyn knew 
 them, and they were forced to run the gauntlet 
 of much chaff. 
 
 "Time was when they did use to thrash a new- 
 married couple to bed," said Mr. Trevennick. 
 "Twas an amoosin' carcumstance an' I've 
 'elped at many, but them good auld doin's is 
 dyin' out fast."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 123 
 
 Mrs. Tregenza was discussing the bride- 
 groom's family. 
 
 "He be a poor Billy-be-damned sort o' feller, 
 I've alius heard, an' awnly a common tinner, 
 though his faither were a grass cap'n at Levant 
 Mine." 
 
 "But he's a steady chap," said Sally; "an' 
 them in his awn station sez he's reg'lar at 
 church-goin' an' well thot 'pon by everybody. 
 'Tedn' all young pairs as parson'll ax out, I can 
 tell 'e. He wants to knaw a bit 'fore 'e'll marry 
 bwoys an' gals; but theer weren't no trouble 
 'bout Mark Taskes." 
 
 "Sure I'm glad to hear it, Sally, 'cause if he 
 caan't do everything, everything won't be done. 
 They Penns be a pauper lot — him a fish-jouster 
 as ain't so much as his awn donkey an' cart, an' 
 lame tu. Not that 'twas his awn fault, I s'pose, 
 but they do say a lame chap's never caught in a 
 good trick notwithstandin'." 
 
 "Here comes the weddeners!" said Joan, 
 "but 'tedn' a very braave shaw," she added. 
 "They'm all a-foot, I do b'Keve." 
 
 "Aw, my dear sawl! look at that now!" cried 
 Mrs. Tregenza. "Walkin', ackshally walkin'. 
 Well— well!" 
 
 The little bride advanced between her father 
 and mother, while relations and friends marched 
 two and two behind. A vision it was of age and 
 youth, of bright spring flowers, of spotless cot- 
 ton and black broadcloth. A matron or two 
 marched in flaming colors; a few fishermen 
 wore their blue jerseys under their reefer jack-
 
 124 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 ets ; the smaller children were led by hand ; and 
 the whole party numbered twelve all told. Mr. 
 Penn looked up at the flags as he limped along, 
 and a great delight broke out upon his face ; the 
 bride's mother beamed with satisfaction at a 
 compliment not by any means expected, for the 
 Penns were a humble folk; and the bride 
 blushed and stole a nervous peep at the display. 
 Mr. Penn touched his hat to the party in the 
 garden, and Mr. Trevennick, feeling the eye of 
 the multitude upon him, loudly wished the wed- 
 ding party well as it passed by. 
 
 "Good speed to 'e an' to the maid, Bill Penn. 
 May she live 'appy an' be a credit to all parties 
 consarned." 
 
 "Thank 'e, thank 'e, kindly, Mr. Trevennick. 
 An' us takes it mighty favorable to see your 
 butivul flags a hangin' out — mighty favorable, 
 I 'sure 'e." 
 
 So the party tramped on and ugly Sally looked 
 after them with dim e} 7 es; but Mrs. Tregenza's 
 thin voice dried them. 
 
 "A bad come-along o't for a gal to walk 'pon 
 sich a day. They did ought to a got her a lift 
 to her weddin', come what might." 
 
 "Maybe 'tis all wan to them poor dears. A 
 coach an' four 'orses wouldn' make that cheel 
 no better pleased. God bless ber, did 'e look 
 'ow she flickered up when she seed faither's 
 flags a flyin'?" 
 
 "Theer's a right way an' a wrong o' doin' 
 weddin's, Sarah, an' 'tedn' a question whether a 
 gal's better pleased or no. It's all wan to a
 
 LYING PROPHETS 125 
 
 dead corpse whether 'tis took to the yard in a 
 black hearse wi' plumes, same as what us shall 
 be, or whether 'tis borne 'pon wan o' them four 
 'anded stretchers used for carryin' fishin' nets, 
 same as poor Albert Vallack was a while back 
 — but wan way's proper an' t'other 'edn'." 
 
 "They'm savin' the money for the feed. 
 Theer's gwaine to be a deal o' dome liftin' at 
 Penn's cottage bimebye," said another of the 
 party. 
 
 "No honeymoon neither, so I hear telV added 
 Mrs. Tregenza. 
 
 "But Taskes have bought flam-new furniture 
 for his parlor, they sez," declared the former 
 speaker. 
 
 "Of coorse. Still no honeymoon 'tall ! Who 
 ever heard tell of sich a thing nowadays? I 
 wonder they ban't 'shamed." 
 
 "Less shame, Mrs. Tregenza, than trapsing 
 off to Truro or somewheers an' wastin' their 
 time an' spendin' money they'll be wanting 
 back agin 'fore Christmas," retorted Sally, with 
 some warmth. 
 
 But Mrs. Tregenza only shook her head and 
 sighed. 
 
 "You speaks as a onmarried wummon, Sarah; 
 but if you coined to be a bride you'd sing dif- 
 fer'nt. No honeymoon's wrong, an' your 
 faither'll tell the same." 
 
 Mr. Trevennick admitted that no honeymoon 
 was bad. He went further and declared the 
 omission of such an institution to be unprinci- 
 pled. I!.- eveD saitl that had he known of this
 
 126 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 serious defect in the ceremonies he should cer- 
 tainly have abstained from lending the bright- 
 ness of his bunting to them. Then he went to 
 eye the flags from different points of view, while 
 Sally, in a minority of one, turned to Joan. 
 
 "And what do you say?" she asked. " You'm 
 'mazin' quiet an' tongue-tied for you. I s'pose 
 you'm thinkin' of the time when Joe Noy comes 
 home. I lay you'll have a honeymoon any- 
 ways." 
 
 "Iss, that you may depend 'pon," said Mrs. 
 Tregenza. 
 
 And Joan, who had in truth been thinking of 
 her sweetheart's return, grew red, whereat they 
 all laughed. But she felt secretly superior to 
 every one of them, for the shrinking process 
 began to extend beyond Joe now. A fortnight 
 before, she had been much gratified by allusions 
 to the future and felt herself an important indi- 
 vidual enough. Then, she must have shared 
 her stepmother's pity at the poverty of the pag- 
 eant which had just passed by. But now the 
 world had changed. Matrimony with Joe Noy 
 was not a subject which brought present delight 
 to her, but the little bride who had just gone to 
 her wedding rilled Joan's thoughts. What was 
 in that girl's heart, she greatly wondered. Did 
 Milly Penn feel for long-legged Mark Taskes 
 what Joan felt for "Mister Jan"? Was it pos- 
 sible that any other woman had ever experienced 
 similar mysterious splendors of mind? She could 
 not tell, but it seemed unlikely to her; it ap- 
 peared improbable that an ordinary man had
 
 LYING PROPHETS 127 
 
 power to inspire another heart with such golden 
 magic as glorified her own. 
 
 Presently she departed with her stepmother, 
 whereupon Sally Trevennick relieved her pent- 
 up feelings. 
 
 "Thank the Lard that chitter-faaced wummon 
 edn' gwaine to the weddin' any ways! Us 
 knaws she's a dear good sawl 'nough; but what 
 wi' her sour voice, an' her sour way o' talkin', 
 an' her sour 'pinions, she'm enough to set a rat- 
 trap's teeth on edge."
 
 128 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 CHAPTER TEN 
 
 MOONLIGHT 
 
 That evening Thomasin had another spasm 
 of faceache and went to bed soon after drinking 
 tea. Michael was due at home about ten o'clock 
 or earlier, and Joan — having set out supper, 
 made all ready, and ascertained that her step- 
 mother had gone to sleep — walked out to the 
 pierhead, there to wait for Mr. Tregenza and 
 Tom. Under moonlight, the returning luggers 
 crept homeward, like inky silhouettes on a back- 
 ground of dull silver. Every moment added to 
 the forest of masts ancnored at the moorings 
 outside the harbor; every minute another row- 
 ing-boat shot between the granite piers, slid 
 silently into the darkness under shore, leaving 
 moonlit rings widening out behind at each dip of 
 the oars. Joan sat down under the lighthouse 
 and waited in the stillness for her father's boat. 
 Yellow flashes, like fireflies, twinkled along 
 through Newlyn, and above them the moon 
 brought out square patches of silver-bright roof 
 seen through a blue night. Now and then a bell 
 rang in the harbor, and lights leaped here and
 
 LYING PROPHETS 12U 
 
 there, mingling red snakes and streamers of fire 
 with the white moonbeams where they lay on 
 still water. Then Joan knew the fish were 
 being sold by auction, and she grew anxious for 
 her father's return, fearing prices might have 
 fallen before he arrived. Great periods of 
 silence lay between the ringings of the bell, and 
 at such times only faint laughter floated out 
 from shore, or blocks chipped and rattled as a 
 sail came down or a concertina squeaked fitfully 
 where it was played on a Norwegian iceboat at 
 the harbor quay. The tide ran high, and Joan 
 watched the lights reflected in the harbor and 
 wondered why the gold of them contrasted so ill 
 with the silver from the moon. 
 
 Presently tsvo men came along to the pier- 
 head. They smoked, looked at the sea, and did 
 not notice her where she sat in shadow. One, 
 the larger, wore knickerbockers, talked loudly, 
 and looked a giant in the vague light; the other 
 was muffled up in a big ulster, and Joan would 
 not have recognized Barron had he not spoken. 
 But he answered his friend, and then the girl's 
 heart leaped to hear that quiet, unimpassioned 
 voice. He spoke of matters which she did not 
 understand, of pictures and light and all manner 
 of puzzles set by Nature for the solution of art; 
 but though for the most part his remarks con- 
 veyed no meaning to her, yet he closed a sen- 
 tence with words that made her happy, and 
 warmed her heart and left a precious memory 
 behind them. 
 
 "Moonlight is a problem onlj* less difficult
 
 130 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 than sunshine," he said to his friend. "Where 
 are you going to get that?" and he pointed to 
 the sea. 
 
 "It's been jolly well done all the same." 
 
 "Never. It is not to be done. You can sug- 
 gest by a trick, but God defend us from tricks 
 and sleight-of-hand in connection with the 
 solemn business of painting pictures. Let us 
 be true or nothing." 
 
 They walked away together, and Joan pon- 
 dered over the last words. Truth seemed an 
 eternal, abiding passion with John Barron, and 
 the contemplation of this idea gave her consider- 
 able pleasure. She did not know that a man 
 may be at once true to his art and a liar to his 
 fellows. 
 
 Presently her father returned with Tom, and 
 the three walked home together. Gray Michael 
 appeared quietly satisfied that his son was shap- 
 ing well and showing courage and nerve. But 
 he silenced the lad quickly enough when Tom 
 began to talk with some gasconade concerning 
 greet deeds done westward of the Scilly Islands. 
 
 " 'Let another man praise thee an' not thine 
 awn mouth,' my bwoy," said Mr. Tregenza. 
 "It ban't the wave as makes most splash what 
 gaws highest up the beach, mind. You get Joan 
 to teach 'e how to peel 'taties, 'cause 'tis a job 
 you made a tidy bawk of, not to mention no 
 other. Keep your weather-eye liftin' an' your 
 tongue still. Then you'll do. An' mind— the 
 bwoat's clean as a smelt by five o'clock to-mor- 
 row marnin', ai*' no later."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 131 
 
 Tom, dashed by these base details, answered 
 seaman fashion : 
 
 "Ay, ay, faither." 
 
 Then they all tramped home, and the boy 
 enjoyed the glories of a late supper, though he 
 was half asleep before he had finished it. 
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 THE KISS 
 
 By half-past five o'clock, Mr. Tregenza's blacK 
 lugger was off again in a gray dawn all tangled 
 with gold on the eastern horizon. 
 
 His mother had given Tom an early breakfast 
 at half-past four, and the youngster, agape and 
 dim-eyed at first, speedily brightened up, for he 
 had a willing listener in the candle-light and 
 poured a tale of moving incidents into Thom- 
 asin's proud but uneasy mind. 
 
 "Them Pritchards sez as they'll make a 
 busker* of me, 'cause it blawed a bit isster- 
 day marnin', but 'twas all wan to me; an' you 
 abbun no call to fret yourself, nohow, mother, 
 'cause faither's 'lowed to be the best sailor in 
 
 * Basher — A rare ^ood fisherman.
 
 132 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 the fleet an' theer ban't a better foul-weather 
 boat sails from Newlyn than ourn." 
 
 He chattered on, larding his discourse with 
 new words picked up aboard, and presently 
 rolled off to get things shipshape just as his 
 father came down to breakfast. 
 
 When the men had gone, little remained to 
 be done that day, and, by half-past seven, about 
 which hour Mrs. Tregenza went into the village 
 that she might whine with a widow who had 
 two boys in the fleet, Joan found herself free 
 until the afternoon. She determined therefore 
 to reach Gorse Point before the artist should 
 arrive there, and set off accordingly. 
 
 Early though she was, she had but a short time 
 to wait, for Barron appeared with his big canvas 
 by nine o'clock. She thought he showed more 
 pleasure than usual at the sight of her. Cer- 
 tainly he shook hands and coDgratulated her 
 upon such early hours. 
 
 "This is an unexpected pleasure, Joan. You 
 must have been up betimes indeed." 
 
 "Iss fay, us took breakfus' by five, an' 
 faither sailed 'fore half-past. "lis busy times 
 for fishin' folk when the mackerl begins 
 shoalin'." 
 
 "I'm glad I came back to my den in the fields 
 yonder and didn't stop in Newlyn last night. 
 You must see my little cow-byre some day or 
 other, Joan. I've made it wonderfully snug. 
 Farmer Ford is good enough to let me take pos- 
 session of it for the present; and I've got food 
 and drink stowed away, and a beautiful bed of
 
 LYING PROPHETS 133 
 
 sweet, withered bracken. I sleep well there, 
 and the dawn comes in and wakens me." 
 
 "You ban't feared o' piskeys nor nothin' in a 
 lawnsome plaace like thicky byre?" 
 
 "No, no — the rats are rather intrusive, 
 though." 
 
 "But they'm piskeys or spriggans so like's 
 not! You see, the lil people takes all manner 
 o' shaapes, Mister Jan ; an' they chaanges 'em 
 tu, out every time they chaanges they've got to 
 alter into somethin' smaller than what they was 
 before. An' so, in coorse of time, they do say 
 they comes down into muryans an' such like 
 insects." 
 
 "Piskeys or no piskeys, I've caught several in 
 a trap and killed them." 
 
 "They'm gashly things, rats, an' I shouldn't 
 think as no good piskeys would turn into var- 
 mints like them." 
 
 "More should I. . But something better than 
 rats came to see me last night, Joan. Guess 
 who it was." 
 
 "I dunnaw." 
 
 "Why, you came!" 
 
 "Me, Mister Jan ! You must a bin dreamin' !" 
 
 "Yes, of course I was; but such a lovely 
 dream, Joan! You see, men who paint pict- 
 ures and love what is beautiful and dream about 
 beautiful things and beautiful people see all sorts 
 of visions sometimes. I have pictures in my 
 head a thousand times more splendid than any 
 I shall ever put upon canvas, because mere 
 paint-brushes cannot do much, even when they
 
 134 LYING PROFflETS 
 
 are in the cleverest Lauds; but a man's brain is 
 not bound down by material, mechanical mat- 
 ters. My brain made a picture of you last night 
 — a picture that came and looked at me on my 
 fern bed — a picture so real, so alive that I could 
 see it move and hear it laugh. You think that 
 wonderful. It isn't really, because my brain 
 has done nothing but think of you now for 
 nearly six weeks. My eye studies you and 
 stamps you upon my brain; then, when night 
 comes, and no man works, and the world is 
 dark and silent, my brain sets off on its own ac- 
 count and raises up a magic vision just to show 
 me what you really are — how different to this 
 poor daub here." 
 
 "Lard, Mister Jan! I never heard tell of sich 
 a coorious thing as that." 
 
 "And the pretty dream- Joan can talk almost 
 as well as you can ! "Why, last night, while I 
 was half awake and half asleep, she put her 
 hand upon my shoulder and said kind things, 
 but I dared not move or kiss her hand at first 
 for fear she would vanish if I did." 
 
 Joan laughed. 
 
 "That is a funny story, sure 'nough," she 
 said. "I 'specs 'twas awnly another fairy body, 
 arter all." 
 
 "No, it wasn't. She had your voice and your 
 spirit in her; and that picture which my brain 
 painted for me was so much better than the 
 thing my hand has painted that, in the morn- 
 ing, I was almost tempted to destroy this alto- 
 gether. But I didn't."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 135 
 
 "An' what did this here misty sort o 1 maid 
 say to 'e?" 
 
 "Strange things, strange things. Things I 
 would give a great deal to hear you say. It 
 seemed that you had come, Joan, it seemed that 
 you had purposely come from your little cottage 
 on the cliff through the darkness before dawn. 
 Why? To share my loneliness, to brighten my 
 poor shadowy life. Dreams are funny things, 
 are they not? What d'you think you said?" 
 
 "Sure I dunnaw." 
 
 "Why, you said that you were not going to 
 leave me any more; that you believed in me and 
 that you had come to me because it was bad for 
 a man to live all alone in the world. You said 
 that you felt alone too — without me. And it 
 made me feel happy to hear you saj r that, though 
 I knew, all the time, that it was not the real 
 beautiful Joan who spoke to me." 
 
 Thereupon the girl asked a question which 
 seemed to argue some sharpening of intelligence 
 within her. 
 
 "An' when I spoke that, what did you say, 
 Mister Jan?" 
 
 "I didn't say anything at all. I just took 
 that sweet Joan-of-dreams into my arms and 
 kissed her." 
 
 He was looking listlessly out over the sea as 
 he spoke, and Joan felt thankful his eyes were 
 turned away from her, for this wonderful dream 
 incident made her grow hot all over. He seemed 
 to divine by her silence that his answer to her 
 question had not added to her happiness.
 
 130 LYING PBOPHETS 
 
 "I shouldn't have told you that, Joan, only 
 you asked me. You see, in dreams, we are real 
 in some senses, though unreal in others. In 
 dreams the savage part of us comes to the top 
 and Nature can whisper to us. She chooses 
 night to do so and often speaks to men in 
 visions, because by day the voice of the world 
 is in their ears and they have no attention for 
 any other. It was strange, too, that I should 
 fancy such a thing — should imagine I was kiss- 
 ing you — because I never kissed a woman in my 
 life." 
 
 But from her point of view this falsehood was 
 not so alluring as he meant to make it sound. 
 
 " 'T would be wrong to kiss any maiden, I 
 reckon, onless you was tokened to her or she 
 were your awn sister." 
 
 "But, as we look at life, we're all brothers 
 and sisters, Joan — with Nature for our mother. 
 We agreed about that long ago. ' ' 
 
 He turned to his easel, and she went and stood 
 where her feet had already made a brown mark 
 on the grass. 
 
 "I seen you last night, but you dedn' see 
 me," she said, changing the conversation with 
 abruptness. 
 
 "Yes, I did," he answered, "sitting under the 
 shadow of the lighthouse, waiting for Mr. Tre- 
 genza, I expect." 
 
 "An' you never took no note o' me!" 
 
 He flung down his brushes, turned away from 
 the picture before he had touched it, and went 
 and lay near the edge of the cliff.
 
 LYING PROPHETS lo7 
 
 "Come here, Joan, and I will tell you why I 
 didn't notice you, though I longed to do so. 
 Come and sit down by me and I'll explain why 
 I seemed so rude." 
 
 She came slowly aDd sat down some distance 
 from him, putting: her elbows on her knees and 
 looking away to sea. 
 
 " 'Tweern't kind," she said, " but when 
 you'm with other folks, I s'pose you'm 
 ashamed o' me 'spite what you tawld me 
 'bout yourself." 
 
 "You mustn't say that, Joan, or you'll make 
 me unhappy. Ashamed of you! Is it likely 
 I'm ashamed of the only friend I've got in the 
 world? No, I'm frightened of losing you; I'm 
 selfish; I couldn't make you known to any other 
 man because I should be afraid you'd like him 
 better than me, and then I should have no friend 
 at all. So I wouldn't speak and reveal my treas- 
 ure to anybody else. I'm very fond of my friend, 
 and very proud of her, and as greedy' as a miser 
 over his gold." 
 
 Joan took a long breath before this tremen- 
 dous assertion. He had told her in so many 
 words that he was fond of her; and he had men- 
 tioned it most casually as a point long since de- 
 cided. Here was the question which she had 
 asked herself so often answered once for all. 
 Her heart leaped at tidings of great joy, and as 
 she looked up into his face the man saw infinite 
 wonder and delight in her own. Mind was 
 adding beauty to flesh, and he, fast losing the
 
 13S LYING PROPHETS 
 
 artist's instinct before another, thought she hud 
 
 never looked so lovely as then. 
 
 "Oh, Mister Jan, you'm fond o' me!" 
 
 ' ' Why, didn't you know it, Joan? Did it want 
 
 my words to tell you so? Hadn't you guessed 
 
 it?" 
 
 He rose slowly and approached his pict- 
 ure. 
 
 "Oh, how I wish this was a little more like 
 my dream and like reality! I need inspiration, 
 Joan; I have reached a point beyond which I 
 cannot go. My colors are dead; my soul is 
 dead. Something must happen to me or I shall 
 never finish this." 
 
 "Ban't you so well as you was?" 
 
 "No, Joan, I'm not. A thing has come be- 
 tween me and my happiness, between me and 
 my picture. I know not what to call it. Nat- 
 ure has sent it. ' ' 
 
 "Then 'tis right an' proper, I s'pose?" 
 
 "I suppose so, but it stops work. It makes 
 my hand shake and my heart throb fast and my 
 brains grow hot." 
 
 "Can't 'e take no physic for't?" 
 
 "Why, yes, but I hesitate." 
 
 He turned to her and went close to her. 
 
 "Let me look at you, Joan— close— very close 
 — so close that I can feel your breath. It was 
 so easy to learn the furze ; it is so hard to learn 
 you." 
 
 "Sure I've corned out butivul in the pick- 
 sher." 
 
 "Not yet, not yet."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 1:30 
 
 He put his hands on her shoulders and looked 
 into her eyes until she grew nervous and brushed 
 her hand across her cheek. Then, without a 
 second's warning, he bent down and kissed her 
 on the mouth. 
 
 "Mister Jan! How could 'e! 'Tis wrong — 
 wrong of 'e! I'd never a thot — " 
 
 She started from him, wild, alarmed, blush- 
 ing hotly; and he shook his head at her 
 dismay and answered very calmly, very 
 seriously : 
 
 "It was not wrong, Joan, or I should not have 
 done it. You heard me ask to whom I should 
 pray for inspiration, and Nature told me I must 
 seek it from you. And I have." 
 
 "You shouldn't never a done it. I trusted 'e 
 so!" 
 
 "But I had to do it. Nature said 'Kiss her, 
 and you will find what you want. ' Do you un- 
 derstand that? I have touched you and I am 
 awake and alive, again; I have touched you, 
 Joan, and I am not hopeless and sad, but happ}\ 
 Nature thought of me, Joan, when she made 
 you and brought you into the world ; and she 
 thought of sweet Joan when she fashioned Jan. 
 Believe it — you must believe it." 
 
 "You did ought to a arsked me." 
 
 "Listen. Nature let you live quiet in the 
 country — for me, Joan. She let me live all 
 lonely in the world — for you. Only for you. 
 Can't you understand?" 
 
 "You did ought to a arsked me. Kissing be 
 wrong 'tween us. You knaws it, Mr. Jan."
 
 110 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "It is right and proper and fair and beauti- 
 ful," he said quietly. "My heart sang when I 
 kissed you, Joan, and so did yours. D'you 
 know why? Because we are two halves of a 
 whole. Because the sunshine of your life would 
 go out without me ; because my life, which never 
 had any sunshine in it until now, has been full 
 of sunshine since I knew Joan." 
 
 "I dunnaw. 'Tvvadden a proper thing to do, 
 seein' how I trusted 'e." 
 
 "We are children of Nature, Joan. I alwaj r s 
 do what she tells me. I can't help it. I have 
 obeyed her all my life. She tells me to love 
 you, Joan, and I do. I'm very sorry. I 
 thought she had told you to love me, but 
 I suppose I was wrong. Never mind this 
 once. Forgive me, Joan. I'll even fight Nat- 
 ure rather than make you angry with me. 
 Let me finish my picture and go away. Come. 
 I've no business to waste your precious time, 
 though you have been so kind and generous 
 with it. Only I was tired and hopeless and you 
 came like a drink of wine to me, Joan; and I 
 drank too much, I suppose." 
 
 He picked up his brushes, spoke in a sad minor 
 key, and seemed crushed and weary. The flash 
 died from his face and he looked older again. 
 Joan, the mistress of the situation, found it 
 wholly bitter. She was bewildered, for affairs 
 had proceeded with such rapidity. He had de- 
 clared frankly that he loved her, and yet had 
 stopped there. To her ideas it was impossible 
 that a man should say as much as that to a wo-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 141 
 
 man and no more. Love invariably meant ulti- 
 mate union for life, Joan thought. She could 
 not understand any other end to it. The man 
 talked about Nature as a little child talks of its 
 mother. He had deemed himself entirely in the 
 right; yet something— not Nature, she supposed 
 — had told her that he was wrong. But who 
 was she to judge him? Who was she to say 
 where his couduct erred? He loved truth. It 
 was not a lie to kiss a girl. He promised nothing. 
 How could he promise anything or propose any- 
 thing? Was she not another man's sweet- 
 heart? That doubtless had been the reason 
 why he had said no more than that he loved 
 her. To love her could be no sin. Nature 
 had told him to; and God knew how she 
 loved him now. 
 
 But she could not make it up with him. A 
 cold curtain seemed to have fallen between 
 them. The old reserve which had ouly melted 
 after many meetings, was upou him again. He 
 stood, as it seemed, on the former pedestal. A 
 strange, surging sensation filled her head — a 
 sense of helpless fighting against a flood of un- 
 happy affairs. All the new glory of life was 
 suddenly tarnished through her own act, and 
 she felt that things could never be the same 
 
 again. 
 
 She thought and thought. Then John Bar- 
 ron saw Joan's blue eyes begin to wink omi- 
 nously, the corners of her bonny mouth drag 
 down and something bright twinkle over her 
 cheek. He took no notice, and when he looked
 
 142 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 up again, she had moved away and was sitting 
 on the grass crying bitterly Math her hands over 
 her face. The sun was bright, a lark sang over- 
 head; from adjacent inland fields came the jolt 
 and clank of a plow with a man's voice calling 
 to his horses at the turns. The artist put down 
 his palette and walked over to Joan. 
 
 "My dear, my dear," he said, "d'you know 
 what's making you so unhappy?" 
 
 She sobbed on and did not answer. 
 
 "I can tell you, I think. You don't quite 
 know whether to believe me or not, Joan. That 
 is very natural. Why should you believe me? 
 And yet if you knew — " 
 
 She sat up, swallowed some of her tears, and 
 smudged her face with her knuckles. He took 
 a clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed 
 it to her. It was cool and pleasant, and she 
 went on crying a while, but tears which were 
 comforting and different to the first stinging 
 drops bred from a sudden, forlorn survey of life. 
 He talked on, and his voice soothed her. He 
 kept his distauce, and presently, as her ruffled 
 spirit grew calmer, his remarks assumed a 
 brighter note. 
 
 "Has my poor little Lady of the Gorse for- 
 given me at last? She won't punish me anj' 
 more, I know, and it is a very terrible punish- 
 ment to see tears in her eyes." 
 
 Then she found her tongue again and words 
 to answer him, together with fluttering sighs 
 that told the tears were ended. 
 
 "I dunnaw why for I cried, Mr. Jan, but I
 
 LYING PROPHETS H3 
 
 seemed 'mazed like. I'm a stupid fule of a 
 maid, I reckon, an' I s'pose 'tis auld-fashioned 
 notions as I've got 'bout what be right an' 
 wrong. But, coorse, you knaws better'n what 
 I can; an' you'd do me no hurt 'cause you loves 
 me — you've said it; an'— an' — I love 'e tu, Mis- 
 ter Jan, I 'sure 'e — better'n anything in all the 
 world." 
 
 "Why, that's good, sweet news, Joan; and 
 Nature told me the truth after all! We're 
 bound to love one another. She made us for 
 that very reason!" 
 
 He knew that her mind was full of the tangles 
 of life and that she wanted him to solve some of 
 the riddles just then uppermost in her own exist- 
 ence. He felt that Joe was in her thoughts, and 
 he easily divined her unuttered question as to 
 why Nature had sent Joe before she had sent 
 him. But, though answers and explanations of 
 her troubles were not likely to be difficult, he 
 had no wish to make them or to pursue the sub- 
 ject just then. Indeed, he bid Joan depart an 
 hour before she need have done so. Her face 
 was spoiled for that sitting, and matters had pro- 
 gressed up to the threshold of the barrier. Be- 
 fore that could be broken down, she must be 
 made to feel that she was necessary to the hap- 
 piness of his life; as he already felt that she 
 was necessary to the completion of his picture. 
 She loved him very dearly, and he, though love 
 was not possible to his nature, could feel the 
 substitute. He had fairly stepped out of his im- 
 personal shell into reality. Presently he would
 
 Hi LYING PROPHETS 
 
 return to bis shell again. For a moment a 
 model had grown more to him than a picture; 
 and he told himself that he must obey Nature 
 in order adequately to serve Art. 
 
 He picked up the handkerchief he had lent 
 Joan, looked at the dampness of the tear-stains, 
 and then spread it in the sun to dry.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 145 
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 JOAN WALKS HOME 
 
 While John Barron determined that a space 
 of time extending over some days should now- 
 separate him from Joan, she, for her part, had 
 scarce left Gorse Point after the conversation 
 just chronicled when there came a great longing 
 in her heart to return thither. As she walked 
 home she viewed wearily the hours which lay 
 betw T een her and the following morning when 
 she might go back to him and see his face again. 
 Time promised to drag for the next day and 
 night. Already she framed in her mind the 
 tilings her mouth should say to-morrow; and 
 that almost before she was beyond sight of the 
 man's easel. Her fears had vanished with her 
 tears. The future was entirely in his hand now, 
 for she had accepted his teaching, endeavored 
 to look at life with his eyes, made his God her 
 own, so far as she had wit to gather what his 
 God was. She accepted the situation with trust, 
 and felt responsibility shifted on to "Mister 
 Jan's" shoulders with infinite relief. He was 
 very wise and knew eveiy thing and loved the 
 truth. It is desirable to harp and harp upon 
 this ever-recurring thought: the artist's grand
 
 146 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 love for truth; because all channels of Joan's 
 mind flowed into this lake. His sincerity begat 
 absolute trust. And, as John Barron and his 
 words and thoughts filled the foreground of life 
 for her, so, correspondingly, did the affairs of 
 her home, with all the circumstances of exist- 
 ence in the old environment, peak and dwindle 
 toward shadowy insignificance. Her father lost 
 his majestic proportions; the Luke Gospelers be- 
 came mere objects for compassion; the petty, 
 temporal interests and concerns of the passing- 
 hour appeared mere worthless affairs for the oc- 
 cupation and waste of time. "Mister Jan" loved 
 her, and she loved him, and what else mattered? 
 Past hours of unrest and wakefulness were for- 
 gotten; her tears washed the dead anxieties 
 clean away; and the kiss which had caused 
 them, though it scorched her lip when it fell 
 there, was now set as a seal and a crowning 
 glory to her life. He never kissed any other wo- 
 man. That pledge of this rare man's affection 
 had been won by the magic of love, and Joan 
 welcomed Nature gladly and called it God with 
 a warm heart and thankful soul; for Nature 
 had brought about this miracle. Her former 
 religion worked no wonders ; it had only con- 
 veyed terror to her and a comprehensive knowl- 
 edge of hell. "Mister Jan" smiled at hell and 
 she could laugh at her old fears. How was it 
 possible to hesitate between two such creeds? 
 She did not do so, and, with final acceptation of 
 the new, and secret rejection of the old, came 
 a great peace to Joan's heart with the whisper
 
 LYING PROPHETS 147 
 
 of many voices telling her that she had done 
 rightly. 
 
 So the storm gave place to periods of delicious 
 calm and content only clouded by a longing to 
 be back with the artist again. He loved her; 
 the voice of his love was the song of the spring 
 weather, and the thrush echoed it and the early 
 flowers wrote it on the hedgerows. God was 
 everywhere to her open eyes. Everything that 
 was beautiful, everything that was good, seemed 
 to have been created for her delight during that 
 homeward walk. She way mightily lifted up. 
 Nature seemed so strong, so kind, such a guar- 
 dian angel for a maiden. And the birds sang 
 out that "Mister Jan" was Nature's priest and 
 could do no wrong; and that to obey Nature 
 was the highest good. 
 
 From which reflection rose a hazy happiness 
 — dim, beautiful and indefinable as the twinkling 
 gold upon the sea under the throne of the sun. 
 Joan dwelt on the memory of the day which 
 was now over for her, and on the thought of 
 morning hours which to-morrow would bring. 
 But she looked no further; and backward she 
 did not gaze at all. No thought of Joe Nov 
 dimmed her mental delight ; no shadowy cloud 
 darkened the horizon then. All was bright, all 
 perfect. Her mind seemed to be breaking its 
 little case, as the butterfly bursts the chrysalis. 
 Her life till then had been mere grub existence; 
 now she could fly and had seen the sun drawing 
 the scent from flowers. Great ideas filled her 
 soul; new emotions awoke; she was like a baby
 
 US LYING PROPHETS 
 
 trying to utter the thing he has no word for; 
 her vocabulary broke down under the strain, 
 and as she walked she gave thanks to Nature 
 in a mere wordless song, like the lark, because 
 she could not put her acknowledgment into lan- 
 guage. But the great Mother, to whom Life is 
 all in all, the living individual nothing, looked 
 on at a world wakening from sleep and viewed 
 the loves of the flowers and the loves of the birds 
 and beasts and fishes with concern as keen as 
 the love in the blue eyes of Joan upon her home- 
 ward way. 
 
 Busy indeed at this vernal season was the 
 mysterious Nurse of God's little world. Her 
 hands rested not from her labors. She worked 
 strange wonders on the waste, by magic of a 
 million breaking buds, by burying of the dead, 
 by wafting of subtle pollen-life from blossom to 
 blossom. And in cliffs above the green waters 
 the nests of her wild-fowl were already lined 
 with wool and feather; neither were her sam- 
 phires forgotten in their dizzy habitations; and 
 salt spray sprinkled her uncurling sea ferns in 
 caves and crannies where they grew. She 
 laughed at the porpoises rolling their fat sides 
 into sunshine; she brought the sea-otter where 
 it should find fish for its young; she led giant 
 congers to drowned men ; she patted the sleek 
 head of the sad-eyed seal. Elsewhere she 
 showed the father-hawk a leveret crouching 
 in his form ; she took young rabbits to the new 
 spring grass ; the fox to the fowl, the fly to the 
 spider, the blight to the bud. Her weakly nest-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 149 
 
 lings fell from tree and cliff to die, but she be- 
 held unmoved; her weasel sucked the gray- 
 bird's egg, yet no hand was raised against the 
 thief, no voice comforted the screaming agony 
 of the mother. With the van of her legions she 
 moved, and the suffering stragglers cried in 
 vain, for her concerns were not with them. She 
 did no right, she worked no evil; she was not 
 cruel, neither shall we call her kind. The ser- 
 vant of God was she, then as always, heedful of 
 His utterances, obedient to His laws. Which 
 laws, when man better divines, he shall learn 
 thy secret too, Nurse of the world, but not 
 sooner.
 
 150 LYIJNCi PROPHETS 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 LONELY DAYS 
 
 Having already learned from experience that 
 hard work quickens the flight of time, Joan, 
 returning in happy mood to her home and with 
 no trace of the past tears upon her cheeks, sur- 
 prised Mrs. Tregenza by a display of most un- 
 usual energy and activity. She helped the 
 butcher to get the pig into a low cart built ex- 
 pressly for the conveyance of such unwieldy 
 animals; she looked mournfully at her depart- 
 ing companion, knowing that the morrow had 
 nothing for him but a knife, that he had eaten 
 his last meal. And while Joan listened to the 
 farewell grunts of the fattest pig which had ever 
 adorned her father's sty, Mrs. Tregenza counted 
 the money and bit a piece here and there, and 
 wondered if she could get the next young pig 
 from Uncle Chirgwin for even a lower figure 
 than the last. 
 
 The day which had wrought such wonders for 
 Joan's inner life, and brought to her eyes a sort 
 of tears unshed till then, ended at last, and for 
 her a sleepless night followed upon it. Not 
 until long past one o'clock in the morning did 
 she lose consciousness, and then the thoughts of
 
 LYING PROPHETS 151 
 
 the day broke loose again in visions, taking upon 
 themselves fantastic shapes and moving amid 
 dream scenery of strange splendor. Now it was 
 her turn to conjure brain pictures out of fevered 
 thoughts, and she woke at last with a start in 
 the dawn, to see a faint light painting the square 
 of her bedroom window. Looking out, she 
 found the world dimly visible, a darker shadow 
 through the gloom where the fishing-boats were 
 gathering in the bay, the lighthouse lamp still 
 shining, stars twinkling overhead, absolute 
 silence everywhere, and a cold bite about the 
 air. The girl went back to bed again, but slept 
 no more and anon arose, dressed, set about 
 morning duties, and, much to Mrs. Tregenza's 
 astonishment, had the fire burning and break- 
 fast ready by the time her stepmother appeared. 
 
 "Aw jimmery!" Thomasin exclaimed, as 
 Joan came in from the outhouse to find her 
 warming cold hands at the fire, "I couldn't 
 b'lieve my eyes at first an' thot the piskey men 
 had come to do us a turn spite o' what faither 
 sez. You've turned over a leaf seemin'ly. 
 Workin' out o' core be a new game for you." 
 
 "I couldn' sleep for thinkin' 'bout — 'bout the 
 pig an' wan thing an' 'nother." 
 
 "He's pork now, or nearly. You heard 
 butcher promise me some nattlins, dedn' 'e? 
 You'd best walk up to Paul bimebye an' fetch 
 'em. 'Tis easier to call to mind other folk's 
 promises than our awn. He said the same last 
 pig-killin' an' it corned to nort." 
 
 Joan escaped soon after breakfast and set off
 
 152 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 eagerly enough. She took a basket with her 
 and designed to call at Paul on the way home 
 again. Moreover, she chose a longer route to 
 Gorse Point than that through Mousehole, for 
 her very regular habits of late had caused some 
 comment in that village, and more than one 
 acquaintance had asked her, half in jest, half in 
 earnest, who it was she went to see up Mouse- 
 hole hill. This had frightened Joan twice 
 already, and to-day, for the first time, she took 
 the longer route above Paul Church-town. It 
 brought her over fields near the cow-byre where 
 Barron spent much of his time and kept his 
 picture; and when she saw her footpath must 
 pass the door of the little house, a flutter quick- 
 ened her pulses and she branched away over the 
 field and proceeded to the cliffs through a gap in 
 the hedge some distance from the byre. 
 
 But as Joan came out upon the sward through 
 the furzes her heart sank in sight of loneliness. 
 She was not early to-day, but she had come ear- 
 lier than "Mister Jan." The gray figure was 
 invisible. There were the marks on the turf 
 where his easel and camp-stool stood; there was 
 the spot his feet were wont to press, and her 
 own standing-point against the glimmering 
 gorse; but that was all. She knew of no rea- 
 son for his delay. The weather was splendid, 
 the day was warm, and he had never been so 
 late before within her recollection. Joan, much 
 wondering, sat down to wait with her eyes upon 
 the sea, her ears alert for the first footstep, and 
 her mind listening also. Time passed, and in-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 153 
 
 definite uneasiness grew into a tear; then that 
 expanded and multiplied as her mind approached 
 the problem of "Mister Jan's" non-appearance 
 from a dozen different standpoints. Hope de- 
 clared some private concern had kept him and 
 he would not be long in coming ; fear inquired 
 what unforeseen incident was likely to have 
 risen since yesterday — asked the question and 
 answered it a dozen ways. The girl waited, 
 walked here and there, scanned the footpath and 
 the road, returned, sat down in patience, ate a 
 cake she had brought, and so whiled the long 
 minutes away. The fears grew as hour and 
 half-hour passed — fears for him, not herself. 
 The crowning despair did not touch her mind 
 till later, and her first sorrow was a simple terror 
 that harm had fallen upon the man. He had told 
 her that he valued life but little, that at best no 
 great length of days awaited him; and now she 
 thought that wandering about the cliffs by night 
 he might have met the death he did not fear. 
 Then she remembered he was but a sick man 
 always, with frail breathing parts; and her 
 thoughts turned to the shed, and she pictured 
 him lying ill there, unable to communicate with 
 friends, perhaps waiting and praying long hours 
 for her footfall as she had been waiting and 
 praying for his. Upon this most plausible pos- 
 sibility striking Joan, her heart beat at her 
 breast and her cheeks grew white. She rose 
 from her seat upon the cliff, turned her face to 
 the cow-byre and made a few quick steps in that 
 direction. Then a vague flutter of sense, as of
 
 154 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 warning where no danger is visible, slowed her 
 speed for a moment ; but her heart was strung 
 to action, and the strange new voice did not 
 sound like Nature's, so she put it aside and let 
 it drown into silence before the clamor of fear 
 for "Mister Jan's" well-being. Indeed, that 
 dim premonitory whisper excited a moment's 
 anger in the girl that any distrust could shadow 
 her love for such a one at such a time. She 
 hated herself, held the thought a sin of her own 
 commission, and sped onward until she stood 
 upon the northern side of the byre in a shadow 
 cast from it by the sun. The place was pad- 
 locked, and at that sight Joan's spirits, though 
 they rose in one direction, yet fell in another. 
 One fear vanished, a second loomed the larger; 
 for the padlock, while it indicated that the artist 
 had left his lonely habitation for the time, did 
 not explain his absence now or dispel the possi- 
 bilities of an accident or disaster. The tar- 
 pitched double door of the shed was fast and 
 offered no peep-hole; but Joan went round to 
 the south side, where an aperture appeared and 
 where a little glass window had taken the place 
 of the wooden shutters. Sunshine lighted the 
 shed inside ; she could see every detail of the 
 chamber, and she photographed it on her mind 
 with a quick glance. A big easel with the life- 
 size picture of herself upon it stood in the middle 
 of the shed, and a smaller easel appeared hard 
 by. The artist's palettes, brushes and colors 
 littered a bench, and bottles and tumblers were 
 scattered among them. Two pipes which she
 
 LYING PROPHETS 155 
 
 bad seen in his mouth lay together upon a box- 
 on the floor, and beside them stood a tin of 
 tobacco wrapped in yellow paper. A white um- 
 brella and some sticks stood in one corner, and 
 another she saw was filled by some railway 
 rugs spread over dried bracken. Two coats 
 hung on nails in the wall, and above one was 
 suspended a Panama hat which Barron often 
 wore when painting. Something moved sud- 
 denly, and, looking upon the stone floor, she 
 saw a rat-trap with a live rat in it. The beast 
 was running as far as it could this way and 
 that, poking its nose up and trying the roof of 
 its prison. She noticed its snout was raw from 
 thrusting between the wire, and she wished she 
 could get in to kill it. She did not know that it 
 was a mother rat with young ones outside 
 squeaking faintly in the stack of mangel- 
 wurzels; she did not know, as it hopped round 
 and round, that its beady eyes were glittering 
 with a great agony, and that the Mother of all 
 was powerless to break down a mere wire or 
 two and save it. 
 
 Presently, worn and weary, Joan trudged 
 home again, with no very happy mind. She 
 found food for comfort in one reflection alone : 
 the artist had made no special appointment for 
 that day, and it might be that business or an 
 engagement at Newlyn, Penzance or elsewhere 
 was occupying his time. She felt it must be so, 
 and tried hard to convince herself that he would 
 surely be at the usual spot upon the morrow. 
 
 So she walked home unhappy; and time,
 
 15G LYING PROPHETS 
 
 which had dragged yesterday, today stood still. 
 Before night she had lived an age ; the hours of 
 darkness were endless, but her father's return 
 furnished excuse for another morning of early 
 rising; and when Gray Michael and Tom had 
 eaten, donned clean raiment and returned to the 
 sea, Joan, having seen them to the pierhead, 
 did not go home, but hastened straight away 
 for Gorse Point, and arrived there earlier than 
 ever she had done before. There was something 
 soothing to her troubled mind in being upon 
 the spot sacred to him. Though he was not 
 present, she seemed closer far to him on Gorse 
 Point than anywhere else. His foot had marked 
 the turf there; his eye had mirrored the furzes 
 a hundred times; she knew just where his 
 shadow had fallen as he stood painting, and the 
 spot upon which he was wont to sit by the cliff- 
 edge when came the time for rest. Beside this 
 holy place she now seated herself and waited 
 with hope higher in the splendor of morning; 
 for sorrows, fears and ills are always blackest 
 when the sun has set, and every man or woman 
 can better face trouble on opening their eyes in 
 a sunny dawn than after midnight has struck, 
 a sad day left them weakened, and nothing 
 wakes in the world but Care and themselves. 
 The morning wore away, and the old fears 
 returned with greater force to chill her soul. 
 The sun was burnishing the sea, and she 
 watched Mousehole luggers putting out and 
 dancing away through the gold. Under the 
 cliffs the gulls wheeled with sad cries and the
 
 Z*l 
 
 LYING PROPHETS 15? 
 
 long-necked cormorants hastened backward and 
 forward, now flying fast and low over the water, 
 now fishing here and there in couples. She saw 
 them rear in the water as they dived, then go 
 down head first, leaving a rippling circle which 
 widened out and vanished long before the fishers 
 bobbed up again twenty yards further on. Time 
 after time she watched them, speculating 
 vaguely after each disappearance as to how long 
 the bird would remain out of sight. Then she 
 turned her face to the land, weary of waiting, 
 wearj 7 of the bright sea and sky, and the music 
 of the gulls, and of life. She sat down again 
 presently, and put her hand over her face and 
 struggled with her thoughts. Manifold fears 
 compassed her mind about, but one, not felt till 
 then, rose now, a giant above the rest. Yester- 
 day she had been all alarm for "Mister Jan"; 
 to-day there came terror for herself. Something- 
 said "He has gone, he has left you." Her 
 brain, without any warning, framed the words 
 and spoke them to her. It was as though a 
 stranger had brought the news, and she rose up 
 white and stricken at this fatal explanation of 
 the artist's continued absence. She put the 
 thought from her as she had put another, but 
 it returned with pertinacity, and each time 
 larger than before, until the fear filled all her 
 mind and made her wild and desperate, under 
 the conviction of a sudden, awful life-quake 
 launched against her existence to shatter all 
 her new joy and dash the brimming cup of love 
 from her lips.
 
 158 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Hours passed, and she grew somewhat faiut 
 and hollow every way — in head and heart and 
 stomach. Her eyes ached, her brains were worn 
 out with thinking; she felt old, and her body 
 was heavy and energy dead. The world 
 changed, too. The gorse looked strange as the 
 sun went round, the lark sang no more, the 
 wind blew coldly, and the sea's gold was dark- 
 ened by a rack of flying clouds whose shadows 
 fell purple and gray upon the waters. He had 
 gone; he had left her; perhaps she would never 
 see him or hear of him again. Then the place grew 
 hateful to her and terrible as a grave. She 
 dragged herself away, dizzy, weary, wretched; 
 and not until half way home again did she find 
 power to steady her mind and control thought. 
 Then the old alarm returned — that first fear 
 which had pictured him dead, perhaps even now 
 rolling over and over under the precipices, or 
 hid forever in the cranny of some dark cavern 
 at the root of the cliffs, where high tides spouted 
 and thundered and battered the flesh off his 
 bones against granite. She suffered terribly in 
 mind upon that homeward journey. Her own 
 light and darkness mattered nothing now, and 
 her personal and selfish fears had vanished be- 
 fore she reached Newtyn. She was thinking 
 how she should raise an alarm, how she should 
 tell his friends, who possibly imagined "Mister 
 Jan" safe and comfortable in his cow-byre. 
 But who were his friends and how should she 
 approach them without such a step becoming 
 known and getting talked about? Her misery
 
 LYING PROPHETS 159 
 
 was stamped on her face when she at last re- 
 turned to the white cottage at three o'clock in 
 the afternoon of that day, and Mrs. Tregenza 
 saw it there. 
 
 "God save us! wheer you bin to, an' what 
 you bin 'bout? You'm so pasty an' round-eyed 
 as if you'd bin piskey-led somewheers. An' me 
 worn to death wi' work. An' wheer'm the 
 nattlins an' the basket?" 
 
 Joan had quite forgotten her commission and 
 left the basket on Gorse Point. 
 
 "I'll gaw back bimebye," she said. "I bin 
 walkin' 'long the cliffs in the sun an' forgot the 
 time. Gimme somethin' fate, mother; I be 
 hungry an' faint} 7 like wi' gwaine tu far. I 
 could hardly fetch home." 
 
 "You'm a queer twoad," said Thomasin, "an" 
 I doan't knaw what's come over 'e of late days. 
 'Pears to me you'm hidin' summat; an' if I thot 
 that, I'd mighty quick get faithcr to find out 
 what 'twas, I can tell 'e." 
 
 Then she went off, and brought some cold 
 potatoes and dripping, with bread and salt, and 
 a cup of milk.
 
 IffO LYING PROPHETS 
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 LESSONS LEARNED 
 
 The lesson which he had set for Joan Tre- 
 genza's learning taught John Barron something 
 also. Eight-and -forty hours he stayed in New- 
 lyn, and was astounded to find during that period 
 what grip this girl had got upon his mind, how 
 she had dragged him out of himself. His first 
 thought was to escape all physical excitement 
 and emotion by abandoning his picture almost 
 upon the moment of its completion and aban- 
 doning his model too ; but various considerations 
 cried out against such a course. To go was to 
 escape no difficulty, but to fly from the spoils of 
 victory. The fruit only wanted plucking, and, 
 through pleasure, he believed that he would pro- 
 ceed to speed y, easy and triumphant completion 
 of his picture. No lasting compunction colored 
 the tenor of his thoughts. Once, indeed, upon 
 the day when he returned to Gorse Point and 
 saw Joan again, some shadow of regret for her 
 swept through his brain; but that and the issue 
 of it will be detailed in their place. 
 
 Time went heavilj- for him away from Joan. 
 He roamed listlessly hero and there and watched 
 the weather-glass uneasily; for this abstention
 
 LYING PROPHETS 161 
 
 from work was a deliberate challenge to Provi- 
 dence to change sunshine for rain and high tem- 
 perature for low. Upon the third day therefore 
 he returned at early morning to his picture in 
 the shed. The greater part was finished, and 
 the masses of gorse stood out strong, solid and 
 complete with the slender brown figure before 
 them. The face of it was very sweet, but to 
 Barron it seemed as the face of a ghost, with 
 no hot blood in its veins, no live interests in its 
 eyes. 
 
 " 'Tis the countenance of a nun," he said 
 sneeringly to himself. "No fire, no love, no 
 story — a sweet virgin page of life, innocent of 
 history or of interest as a new-blown lily." The 
 problem was difficult, and he had now quite con- 
 vinced himself that solution depended on one 
 course alone. "And why not?" he asked him- 
 self. "Why, when pleasures are offered, shall 
 I refuse them? God knows Nature is chary 
 enough with her delights. She has sowed death 
 in me, here in my lungs. I shall bleed away 
 my life some day or die strangled, unless I an- 
 ticipate the climax and choose another exit- 
 Why not take what she throws to me in the 
 meantime?" 
 
 He walked down to the Point, set up his easel 
 and waited, feeling that Joan had certainly made 
 two pilgrimages since bis last visit and little 
 doubting that she would come a third time. 
 Presently indeed she did, scarcely daring to 
 raise her eyes, but flushing with great waves 
 of joy when she saw him, and crying "Mister
 
 162 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Jan!" iu a triumphant ripple of music from a 
 full heart. Then the artist rose very boldly and 
 put his arms round her and looked into her face, 
 while she nestled close to him and shut her eyes 
 with a sigh of sheer content and thankfulness. 
 She had learned her lesson thoroughly enough; 
 she felt she could not live without him now, and 
 when he kissed her she did not start from the 
 caress, but opened her eyes and looked into his 
 face with great yearning love. 
 
 "Oh, thank the good God you'm corned back 
 agin to me ! To think it be awnly two lil days ! 
 An' the time have seemed a hunderd years. I 
 thot 'e was lost or dead or killed, an' I seed 'e, 
 when I slept, a tossin' over down in the zawns * 
 where the sea roars an' makes the world shake. 
 Oh, Mister Jan, an' I woke screamin', an' mother 
 corned up, an' I near spoke your name, but not 
 quite." 
 
 "You need not have feared for me, Joan, 
 though I have been very miserable too, my lit- 
 tle sweetheart; I have indeed. I was over- 
 worked and worried and wretched, so I stopped 
 in Newlyn, but being away from you had only 
 taught me I cannot exist away from you. The 
 time was long and dreary, and it would have 
 been still worse had I known that you were un- 
 happy." 
 
 " 'Tweer wisht days for me, Mister Jan. I 
 be such a poor lass in brains, an' I could awnly 
 think of trouble 'cause I loved 'e so true. 'Tedn' 
 
 * Zawns—Sea caves.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 163 
 
 like the same plaace when you'm away. Then 
 I thot you'd gone right back to Lunnon, an' I 
 judged my heart 'ud break for 'e, I did." 
 
 "Poor little blue-eyed woman! Could you 
 really think I was such a brute?" 
 
 " 'Twas awuly wan thot among many. I 
 never thot so much afore in my life. An' I 
 looked 'bout tu; an' I went up to the lil byre, 
 where your things was, an' peeped in en. But 
 I seed naught of 'e, awnly a gashly auld rat in 
 a trap. But 'e won't gaw aways like that ag'in, 
 will 'e?" 
 
 ' ' No, no. It was too bad . ' ' 
 
 "Coorse I knawed that if all was well with 
 'e, you'd a done the right thing, but it 'peared 
 as if the right thing couldn' be to leave me, Mis- 
 ter Jan — not now, now you be my world like ; 
 'cause theer edn' nothin' or nobody else in the 
 world but you for me. 'Tis wicked, but t'others 
 be all faded away; an' faither's nort, an' Joe's 
 nort, alongside o' you." 
 
 He did not answer, and began to paint. Joan's 
 face was far short of looking its best ; there were 
 dark shadows under her eyes and less color than 
 usual brightened her cheeks. He tried to work, 
 but circumstances and his own feelings were 
 alike against him. He was restless and lacked 
 patience, nor could his eye see color aright. In 
 half an hour he had spoiled not a little of what 
 was already done. Then he took a palette- 
 knife, made a clean sweep of much previous 
 labor and began again. But the music of her 
 happy voice was in his blood. The child ha<l
 
 164 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 come out of the valley of sorrow and she was 
 boisterously happy and her laughter made him 
 wild. Mists gathered in his eyes and his breath 
 caught now and again. Passion fairly gripped 
 him by the throat till even the sound of his own 
 voice was strange to him and he felt his knees 
 shake. He put down his brushes, turned from 
 the picture, and went to the cliff-edge, there" 
 flinging himself down upon the grass. 
 
 "I cannot paint to-day, Joan; I'm too over- 
 joyed at getting you back to me. My hand is 
 not steady, and my Joan of paint and canvas 
 seems worse and feebler than ever beside your 
 flesh and blood. You don't know — you cannot 
 guess how I have missed you." 
 
 "Iss fay, but I can, Mister Jan, if you felt 
 same as what I done. 'Tweer cruel, cruel. 
 But then you've got a many things an' folks 
 to fill up your time along with; I abbun got 
 nothin' now but you." 
 
 "I expect Joe often thinks about you." 
 
 "I dunnaw. 'Tis awful wicked, but Joe he 
 gone clean out my mind now. I thot I loved 
 en, but I was a cheel then an' I didn't 'sackly 
 knaw what love was; now I do. 'Twadden 
 what I felt for Joe Noy 'tall; 'tis what I feels 
 for you, Mister Jan." 
 
 "Ah, I like to hear you say that. Nature has 
 brought you to me, Joan, my little jewel; and 
 she has brought Jan to you. You could not un- 
 derstand that last time I told you ; now you can 
 and you do. We belong- to each other — you and 
 I — and to nobody else."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 105 
 
 "I'd be well content to belong to 'e, Mister 
 Jan. You'm my good fairy, I reckon. If I 
 could work for 'e alius an' see 'e an' 'ear 'e 
 every day, I should n' want nothin' better'n 
 that." 
 
 Then it was that the shade of a compunction 
 and the shadow of a regret touched John Bar- 
 ron ; and it cooled his hot blood for a brief mo- 
 ment, and he swore to himself he would try to 
 paint her again as she was. He would fight 
 Nature for once and try if pure intellect was 
 strong enough to get the face he wanted on to 
 the canvas without the gratification of his flesh 
 and blood. In which determination glimmered 
 something almost approaching to self-sacrifice in 
 such a man. He did not answer Joan's last re- 
 mark, but rose and went to his picture, and she, 
 thinking herself snubbed by his silence after her 
 avowal, grew hot and uncomfortable. 
 
 "The weather is going to change, sweetheart," 
 he said, allowing himself the luxury of affection- 
 ate words in the moment of his half-hearted 
 struggle; "the weather-glass creeps back slowly. 
 We must not waste time. Come, Joan; we are 
 the children of Nature, but the slaves of -Art. 
 Let me try again." 
 
 But she, who had spoken in all innocence and 
 with a child's love, was pained that he should 
 have taken no note of her speech. She was al- 
 most angry that he had power to conjure such 
 words to her lips ; and yet the anger vanished 
 from her mind quickly enough and her thoughts 
 were all happy as she resumed her pose for him.
 
 1GG LYING PROPHETS 
 
 The past low (lays had vastly deepened and 
 widened her mental horizon; and now Barron 
 for the first time saw something of what he 
 wanted in her eyes as she gazed away over the 
 sea and did not look at him as usual. There, 
 sure enough, was the soul that he knew slept 
 somewhere, but had never seen until then. And 
 the sight of it came as a shock and swept away 
 his sophistries and ugly-woven ideas. Inclina- 
 tion had told him that Nature, through one 
 channel only, would bring the mystery of hid- 
 den thought to Joan's blue eyes, and he had felt 
 well satisfied to believe it was so; but now even 
 the plea of Art could not excuse the thing which 
 had grown within him of late, for experiences 
 other than those he dreamed of had glorified the 
 frank blue eyes and brought mind into them. 
 Now it only remained for him to paint them if 
 he could. Not wholly untroubled, but never 
 much more beautiful than that morning, Joan 
 gazed out upon the remote sea. Then the 
 thoughtful mood passed, and she laughed and 
 babbled again, and the new-born beauty de- 
 parted from her eyes for a season, and the warm 
 blood raced through her veins, and she was all 
 happiness. Meanwhile nothing came of his 
 painting and he was not sorry when she ended 
 the ordeal. 
 
 "The bwoats be comin' back home along, 
 Mister Jan. I doan't mark faither's yet, but 
 when 'tis wance in sight he'll be to Newlyn 
 sooner'n me. So I'd best be gwaine, though 
 it edn' more than noon, I s'pose. An' my
 
 LYING PROPHETS L67 
 
 heart's a tidy sight lighter now than 'tweer 
 issterday indeed." 
 
 "I'm almost afraid to let you go, Joan." 
 
 She looked at him curiously, waiting for his 
 bidding, but he seemed moody, and said no 
 more. 
 
 "When be you comin' next?" 
 
 "To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow, 
 my pearl above price. It is so hard, so very 
 hard," he answered. "Fine or wet I shall be 
 here to-morrow, for I am not going back to 
 Newlyn again till my work is done. Three 
 more sittings, Joan, if you have enough pa- 
 tience — " 
 
 "In coorse, Mister Jan." 
 
 She did not explain to him what difficulties 
 daily grew in the way of her coming, how 
 rumor was alive, and how her stepmother had 
 threatened more than once to tell Gray Michael 
 that his wayward daughter was growing a gad- 
 about. Joan had explained away her roaming 
 with a variety of more or less ingenious lies, 
 and she always found her brain startling! y fer- 
 tile where the artist and his picture were con- 
 cerned. She felt little doubt that three more 
 visits to Gorse Point might be achieved— ay, 
 and thirty more if necessary. But afterward? 
 What would follow the painting of the picture? 
 She asked herself the question as he kissed her, 
 with a kiss that was almost rough, while he bid 
 her go quickly ; and the former reply to every 
 doubt made answer. Her fears fled as usual 
 before the invigorating spectacle of this sterling,
 
 108 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 truth-loving man. With him all the future re- 
 mained and with him only. Hers was the pleas- 
 ant, passive task of obedience to one utterly 
 trusted and passionately loved. Her fate lay 
 hidden in his heart, as the fate of the clay lies 
 hid in the brain of the potter. 
 
 And so home she went, walking in a sunshine 
 of her own thoughts. The clouds were gone ; 
 they massed gloomily on the horizon of the past ; 
 but looking forward, she saw no more of them. 
 All time to come was at the disposition of the 
 wisest man she had ever met. She did not 
 know or guess at the battle which this same 
 wise man had fought and lost under her eyes; 
 she gathered nothing of the truth from his 
 gloom, his silence, his changed voice, his sud- 
 den farewell. She did not know passion when 
 she saw it ; and the ugly visible signs thereof 
 told no tale to her.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 169 
 
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 STORM 
 
 That night the change came and the wind 
 veered first to the south, then to the southwest. 
 By morning, gray clouds hid the sky and hourly 
 grew darker and lower. As yet no rain fell, 
 but the world had altered, and every light- 
 value, from an artist's standpoint, was modified. 
 
 John Barron sat by his stove in the byre, made 
 himself a cup of black coffee, and presently, 
 wrapped in a big mackintosh, walked out to 
 Gorse Point. His picture he left, of course, at 
 the shed, for painting was out of the question. 
 
 Nature, who had been smiling so pleasantly 
 in sunshine these many days, now awoke in a 
 grim gray mood. The sea ran high, its white 
 foam-caps and ridges fretting the rolling volume 
 of it; the luggers fought their way out with 
 buried noses and laboring hulls; rain still held 
 off, but it was coming quickly, and the furze 
 and the young grasses panted for it on Gorse 
 Point. Below the cliffs a wild spirit inhabited 
 the sea fowl, and they screamed and wheeled in 
 many an aerial circle, now sliding with motion- 
 less outstretched wing upon the gathering gale, 
 now beating back against it, now dancing in a
 
 1?0 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 ileet and making music far away in the foam. 
 Upon the beach the dry sand whipped round in 
 little whirls and eddies where wind-gusts caught 
 it ; the naked rocks poked shining weed-covered 
 heads out of a low tide, and the wet white light 
 of them glimmered raw through the gray tones 
 of the atmosphere. Now and then a little cloud 
 of dust would puff out from the cliff-face where 
 the wind dislodged a dry particle of stone or 
 mould ; elsewhere Barron saw the sure-rooted 
 samphire and tufts of sea-pink, innocent of flow- 
 ers as yet ; and sometimes little squeaking dabs 
 of down might also be observed below where in- 
 fant gulls huddled together in the ledges outside 
 their nests and gazed upon a condition of things 
 as yet beyond their experience. 
 
 Joan came presently to find the artist looking 
 out at the sea. 
 
 "You-ban't gwaine to paint, I s'pose, 'cause 
 o' this ugly fashion weather?" she said. 
 
 "No, sweetheart! All the gold has gone out 
 of the world, and there is nothing left but lead 
 and dross. See how sharp the green is under the 
 gray, and note the clearness of the air. Every- 
 thing is keen and hard upon the eye to-day ; the 
 sky is full of rain and the sea is a wild harmony 
 in gray and silver." 
 
 "Iss, the cleeves be callin' this marnin'. 'Tis 
 a sort o' whisper as comes to a body's ear, an' it 
 means that the high hills knaws the rain is nigh. 
 An' they tell it wan to t'other, and moans it 
 mournful over the valleys 'pon the wind. 'The 
 storm becomin', the storm becomin',' they sez."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 171 
 
 The youth and west regions of distance black- 
 ened as they sat there on the cliff, and upon the 
 sea separate heavy gusts of wind roughened up 
 the hollows of the waves. Which effect seen 
 from afar flickered weirdly like a sort of sub- 
 marine lightning shivering white through dark 
 water. Presently a cloud broke, showing a bank 
 of paler gray behind, and misty silver arrows 
 fell in broad bands of light upon the sea. They 
 sped round, each upon the last, like the spokes 
 of a gigantic wheel trundling over the world ; 
 then the clouds huddled together again and the 
 gleam of brightness died. 
 
 " You'm wisht this marnin', Mister Jan. You 
 abbun so much as two words for me. 'Tis 'cause 
 you caan't paint your picksher, I reckon." 
 
 He sighed and took her hand in his. 
 
 "Don't think that, my Joan. Once I cared 
 nothing for you, everything for my picture ; now 
 I care nothing for my picture, everything for 
 you. And the better I love you, the worse I 
 paint you. That's funny, isn't it?" 
 
 "Iss, 'tis coorious. But I'm sure you do draw 
 me a mighty sight finer than I be. Tis won- 
 nerful clever, an' theer edn' no call to be sad, 
 for no man else could a done better, I lay." 
 
 He did not answer, and still held her hand. 
 Then there came a harder breath of wind with 
 a sob of sound in it, while already over the 
 distant sea swept separate gray curtains of 
 rain. 
 
 "It's coming, Joan; the storm. It's every- 
 where, in earth and air and water; and in my
 
 172 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 blood. 1 am savage to-day, Joan, savage and 
 thirsty. What will be the end of it?" , 
 
 He spoke wildly, like the weather. She did 
 not understand, but she felt his hand clinch 
 tightly over hers, and, looking at the white thin 
 fingers crooked round her wrist, they brought 
 to her mind the twisted claws of a dead sea-gull 
 she remembered to have found upon the beach. 
 
 "What will be the end of it, Joan? Can't you 
 answer me?" 
 
 "Doan't 'e, Mister Jan; you'm hurtin' my 
 hand. I s'pose as a sou 'westerly gale be com- 
 in'. Us knaws 'em well enough in these paarts. 
 Faither reckoned theer was dirty weather blaw- 
 in' up 'fore he sailed. He was away by daylight. 
 The gales do bring trouble to somebody most 
 times." 
 
 ' ' What will be the end of us, I mean, not of 
 the weather? The rain will come and the clouds 
 will melt, and we know, as sure as God's in 
 heaven, that we shall see sunshine and blue sky 
 again. But what about our storm, Joan; the 
 storm of love that's burst in my heart for you — 
 what follows that?" 
 
 His question frightened her. She had asked 
 herself the same and been well content to leave 
 an answer to him. Here he was faced with a 
 like problem and now invited her to solve it. 
 
 "I dunnavv. I thot such love never corned to 
 no end, Mister Jan. I thot 'tweer good to wear; 
 but — but how do I knaw if vou doan't?" 
 
 "You trust me, Joan?" 
 
 "Why, who should I trust, if 'tweern't you?
 
 LYING PROPHETS 173 
 
 I never knawed any person else as set such store 
 'pon the truth. I doan't s'pose the cherrybims 
 in heaven loves it more'n what you do." 
 
 "Here's the rain on the back of the wind," he 
 said. 
 
 A few heavy drops fell, cold as ice upon his 
 burning face, and Joan laughed as she held out 
 her hand, on which a great splash as big as a 
 shilling had spread. 
 
 "That be wan of Tregagle's tears," she said, 
 "an 1 'tis the voice of en as you can hear howlin' 
 in the wind. He's alius a bawlin' an' squealin', 
 poor sawl, but you can awnly hear en now an' 
 again 'fore a storm when the gale blaws his hol- 
 lerin' this way." 
 
 "Who was Tregagle?" 
 
 "He was a lawver man wance, an' killed a 
 manj 7 wives, an' did a many shameful deeds 
 'fore he went dead. Then, to Bodmin Court, 
 theer comes a law case, an' they wanted Tre- 
 gagle, an' a man said Tregagle was the awnly 
 witness, and another said he wadden. The sec- 
 ond man up an' swore 'If Tregagle saw it done, 
 then I wish to God he may rise from's graave 
 and come this minute.' Then, sure enough, the 
 ghost of Tregagle 'peared in the court-house an' 
 shawed the man was a liar. But they couldn' 
 lay the ghost no more arter; an' it was a devil- 
 ghost, which is the worstest kind ; an' it stuck 
 close to thicky lyin' man an' wouldn' leave en 
 nohow. But at last a white witch bound the 
 spirit an' condemned it to empty out Dosmery 
 Pool wi' a crosran wi' n hole in it. A crogan's
 
 174 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 a limpet shell, which you mightn't knaw, Mis- 
 ter Jan. Tregagle, he done that purty quick, 
 an' then he was at the man again ; but a passon 
 got the bettermost of en an' tamed en wi' Script- 
 ure till Tregagle was as gentle as a cheel. Then 
 they set en to work agin an' bid en make a truss 
 o' sand down in Gwenvor Cove, an' carry it 
 'pon his shoulder up to Carn Olva. Tregagle 
 weer a braave time doin' that, I can 'sure 'e, 
 but theer corned a gert frost wan winter, an' he 
 got water from the brook an' poured it 'pon the 
 truss o' sand, so it froze hard. Then he carried 
 it up Carn Olva; an' then, bein' a free spirit 
 agin, he flew off quicker'n lightning to that ly- 
 in' man to tear en to pieces this time. But by 
 good chance, when Tregagle corned to en, the 
 man weer carryin' a lil baaby in's arms — a lil 
 cheel as had never done a single wicked act, 
 bein' tu young; so Tregagle couldn' do no hurt. 
 An' they caught en again, an' passon set en 
 'pon another job: to make a truss o' sand in 
 Whitsand Bay wi'out usin' any fresh water. 
 But Tregagle caan't never do that; so he cries 
 bitter sometimes, an' howls; an' when 'e howls 
 you knaw the storm's a comin' to scatter the 
 truss o' sand he's builded up." 
 
 Barron followed the legend with interest. Tre- 
 gagle and his victim and the charm of the pure 
 child that saved one from the other filled his 
 thought and the event to which Fate was now 
 relentlessly dragging him. He argued with 
 himself a little; then the rain came down and 
 the wind leaped like a lion over the edge of the
 
 LYING PROPHETS 175 
 
 land, and the man's blood boiled as he breathed 
 ocean air. 
 
 "Us'll be wetted proper. I'll run for it, Mis- 
 ter Jan, an' you'd best to go up-long to your HI 
 lew house. Wet's bad for 'e, I reckon." 
 
 "No," he said, "I can't let you go, Joan. 
 Look over there. Another flood is going to 
 burst, I think. Follow me quickly, quickly." 
 
 The rain came slanting over the gorse in ear- 
 nest, but Joan hesitated and hung back. Louder 
 than the wind, louder than the cry of the birds, 
 than the howling of Tregagle, than the caUing 
 of the cleeves, spoke something. And it said 
 "Turn, on the wing of the storm; fly before it, 
 alone. Let this man walk in the teeth of the 
 gale if he will; but you, Joan Tregenza, follow 
 the wind and set your face to the east, where 
 the sole brightness now left in the sky is shin- 
 ing." 
 
 Sheets of gray swept over them ; the world 
 was wet in an instant; a little mist of water 
 splashed up two inches high off the ground ; the 
 gorse tossed and swayed its tough arms; the sea 
 and the struggling craft upon It vanished like a 
 dream ; from the heart of the storm cried gulls, 
 themselves invisible. 
 
 ' 'Come, Joan, we shall be drowned." 
 He had wrapped her in a part of the mackin- 
 tosh, and laughed as he fastened them both into 
 it and hugged her close to himself. But she 
 broke away, greatly fearing, yet knowing not 
 what she feared.
 
 176 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "I reckon I'd best run down fast. Indeed an' 
 I want to go." 
 
 "Go? Where? Where should you go? Come 
 to me, Joan; you shall; you must. We two, 
 sweetheart — we two against the rain and the 
 wind and the world. Come! It will kill me to 
 stand here, and you don't want that." 
 
 "But—" 
 
 "Come, I say. Quicker and quicker! We 
 two — only we two. Don't make me command 
 you, my priceless treasure of a Joan. Come 
 with me. You are mine now and always. 
 Quicker and quicker, I say. God! what rain!" 
 
 Still she hesitated and he grew angry. 
 
 "This is folly, madness. Where is your trust 
 and belief? You don't trust, nor love, nor — " 
 
 "Doan't 'e say that ! Never say that ! It edn' 
 true. You'm all to me, an' you knaws it right 
 well, an' I'll gaw to the world's end with 'e, I 
 will— ay, an' trust 'e wi' my life!" 
 
 He moved awaj r and she followed, hastening 
 as he hastened. Unutterable desolation marked 
 the spot. Life had vanished save only where 
 sheep clustered under a bank with their tails 
 to the weather, and long-legged lambs blinked 
 their yellow eyes and bleated as the couple 
 passed. Despite their haste the man and the 
 girl were very wet before reaching the shelter 
 of the byre. Rain-water dribbled off his cap on 
 to his hot face and his feet were soaking. Joan 
 was breathless with haste; her draggled skirts 
 clung to her; and the struggle against the storm 
 made her giddy.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 177 
 
 So they reached the place of shelter; and the 
 gale burst over it with a great, crowning yell of 
 wind and hurtle of rain. Then John Barron 
 opened the byre door and Joan Tregenza passed 
 in before him ; whereupon he followed and shut 
 the door. 
 
 A loose slate clattered upon the roof, and from 
 inside the byre it sounded like a hand tapping 
 high above the artist's bed of brown fern — tap- 
 ping some message which neither the man nor 
 the girl could read — tapping, tapping, tapping 
 tirelessly upon ears wholly deaf to it.
 
 178 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 BOOK TWO 
 
 NATURE 
 
 CHAPTER ONE 
 
 AN INTERVAL 
 
 For a week the rain came down and it blew 
 hard from the west. Then the weather moder- 
 ated, and there were intervals of brightness and 
 mild, damp warmth that brought a green veil 
 trembling over the world like magic. The elms 
 broke into a million buds, the pear trees in sunny 
 corners put forth snowy flowers; the crimson 
 knobs of the apple-blossom prepared to unfold. 
 In the market gardens around and about New- 
 lyn the plums were already setting, the wall- 
 flowers, which make a carpet of golden-brown 
 beneath the fruit-trees in many orchards, were 
 velvety with bloom; the raspberry canes, bent 
 hoop-like in long rows, beautifully brightened 
 the dark earth with young green; and verdure 
 likewise twinkled even to the heart of the 
 forests, to the stony nipples of the moor's vast, 
 lonely bosom. So spring came, heralded by the 
 thrush; borne upon the wings of the western 
 wind. And then followed a brief change with 
 more heavy rains and lower temperature.
 
 LYING PROPHET?; 179 
 
 The furzes on Gorse Point were a scented 
 glory now — a nimbus of gold for the skull of the 
 lofty cliff. Here John Barron and Joan Tre- 
 genza had met but twice since the beginning of 
 the unsettled weather. For her this period was 
 in a measure mysterious and strange. Centuries 
 of experience seemed to separate her from the 
 past, and, looking backward, infinite spaces of 
 time already stretched between what had been 
 and what was. Now overmuch sorrow mingled 
 with her reflections, though a leaven of it ran 
 through all — a sense of loss, of sacrifice, of 
 change, which flits, like the shadow of a sum- 
 mer cloud, even through the soul of the most 
 deeply loving woman who ever opened her eyes 
 to smile upon the first day-dawn of married life. 
 But Joan's sorrow was no greater than that, and 
 little unquiet or uneasiness went with it. She 
 had his promises ; from him they could but be 
 absolute ; and not a hundred attested ceremonies 
 had left her heart more at ease. In fact she be • 
 lieved that John Barron was presently going to 
 marry her, and that when he vanished from 
 Newlyn, she, as the better-loved part of himself, 
 would vanish too. It was the old, stale false- 
 hood which men have told a hundred thousand 
 times; which men will go on telling and women 
 believing, because it is the only lie which meets 
 all requirements of the case and answers its ex- 
 act purpose effectively. Age cannot wither it, 
 for experience is no part of the armor of the de- 
 ceived, and Love and Trust have never stopped 
 to think since the world began.
 
 180 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 As for the artist, each day now saw him slip- 
 ping more deeply, more comfortably back into 
 the convolutions of his old impersonal shell. He 
 had been dragged out, not unwilling, by a giant 
 passion, and he had sacrificed to it, sent it to sleep 
 again, and so returned. He felt infinitely kind 
 to Joan. A week after her visit to the linhay 
 he, while sitting alone there, had turned her 
 picture about on the easel, withdrawn its face 
 from the wall and studied his work. And look- 
 ing, with restored critical faculty and cold blood, 
 he loved the paint for itself and deemed it very 
 good. The storm was over, the transitory light- 
 nings drowned lesser lights no more, and that 
 steady beacon-flame of his life, which had been 
 merged, not lost, in the fleeting blaze, now 
 shone out again, steadfast and clear. Such a 
 revulsion of feeling argued well for the comple- 
 tion of his picture, ill for the model of it. 
 
 They sat one day, as the weather grew more 
 settled, beside a granite bowlder, which studded 
 the short turf at the extremity of Gorse Point, 
 where it jutted above the sea. Joan, with her 
 chin upon her hands, looked out upon the water ; 
 Barron, lying on a railwa3 T -rug, leaned back and 
 smoked his pipe and studied her face with the 
 old, keen, passionless eagerness of their earliest 
 meetings. 
 
 "When'll 'e tell me, Jan love? When'll 'e 
 tell me what 'e be gwaine to do? Us be wan 
 now — you an' me — but the lines be all the lov- 
 in'est wife can p'int to in proof she be a wife. 
 Couldn't us be axed out in church purty soon?"
 
 LYING PROPHETS 181 
 
 He did not make immediate answer, but only 
 longed for his easel. There, in her face, was the 
 wistful, far-away expression he had sighed for; 
 a measure of thought had come to the little ani- 
 mal—her brains were awake and her blue eyes 
 had never looked liked this before. Joan asked 
 the question again, and Barron answered. 
 
 "The same matter was in my own mind, 
 sweetheart. I am in a mighty hurry too, be- 
 lieve it. You are safe with your husband, 
 Joan. You belong to me now, and you must 
 trust the future with me. All that law de- 
 mands to make us man and wife it shall have ; 
 and all religion clamors for as well, if that is a 
 great matter to you. But not here — in this 
 Newlyn. I think of you when I say that, Joan, 
 for it matters nothing to me." 
 
 "Iss. I dunnaw what awful sayin's might 
 go abroad. Things is all contrary to home as 
 'tis. Mother's guessed part an' she tawld 
 faither I weer gwaine daft or else in love wi' 
 some pusson else than Joe. An' faither was 
 short an* sharp, an' took me out walkin', an' 
 bid me bide at home an' give over trapsin' 'bout. 
 An' 'e said as 'ow I was tokened to Joe Nov 
 an' bound by God A'mighty to wait for en if 
 'twas a score years. But if faither had knawed 
 I weer never for Noy, he'd a' said more'n that. 
 I ban't 'feared o' faither now I knaws you, Jan, 
 but I be cruel 'feared o' bein' cussed, 'cause 
 theer's times when cusses doan't fall to the 
 ground but sticks. 'Twouldn' be well for the 
 likes o' you to have a ill- wished, awver- hiked
 
 182 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 body for wife. An' if faither knawed 'bout 
 you, then I lay he'd do more'n speak. So like's 
 not he'd strike me dead for't, bein' that relig- 
 ious. But you must take me away, Jan, dear 
 heart. I'm yourn now an' you must go on 
 lovin' me alius, 'cause theer'll never be nobody 
 else to not now. I've chose you an' gived 'e 
 myself an' I caan't do no more." 
 
 He listened to her delicious voice, and shut 
 out the crude words as much as might be while 
 he marked the music. He was thinking that if 
 Joan had possessed a reasonable measure of in- 
 tellect, a foundation for an education, he would 
 have been satisfied to keep her about him during 
 that probably limited number of years which 
 must span his existence. But the gulf between 
 them was too wide ; and, as for the present posi- 
 tion, he considered that no harm had been done 
 which time would not remedy. Joan was not 
 sufficiently intelligent to suffer long or much. 
 She would forget quickly. She was very young. 
 Her sailor must return before the end of the 
 year. Then he began to think of money, and 
 then sneered at himself. But, after all, it was 
 natural that he should follow step by step upon 
 the beaten track of similar events. "Better not 
 attempt originality," he thought, "for the thing 
 I have done is scarce capable of original treat- 
 ment. I suppose the curtain always rings down 
 on a check — either taken or spurned." 
 
 "So you think you can give them all up for 
 poor me, Joan? Your home, your father, 
 brother, mother— all?"
 
 LYING PROPHETS 183 
 
 "I've gived up a sight more'n them, Jan. 
 I've gived 'e what's all to a maiden. But my 
 folks weern't hard to give up. 'Tis long since 
 they was ought to me now. I gaws an' comes 
 from the cottage an' sez, all the time, 'this 
 ban't home no more. Mister Jan's home be 
 mine,' I sez to myself. An' each time as I 
 breaks bread, an' sleeps, an' wakes, an' looks 
 arter faither's clothes I feels 'tis wan time 
 nigher the last. They'll look back an' tbink 
 what a snake 'twas they had 'bout the house, I 
 s'pose. Mother'll whine an' say, 'Ah! 'er was 
 a bitter weed for sartain,' an' faither'll thunder 
 till the crocks rattle an' bid none dare foul the 
 air wi' my name no more. But I be wearyin' 
 of 'e wi' my clackin', Jan, dear heart?" 
 
 "Not so, Joan — never think that. I could 
 listen to you till Doomsday. Only we must act 
 now and talk presently. I know you're tired of 
 the picture, and you were cross last time we met 
 because I could speak of it; but I must for a 
 moment more. It cries out to be finished. A 
 few hours' good work and all's done. The 
 weather steadies now and the glass is rising, so 
 our sittings may begin in a day or two. Let 
 me make one last, grand struggle. Then, if I 
 fail, I shall fling the picture over this cliff, and 
 my palette and brushes after it. So we will 
 keep our secret a little longer. Then, when the 
 picture is made or marred, away we'll go, and 
 by the time they miss you from your old home 
 you will be half way to your new one." 
 
 But she did not heed the latter part of his
 
 184 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 remarks, for lier thoughts were occupied with 
 what had gone before. 
 
 " 'Pears, when all's said, you'd sooner have 
 the picksher Joan than the real wan. 'Tis all 
 the picksher an' the picksher an' the picksher." 
 
 This was not less than the truth, but of course 
 he blamed her for so speaking, and said her 
 words hurt him. 
 
 " 'Tis this way," she said, "I've larned so 
 much since I knawed 'e, an' I be like as if I was 
 woke from a sleep. Things is all differ'nt now; 
 but 'tis awnly my gert love for 'e as makes me 
 'feared sometimes 'cause life's too butivul to 
 last. An' the picksher frights me more'n fancy, 
 'cause, seemin'ly, theer's two Joans, an' the 
 picksher Joan's purtier than me. 'Er's me, but 
 better'n me. 'Er's alius bright an' bonny; 'er's 
 never crossed an' wisht; 'er 'olds 'er tongue an' 
 doan't talk countrified same as me. Theer'll 
 never be no tears nor trouble in her eyes; she'll 
 bring 'e a name, an' bide purty an' — an' I hates 
 the picksher now, so I do." 
 
 Barron listened with considerable interest to 
 these remarks. There was passion in Joan's 
 voice as she concluded, and her emotion pres- 
 ently found relief in tears. She only uttered 
 thoughts long in her mind, without for an in- 
 stant guessing the grim truth or suspecting 
 what his work was to the man; yet, things 
 being as they were, she felt some real passing 
 pain to find him devote so much thought to it. 
 Before the storm his painting had sunk to insig- 
 nificance, since then it began to grow into a
 
 LYING PROPHETS 185 
 
 great matter again; and Joan was honestly jeal- 
 ous of the attention the artist bestowed upon it 
 now. If she had dared, she would have asked 
 him to destroy it; but something told her he 
 would refuse. No fear for the future was 
 mingled with this emotion. Only his mighty 
 interest in the work annoyed her. It was a 
 natural petty jealousy ; and when John Barron 
 laughed at her and kissed her tears away, she 
 laughed too and felt a little ashamed, though 
 none the less glad that she had spoken. 
 
 But while he flung jests at her anger, Barron 
 felt secretly surprised to note the strides his 
 Awdrey's mind .was making. Much worth 
 consideration appeared in her sudden attack 
 upon the picture. She had evidently been really 
 reflecting, with coherence and lucidity. That 
 astonished him. But still he answered with 
 a laugh. 
 
 "Jealous, Joan! Jealous of yourself — of 
 the poor painted thing which has risen from the 
 contents of small tubes smeared over a bit of 
 canvas! My funny little dear delight! Will 
 you always amuse me, I wonder? I hope you 
 will. Nobody else can. Why, the gorse there 
 will grumble next and think I love my poor, 
 daubed burlesque of its gold better than the 
 thing itself. If I find pleasure in the picture, 
 how much the more must I love the soul of it? 
 You see, I'm ambitious. You are quite the 
 hardest thing I ever found to paint, and so I go 
 on trying and trying. Hard to win and hard to 
 paint, Joan."
 
 186 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 She stretched out her hands to him and shook 
 her head. 
 
 "Not hard to win, Jan. Easy enough to win 
 to you. I ne'er seed the likes o' you in my 
 small world. Not hard to win I wasn't." 
 
 "You won't refuse me a few more sittings, 
 then, because you have become my precious 
 wife?" 
 
 "In coorse not. An' I'm so sorry I was cranky. 
 I 'dedn' mean what I said ezacally." 
 
 To-day, coming fresh to his ear after a week's 
 interval, after several days spent with cultured 
 friends and acquaintances in Newlyn, Joan's 
 rustic speech grated more painfully than usual. 
 Once he had found pleasure in it; but he was 
 not a Cornishman to love the sound of those 
 venerable words which sprinkled Joan's utter- 
 ances and which have long since vanished from 
 all vocabularies save those of the common peo- 
 ple; and now her language began to get upon 
 his nerves and jar them. He was tired of it. 
 Often, while he painted, she had prattled and 
 he, occupied with his work, had heard nothing; 
 but to-day he recognized the debt he owed and 
 listened patiently for a considerable time. Her 
 deep expectancy irritated him too. He had an- 
 ticipated that, however, and was aware that her 
 trust and confidence in him were alike profound. 
 Perhaps a shadow of fear, distrust or uneasiness 
 had pleased him better. He was snugly back 
 in his tub of impersonality from which he liked 
 to view the fools' show drift pass. His last ex- 
 periment in the actively objective had ruined a
 
 -> !•» 
 
 LYING PROPHETS 18 
 
 girl and promised to produce a fine picture. 
 And that was the end of it. No fellow-creature 
 could ever share this cynic's barrel with him. 
 
 Presently Joan departed upon her long tramp 
 home. She had gone to convey a message to 
 one of Thomasin Tregenza's friends at Paul. 
 And when the girl left him, with a promise to 
 come at all costs upon the next sunny morning, 
 Barron began to think about money again. He 
 found that the larger the imaginaiy figures, the 
 smaller shadow of discomfort clouded his 
 thoughts. So he decided upon an act of princely 
 generosity, as the result of which resolve peace 
 returned and an unruffled mind. For the musty 
 conventionality of his conclusion, it merely 
 served as a peg upon which to hang thoughts 
 not necessary to set down here.
 
 188 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 CHAPTER TWO 
 
 THE PARTING 
 
 Joan had only told her lover a part of what 
 happened in her home when Thomasin broke 
 her suspicions to Gray Michael. He had taken 
 the matter very seriously indeed, delivered a 
 stern homily and commanded his daughter to 
 read the Book of Ecclesiasticus through thrice. 
 
 " 'The gad-about is a vain thing and a mighty 
 cause for stumblin'.' You mind that, an' take 
 better care hencefarrard to set a right example 
 to other maids an' not lead 'em wrong. Theer 
 shan't be no fro ward liver under this roof, Joan 
 Tregenza, an' you, as be my awn darter's the 
 last I'd count to find wanderin'." 
 
 She lied as to particulars. She had no fear of 
 her father now as a man, but hard words always 
 hurt her, and superstition, though she was fast 
 breaking from many forms of it under Barron's 
 tuition, still chained her soul in some directions. 
 Did her father know even a shadow of the truth, 
 some dire and blasting prediction would prob- 
 ably result from it, and though personally he 
 was little to her now, as a mouthpiece of super- 
 natural powers he might bring blighting words 
 upon her ; for he walked with God. But Michael's
 
 LYING PROPHETS 189 
 
 God was Joan's no more. She had fled from 
 that awful divinity to the more beautiful Creator 
 of John Barron. He was kind and gentle, and 
 she loved to hear His voice in the hum of the 
 bees upon the gorse and see His face everywhere 
 in the fair on-coming of spring. Nature, as she 
 understood it now, chimed with the things her 
 mother had taught Joan. She found room for 
 all the old, pretty stories in this new creed. The 
 dear saints fitted in with it, and their wonders 
 and mysteries, and the comprehensive if vague 
 knowledge that "God is Love." She believed 
 she understood the truth about religion at last ; 
 and Nature smiled very sweetly at her and 
 shared in the delight of the time. So she walked 
 dreaming on toward the invisible door of her 
 fool's paradise, and never guessed how near it 
 was or what Nature would look like from the 
 other side. 
 
 She still dwelt at the little home on the cliff, 
 so unreal and shadowy now; she built cloud 
 castles ablaze with happiness; she found false- 
 hood not difficult, for her former absolute truth- 
 fulness deadened her stepmother's suspicion. 
 Certain lies told at home enabled her to keep 
 faith with the artist; and the weather also be- 
 friending him, three more sittings in speedy suc- 
 cession brought John Barron to the end of his 
 labors. After Joan's exhibition of jealousy he 
 was careful to say little about his work and 
 affect no further interest in it. He let her chat- 
 ter concerning the future, told her of his big 
 house in London, and presently took care 1<>
 
 190 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 drop hints from time to time that the habitation 
 was by no means as yet ready to receive his 
 bride. She always spoke on the assumption 
 that when the picture was done he would leave 
 for London and take her with him. She already 
 imagined herself creeping off to join him at the 
 station, sitting beside him in the train, and then 
 rolling away, past Marazion, into the great un- 
 familiar world which lay beyond. And he knew 
 that no such thing would happen. He intended 
 that Joan should become a pleasant memory, 
 with the veil of distance and time over it to 
 beautify what was already beautiful. He wanted 
 to remember the music of her throbbing voice, 
 and forget the words it used to utter. The liv- 
 ing girl's part was played and ended. Their 
 lives had crossed at right angles and would 
 never meet again. "Nature makes a glorious 
 present to Art, and I am privileged to execute 
 the deed of gift," thought Barron; "that is the 
 position in an epigram. ' ' He felt very grateful to 
 Joan. He knew her arm must have ached often 
 enough, but whether her heart would presently 
 do so he hardly felt qualified to judge. The in- 
 cidents of that stormy day might have been 
 buried in time ten years, so faint was his recol- 
 lection of them now. He remembered the mat- 
 ter with no greater concern than the image of 
 the shivering negresses in the blue water at 
 Tobago. 
 
 And so the picture, called "Joe's Ship," was 
 finished, and while it fell far short of what Bar- 
 ron had hoped, yet he knew his work was great
 
 LYING PROPHETS 191 
 
 and the best thing he had done. A packing 
 case for the canvas was already ordered and he 
 expected it upon the identical day that saw his 
 farewell to Joan. 
 
 Bit by bit he had broken to her that it was 
 not his intention to take her with him, but that 
 he must go to his house alone and order things 
 in readiness. Then he would come back and 
 fetch her. And she had accepted the position 
 and felt wondrous sad at the first meeting with 
 Barron after the completion of the picture. It 
 seemed as though a great link was broken be- 
 tween them, and she realized now what folly her 
 dislike of his work had been. 
 
 "I wish I could take you right away with me, 
 Joan, my little love ; but a bachelor's house is 
 a comfortless concern from a woman's point of 
 view. You will hear from me in a day or two. 
 You must call at the post-office in Penzance for 
 letters, because I shall not send them here." 
 
 'You'll print out what you writes big, so's I 
 doan't miss nort, won't 'e?" 
 
 "I'll make the meaning as clear as possible, 
 Joan." 
 
 Tis wisht to think as theer'll be hunderds 
 o' miles 'twixt us. I doan't know how I be 
 gwaine to live the days out." 
 
 "Only a fortnight, remember." 
 
 "Fourteen whole days an' nights." 
 
 'Yes, indeed. It seems a terribly long time. 
 You must comfort me, sweetheart, and tell me 
 that they will be very quickly clone with." 
 
 Joan laughed at this turning of the tables,
 
 192 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 <<i 
 
 I reckon a man's alius got a plenty things 
 to make time pass for en. But 'tis different wi' 
 a gal." 
 
 She trusted him as she trusted God to lift the 
 sun out of the eastern sea next morning and 
 swing it in its solemn course over heaven. And 
 as there was no fear of danger and no shadow 
 of distrust upon her, Joan made a braver part- 
 ing than her lover expected. 
 
 "Some men are coming to see my picture 
 presently," he said, very gently. "I expect 
 my sweet Joan would like to be gone before 
 they arrive." 
 
 She took the hint, braced her heart for the or- 
 deal, and rose from where they had been sitting 
 on Gorse Point. She looked dreamily a moment 
 at the furzes and the place whereon she had stood 
 so often, then turned to the man and came close 
 and held up four little spring lilies which she had 
 brought with her. Her voice grew unsteady, 
 but she mastered it again and smiled at him. 
 
 "I brot these for 'e, dear Jan. Us calls 'em 
 butter-an'-eggs, 'cause o' the colors, I s'pose. 
 They'm awnly four lil flowers. Will 'e keep 
 'em? An' — an' give me summat as I can 
 knaw's just bin in j r our hand, will 'e? 'Tis 
 fulishness, dear heart, but I'm thinkin' 'twould 
 make the days a dinky bit shorter." 
 
 He took the gift, thought a moment, and gave 
 her a little silver ring off his finger. Then he 
 kissed her, pressed her close to him and said 
 "good-bv," asking God to bless her, and so 
 forth.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 193 
 
 With but a few tears rebelling against her de- 
 termination, Joan prayed good upon his head, 
 repaid the caress, begged him for his love to 
 come quickly back again, then tore herself away, 
 turned and hastened off with her head held 
 braveiy up. But the green fields swam and 
 the sea danced for her a moment later. The 
 world was all splashed and blotched and misty. 
 "I'll be braave like him," she thought, smother- 
 ing the great sobs and rubbing her knuckles into 
 her eyes till she hurt them. But she could not 
 stem the sorrow in a moment, and, climbing- 
 through a gap in the hedge, she sat down, where 
 only ewes and lambs might see, and cried bit- 
 terly a while. And so weeping, a sensation, 
 strange, vague, tremendous, came into her be- 
 ing; and she knew not what it meant; but the 
 mystery of it rilled her with great awe. " 'Tis 
 God," she said to herself, " 'tis God's hand upon 
 me. He've touched me, He've sealed me to 
 dear, dear Jan. 'Tis a feelin' to bring happi- 
 ness along with it, nor sorrer." She battled 
 with herself to read the wonder aright, and yet 
 at the bottom of her heart was fear. Then 
 physical sensations distracted her; she found 
 her head was aching and her body feeling sick. 
 Truly the girl had been through an ordeal that 
 day, and so she explained her discomfort. "I 
 be wivvery an' wisht along o' leavin' en," she 
 said; "oh! kiud, good God A'mighty, as hears 
 all, send en back to me, send en back to me 
 very soon, for I caan't live wi'out en no more." 
 
 As for the man, he sighed when Joan disap-
 
 194 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 peared : and the expiration of breath was short 
 and sharp as the sound of a key in a lock. He 
 had in truth turned the key upon a diary to be 
 opened no more; for the sweetness of the closed 
 chapter was embalmed in memory, blazoned on 
 canvas, Yet there was bitterness, too, of a sort 
 in his sigh, and the result of this sunken twinge 
 at his heart appeared when Brady, Tarrant and 
 one or two other artists presently joined him. 
 They saw their companion was perturbed, and 
 found him plunged into a black, cynic fit more 
 deeply than usual. He spared no subject, no 
 individual, least of all himself. 
 
 Paul Tarrant — a Christian painter, already 
 mentioned — was the first to find fault with Bar- 
 ron's picture. The rest had little but praise for 
 it, and Brady, who grew madly enthusiastic, 
 swore that "Joe's Ship" was the finest bit of 
 work that ever went out of Cornwall. But 
 Tarrant cherished a private grievance, and, as 
 his view of art and ethics made it possible for 
 him, from his standpoint, to criticise the picture 
 unfavorably in some respects, he did so. It 
 happened that he had recently finished a curi- 
 ous work for the Academy : a painting called 
 "The Good Shepherd." It represented a young- 
 laboring man with a face of rare beauty but lit- 
 tle power, plodding homeward under setting 
 sunlight. Upon his arm he bore a lamb, and 
 behind his head the sinking sun made a glorious 
 nimbus. Barron had seen this work, admired 
 some of the painting, but bluntly sneered at the 
 false sentiment and vulgar parade of religious
 
 LYING PROPHETS 105 
 
 conviction which, as he conceived, animated the 
 whole. And now, the other man, in whose 
 heart those coDtemptuous words still rankled, 
 found his turn had come. He had bitterly re- 
 sented Barron's sarcastic reference to those holy 
 things which guided his life; there was some- 
 thing of feminine nature in him too ; so he did 
 not much regret the present opportunity. 
 
 "And you, . Tarrant? This gives you scant 
 pleasure — eh?" asked Barron. 
 
 "It is very wonderful painting, but there's 
 nothing under the paint that I can see." 
 
 "Nothing but the canvas — in so far at least 
 as the spectator is concerned. Every work of 
 art must have a secret history only known to 
 its creator. ' ' 
 
 "What the divil d'you mean, Paul?" asked 
 Brady. 
 
 "You know what I mean well enough," an- 
 swered the first speaker coldly. "My views are 
 not unfamiliar to any of you. Here is a thing 
 without a soul — to me. ' ' 
 
 "God! you say that! You can look at those 
 eyes and say that?" 
 
 "I admire the painting, but cut bono/ YVho 
 is the better, the wiser? There is notnmg under 
 the paint." 
 
 'You are one of those who turn siiadows into 
 crosses, clouds into angels. Is it not so?" asked 
 Barron smiling; and the other fired at this allu- 
 sion to his best known picture. 
 
 "I am one of those who know t\\u'c Art is the 
 handmaid of God," he answered hotly. "I
 
 196 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 happen to believe in Jesus Christ, and I con- 
 ceive that no picture is worthy to be called great 
 or worthy of any Christian's painting unless it 
 possess some qualities calculated to ennoble the 
 mind of those who see. Art is the noblest labor 
 man can employ time upon. The thing comes 
 from God ; it is a talent only to be employed in 
 the highest sense when devoted to His glory." 
 
 "Then what of heathen art? • You let your 
 religion distort your view of Nature. You sacri- 
 fice truth to a dogma. Nature has no ethics. 
 You profess to paint facts and paint them wrong. 
 You are not a mystic; that we could understand 
 and criticise accordingly. You try to run with 
 the hare and hunt with the hounds. You talk 
 about truth and paint things not true." 
 
 "From your standpoint possibly. Yours is 
 the truth of naturalism; mine is the truth of 
 Faith." 
 
 "If you are going to entrench yourself behind 
 Faith, I have done, of course. Only, don't go 
 about saying, as you did just now, that Art is 
 the noblest labor man can employ time upon. 
 That's bosh, pure and simple. There are some 
 occupations not so noble, that is all. Art is a 
 heathen and always will be, and you mission- 
 ary-men, with a paint-brush in one hand and a 
 Bible in the other, are even worse than certain 
 objectionable literary celebrities, whose novels 
 reek of the 'new journalism' and the Sermon on 
 the Mount — the ridiculous and sublime in taste- 
 less combination. You missionaries, I say, sap 
 the primitive strength of Art; you demoralize
 
 LYING PROPHETS 107 
 
 her. To dare to make Art pander to it passing 
 creed is vile — worse than the spectacle of the 
 Salvation Army trying to convert Buddhists. 
 That I saw in India, and laughed. But we 
 won't quarrel. You paint Faith's jewelry; I'll 
 amuse myself with Truth's drabs and duns. 
 The point of view is all. I depict pretty Joan 
 Tregenza looking over the sea to catch a glimpse 
 of her sweetheart's outward-bound ship. I paint 
 her just as I saw her. There was no occasion to 
 leave out or put in. I reveled in a mere brutal 
 transcript of Nature. You would have set her 
 down by one of the old Cornish crosses praying 
 to Christ to guard her man. And round her 
 3^ou would have wrought a world of idle signifi- 
 cance. You would have twisted dogma into the 
 flowers and grass-blades. The fact that the girl 
 happened to be practically brainless and a Luke 
 Gospeler would not have weighed with you a 
 moment." 
 
 "I'm weary of the old cant about Nature," 
 said Tarrant. "You're a naturalist and a mate- 
 rialist. That ends it. There is no possibility of 
 argument between us. ' ' 
 
 "Would the man who painted that gorse cant?" 
 burst out Brady. "Damn it all, Tarrant, if a 
 chap can teach us to paint, perhaps he can teach 
 us something else as well. Look at that gorse, 
 I tell you. That's the truth, won with many a 
 wrestle and heartache, I'll swear. You know- 
 as well as I do what went to get that, and yet 
 you say there's nothing behind the paint. That's 
 cant, if you like. And as to your religious spirit,
 
 198 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 what's the good of preaching sermons in paint if 
 the paint's false? "We're on it now and I'll say 
 what I believe, which is that your 'Good Shep- 
 herd' is all wrong, apart from any question of 
 sentiment at all. Your own party will probably 
 say it's blasphemous, and I say it's ridiculous. 
 You've painted a grand sky and then ruined it 
 with the subject. Did you ever see a man's 
 head bang between you and a clear setting sun'? 
 Any way, that figure of yours was never painted 
 with a sunset behind him, I'll swear." 
 
 "You can't paint truth as you find it and 
 preach truth as you believe it on the same can- 
 vas if you belong to any creed but mine," said 
 Barron calmly. "You build on the foundations 
 of Art a series of temples to your religious 
 convictions. You blaze Christianity on every 
 canvas. I suppose that is natural in a man of 
 your opinions, but to me it is as painful as the 
 spectacle of advertisements of quack nostrums 
 planted, as you shall see them, beside railway 
 lines — here in a golden field of buttercups, there 
 rising above young barley. Of course, I don't 
 presume to assert that your faith is a quack 
 nostrum; only real Art and Religion won't run 
 in double harness for you or anybody. They 
 did once, but the world has passed beyond that 
 point." 
 
 ' ' Never, ' ' answered Tarrant. ' ' We have proof 
 of it. Souls have been saved by pictures. That 
 is as certain as that God made the earth and 
 everything on it." 
 
 "There again! Every word you speak only
 
 LYING PROPHETS 199 
 
 allows how difficult it is for us to exchange ideas. 
 Why is it so positively certain that God made 
 the earth and everything on it? To attribute 
 man's origin direct to God is always, in my 
 mind, the supreme proposition of human con- 
 ceit. Did it need a God to manufacture you or 
 me or Brady? I don't think so. Consider crea- 
 tion. I suppose if an ant could gauge the in- 
 genuity of a steam engine, he would attribute it 
 without hesitation to God, but it happens that 
 the steam engine is the work of a creature — a 
 being standing somewhere between God and the 
 ant, but much nearer the latter than the former. 
 You follow me? Even Tarrant will admit, for 
 it is an article of his creed, that there exist many 
 beings nearer to God than man. They have 
 wings, he would tell us, and are eternal, im- 
 mortal, everlasting." 
 
 "I see," said Brady, "you're going to say 
 next that faulty concerns like this particular 
 world are the work of minor intelligences. 
 What rot you can talk at times, old man!" 
 
 "Yet is it an honor to God Almighty that we 
 attribute the contents of this poor pill of a planet 
 to Him? I think it would be an insult if you 
 ask me. Out of respect to the Everlasting, I 
 would rather suppose that the earth, being by 
 chance a concern too small for His present pur- 
 poses, He tosses it, as we toss a dog a bone, to 
 some ingenious archangel with a theory. Then 
 you enjoy the spectacle of that seraph about as 
 busy over this notable world as a child with a 
 mud pie. The winged one sets to work with
 
 ^00 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 a will. A little pinch of life; develops under 
 his skillful manipulation; evolution takes its 
 remorseless course through the wastes of Time 
 until — behold ! the apotheosis of the ape at last. 
 Picture that well-meaning but muddle-headed 
 archangel's dismay at such a conclusion! All 
 his theories and conceits — his splendid scheme 
 of evolution and the rest — end in a mean but ob- 
 stinate creature with conscious intelligence and 
 an absolute contempt and disregard for Nature. 
 This poor Frankenstein of a cherub watches the 
 worm he has produced defy him and refuse ab- 
 solutely to obey his most fundamental postulates 
 or accept his axioms. The fittest survive no 
 more; these gregarious, new-born things pres- 
 ently form themselves into a pestilential society, 
 they breed rubbish, they — " 
 
 "By God! stop it, John," said Murdoch. 
 "Now you're going too far. Look at Tan-ant. 
 He'd burn you over a slow fire for this if he 
 could. Speak for yourself at any rate, not for 
 us." 
 
 ' ' I do, ' ' answered the other bitterly. ' ' I speak 
 for myself. I know what a poor, rotten cur I 
 am physically and mentally — not worth the 
 bread I eat to keep me alive. And shall I dare 
 say that God made me?" 
 
 "But what's the end of this philosophy of de- 
 spair, old chap?" asked Brady; "what becomes 
 of your worst of all possible planets?" 
 
 "The end? Dust and ashes. My unfortunate 
 workman, having blundered on for certain mil- 
 lions of years tinkering and patching and im-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 201 
 
 proving his dismal colony, will give the thing 
 up; and God will laugh and show him the mis- 
 takes and then blot the essay out, as a master 
 runs his pen through the errors in a pupil's ex- 
 ercise. The earth grows cold at last, and the 
 herds of humanity die, and the countless ages 
 of agony and misery are over. Yes, the poor 
 vermin perish to the last one; then their black 
 tomb goes whirling on until it shall be allowed 
 to meet another like itself, when a new sun 
 shines in heaven and space is the richer by one 
 more star.". 
 
 "May God forgive you for your profanity, 
 John Barron," said Tarrant. "That He places 
 in your hand such power and suffers your brain 
 to breed the devil's dung that fills it, is to me 
 a mystery. May you live to learn your errors 
 and regret them." 
 
 He turned away and two men followed him. 
 Conversation among those who remained re- 
 verted to the picture; and presently all were 
 gone, excepting only Barron, who had to wait 
 and see his work packed. 
 
 Remorse will take strange shapes. His bitter 
 tirade against his environment and himself was 
 the direct result of this man's recent experiences. 
 He knew himself for a mean knave in his deal- 
 ings with an innocent girl and the thought turned 
 the aspect of all things into gall. 
 
 Solitude brought back a measure of peace. 
 The picture was packed and started to Penzance 
 railway-station, while Barron's tools also went, 
 by pony-cart, back to his rooms in Newlyn. He
 
 202 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 was to leave upon the following morning with 
 Murdoch and others who were taking their work 
 to the Exhibitions. 
 
 Now he looked round the cow-byre before lock- 
 ing it for the last time and returning the key to 
 Farmer Ford's boy, who waited outside to receive 
 it. "The chapter is ended," he said to himself. 
 "The chapter which contains the best thing that 
 ever I did, and, I suppose, the worst, as morals 
 have it. Yet Art happily rises above those misty 
 abstractions which we call right and wrong. 
 She resembles Nature herself there. « Both de- 
 mand their sacrifices. 'The white martji'dom 
 of self-denial, the red martyrdom of blood' — each 
 is a thousand times recorded in the history of 
 painting and will be a thousand times again."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 203 
 
 CHAPTER THREE 
 
 THE ACT OP FAITH 
 
 So John Barron set forth, well content to be- 
 lieve that he would never again visit Cornwall, 
 and Joan called at the Penzance post-office on 
 the morning which followed his departure. Her 
 geographical knowledge was scanty. Truro and 
 Plymouth, in her belief, lay somewhere upon the 
 edge of the world; and she scarcely imagined 
 that London could be much more remote. 
 
 But no letter awaited her, and life grew to be 
 terribly empty. For a week she struggled with 
 herself to keep from the post-office, and then, 
 nothing doubting that her patience would now 
 be well rewarded, Joan marched off with confi- 
 dence for the treasure. But only a greater dis- 
 appointment than the last resulted ; and she went 
 home very sorrowful, building up explanations 
 of the silence, finding excuses for "Mister Jan." 
 The prefix to his name, which had dropped dur- 
 ing their latter intimacy, returned to her mind 
 now the man was gone: as "Mister Jan" it was 
 that she thought about him and prayed for him. 
 
 The days passed quickly, and when a fortnight 
 stood between herself and the last glimpse of her 
 lover, Joan began to grow very anxious. She
 
 204 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 wept through loug nights now, and her father, 
 finding the girl changed, guessed she had a 
 secret and told his wife to find it out. But it 
 was some time before Thomasin made any dis- 
 co verj r , for Joan lied stoutly by day and prayed 
 to God to pardon bj T night. She strove hard to 
 follow the teaching of the artist, to find joy in 
 flowers and leaves, in the spring music of birds, 
 in the color of the sea. But now she dimby 
 guessed that it was love of him which went so 
 far to make all things beautiful, that it was the 
 magic and wisdom of his words which had gilded 
 the world with gold and thrown new light upon 
 the old familiar objects of life. Nature's organ 
 was dumb now that the hands which plaj'ed 
 upon it so skillfully had passed far away. But 
 she was loyal to her teacher; she remembered 
 many things which he had said and tried hard 
 to feel as he felt, to put her hand in beautiful 
 Mother Nature's and walk with her and be at 
 peace. Mister Jan would soon return ; the fort- 
 night was already past; each day as she rose 
 she felt he might come to claim her before the 
 evening. 
 
 And, meanwhile, other concerns occupied her 
 thoughts. The voice which spoke to her after 
 she bid John Barron "good-by," had since then 
 similarly sounded on the ear of her heart. Alike 
 at high noon and in the silence of the night 
 watches it addressed her; and the mystery of it, 
 taken with her other sorrows, began to affect 
 her physically. For the first time in her life the 
 girl felt ill in body. Her appetite failed, dawn
 
 LYING PROPHETS 205 
 
 found her sick and weary; her glass told her of 
 a white, unhappy face, of eyes that were lighted 
 from within and shone with strange thoughts. 
 She was al\va3 r s listening now — listening for tho 
 new voice, that she might hear the word it ut- 
 tered. Her physical illness she hid with some 
 cunning aud put a bright face upon life as far 
 as she could do so before those of her home ; but 
 the task grew daily more difficult. Then, with 
 a period of greatly increased discomfort, Joan 
 grew alarmed and turned to the kind God of 
 "Mister Jan," and made great, tearful praying 
 for a return of strength. Her petition was ap- 
 parently granted, for the girl enjoyed some im- 
 provement of health and spirit. Whereupon she 
 became fired with a notable thought, and deter- 
 mined to seek her patron saint where still she 
 suspected his power held sway: at the little 
 brook which tinkles along beside the ruins of 
 St. Madron's chapel in a fair coomb below the 
 Cornish moorlands. The precious water, as 
 Joan remembered, had brought strength and 
 health to her when a baby; and now the girl 
 longed to try its virtues again, and a great con- 
 viction grew upon her that the ancient saint 
 never forgot his own little ones. Opportunity 
 presently offered, and through the first misty 
 gray of a morning in early April, she set out 
 upon her long tramp from Newlyn through 
 Madron to the ruined baptistery. 
 
 St. Madron, or Padern, lived in the sixth 
 century, somewhat earlier than Augustine. A 
 Breton by birth, he labored chiefly in Wales,
 
 206 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 established a monastery on Bri to-Celtic lines in 
 Cardiganshire, and became its bishop when a 
 see was established in that district. He traveled 
 far, visited Mount's Bay and established the 
 church of Madron, still sacred to his name, 
 while doubtless the brook and chapel hard by 
 were associated with him from the same period. 
 In Scawen's time folk were wont to take their 
 hurts thither on Corpus Christi evening, drink 
 of the water, deposit an offering, and repose upon 
 the chapel floor till dawn. Then, drinking again, 
 they departed whole, if faith sufficiently mighty 
 had supported them. ISTorden remarks of the 
 water that "its fame was great for the supposed 
 vertue of healinge, which St. Maderne had there- 
 unto infused ; and maine votaries made anuale 
 pilgrimages unto it. . ." In connection with 
 the custom of immersion here indicated, we 
 find there obtained the equally venerable prac- 
 tice of hanging votive rags upon the thorn 
 bushes round about the chapel. This conceit 
 is ancient as Japan, and one not only in usage 
 to this day among the Shintoists of that land, 
 but likewise common throughout Northern Asia 
 and, nearer home, in the Orkneys, in Scotland, 
 in Ireland. Older far than Christianity are 
 these customs; the megalithic monuments of 
 the pagan witness similar practices in remote 
 corners of the earth; rag-trees, burdened with 
 the tattered offerings of the devout, yet stud 
 the desert of Suez, and those who seek shall 
 surely find some holy well or grave hard at hand 
 in every case. To mark and examine the June
 
 LYING PROPHETS 207 
 
 tion of these venerable fancies with Christian 
 superstition is no part of our present purpose, 
 but that ideas, pagan in their birth, have lent 
 themselves with sufficient readiness to succes- 
 sive creeds and been knit into the dogmas of 
 each in turn, is certain enough. Thus, through 
 Cornwall, the imaginings of wizard and wonder- 
 worker in hoary time come, centuries later, to 
 be the glory and special power of a saint. Such 
 fantastic lore was definitely interdicted in King 
 Edgar's reign, when "stone worshipings, divina- 
 tions, well worshipings and necromances" were 
 proclaimed things heathen, and unhallowed ; but 
 with the advent of the Saint-Bishops from Wales, 
 from Ireland, from Brittany, primitive supersti- 
 tions were patched upon the new creed, and, to 
 suit private purposes, the old giants of the Chris- 
 tian faith sanctified holy well and holy stone, 
 posing by right divine as sure dispensers of the 
 hidden virtue in stream and granite. But the 
 roots of these fables burrow back to paganism. 
 Hundreds of weakly infants were passed through 
 Men-an-tol — the stone with a hole or the "crick- 
 stone" — in the names of saints; and hundreds 
 had already been handed through it centuries 
 before under like appeal to pagan deities. 
 
 Of Madron baptistery, now a picturesque ruin, 
 it seems clear that until the Reformation regu- 
 lar worship and the service of baptism were 
 therein celebrated. The place has mercifully 
 escaped all restoration or renovation and stands 
 at this moment open to the sky in the slow hand 
 of Time. A brook runs babbling outside, but
 
 208 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 the holy well or colymbethra is now dry, though 
 it might easily be filled again. This interesting 
 portion of the chapel remains intact, and the en- 
 trance to it lies upon the level of the floor ac- 
 cording to ancient custom, being so ordered that 
 the adult to undergo baptism might step down 
 into the water, and that not without dignity. 
 
 Hither came Joan. Her patchwork of faith 
 and Nature- worship was a live thing to her now, 
 and she found no difficult} 7 in reconciling the 
 sweet saint-stories heard in childhood from her 
 dead mother's lips, with the beautiful and fair 
 exposition of truth which "Mister Jan" found 
 written large upon the world by Nature in 
 spriug-time. 
 
 It was half-past four o'clock when she trudged 
 through Madron to see the gray church and the 
 little gray houses all sleeping under the gray 
 sky. She plodded on up the hill past the gaunt 
 workhouse which stands at the top of it; and 
 what had seemed soft, sweet repose among the 
 cottage homes, felt like cold death beneath these 
 ashy walls. To Joan, the workhouse was a 
 word of shame unutterable. Those among 
 whom she lived would hurl the word against 
 enemies as a prophecy of the utmost degrada- 
 tion . She shivered as she passed, and was sad, 
 knowing that a whole world of poverty, failure, 
 sorrow, regret, was hidden away in that cold, 
 still pile. But the hand of sleep lay softly there ; 
 only a sick soul or two stirred, the paupers were 
 the equal of princes till a hoarse bell brought 
 j- hem back out of blessed unconsciousness.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 209 
 
 Bars of light streaked the east, and Joan, only 
 stopping at the hill crest to see dawn open silver 
 eyes on the sea, hastened inland through silent, 
 dewy fields. Presently a fence and wall cut 
 civilization from the wild land of the coomb, 
 and the girl proceeded where grass-grown cart- 
 ruts wound among furze and heather and the 
 silver coils of new-born bracken just beginning 
 to peep up above the dead fern of last year. 
 This hollow ran between undulations of fallow 
 and meadow; no harrow clinked as yet; only 
 the cows stood here and there above the dry 
 patches on the dewy fields where their bodies 
 had lain in sleep. She saw their soft eyes and 
 smelled the savor of them. Presently the cart- 
 ruts disappeared in fine grass all bediamonded, 
 knobbed with heather, sprouting rusty-red, and 
 sprinkled w r ith tussocks of coarser grass, where- 
 on green blades sprang up above the dead ones, 
 where they struggled, matted and bleached and 
 sere. Rabbits flashed here and there, the white 
 under-side of their little scuts twinkling through 
 the gorse ; and then the birds woke up ; a thrush 
 sang low, sleepy notes from the heart of a white- 
 thorn; yellowhammors piped their mournful 
 calls from the furze. On Joan's left hand there 
 now rose a clump of wind-worn beech-trees, their 
 brown spikes breaking to green, even where dead 
 red leaves still clung to the parent branches. Be- 
 neath them ran a hedge of earth above a deep 
 pool or two. very clear and fringed with young 
 rushes, upright and triumphant above the old 
 dead ones. Everywhere Joan saw Life tram-
 
 aiO LYING PROPHETS 
 
 pliug and leaping, growing and laughing over 
 the ruins of things that had lived and died. It 
 saddened her a little. Did Nature forget so 
 soon? Then she told herself that kind Nature 
 had loved them and gloried in them too; and 
 now she would presently bury all her dead chil- 
 dren in beautiful graves of new green. The 
 mosses and marsh were lovely and the clear 
 pools full of living creatures. But these things 
 were not saint-blessed and eternal. No spring 
 fed these silent wells, no holy man of old had 
 ever smiled upon them. 
 
 A stepping-stone by a wall lay before her now ; 
 this she crossed, heard the stream murmuring 
 peace, and hastened, and presently stood beside 
 it. Here were holy ground and water; here 
 were peace and a place to pray in. Blue for- 
 get-me-nots looked wondering up, seeing eyes 
 as blue as their own, and she smiled at them 
 and drank of the ripples that ran at their roots. 
 Gray through the growing haze of green, a 
 ruined wall showed close to the girl. The 
 blackthorns' blooms were faded around her, 
 the hawthorn was not yet powdered with white. 
 She cast one look to right and left before enter- 
 ing the chapel. A distant view of the moorland 
 rose to the sky, and the ragged edge of the hills 
 was marked by a gaunt engine-stack noting past 
 enterprise, triumphs long gone by, ruined hopes 
 but recently dead. Snug fox-covers of rhodo- 
 dendron swept up toward the head of the coomb ; 
 and below, distant half a mile or more, cottages 
 already showed a glimmer of gold on their
 
 LYING PROPHETS 211 
 
 thatches where the increasing splendor of day- 
 brightened them, and morning mists were rais- 
 ing jeweled arms. Then Joan passed into the 
 ruin through that narrow opening which marks 
 the door of it. The granite walls now stand 
 about the height of a man's shoulder and the 
 chamber itself is small. Stone seats still run 
 round two sides of it; ivy and stone- worts and 
 grasses have picked the mortar from the walls 
 and clothed them, even as emerald moss and 
 gray lichens and black and gold glorify each 
 piece of granite; a may-bush, tangled about a 
 great shiny ivy - tod, surmounts the western 
 walls above the dried well ; furzes and heather 
 and tall grasses soften the jagged outlines of the 
 ruin, and above a stone altar, at the east end of it, 
 rises another white-thorn. At this season of the 
 year the subsequent floral glories of the little 
 chapel were only indicated : young briers already 
 thrust their soft points over the stone of the 
 altar and the first leaves of foxgloves were un- 
 folding, with dandelions and docks, biting-stone- 
 crop and ferns, ragged-robins and wild gerani- 
 ums. These infant things softened no outline 
 yet. The flat paving of the floor, where it yet 
 remained, was bedded in grass ; a little square 
 incision upon the stone of the altar glimmered 
 full of water and reflected the light from fleecy 
 clouds which now climbed into heaven, bearing 
 sunrise fires upward over a pale blue sky. 
 
 Here, under the circumambient, sparkling 
 clearness, coolness and silence, Joan stood 
 with strange medley of thoughts upon her
 
 212 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 soul. The saints and the fairies mingled there 
 with visions of Nature, always smiling, with a 
 vague shadow of one great God above the blue, 
 but dim and very far away; and a nearer pict- 
 ure which quickened her heart-beat : the picture 
 of "Mister Jan." Here she felt herself at one 
 with the world spread round her. The mother 
 eyes of a blackbird, sitting upon her eggs in the 
 ivy-tod, kept their bright gold on Joan, but 
 showed no fear; the young rabbits frisked at 
 hand; a mole poked his snout and little paddle- 
 paws out of the grass ; all was peace and happi- 
 ness, it seemed, with the voice of good St. 
 Madron murmuring love in his brooklet at 
 hand. 
 
 Joan knelt down by the old altar and bowed 
 her head there and prayed to Nature and to 
 God. At first merely wordless prayers full of 
 passionate entreaty rose to the Throne; then ut- 
 terance came in a wild simple throng of peti- 
 tions ; and all her various knowledge, won from 
 her mother and John Barron, found a place. 
 Pan and Christ might each have heard and list- 
 ened, for she called on the gods of earth and 
 heaven from a heart that was full. 
 
 "Kind Mother o' the flowers, doan't 'e forget 
 a poor maiden what loves 'e so dear. I be sad 
 an' sore-hearted 'cause things is bad wi' me now 
 Mister Jan's gone; an' I knaws as I've lied an' 
 bin wicked 'bout Joe, but, kind Mother, I awnly 
 done what Mister Jan, as was wise an' loved 
 me, bid. Oh, God A'mighty, doan't 'E let en 
 forget me, 'cause I've gived up all — all the lil I
 
 LYING PROPHETS 213 
 
 had for en, an' Nature made me as I be. Oh, 
 kind God, make me happy an' light-hearted an' 
 strong agin, same as the lil birds an' sich like is 
 happy an' strong; an' forgive me for all my sins 
 an' make me well for Mister Jan, an' clever for 
 Mister Jan, so's I'll be a tine an' good wife to 
 en. An' forgive me for lyin', 'cause what I 
 done was Nature, 'cord in' to Mister Jan; an' 
 Nature's kind to young things, 'cordin' to Mis- 
 ter Jan; an' I be young yet. An' make me a 
 better lass, for I caan't abear to feel as I do; 
 an' make me think o' the next world arter this 
 wan. But, oh, dear God, make me well an' 
 braave agin, for 'tis awful wisht for me wi'ont 
 Mister Jan; an' make Mister Jan strong too. I 
 be all in a miz-maze and doan't knaw wheer to 
 turn 'cept to Nature, dear Lard. Oh, kind God 
 A'mighty, lemme have my angel vvatchin' over 
 me close, same as what mother used to say he 
 did alius. An' bring Mister Jan back long very 
 quick, 'cause I'm nothin' but sadness wi'out en. 
 An', dear St. Madern, I ax 'e to bless me same 
 as you done when — when I was a lil baaby, 
 'cause I be gwaine to bathe in your brook, bein' 
 a St. Madern cheel. Oh, dear, good God o' all 
 things, please to help me an' look to me, 'cause 
 I be very sad, an' I never done no harm to 
 none, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen." 
 
 Then she said the Lord's Prayer, because her 
 mother had taught her that no human petition 
 was ever heard unless accompanied by it. And 
 it seemed as though the lark, winding upward 
 with wide spiral to his song-throne in the sky
 
 J>li LYING PROPHETS 
 
 and tinkling thin music on the morning wind, 
 was her messeager : which thought was beauti- 
 ful to Joan and made her heart glad. 
 
 Never had she looked fairer. Her blue eyes 
 were misty, but the magic of prayer, the glory 
 of speaking straight to the Father of all, call 
 Him what she might, had nobly fortified her 
 sinking spirit. Peace brooded in her soul then, 
 and faith warmed her blood. She was sure her 
 prayer would be answered; she was certain that 
 her health and her loved one would both come 
 back to her. And she stood by the altar and 
 smiled at the golden morning, herself the fairest 
 thing the sun shone upon. 
 
 Having peeped shyly about her, Joan took off 
 her clothes, placed them on the altar-stones, 
 shook down her hair, and glided softly to the 
 stream. At one point its waters caught the 
 sunshine and babbled over white sand between 
 many budding spikes of wild parsley and young 
 fronds of fern. Naked and beautiful the girl 
 stood, her bright hair glinting to her waist, all 
 rippled with the first red gold of the morning, 
 her body very white save where the sun and 
 western wind had browned both arms and neck ; 
 her form innocent as yet of the mystery hid for 
 her in Time. Joan's fair limbs spoke of blood 
 not Cornish, of days far past when a race of 
 giants swept up from behind the North Sea to 
 tread a new earth and take wives of the little 
 dark women of the land, abating the still prev- 
 alent nigrescence of the Celt with Saxon eyes 
 and hair, adding their stature and their strength
 
 LYING PKOPHETS 215 
 
 to laces unborn. A sweet embodiment of all 
 that was lovely and pure and fresh, she looked 
 — a human incarnation of youth and springtime. 
 
 There was a pool deeper than the general shal- 
 lowness of the stream which served for Joan's 
 bath, and she entered there, where soft white 
 sand made pleasant footing for her toes, where 
 more forget-me-nots twinkled their turquoise 
 about the margin, where shining gorse towered 
 like a sentinel above. 
 
 She suffered the holy water to flow over every 
 inch of her body, and then, rubbing her white 
 self red and glowing with the dead brake fern 
 of last year and squeezing the water out of her 
 hair, Joan quickly dressed again and prepared 
 to depart. She was about to leave a fragment 
 torn from her skirt hanging by the chapel, but 
 changed her mind, and getting a splinter of 
 granite, rough-edged, she began to chip away a 
 tress of her own bright hair, sawing it off upon 
 the stone table as best she could. Like a fallen 
 star it presently glimmered in the thorn bush 
 above St. Madron's altar where she wound the 
 little lock, presently to bring gold to the nests 
 and joy to the heart of small feathered folk. 
 
 Joan walked home with the warm blood rac- 
 ing in her veins, roses on her cheeks and the 
 glory of hope in her eyes. Already she felt her 
 prayers were being heard; already she was 
 thanking God for heeding her cry, and St. 
 Madron for the life-giving waters of his holy 
 stream. Then, where finches chattered and 
 fluttered forward, breakfasting together in
 
 21 G LYING PROPHETS 
 
 pleasant company, a shadow and a swift, 
 strong wing flashed across Joan's sight — and 
 a hawk struck. The little people shrieked, a 
 few gray feathers puffed here and there, and 
 one spark of life was blown out that other 
 sparks might shine the brighter. For pres- 
 ently Joan's kind "Mother o' the flowers" 
 watched the beaks of fledgeling hawks grow 
 red, and the parent bird of prey's cold eyes 
 brightened with satisfaction; as will every par- 
 ent eye brighten at the spectacle of baby things 
 eating wholesome food with hearty appetite. 
 
 The death of the small fowl clouded the pil- 
 grim's thoughts, but only for a moment. Sen- 
 timent and emotion had passed ; now she was 
 eager with delicious physical hunger and long- 
 ing for her breakfast. The girl had not felt so 
 well or so happy for a considerable time. Half 
 her prayer, she told herself, was answered al- 
 ready; and the other half, relating to "Mister 
 Jan," would doubtless meet with similar merci- 
 ful response ere many hours had flown. 
 
 So joyfully homeward out of dreamland into 
 a world of facts Joan hastened.
 
 LYING PKOPHETS 217 
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 A THOUSAND POUNDS 
 
 A glad heart shortens the longest road, and 
 Joan, whose return journey from the holy well 
 was for the most part downhill, soon found her- 
 self back again in Penzance. The fire of de- 
 votion still actuated her movements, and she 
 walked fearlessly, doubting- nothing, to the post- 
 office. There would be a letter to-day; she 
 knew it; she felt it in her consciousness, as a 
 certainty. And when she asked for it and 
 mentioned her name, she put her hand out and 
 waited until the sleepy-eyed clerk rummaged 
 through a little pile of letters standing together 
 and tied with a separate string. She watched 
 him slowly untie them and scan the addresses, 
 grumbling as he did so. Then he came to the 
 last of all and read out : 
 
 " 'Miss Joan Tregenza, Post-Office, Penzance. 
 To be left until called for.' " 
 
 "Mine, mine, sir! I knawed 'e'd have it! I 
 knawed as the kind, good — " 
 
 Then she stopped and grew red, while the 
 clerk looked at her curiously and then yawned. 
 "What's a draggle-tailed chit like her got to do 
 with such a thing?" he wondered, and then 
 spoke to Joan :
 
 218 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "Here you are; and you must sign this paper 
 — it's a registered letter." 
 
 Joan, her hand shaking with excitement, 
 printed her name where he directed, thanked 
 the man with a smile that softened him, and 
 then hastened away. 
 
 The girl was faint with hunger and happiness 
 before she reached home. She did not dare to 
 open the letter just then, but took it from her 
 pocket a dozen times before she reached Newlyn 
 and feasted her eyes on her own name, very 
 beautifully and legibly printed. He had written 
 it! His precious hand had held the pen and 
 formed each letter. 
 
 Deep, wordless thanks welled up in Joan's 
 heart, for God was not very far away, after all. 
 He had heard her prayer already, and answered 
 it within an hour. No doubt it was easy for 
 Him to grant such a little prayer. It could be 
 nothing much to God that one small creature 
 should enjoy such happiness; but what seemed 
 wonderful was that He should have any time to 
 listen at all, that He should have been able to 
 turn from the mighty business of the great 
 awakening world and give a thought to her. 
 
 "Sure 'twas the lil lark as the good Lard 
 heard, an' my asking as went up-long wi' en," 
 said Joan to herself. 
 
 She found her father at home and the family 
 just about to take breakfast. Gray Michael had 
 returned somewhat unexpectedly, with a fine 
 catch, and did not intend sailing again before 
 the evening tide. A somewhat ominous silence
 
 LYING PROPHETS 211) 
 
 greeted the girl, a silence which her father was 
 the first to break. 
 
 "Ayte your food, my lass, an' then come in 
 the garden 'long with me," he said. "I do want 
 a word with 'e, an' things must be said which 
 I've put off the sayin' of tu long. So be quick's 
 you can." 
 
 But this sauce did not spoil the girl's enjoy- 
 ment of her porridge and treacle. She ate 
 heartily, and her happy humor seemed catching, 
 at least so far as Tom was concerned. A bright 
 color warmed Joan's cheek ; the cloud that had 
 dimmed her eyes was there no longer ; and more 
 than once Mr. Tregenza looked at his wife in- 
 quiringly, for the tale she had been telling of 
 Joan's recent moods and disorder was at vari- 
 ance with her present spirits and appetite. After 
 breakfast she went to her room while her father 
 waited ; and then it was that Joan snatched a 
 moment to open John Barron's letter. There 
 would be no time to read it then, she knew : 
 that delicious task must take many hours of 
 loving labor ; but she wanted to count the pages 
 and see "Mister Jan's" name at the end. She 
 knew that crosses meant kisses, too. There 
 might be crosses somewhere. So she opened the 
 envelope in a fever of joyous excitement, being 
 careful, however, not to tear a letter of the 
 superscription. And from it there came a fat, 
 folded pile of tissue paper. Joan knew it was 
 money, and flung it on her bed and fumbled 
 with sinking heart for something better. But 
 there was nothing else— only ten pieces of tissue-
 
 2580 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 paper. She remembered seeing her father with 
 similar pieces; and her mother saying there waf 
 nothing like Bank of England notes. But they 
 had been crumpled and dirty, these were snowy 
 white. Each had a hundred pounds marked 
 upon it; and Joan was aware that ten times 
 a hundred is a thousand. But a thousand 
 pounds possessed no more real meaning for her 
 than a million of money does for the average 
 man. She could not estimate its significance in 
 the least or gauge its possibilities. Only she 
 knew that she would far rather have had a few 
 words from "Mister Jan" than all the money in 
 the world. 
 
 Mr. Tregenza's voice below broke in upon the 
 girl's disappointment, and, hastily hiding the 
 money under some linen in a little chest of 
 drawers, where the picture of Joe's ship was 
 also concealed, she hurried to join her father. 
 But the empty envelope, with her name printed 
 on it, she put into her pocket that it might be 
 near her. 
 
 Joan did not for an instant gather what 
 meaning lay under this great gift of money, and 
 to her the absence of a letter was no more than 
 a passing sorrow. She read nothing between 
 the lines of this silence; she only saw that he 
 had not forgotten, and only thought that he 
 perhaps imagined such vast sums of money 
 would give her pleasure and make the waiting 
 easier. What were banknotes to Joan? "What 
 was life to her away from him? She sighed, 
 and fell back upon the thought of his wisdom
 
 LYING PROPHETS 221 
 
 and knowledge. He must be in the right to de- 
 lay, because he was always in the right. A let- 
 ter would presently come to explain why he had 
 sent the money and to treat of his return. The 
 girl felt that she had much to thank God for, 
 after all. He had sent her the letter; He had 
 answered her prayer in His own way. It ill 
 became her, she thought, to question more 
 deeply. She must wait and be patient, how- 
 ever hard the waiting. 
 
 So thinking, she joined her father. Tom was 
 away up the village, Mrs. Tregenza found plenty 
 to occupy her mind and body indoors; Joan and 
 Mr. Tregenza had the garden to themselves. 
 He was silent until they reached the wicket, 
 then, going through it, he led the way slowly 
 up a hill which wound above the neighboring- 
 stone quarry; and as he w r alked he addressed 
 Joan. She, weary enough already, prayed that 
 her parent intended going no further than the 
 summit of the hill ; but when he spoke she for- 
 got physical fatigue, for his manner was short 
 and stern. 
 
 "Theer's things bein' hid 'twixt you an' me, 
 darter, an' 'tis time you spoke up. Every par- 
 ent's got some responsibility in the matter of his 
 cheel's sawl, an', if theer's aught to knaw, 'tis 
 I must hear it. 'The faither waketh for the 
 darter when no man knaweth,' sez the Preacher, 
 an' he never wrote nothin' truer. I've waked 
 for you, Joan. 'Keep a sure watch over a 
 shameless darter,' so/ the Preacher agin; but 
 God forbid vou'm that. Awnly you'm alius
 
 222 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 wool-gatherin', an' roamin', an' wastin' time. 
 An' time wance squandered do never come 
 agin. I hear tell this has been gwaine forrard 
 since Joe went to sea. What's the matter with 
 'e? Say it out plain an' straight an' now this 
 minute." 
 
 Joan had particularly prayed by the Madron 
 altar that the Everlasting would keep her from 
 lying. She remembered the fact as her father 
 put his question; and she also recollected that 
 John Barron had told her to say nothing about 
 their union until he returned to her. So she lied 
 again, and that the more readily because Gra} r 
 Michael's manner of asking his question put a 
 reasonable answer into her head. 
 
 "I s'pose as it might be I'm wisht 'cause o' 
 Joe Noy, faither." 
 
 "Then look 'e to it an' let it cease. Joe's in 
 the hand o' the Lard same as we be. He's got 
 to work out his salvation in fear an' tremblin' 
 same as us. Some do the Lard's work ashore, 
 some afloat, some — sich as me — do it by land an' 
 sea both. You doan't work Joe no good traps- 
 ing 'bout inland, here, theer, an' everywheers; 
 an' j r ou do yourself harm, 'cause it makes 'e 
 oneasy an' restless. Mendin' holes an' washin' 
 clothes an' prayin' to the Lard to 'a' mercy on 
 your sinful sawl's what you got to do. Also 
 learnin' to cook 'gainst the time you'm a wife 
 an' the mother o' childern, if God so wills. But 
 this ban't no right wa3 T o' life for any wan, 
 gentle or simple, so mend it. A gad-about, lazy 
 female's hell-meat in any station. Theer's
 
 LYING PROPHETS 223 
 
 enough of 'em as 'tis, wi'in the edge o' Cam- 
 wall tu. What was you doin' this marnin'? 
 Mother sez 'er heard you stirrin' 'fore the 
 birds." 
 
 "I went out a long walk to think, faither." 
 
 "What 'e want to think 'bout? Your plaace 
 is to du, not to think. God'll think for 'e if 'e 
 ax; an' the sooner you mind that an' call 'pon 
 the A'mighty the better; 'cause the Devil's 
 ready an' willin' to think for 'e tu. Read the 
 Book more an' look about 'e less. Man's eyes, 
 an' likewise maid's, is best 'pon the ground most 
 time. Theer's no evil writ theer. The brain of 
 man an' woman imagineth ill nearly alius, for 
 why? 'Cause they looks about an' sees it. Evil 
 comes in through the eyes of 'em ; evil's pasted 
 large 'pon every dead wall in Newlyn. Read 
 the Book — 'tis all summed up in that. You've 
 gotten a power o' your mother in 'e yet. Not 
 but you've bin a good darter thus far, save for 
 back-slidin' in the past; but I saved your sawl 
 then, thanks be to the voice o' God in me, an' I 
 saved your mother's sawl, though theer was tidy 
 wraslin' for her; an' I'll save yourn yet if you'll 
 do your paart." 
 
 Here Gray Michael paused and turned home- 
 ward, while Joan congratulated herself upon the 
 fact that a conversation which promised to be 
 difficult had ended so speedily and without mis- 
 fortune. Then her father asked her another 
 question. 
 
 "An' what's this I hear tell 'bout you bein' 
 poorh'? You do look so well as ever ( knawed
 
 224 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 -e, but mother sez you'm that cranky with vittles 
 as you never was afore, an' wrong inside like- 
 wise." 
 
 "Ban't nothin', faither. Tis awver an' done. 
 I ate tu much or some sich thing an' I be bonny 
 well agin now." 
 
 "Doan't be thinkin' then. 'Tis all brain-sick- 
 ness, I'll lay. I doan't want no doctor's traade 
 in my 'ouse if us can keep it outside. The 
 Lard's my doctor. Keep your sawl clean, an' 
 the Lard'll watch your body. 'E's said as 
 much. 'E knaws we'm poor trashy worms an' 
 even a breath o' foul air'll take our lives onless 
 'E be by to filter it. Faith's the awnly medi- 
 cine worth usin'." 
 
 Joan remembered her morning bath and felt 
 comforted by this last reflection. Had she not 
 already found the magic result? For a moment 
 she thought of telling her father what she had 
 done, but she changed her mind. Such faith as 
 that would have brought nothing but wrath 
 upon her. 
 
 While Mr. Tregenza improved the hour and 
 uttered various precepts for his daughter's help 
 and guidance, Thomasin was occupied at home 
 with grave thoughts respecting Joan. She 
 more than suspected the truth from signs of 
 indisposition full of meaning to a mother; but 
 while duly mentioning the girl's illness, Mrs. 
 Tregenza did not dare to breathe the color of her 
 own explanation. She prayed to God in all 
 honesty to prove her wrong, but her lynx eyes 
 waited to read the truth she feared. If things
 
 LYING PROPHETS 225 
 
 were really so with Joan, then they could not be 
 hid from her eyes much longer; and in the event 
 of her suspicions proving correct, Mrs. Tregenza 
 told herself, as a right Luke Gospeler, she must 
 proclaim her horrid discovery and let the per- 
 dition of her husband's daughter be generally 
 made manifest. She knew so many were called, 
 so few chosen. No girl had ever been more 
 surely called than Joan: her father's trumpet 
 tongue had thundered the ways of righteousness 
 into her ears from her birth; but, after all, it 
 began to look as though she was not chosen. 
 The circumstance, of course, if proved, would 
 rob her of every Luke Gospeler's regard. No 
 weak pandering with sentiment and sin was per- 
 mitted in that fold. And Mrs. Tregenza had 
 little pit}^ herself for unfortunate or mistaken 
 women. Let a girl lose her character and 
 Thomasin usually refused to hear any plea of 
 mercy from any source. Only once did she find 
 extenuating circumstances: in a case where h, 
 ruined farmer's daughter brought an action for 
 breach of promise and won it, with heavy dam- 
 ages. But money acted in a peculiar way with 
 this woman. It put her conscience and her 
 judgment out of focus, softened the outlines of 
 events, furnished excuses for unusual practices, 
 gilded with a bright lining even the blackest 
 cloud of wrongdoing. Where Mrs. Tregenza 
 could see money she could see light. Money 
 made her charitable, broad-minded, even toler- 
 ant. She kuew she loved it, and was careful to 
 keep the fact out of Gray Michael's sight as far
 
 22(5 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 as possible. She held the purse, and he felt that 
 it was in good hands, but cautioned her from 
 time to time against the awful danger of letting 
 a lust for this world's wealth come between the 
 soul and God. 
 
 And now a course long indicated in Thom- 
 asin's mind was being by her pursued. Having 
 convinced herself that under the present circum- 
 stances any step to found or dispel her fears 
 concerning Joan would be just and proper, she 
 took the exceptional one of searching the girl's 
 little room while her stepdaughter was out with 
 Michael. Even as Mr. Tregenza turned to go 
 homeward again, his wife stood in the midst of 
 Joan's small sanctuary, and cast keen, inquiring 
 eyes about her. She rarely visited the apart- 
 ment, and had not been in it for six months. 
 Now she came to set doubt at rest if possible, 
 or confirm it. Her own secret opinion was that 
 Joan had come to serious trouble with her 
 superiors. In that case letters, presents or 
 tokens had probably passed into her hands; and, 
 if such existed, in this room they would be. 
 
 "God send as I'm makin' a mistake an' 
 shaan't find nothin' 'tall," said Mrs. Tregenza 
 to herself. And then she began her scrutiny.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 227 
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 THE TRUTH 
 
 Thomasin saw that all things about Joan's 
 room were neat, spotless, and in order. For 
 one brief moment a sense of disquiet at the ac- 
 tion before her touched the woman's heart and 
 head ; but duty alike to her husband and her step- 
 daughter demanded the search in her opinion. 
 Should there be nothing to find, so much the 
 better; if, on the other hand, matters affecting 
 Joan's temporal and eternal welfare were here 
 hidden, then they could not be uncovered too 
 quickly. She looked first through the girl's lit- 
 tle wooden trunk, the key of which was in the 
 lock, but nothing save a childish treasure or two 
 rewarded Mrs. Tregenza here. In a broken 
 desk, which had belonged to her mother, Joan 
 kept a few Christmas cards, and two silhouettes: 
 one of Uncle Thomas, of Drift, one of Mary 
 Chirgwin. Here were also some cooking recipes 
 copied in her mother's writing, an agate marble 
 which Joan had found on Penzance beach, lav- 
 ender tied up in a bag, and an odd toy that soft- 
 ened Thomasin's heart not a little as she picked 
 it up and looked at it. The thing brought back 
 to her memory a time four years earlier. It
 
 228 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 was a small, grotesque figure on wires, built up 
 of chestnuts and acorns with a hazel-nut for its 
 head and black pins stuck in for the eyes. She 
 remembered Tom making it and giving it to 
 Joan on her birthday. Then the memory of 
 Joan's love for Tom from the time he was born 
 came like a glow of sunshine into the mother's 
 heart, and for a moment she was minded to re- 
 linquish her unpleasant task upon the spot; but 
 she changed her intention again and proceeded. 
 The box held little else save a parcel of old 
 clothes tied up with rosemary in brown paper. 
 These the woman surveyed curiously, and knew, 
 without being told, that they had belonged to 
 Joan's mother. For some reason the spectacle 
 killed sentiment and changed her mood. She 
 shut down the box, and then, going to the chest 
 of drawers, pulled out each compartment in 
 turn. Nothing but Joan's apparel and her 
 few brooches and trinkets appeared here. The 
 history of each and all was familiar to Mrs. Tre- 
 genza. But on reaching the bottom drawer of 
 the chest, she found it locked and the key ab- 
 sent. To continue her search, however, was 
 not difficult. Nothing separated the drawers, 
 and by removing that above the last, the con- 
 tents of the lowest lay at her mercy. It was 
 full of linen for the most part, but hidden at the 
 bottom, Thomasin made a discoveiy, and found 
 certain matters which at once spoke of tremen- 
 dous mystery, and, to her mind, indicated the 
 nature of it. First she came upon the little pict- 
 ure of Joe's ship in its rough gildod frame. This
 
 LYING PROPHETS 229 
 
 might be an innocent gift from borne of the 
 young men who had asked in the past to be al- 
 lowed to paint Joan and received a curt nega- 
 tive from Gray Michael. But the other dis- 
 covery meant more. Pushing her hand about 
 the drawer she found a pile of paper, felt the 
 crackle of it, and pulled it eagerly to the light. 
 Then, and before she learned the grandeur of 
 the sum, she was seized with a sudden palpita- 
 tion and sat down on Joan's bed. Her mouth 
 grew full as a hungry man's before a feast, her 
 lips were wet, her hand shook as she opened and 
 spread the notes. Then she counted them and 
 sat gasping like a landed fish. Thomasin had 
 never seen so much money before in her life. 
 A thousand pounds! Unlike Joan, to whom 
 the sum conveyed no significance, Mrs. Tre- 
 genza could estimate it. Her mind reached 
 that far, and the bank-notes, for her, lay just 
 within the estimation of avarice. Every snowy 
 fragment meant a hundred pounds — a hundred 
 sovereigns — two hundred ten-shilling pieces. 
 The first shock overpast, and long before she 
 grew sufficiently calm to associate the treasure 
 with its possessor, Mrs. Tregenza began spend- 
 ing in her mind's eye. The points in house and 
 garden, outhouse and sty, whereon money might 
 be advantageously expended, rose up one after 
 the other. Then she put aside eight hundred 
 and fifty out of the grand total and pictured her- 
 self taking it to the bank. She thought of a 
 nest-egg that would "goody" against the time 
 Tom should grow into a man; she saw herself
 
 230 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 among the neighbors, pointed at, whispered of 
 as a woman with hundreds and hundreds of 
 pounds put by ; she saw the rows of men sitting- 
 basking about in Newlyn, as their custom is 
 when off the sea; and she heard them drop 
 words of admiration at the sight of her. Pres- 
 ently, however, this gilded vision vanished, 
 and she began to connect the money with Joan. 
 She solved the mystery then with a brutal direct- 
 ness which hit the mark in one direction; as to 
 the source of the money, but went wide of it 
 in some measure upon the subject of the girl. 
 Thomasin held briefly that her stepdaughter had 
 fallen, and now, knowing her condition, had in- 
 formed some man of it, with the result that 
 from him came this unutterable gift. That the 
 money made an enormous difference to Mrs. 
 Tregenza's mental attitude must be confessed. 
 She found herself fashioning absolute excuses 
 for Joan. Girls so often came to ill through no 
 fault of their own. The man must at least have 
 been a gentleman to pay for his pleasure in four 
 figures. Four figures ! Here she stopped think- 
 ing in order to picture the vision of a unit fol- 
 lowed by three ciphers. Then she marveled as 
 to what manner of man he was w T ho could send 
 a girl like Joan a thousand pounds. She never 
 heard of such a price for the value received. 
 Her respect for Joan began to increase when 
 she realized that the money was hers. Probably 
 there was even more where that came from. 
 "Anyway," she reflected, "it ban't no use cry- 
 in' ower spilt milk. "What's done's done. An'
 
 LYING PROPHETS 231 
 
 a thousand pounds'll go long ways to softenin' 
 the road. She might travel up-long to Truro to 
 my cousin an' bide quiet theer till arter, an' no 
 harm done, poor lass. When all's said, us 
 knaws the Lard Hissel weer mighty easy wi' 
 the like o' she, an' worser wenches tu. But 
 Michael — God A'mighty knaws he won't be 
 easy. She'm a damned wummon, I s'pose, 
 but she's got to live through 'er life here — 
 damned or saved; an' she's got a thousand 
 pound to do't with. A terrible braave dollop 
 o' money, sure 'nough. To think 'ow 'ard a 
 man's got to work 'fore he earns five of 'em!" 
 But her imagination centered upon Gray 
 Michael now, and she almost forgot the bank- 
 notes for a moment. She thought of his agonj- 
 and trembled for the result. He might strike 
 Joan down and kill her. The man's anger 
 against evil-doers was always a terrific thing; 
 and he had no idea of the value of money. She 
 hazarded guesses at the course he would pursue, 
 and each idea was blacker than the last. Then 
 Thomasin fell to wondering what Michael would 
 be likely to do with the money. She sighed at 
 this thought, and then she grew pale at the 
 imaginary spectacle of her husband tearing the 
 devil-sent notes to pieces and scattering them 
 over the cliff to the sea. This horrible possibil- 
 ity stung her to another train of ideas. Might 
 it be within her power to win Joan's secret, 
 share it, and keep it from the father? Her 
 pluck, however, gave way when she looked a 
 little deeper into the future. She would have
 
 232 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 done most things in her power for a thousand 
 pounds, but she would not have dared any 
 treachery to Michael. The woman put the 
 notes together and stroked them and listened 
 to the rustle of them and rubbed her hard cheek 
 with them. Then, looking from the little win- 
 dow of Joan's garret, she saw the girl herself 
 approaching with Mr. Tregenza. They were 
 nearly home again, so Thomasin returned the 
 money and the picture to their places in the 
 chest of drawers, smoothed the bed, where she 
 had been sitting for half an hour, and went 
 downstairs still undetermined as to a course of 
 action. 
 
 Before dinner was eaten, however, she had 
 decided that her husband must know the truth. 
 Even her desire toward the money cooled before 
 the prospect of treachery to him. Fear had 
 something to do with this decision, but the wo- 
 man's own principles were strong. It is un- 
 likely that in any case they would have broken 
 down. She sent Joan on an errand to the vil- 
 lage after the meal was ended; and upon her 
 departure addressed her husband hurriedly. 
 
 "You said I was 'mazed to dinner, an' so I 
 was. I've gotten bad news for 'e, Michael, 
 touchin' Joan." 
 
 "No more o' that, mother," he answered, 
 "I've talked wi' she an' said a word in season. 
 She'm well in body an' be gwaine to turn a new 
 leaf, so theer's an end o' the matter." 
 
 "'Tedn' so," she declared, "I've bin in the 
 gal's room an' I've found — but you bide here
 
 LYING PROPHETS 233 
 
 an' I'll bring 'em to 'e. Hold yourself back, 
 Michael, for us caan't say nothin' sure till us 
 knavvs the truth from Joan." 
 
 "She've tawld me the truth out a walkin' an' 
 I've shawed her the narrer path. What should 
 you find?" 
 
 "Money — no lil come-by-chance neither; more 
 money than ever you or me seed in our born 
 days afore or shall agin." 
 
 "You'm dreamin', vvummon!" he said. 
 
 "God knaws I wishes it weer so," she an- 
 swered, and went once more to Joan's room. 
 
 Gray Michael was walking up and down the 
 kitchen when she returned, and Thomasin said 
 nothing, but put money and picture upon the 
 table. Her husband fought with himself a mo- 
 ment, as it appeared, then seemed to pra3 T a 
 while, standing still with his hand pressed over 
 his eyes, and finally sat himself down beside the 
 things which Thomasin had brought. 
 
 "I'd no choice but to tell 'e," she said. 
 
 Gray Michael's eyes were on the picture and 
 utter astonishment appeared in them. 
 
 "Why! 'tis Joe Noy's ship. Us seed her off 
 the islands, outward bound ! He might 'a' gived 
 it her hisself surely?" 
 
 "But t'other thing; the money. Count them 
 notes. Noy never gived Joan them." 
 
 He spread the parcel, counted the money, and 
 sat back thunderstruck. 
 
 "God in heaven! A thousan' pound, an' 
 notes as never went through no dirty hands 
 neither! What do it mean?"
 
 234 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "How should I tell what it means? 1 found 
 the whole fortune hid beneath her smickets. 
 Lard knaws how she corned by it. What have 
 the likes o' she to give for money?" 
 
 "What do 'e mean by that?" he blazed out, 
 rising to his feet and clinching his fists. 
 
 "Ax your darter. Do 'e think I'd dare to say 
 a word onless I was sartain sure? You'd smash 
 me, your own wife, if I weer wrong, like enough. 
 I ban't wrong. Joan's wi' cheel or I never was. 
 Maybe that thraws light on the money, maybe 
 it doan't. I did pray as it might 'a' corned out to 
 be her man at sea. But you'll find it weern't. 
 God help 'e, Michael, my heart do bleed for 'e. 
 Can 'e find it in 'e to be merciful same as the 
 Lard in like case, or — ?" 
 
 He raised his hand to stop her. He was sit- 
 ting back in his chair with a face that had grown 
 gray even to the skin, with eyes that looked out 
 at nothing. There was a moment's silence save 
 for the tall clock in the corner ; then Tregenza 
 brushed beads of water off his forehead and 
 dried his hand on his trousers. He raised his 
 eyes to the roof and gripped his hands together 
 on his chest and slowly spoke a text which his 
 wife had heard upon his lips before, but only at 
 times of deep concern or emotion. 
 
 " 'The Lard is king, be the people never so 
 impatient ; He sitteth between the cherubims, be 
 the airth never so unquiet.' " 
 
 Few saw any particular meaning in this quo- 
 tation applied in moments of stress, as Michael 
 usually employed it; but to the man it was a
 
 LYINC4 PROPHETS 235 
 
 supreme utterance, the last word to be spoken in 
 the face of all the evil and wickedness of the 
 world. Come what might, God still reigned in 
 heaven. 
 
 He spoke aloud thus far, and afterward, by 
 the movement of his beard and lip, Thomasin 
 could see he was still talking or praying. 
 
 "Let the Lard lead 'e, husband, in this hard 
 pass," she said. " 'Vengeance is Mine,' the Book 
 sez." 
 
 He turned his eyes upon her. His brows were 
 dragged down upon them; he had brushed his 
 gray hair like bristles upright on Ins head ; across 
 the mighty wall of his forehead jagged cross- 
 lines were stamped, like the broken strata over 
 a cliff -face. 
 
 "Ay, you say it. Vengeance be God's awn, 
 an' mercy be God's awn. 'Tedn' for no man to 
 meddle wi' them. Us caan't be aught but just. 
 She'll have justice from me — no more'n that. 
 "lis all wan now. Wanton or no wanton, she've 
 flummoxed me this day. The giglot lied an' said 
 the thing that was not. She'm not o' the King- 
 dom — the fust Tregenza as ever lied — the fust." 
 
 "God send it edn' as bad as it do look, mas- 
 ter. 'Er caracter belike ban't gone. S'pose as 
 she'm married?" 
 
 "Hould your clack, wummon. I be thinkin'." 
 
 He was thinking, indeed. In the face of this 
 discovery, the ghost of an idea, which had 
 haunted Gray Michael's mind more than once 
 during the upbringing of Joan, returned a 
 greater and more pronounced shadow than ever
 
 236 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 before. The conviction carried truth stamped 
 upon it from the standpoint of his present horrid 
 knowledge. To an outsider his thought had ap- 
 peared absolutely devilish, to the man himself it 
 was as a buoy thrown to one drowning. The 
 belief flooded his mind, swept him away, con- 
 vinced him. Its nature presently appeared as 
 he answered Thomasin. She was still thinking 
 of the thousand pounds. 
 
 "Theer's no word in the Book agin mercy, 
 Michael. Joan's your awn darter — fro ward or 
 not fro ward." 
 
 "You'm wrong theer," he said. He was now 
 cool and quiet. "I did think so wance; I did 
 tell her so when us walked not two hour agone. 
 Now I sees differ'nt. She'm none o' mine. 
 She'm no Tregenza. Be Nature, as made us 
 God-fearin' to a man, to a wummon, to a cheel, 
 gwaine to lie after generations 'pon generations? 
 Look back at them as bred me, an' them as bred 
 them — back, an' back, an' back. All Tregenzas 
 was o* the Lard's harvest; an' should I, as 
 feared God more'n any o' 'em, an' fought for 
 the Lard of Hosts 'fore I was higher'n this table 
 — should I — Michael Tregenza, breed a damned 
 sawl? The thot's corned black an' terrible 'pon 
 my mind 'fore to-day; an' I've put en away 
 from me, judgin' 'twas the devil. Now I knaw 
 'twas God spoke; now I knaw that her's none 
 o' my gettin'. 'Who honoreth his faither shall 
 'a' joy o' his awn childern. ' Shall I, as weer 
 a pattern son, be cussed wi' a strumpet for a 
 darter?"
 
 LYING PROPHETS 237 
 
 "You'm speakin' a hard thing o' dead bones, 
 then. The Chirgwins is upland folks o' long 
 standin', knawn so far as the Land's End, an' 
 up Drift an' down Lizard likewise." 
 
 "She've lied to me," was his answer; "she've 
 lied oftentimes; she'm false to whatever I did 
 teach her; she've sawld herself — she've — no 
 more on it — no more on it but awnly this : I 
 call 'pon God A' mighty to bear witness she'm 
 no Tregenza — never — never." 
 
 " 'Tweer her mother in the gal; but doan't 'e 
 say more 'bout that, Michael. Poor dear sawl, 
 she'm dead an' gone, an' she loved 'e wi' all her 
 'eart, as I, what knawed her, can testif } T to. ' ' 
 
 "No more o' that," he said, "the gal's com- 
 in\ Thank God she ban't no cheel o' mine — 
 thank God, as 'ave tawld me 'tedn' so. He 
 whispered it, an' I put it away an' away. Now 
 I knaws. You bide here, Thorn asin Tregenza, 
 and I'll speak what's fittin'." 
 
 Thus in one moment this hideous conviction 
 was stamped upon the man's soul for life. He 
 judged the dead mother by the daughter and 
 visited the child's sin upon the parent's memory. 
 Any conclusion more monstrous, more directly 
 opposed to every natural instinct, can hardly 
 be conceived, but the man had been strangling 
 natural instincts for fifty years. Only pride of 
 family remained. There were but few Tre- 
 trenzas left and soon there would be none un- 
 less Tom carried on the name. Michael was 
 the quintessence of the Tregenza spirit, the fruit 
 of generations, the high- water mark. He stood
 
 238 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 on that giddy pinnacle which has religious mania 
 for its precipice. To damn a dead woman was 
 easier than to accept a wanton daughter. Bet- 
 ter an unfaithful wife than that any soul born of 
 Tregenza blood should be lost. So he washed 
 his hands of both, thanking God, who had 
 launched the truth into his mind at last ; and 
 then he rose to his feet as Joan entered the 
 room. 
 
 She stood for a moment in the doorway with 
 her blue eyes fixed in amazement upon the 
 kitchen table. Then she grew very red to the 
 roots of her hair and came forward. There was 
 almost a joy in her mind that the long story of 
 falsehood must end at last. She did not fear 
 her father now and looked up into his face quite 
 calmly as she approached the table. 
 
 "These be mine," she said. "Was it you, 
 faither, as took 'em from wheer they was?" 
 
 " 'Twas me, Joan," answered Mrs. Tregenza; 
 "an' I judge the Lard led me." 
 
 The girl stood erect and scornful. 
 
 "I'm glad you found them; now I can tell the 
 truth." 
 
 "Truth!" thundered Michael. "Truth— what 
 do you knaw 'bout Truth, darter o' Baal? Your 
 life's a lie, your tongue's rotten in your mouth 
 wi' lyin'. Never look in no honest faace 
 agin ! ' ' 
 
 "You'd do best to bide still while I tell 'e what 
 this here means," said Joan quietly. The man's 
 anger alarmed her no more than the squeak of 
 a caged rat. "I ban't no darter o' Baal, an' the
 
 LYING PROPHETS 239 
 
 money's come by honest. I've lied afore, but 
 never shall again. An' I've let Joe go 'is ways 
 thinkin' I loved en, which I doan't. I be tokened 
 to a furriner from London, an' he's took me for 
 his awn, an' he be gwaine to come down-long 
 mighty soon an' take me away. But I couldn't 
 tell 'e nothin' of that 'cause he bid me keep my 
 mouth shut. Sotheer. " 
 
 " 'Took 'e for 'is awn'! Wheer is he, then? 
 "Why be you here?" 
 
 "He'm comin', I tell 'e. He'm a true man, 
 an' he shawed me what 'tis to love." 
 
 "Bought you, you damned harlot!" 
 
 She knew the word was vile, but a shred of 
 John Barron's philosophy supported her. 
 
 "My awnly sin is I've lied to you, faither; 
 an' you've no right to call me evil names." 
 
 "Never call me faither no more, lewd slut! I 
 be no faither o' thine, nor never was. God A'- 
 mighty! a Tregenza a wanton! I'd rather cut 
 my hand off than b'lieve it so. It's this — this 
 — blood -money — the price o' a damned sawl! 
 No more lyin'. I knaw — I knaw — an' the pick- 
 sher — the ship of a true man. It did ought to 
 break your heart to see it, if you had wan. A 
 devil-spawned painting feller, in coorse. An' 
 his black heart happy an' content 'cause he've 
 sent this filth. You stare, wi' your mother's 
 eyes— you stare, an' stare. Hell's yawning for 
 'e, wretched wummon, an' for him as brot 'e to 
 it!" 
 
 "He doan't believe in hell, no more doan't 
 I," said Joan calmly; "an' ii ban't a faitUer's
 
 240 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 plaace to damn's awn flaish an' blood no 
 way." 
 
 "Never name me thy faither no more! I 
 ban't your faither, I tell 'e, an' I do never mean 
 to see thy faace agin. Go wheer you'm minded ; 
 but get 'e gone from here. Tramp the broad 
 road with the crowd — the narrer path's closed 
 agin 'e. And this — this — let it burn same as 
 him what sent it will." 
 
 He picked up the note nearest to him, 
 crumpled it into a ball and flung it upon the 
 fire. 
 
 "Michael, Michael!" cried his wife, rushing 
 forward, "for God's love, what be doin' of? 
 The money ban't damned; the money's hon- 
 est!" 
 
 But Joan did more than speak. As the gift 
 flamed quickly up, then sunk to gray ash, a 
 tempest of passion carried her out of herself. 
 She trembled in her limbs, grew deadly pale, 
 and flew at her father like a tigress. No evil 
 word had ever crossed her lips till then, though 
 they had echoed in her ears often enough. But 
 now thej^ jumped to her tongue, and she cursed 
 Graj 7 Michael and tore the rest of the money out 
 of his hand so quickly that his intention of burn- 
 ing it was frustrated. 
 
 "It's mine, it's mine, blast you ! ' ' she screamed 
 like a fury, "what right have you to steal it? 
 It's mine — gived me by wan whose shoe you 
 ban't worthy to latch! He's shawed me what 
 you be, an' the likes o' you, wi' your hell-fire 
 an' prayin' .an' sour looks. I ban't af eared 'o
 
 LYING PROPHETS 241 
 
 you no more — none o' you. I be sick o' the 
 smeech o' your God. 'Er's a poor thing along- 
 side o' mine an' Mister Jan's. I'll gaw, I'll 
 gaw so far away as ever I can; an' I'll never 
 call 'e my faither agin, s'elp me God!" 
 
 Mrs. Tregenza had thanked Providence under 
 her breath when Joan rescued the notes, but 
 now, almost for the first time, she realized that 
 her own interest in this pile of money was as 
 nothing. Every penny belonged to her step- 
 daughter, and her stepdaughter evidently meant 
 to keep it. This discovery hit her hard, and 
 now the bitterness came forth in a flood of words 
 that tumbled each over the other and stung like 
 hornets as they settled. 
 
 Gray Michael's broadside had roared harm- 
 lessly over Joan's erect head; Thomasin's small 
 shot did not miss the mark. She was furious; 
 her husband stood dumb; her virago tongue 
 hissed the truth; and Joan, listening, knew 
 that it was the truth. 
 
 No matter what the elder woman said. She 
 missed no vile word of them all. She called 
 Joan every name that chills the ear of the fallen; 
 and she explained the meaning of her expres- 
 sions; she bid the girl take herself and the love- 
 child within her from out the sight of honest 
 folks ; she told her the man had turned his back 
 forever, that only the ashj' road of the ruined 
 remained for her to tread. And that was how 
 the great news that Nature had looked upon her 
 for a mother came to Joan Tregenza. Here was 
 Ihi' riddle of the mysterious voice unraveled;
 
 242 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 here was the secret of her physical sorrows 
 made clear. She looked wildly from one to 
 the other — from the man to the woman; then 
 she tottered a step away, clutching her money 
 and her little picture to her breast; and then 
 she rolled over, a huddled, senseless heap, upon 
 the floor.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 243 
 
 CHAPTER BIX 
 
 DRIFT 
 
 When J oan recovered consciousness she found 
 her head and neck wet where her stepmother had 
 flung cold water over her. Thomasin was at 
 that moment burning a feather under her nose, 
 but she stopped and withdrew it as the girl's 
 eyes opened. 
 
 "Theer, now you'll be well by night. He've 
 gone aboard. Best to change your go wnd, for 
 'tis wetted. Then I'll tell 'e what 'er said. 
 Can 'e get upstairs?" 
 
 Joan rose slowly and went with swimming 
 brain to her room. She still held her picture 
 and her money. She took off her wet clothes, 
 then sat down upon her bed to think ; and as her 
 mind grew clear, there crept through the gloomy 
 shadows of the past tragedy a joy. It lightened 
 her heart a moment, then vanished again, like 
 the moon blotted suddenly from the sky by a 
 rack of storm-cloud. Joan was full of the 
 stupendous news. The shock of hearing her 
 most unsuspected condition had indeed stricken 
 her insensible, but it was the surprise of it more 
 than the dismay. Now she viewed the circum- 
 stance with uncertainty, not knowing the atti-
 
 244 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 tude "Mister Jan" would adopt toward it. She 
 argued with herself long hours, and peace 
 brooded over her at the end; for, as his cher- 
 ished utterances passed in review before her 
 memory, the sense and sum of them seemed to 
 promise well. He would be very glad to share 
 in the little life that was upon the way to earth. 
 He always spoke kindly of children; he had 
 called them the flower-buds in Nature's lap. 
 Yes, he must be glad; and Nature would smile 
 too. Nature knew what it was to be a mother, 
 Joan told herself. She was in Nature's hand 
 henceforth. But her blue eyes grew cold when 
 she thought of the morning. So much for St. 
 Madron and his holy water ; so much for the 
 good angels who her dead parent had told her 
 were forever stretching loving, invisible hands 
 to guard and shield. "Mister Jan's be the 
 awnly God," she thought, "an' He'm tu far 
 aways to mind the likes o' we ; so us must trust 
 to the gert Mother o' the flowers." She ac- 
 cepted the position with an open heart, then 
 turned her thoughts to her loved one. Having 
 now firmly convinced herself that her condition 
 would bring him gratification and draw them 
 still nearer each to the other, Joan yearned un- 
 utterably for his presence. She puzzled her 
 brains to know how she might communicate 
 with him, how hasten his return. She remem- 
 bered that he had once told her his surname, 
 but she could not recollect it now. He had 
 always been "Mister Jan" to her. 
 
 She went down to her supper in the course of
 
 LYING PROPHETS 245 
 
 the evening, and the great matter in her mind 
 was for a while put aside before a present 
 necessity. Action, she found, would be imme- 
 diately required of her. Her father, before 
 going from the kitchen after she had fainted, 
 directed Thomasin to bid her never see his face 
 again. She must depart, according to his di- 
 rection, on the following day ; for the thatched 
 cottage upon the cliff could be her home no more. 
 
 "Theer weern't no time for talkin'; but I lay 
 'er'll sing differ'nt when next ashore. You bide 
 quiet here till 'er's home agin. 'Tain't nachur 
 to bid's awn flaish an' blood go its ways like 
 that. An', 'pears to me, as 'tedn' the law 
 neither. But you bide till he'm back. I be 
 sorry as I spawk so sharp, but you was that 
 bowldacious that my dander brawk loose. Aw 
 Jimmery! to think as you dedn' knaw you was 
 cheeldin'!" 
 
 " 'Twas hearin' so suddint like as made me 
 come over f ainty. ' ' 
 
 "Ate hearty then. An' mind henceforrard 
 you'm feedin' an' drinkin' for two. Best get to 
 bed so soon's you can. Us'll talk 'bout this coil 
 in the marnin'." 
 
 "Us'll talk now. I be off by light. I 'edn' 
 gwaine to stop no more. Faither sez I ban't no 
 cheel o' his an' he doan't want to see my faace 
 agen. Then he shaan't. I'll gaw to them as 
 won't bo 'shamed o' me: my mother's people." 
 
 "Doan't 'e be in no tearin' hurry, Joan," said 
 Mrs. Tregenza, thinking of the money. "Let 
 him, the chap, knaw fust what's come along o'
 
 % HI LYING PROPHETS 
 
 his carneying, an' maybe he'll marry 'e, as you 
 sez, right away. Bide wi' me till you tells en. 
 Let en do what's right an' seemly. That's the 
 shortest road." 
 
 "Iss fay; he'm a true man. But I ban't 
 gwaine to wait for en in this 'ouse. To-morrow 
 I'll send my box up Drift by the fust omblibus 
 as belongs to Staaft, an' walk myself, an' tell 
 Uncle Thomas all's there is to tell. He've got 
 a heart in his breast, an' I'll bide 'long wi' him 
 till Mister Jan do come back." 
 "Wheer's he to now?" 
 
 "To Lunnon. He've gone to make his house 
 vitty for me." 
 
 "Well, best to get Uncle Chirgwin to write to 
 en, oniess you'd like me to do it for 'e." 
 
 "No. He'll do what's right— a proper, braave 
 man." 
 
 "An 'mazin' rich seemin'ly. For the Lard's 
 love, if you'm gwaine up Drift, take care o' all 
 that blessed money. Doan't say no word 'bout 
 it till you'm in the farm, for theer's them — the 
 tinners out o' work an' sich — as *ud knock 'e on 
 the head for half of it. To think as Michael 
 burned a hunderd pound ! Just a nicker o' pur- 
 pley fire an' a hunderd pound gone! 'Tis 
 'nough to make a body rave." 
 
 The girl flushed, and something of her father's 
 stern look seemed reflected in her face. 
 
 "He stawl my money. No, I judge his word 
 be truth : he'm no faither o' mine if the blood in 
 the veins do count for anything." 
 
 Joan went to bed abruptly on this remark,
 
 LYING PROPHETS 247 
 
 and lay awake thinking and wondering through 
 a long night — thinking what she should say to 
 Uncle Chirgwin, wondering when "Mister Jan" 
 was coming back to her, and picturing his ex- 
 citement at her intelligence. In the morning 
 she packed her box, ate her breakfast, and then 
 went into the village to find somebody who 
 would carry her scanty luggage as far as Pen- 
 zance. From there, an omnibus ran through 
 Drift, past Mr. Chirgwin's farmhouse door. 
 Joan herself designed to walk, the distance by 
 road from Newlyn being but trifling. It chanced 
 that the girl met Billy Jago, he who in early 
 spring had cut down an elm tree while John 
 Barron watched. Him Joan knew, for he had 
 worked on her uncle's farm for many years. 
 Mr. Jago, who could be relied upon to do simple 
 offices, undertook the task readily enough and 
 presently arrived with a wheelbarrow. He 
 whined, as ever, about his physical sufferings, 
 but drank a cup of tea with evident enjoyment, 
 then fetched Joan's box from her room and set 
 off with it to meet the public vehicle. Her 
 goods were to be left at Drift, and Joan herself 
 started at an early hour, wishing to be at the 
 farm before her property. She walked in the 
 garden for the last time, marked the magic 
 progress of spring, then took an unemotional 
 leave of her stepmother. 
 
 "There 'edn' no call to leave no message as I 
 can see," said Joan, while she stood at the door. 
 "He ban't my faither, he sez, so I'll take it for 
 truth. But I'll ask you to kiss Tom for me.
 
 248 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Us was alius good brother an' sister, whether or 
 no; an' I loves en dearly." 
 
 "Iss, I knaw. He'll grizzle an' fret proper 
 when he finds you'm gone. Good-by to 'e. 
 May the Lard forgive 'e, an' send your man 
 'long smart; an' for heaven's sake doan't lose 
 them notes." 
 
 "They be safe stawed next to my skin. Uncle 
 Chirgwin'll look to them; an' you needn't be 
 axin' God A'mighty to forgive me, 'cause I 
 abbun done nothin' to want it. I be Nature's 
 cheel now; an' I be in kindly hands. You 
 caan't understand that, but I knaws what I 
 knaws through bein' taught. Good-by to 'e. 
 Maybe us'll see each other bimebye." 
 
 Joan held out her hand and Mrs. Tregenza 
 shook it. Then she stood and watched her step- 
 daughter walk away into Newlyn. The day 
 was cold and unpleasant, with high winds and 
 driving mists. The village looked grayer than 
 usual; the boats were nearly all away; the gulls 
 fluttered in the harbor making their eternal 
 music. Seaward, white horses flecked the 
 leaden water; a steamer hooted hoarsely, loom- 
 ing large under the low, sullen sky, as it came 
 between the pierheads. Presently a scat of heavy 
 rain on a squall of wind shut out the harbor for 
 a time. Mrs. Tregenza waited until Joan had 
 disappeared, then went back to her kitchen, 
 closed the door, sat in Gray Michael's great 
 chair by the hearth, put her apron over her 
 head and wept. But the exact reason for her 
 tears she could not have explained, for she did
 
 LYING PROPHETS 249 
 
 not know it. Mingled emotions possessed her. 
 Disappointment had something to do with this 
 present grief; sorrow for Joan was also respon- 
 sible for it in a measure. That the girl should 
 have asked her to kiss Tom was good, Thomasin 
 thought, and the reflection moved her to further 
 tears; while that Joan was going to put her 
 money into the keeping of a simple old fool like 
 Uncle Chirgwin seemed a highly pathetic cir- 
 cumstance to Mrs. Tregenza. Indeed, the more 
 she speculated upon it the sadder it appeared. 
 
 Meanwhile Joan, leaving Newlyn and turn- 
 ing inland along the little lane which has St. 
 Peter's church and the Newlyn brook upon its 
 right, escaped the wind and found herself walk- 
 ing through an emerald woodland world all 
 wrapped in haze and rain. Past the smelting 
 works, where purple smoke made wonderful 
 color in rising against the young green, over the 
 brook and under the avenue of great elms went 
 Joan. Her heart ached this morning, and she 
 thought of yesterday. It seemed as though a 
 hundred years of experience had passed over her 
 since she knelt by St. Madron's stone altar. 
 She told herself bitterly how much wiser she 
 was to-day, and, so thinking strange thoughts, 
 tramped forward over Buryas Bridge, and faced 
 the winding hill beyond. Then came doubts. 
 Perhaps after all St. Madron had answered her 
 prayer. Else why the underlying joy that now 
 fringed her sorrows with happiness? 
 
 Drift is a place well named, when seen, as 
 then, gray through sad-colored curtains of rain
 
 250 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 on the bare hilltop. But the orchard lauds of 
 the coomb below were fair, and many primroses 
 twinkled in the soaking green of the tall hedge- 
 banks. Joan splashed along through the mud, 
 and presently a lump rose in her throat, born of 
 thoughts. It had seemed nothing to leave the 
 nest on the cliff, and she held her head high and 
 thanked God for a great deliverance. That was 
 less than an hour ago ; yet here, on the last hill 
 to Drift and within sight of the stone houses 
 clustering at the summit, her head sank lower 
 and lower, and it was not the rain which dimmed 
 her eyes. She much doubted the value of further 
 prayers now, yet every frantic hope and aspira- 
 tion found its vent in a petition to her new God, 
 as Joan mounted the hill. She prayed, because 
 she could think of no other way to soothe her 
 heart ; but her mind was very weary and sad — 
 not at the spectacle of the future, for that she 
 knew was going to be fair enough — but at the 
 vision of the past, at the years ended forever, at 
 the early pages of life closed and locked, to be 
 opened again no more. A childhood, mostly 
 quite happy, was over ; she would probably visit 
 the house wherein she was born never again. 
 But even in her sorrow, the girl wondered why 
 she should be sad. 
 
 Mr. Chirgwin's farm fronted the highway, 
 and its gray stone face was separated therefrom 
 by a small and neat patch of garden. Below 
 the house a gate opened into the farmyard, and 
 Uncle Chirgwin's land chiefly sloped away into 
 the coomb behind, though certain fields upon the
 
 LYING PBOPHETS 251 
 
 opposite side of the highroad also pertained to 
 him. The farmhouse was time-stained, and the 
 stone had taken some wealth of color where 
 black and golden lichens fretted it. The slates 
 of the roof shone with wet and reflected a streak 
 of white light that now broke the clouds near 
 the hidden sun. The drippings from the eaves 
 had made a neat row of little regular holes 
 among the crocuses in the garden. Tall jonquils 
 also bent their heads there, heavy with water, 
 and the white violets which stood in patches 
 upon either side of the front door had each a 
 raindrop glimmering within its cup. A japonica 
 splashed one gray wall with crimson blossoms 
 and young green leaves; but, for the rest, this 
 house-front was quite bare. Joan saw Mary 
 Chirgwin's neat hand in the snowy short blinds 
 which crossed the upper windows; and she knew 
 that the geraniums behind the diamond panes of 
 the parlor were her uncle's care. They dwelt 
 indoors, winter and summer, and their lanky, 
 straggling limbs shut out much light. 
 
 The visitor did not go to the front door, 
 whither a narrow path, flanked with handsome 
 masses of "Cornish diamonds," or quartz crys- 
 tals, directly led from the wicket, but entered at 
 a larger gate which led into the farmyard. 
 Here cattle-byres and shippons ranged snugly 
 on three sides of an open space, their venerable 
 slates yellow with lichens, their thatches green 
 with moss. In the center of the yard a great 
 manure heap made comfortable lying for pigs 
 and poultry; while the farmhouse stretched
 
 252 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 back upon the fourth side. Another gate opened 
 beyond it, and led to the land upon the sloping; 
 hill and in the valley below. Joan passed a row 
 of cream pans, shining like frosted silver in the 
 mist, then turned from the bleak and dripping 
 world. The kitcheu door was open, and revealed 
 a large, low chamber whose rafters were studded 
 with orange-colored hams, whose fireplace was 
 vast and black save for a small wood fire filling 
 but a quarter of the hearth. Grocer's almanacs 
 brought brave color to the walls, sharing the 
 same with a big dresser where the china made 
 a play of reflected light from the windows. 
 Above the lofty mantel-piece there hung an old 
 fowling-piece, and a row of faded Daguerreo- 
 types, into most of which damp had eaten dull 
 yellow patches. The mantel-shelf carried some 
 rough stoneware ornaments, an eight-day clock, 
 a tobacco jar, and divers small utensils of pol- 
 ished tin. A big table covered with American 
 cloth filled the center of the kitchen, a low settle 
 crossed the alcove of the window, and a leather 
 screen, of four folds and five feet high, sur- 
 rounded Uncle Chirgwin's own roomy armchair 
 in the chimney-corner. Strips of cocoanut fiber 
 lay upon the ground, but between them ap- 
 peared the bare floor. It was paved with blue 
 stone for the most part, though here and there 
 a square of white broke the color ; and the white 
 patches had worn lower than the rest under 
 many generations of hobnailed boots. A faint 
 odor of hams was in the air, and the slight, 
 stuffy smell of feathers.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 253 
 
 A woman sat in the Avindow as Joan entered. 
 She had her back to the door, and not hearing 
 the footfall, went on with her work, which was 
 the plucking of a fowl. A cloth lay spread over 
 the floor at her feet, and each moment the pile 
 of feathers upon it increased as the plucker 
 worked with rhythmic regularity and sang to 
 herself the while. 
 
 Mary Chirgwin was a dark, good-looking girl, 
 with a face in which strong character appeared 
 too prominently shadowed to leave room for 
 absolute beauty. But her features were regular 
 if swarthy; her eyes were splendid, and her 
 brow, from which black hair was smoothly and 
 plainly parted away, rose broad and low. There 
 was nothing to mark kinship between the cousins 
 save that both held their heads finely and pos- 
 sessed something of the same distinction of car- 
 riage. Mary was eight-and-twenty, and, what- 
 ever might be thought about her face, there 
 could be but one opinion upon her feminine 
 splendor of figure. Her broad chest produced 
 a strange speaking and singing voice — mellow 
 as Joan's, but far deeper in the notes. Mary 
 gloried in congregational melodies, and those 
 who had not before heard her efforts at church 
 on Sundays would often mistake her voice for a 
 man's. She was dressed in print with a big 
 apron overall; and her sleeves, turned up to ber 
 elbows, showed a pair of fine arms, perfect as to 
 shape, but brown of color as the woman's face. 
 
 Joan stood motionless, then her cousin looked 
 round suddenly and started almost out of her
 
 254 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 chair at a sight so unexpected. But she com- 
 posed herself again instantly, put down the 
 semi-naked fowl and came forward. They had 
 not seen each other since the time when Joe Noy 
 flung over Mary for Joan; and the latter, re- 
 membering this circumstance very well, had 
 hoped she might escape from meeting her cousin 
 until after some talk with Uncle Thomas. But 
 Mary hid her emotion from Joan's sight, and 
 they shook hands and looked into one another's 
 faces, each noting marked changes there since 
 the last occasion of their meeting. The elder 
 spoke first, and went straight to the past. It 
 was her nature to have every connection and 
 concern of life upon a definite and clear under- 
 standing. She hated mystery, she disliked 
 things hidden, she never allowed the relations 
 between herself and any living being to stand 
 otherwise than absolutely defined. 
 
 "You'm come, Joan, at last, though 'twas a 
 soft day to choose. Listen to me, will 'e? Then 
 us can let the past lie, same as us lets sleepin' 
 dogs. I called 'pon God to blight your life, 
 Joan Tregenza, when — you knaw. I thot I 
 weer gwaine to die, an' I read the cussin' psalm* 
 agin you. 'Peared to me as you'd stawl the 
 awnly thing as ever brot a bit o' brightness to 
 my life. But that's all over. Love weern't for 
 me; I awnly dreamed it weer. An' I larned 
 
 * The Cursing Psalm— Psalm CIX. If read by a 
 wronged person before death, it was, and is sometimes 
 yet, supposed to bring punishment upon the evil-doer,
 
 LYING PROPHETS 255 
 
 better an' didn't die; an' praj^ed to God a many 
 times to forgive that first prayer agin you. The 
 likes o' you doan't know nort 'bout the grim 
 side o' life or what it is to lose the glory o' lev- 
 in'. But I doan't harbor no ill agin you no 
 more." 
 
 "You'm good to hear, Polly, an' kind words 
 is better'n food to me now. I'll tell 'e 'bout 
 myself bimebye. But I must speak to uncle fust. 
 Things has happened." 
 
 "Nothin' wrong wi' your folks?" 
 
 "I ain't got no folks no more. But I'll tell 'e 
 so soon's I've tawld Uncle Thomas." 
 
 "He'm in the croft somewheers. Better bide 
 till dinner. Uncle'll be back by then." 
 
 "I caan't, Mary — not till I've spoke wi' en. 
 I'll gaw long down Green Lane, then I shall 
 meet en for sure. An' if a box o' mine comes 
 by the omblibus, 'tis right." 
 
 "A box! Whatever is there in it, Joan?" 
 
 "All's I've gotten in the world — leastways 
 nearly. Doan't ax me nothin' now. You'll 
 knaw as soon as need be. ' ' 
 
 Without waiting for more words Joan de- 
 parted, hastened through the gate on the inner 
 wall of the farm3 T ard and walked along the steep 
 hillside by a lane which wound muddily down- 
 ward to the grasslands, under high hazel 
 hedges. The new leaves dripped showers at 
 every gust of the wind, then a gleam of wan 
 sunlight brightened distant vistas of the way, 
 while Joan heard the patter of a hundred hoofs 
 in the mud, the bleat of lambs, the deeper an-
 
 256 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 swer of ewes, the barking of a shepherd's dog. 
 Soon the cavalcade came into view — a flock of 
 sheep first, a black and white dog with a black 
 and white pup, which was learning his business, 
 next, and Uncle Chirgwin himself bringing up 
 the rear. The first sunshine of the day seemed 
 to have found him out. It shone over his round 
 red face and twinkled in the dew on his white 
 whiskers. He stumped along upon short, gait- 
 ered legs, but went not fast, and stayed at the 
 steep shoulder of the hill that his lambs might 
 have rest and time to suck. 
 
 Mary Chirgwin meantime speculated on this 
 sudden mj'stery of her cousin's arrival. She 
 spread the cloth for dinner, bid her maid lay 
 another place for Joan and wondered much 
 what manner of news she brought. There were 
 changes in Joan's face since she saw it last — not 
 changes which might have been attributed to 
 the possession of Joe Noy, but an alteration of 
 expression betokening thought, a look of in- 
 creased age, of experiences not wholly happy in 
 their nature. 
 
 And Joan had also marked the changes in 
 Mary. These indications were clear enough and 
 filled her with sorrow. A river of tears will 
 leave its bed marked upon a woman's face ; and 
 Joan, who had never thought overmuch of her 
 cousin's sorrows until then, began to feel her 
 heart fill and run over with sudden sympathy. 
 She asked herself what life would look like for 
 her if "Mister Jan" changed his mind now and 
 never came back again. That was how Mary
 
 LYING PROPHETS 25? 
 
 felt doubtless when Joe Noy left her. Already 
 Joan grew zealous in thought for Mary. She 
 would teach her something of that sweet wisdom 
 which was to support her own burden in the 
 future; she would tell her about Nature —the 
 "All-Mother " as "Mister Jan" called her once. 
 And, concerning Joe Noy — might it be within 
 the bounds of possibility, within the power of 
 time to bring these two together again? The 
 thought was good to Joan, and wholly occupied 
 her mind until the sight of Uncle Chirgwin with 
 his sheep brought her back to the present mo- 
 ment and her own affairs. 
 
 CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 A PROBLEM 
 
 When Mr. Chirgwin caught sight of Joan 
 his astonishment knew no bounds, and his first 
 thought was that something must certainly be 
 amiss. He stood in the roadway, a picture of 
 surprise, and, for a moment, forgot both his 
 sheep and lambs. 
 
 "My stars, Joan! Be it you really? "What- 
 ever do 'e make at Drift, 'pon such a day as 
 this? No evil news, I hope?" 
 
 "Uncle," she answered, "go slow a bit an' 
 listen to what I've got to say. You be a kind,
 
 258 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 good sawl as judges nobody, ban't you? And 
 you love me 'cause your sister was my mother?" 
 
 "Surely, surely, Joan; an' I love you for your- 
 self tu — nobody better in this world." 
 
 "You wouldn' go for to send me to hell-fire, 
 would 'e?" 
 
 "God forbid, lass! Why, whatever be talkin' 
 'bout?" 
 
 "Uncle Thomas, faither's not my faither no 
 more now. He've turned me out his house an' 
 denied me. I ban't no darter of his hencefor- 
 rard; an' he'm no faither o' mine. He don't 
 mean never to look 'pon my faace agin, nor 
 me 'pon his. The cottage edn' no home for me 
 no more." 
 
 "Joan, gal alive! what talk be this?" 
 
 " 'Tis gospel. I'm a damned wummon, 'cord- 
 in' to my faither as was." 
 
 "God A'mighty! You — paart a Chirgwin — 
 as corned, o' wan side, from her as loved the 
 Lard so dear, au', 'pon t'other, from him as 
 feared un so much. Never, Joan!" 
 
 ' ' Uncle Thomas, I be in the f am'ly way ; an' 
 faither's damned me, an' likewise the man as 
 loves me, an' the cheel I be gvvaine to bring in 
 the world. I've coined to hear you speak. Will 
 you say the same? If you will, I'll pack off this 
 instant moment." 
 
 The old man stood perfect^ still and his jaw 
 went down while he breathed heavily; a world 
 of amazement and piteous sorrow sat upon his 
 face; his voice shook and whistled in the sound 
 as he answered.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 259 
 
 "Joan! My poor Joan! My awn gal, this 
 be black news — black news. Thank God she'm 
 not here to kna w — your mother. ' ' 
 
 "I've done no wrong, uncle; I ban't 'shamed 
 of it. He'm a true, good man, and he'm com- 
 in' to marry me quick." 
 
 "Joe Noy?" 
 
 "No, no, not him. I thot I loved en well till 
 Mister Jan corned, an' opened my blind eyes, 
 an' shawed me what love was. Mister Jan's a 
 gen'leman — a furriner. He caan't live wi'out 
 me no more; he's said as he caan't. An' I'm 
 droopin' an' longin' for the sight o' en. An' I 
 caan't bide in the streets, so I axes you to keep 
 me till Mister Jan do come to fetch me. I find 
 words hard to use to 'splain things, but his 
 God's differ'nt to what the Luke Gosp'lers' is v 
 an' I lay 'tis differ'nt to yourn. But his God's 
 mine anyways, an' I'm not afeared o' what I 
 done, nor 'shamed to look folks in the faace. 
 That's how 'tis, Uncle Thomas. 'Tis Nature, 
 you mind, an' I be Nature's cheel now — wi' no 
 faither nor mother but her." 
 
 The old man was snuffling, and a tear or two 
 rolled down his red face, gathered the damp al- 
 ready there and fell. He groaned to himself, 
 then brought forth a big, red pocket-handker- 
 chief, and wept outright, while Joan stood si- 
 lently regarding him. 
 
 "I'd rather a met death than this; I'd rather 
 a knawn you was coffined." 
 
 "Ob, if I could awnly 'splain!" she cried, 
 frantically; "if I awnly could find his words
 
 260 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 'pon my tongue, but I caan't. They be hid 
 down deep in me, an' by them I lives from day 
 to day; but how can I make others see same as 
 I see? I awnly brings sorrer 'pon sorrer now. 
 Thoer's nothin' left but him. If you could a 
 heard Mister Jan ! You would understand, wi' 
 your warm heart, but I caan't make 'e; I've 
 no terrible, braave, butivul words. I'll gaw my 
 ways then. If any sawl had tawld me as I'd 
 ever bring tears down your faace I'd never 
 b'lieved 'em — never; but so I have, an' that's 
 bitterness to me." 
 
 He took her by the hand and pressed it, then 
 put his arm round her and kissed her. His white 
 bristles hurt, but Joan rejoiced exceedingly, and 
 now it was her turn to shed tears. 
 
 ''He'll come back — he'm a true man," she 
 sobbed; "theer ban't the likes o' Mister Jan in 
 Cam wall, an' — an' if you knawed en, you'd say 
 no less. You'm the fust as have got to my 
 heart since he went; an' he'd bless 'e if he 
 knawed." 
 
 "Come along with me, Joan," answered Uncle 
 Chirgwin, straightening himself and applying 
 his big handkerchief to her face. "God send 
 the man'll be 'longside 'e right soon, as you sez. 
 Till he do come, you shaan't leave me no more. 
 Drift's home for you while you'm pleased to bide 
 theer. An' I'll see j^our f aither presently, though 
 I wish 'twas any other man." 
 
 *'I knawed you was alius the same; I knawed 
 you'd take me in. An' Mister Jan shall knnvv- 
 A a' he'll love you for't when he do."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 261 
 
 "Come an' see me put the ewes an' lambs in 
 the croft; then us'll gaw to dinner, an' I'll hear 
 you tell me all 'bout en." 
 
 He tried hard to put a hopeful face upon the 
 position and, himself as simple as a child, pres- 
 ently found Joan's story not hopeless at all. 
 He seemed indeed to catch some of her spirit as 
 she proceeded and painted the manifold glories 
 of "Mister Jan" in the best language at her 
 command. To love Nature was no sin; Mr. 
 Chirgwin himself did so ; and as for the mone}% 
 instead of reading the truth of it, he told him- 
 self very wisely that the giver of a sum so tre- 
 mendous must at least be in earnest. The 
 amount astounded him. Fired by Joan's words, 
 for as he played the ready listener her eloquence 
 increased, he fell to thinking as she thought, 
 aud even speaking hopefully. The old farmer's 
 reflections merely echoed his own simple trust 
 in men and had best not been uttered, for they 
 raised Joan's spirits to a futile height. But he 
 caught the contagion from her and spoke with 
 sanguine words of the future, and even prayed 
 Joan that, if wealth and a noble position awaited 
 her, she would endeavor to brighten the lives of 
 the poor as became a good Cornish woman. This 
 she solemnly promised, and they built castles 
 in the air: two children together. His sheep 
 driven to their new pasture, Uncle Chirgwin led 
 the way home and listened as he walked to Joan's 
 story. She quite convinced him before he reached 
 his kitchen door — partly because he was very well 
 content to be convinced, partly because he could
 
 202 LYING PEOPHETS 
 
 honestly imagine no man base enough to betray 
 this particular blue-eyed child. 
 
 Mr. Chirgwin's extremely unworldly review 
 of the position was balm to Joan. Her heart 
 grew warm again, and the old man's philosophy 
 brightened her face, as the sun, now making a 
 great clearness after rain, brightened the face of 
 the land. But the recollection of Mary Chirg- 
 win sobered her uncle not a little. How she 
 would take this tremendous intelligence he failed 
 to guess remotely. Opportunity to impart it oc- 
 curred sooner than he expected, for Joan's box 
 had just arrived. During dinner the old man 
 explained that his niece was to be a visitor at 
 Drift for a term of uncertain duration; and after 
 the meal, when Joan disappeared to unpack her 
 box and make tidy a little apple-room, which 
 was now empty and at her service, Uncle Chirg- 
 win had speech with Mary. He braced himself 
 to the trying task, waited until the kitchen was 
 empty of those among his servants who ate at 
 his table, and then replied to the question which 
 his niece promptly put. 
 
 "What do this mean, Uncle Thomas? What's 
 come o' Joan that she do drop in 'pon us like 
 this here wi' never a word to say she was com- 
 in'?" 
 
 "Polly," he answered, "your cousin Joan 
 have seen sore trouble, in a manner o' speak- 
 in', an' you'd best to knaw fust as last. Us 
 must be large-minded 'bout a thing like this. 
 She'm tokened to a gen'leman from Lunnon." 
 
 "What! An' him—Joe Noy?"
 
 1AING PROPHETS 263 
 
 "To bo plain wi' you, Polly, she've thru wed 
 en over. Listen 'fore you speaks. 'Twas a 
 match o' Michael Tregenza's makin', I reckon, 
 an', so like's not, Joe weern't any more heart- 
 struck than Joan. I finds it hard to feel as I 
 ought to Gray Michael, more shame to me. But 
 Joan's failed in love wi' a gen'leman, an' he with 
 her, an' he'm comin' any mornin' to fetch 'er — 
 an' — an' — you must be tawld — 'tis time as he 
 did come. An' he've sent Joan a thousand 
 pound o' paper money to shaw as 'e means the 
 right thing." 
 
 But the woman's mind had not followed these 
 last facts. Her face was white to the lips; her 
 hands were shaking. She put her head down 
 upon them as she sat by the fire, and a groan 
 which no power could strangle broke from her 
 deep bosom. She spoke, and regretted her words 
 a moment later. "Oh, my God! an' he brawk 
 off wi' me for the likes o' she!" 
 
 "Theer, theer, lass Mary, doan't 'e, doan't 'e. 
 You've hid your tears that cunnin', but my old 
 eyes has seen the marks this many day an' sor- 
 rered for 'e. 'Tis a hard matter viewed from 
 the point what you looks 'pon it; but I knaws 
 you, my awn good gal ; I knaws your Saviour's 
 done a 'mazin' deal to hold you up. An' 'twont 
 be for long, 'cause the man '11 come for her 
 might}* - soon seemin'ly. Can 'e faace it, the 
 Lard helpin'? Poor Joan's bin kicked out the 
 house by her faither. I do not like en — never 
 did. What do 'e say? She doan't count it no 
 sin, mind you, an' doan't look for no reprovin',
 
 80-J LYING PROPHETS 
 
 'cause the gen'leman have taught her terrible 
 coorious ideas; but 'tis just this: we'm all sin- 
 ners, eh, Polly? An' us caan't say 'sactly what 
 size a sin do look to God A'mighty's eye. An' 
 us have got the Lard's way o' handlin' sich like 
 troubles writ out clear — eh? Eh, Polly? He 
 dedn' preach no sermon at the time neither." 
 The old man prattled on, setting out the posi- 
 tion in the most favorable light to Joan that 
 seemed possible to him. But his listener was 
 one no longer. She had forgotten her cousin 
 and the present circumstances, for her thoughts 
 were with a sailor at sea. One tremendous mo- 
 ment of savage joy gripped her heart, but the 
 primitive passion perished in its birth -pang and 
 left her cold and faint and ashamed. She won- 
 dered from what unknown, unscoured corner of 
 her soul the vile thing came. It died on the in- 
 stant, but the corpse fouled her thoughts and 
 tainted them and made her feel faint again. 
 The irony of chance burst like a storm on the 
 woman, and mazes of tangled thoughts made 
 her brain whirl in a chaos of bewilderment. She 
 sat motionless, her face dark, and much mystery 
 in her wonderful eyes, while Mr. Chirgwin, with 
 shaking head and scriptural quotation and tears, 
 babbled on, pleading for Joan with all his 
 strength. Mary heard little of what he said. 
 She was occupied with facts and asking herself 
 her duty. From the storm in her mind arose a 
 clear question at last, and she could not answer 
 it. The point had appeared unimportant to any- 
 body but Mary Chirgwin, but no question of con-
 
 LYING PROPHETS ^65 
 
 duct ever looked trivial to her. At least the 
 doubt was definite and afforded mental occupa- 
 tion. She wondered now whether it was well or 
 possible that she and Joan could live together 
 under the same roof. Why such a problem had 
 arisen she knew not; but it stood in the path, a 
 fact to be dealt with. Her heart told her that 
 Joan and her uncle alike erred in the supposi- 
 tion that the girl's seducer would ever return. 
 She read the great gift of money as Thomasin 
 had read it — rightly; and the thought of living 
 with Joan was at first horrible to her. 
 
 Mr. Chirgwin talked and Mary reflected. Then 
 she rose to leave the room. 
 
 " 'Tis tu gert a thing for me to say — no wum- 
 mon was ever plaaced like what I be now. I 
 do mean to see passon at Sancreed, uncle. He'll 
 knaw what's right for me. If he bids me stay, 
 I'll stay. 'Tis the thot o' Joe Noy maddens me. 
 My head'll burst if I think anj^ more. I'll go 
 to passon." 
 
 "Whether you'll stay, Polly ! Why shouldn't 
 'e stay? Surely it do — ' ' 
 
 "Doan't 'e talk no more 'tall, uncle. You 
 caan't knaw what this is to me, you doan't un- 
 derstan' a wummon faaced wi' a coil like this 
 here. Joe — Joe as loved 'er, I s'pose, differ'nt 
 to what 'e did me. An' she, when his back 
 weer turned — an' — an' — me — God help me! — 
 as never could do less than love en through 
 all!" 
 
 She was gone before he had time to answer, 
 but he realized her mighty agony of mind and
 
 2GG LYING PROPHETS 
 
 stood dumb and frightened before it. Then a 
 thought came concerning Joan and he felt that, 
 at all costs, he must speak to Mary again before 
 she went out. Mr. Chirgwin waited quietly at 
 the stair-foot until she came down. The turmoil 
 was in her eyes still, but she spoke calmly and 
 listened to him when he replied. 
 
 "Doan't 'e say nu thin' to Joan, Uncle Thomas. 
 I be gwaine to larn my duty, as is hidden from 
 me. An' my duty I will do." 
 
 <: An' so you alius have, Polly, since you was 
 a grawed gal ; an' God knaws it. But — do 'e 
 think as you could — in a manner o' speakin' — 
 hide names from passon? Ban't no call to tell 
 what's fallen out to other folks. Joan — eh, 
 Polly? Might 'e speak in a parable like — same 
 as Scripture — wi'out namin' no names. For 
 Joan's sake, Mary — eh?" 
 
 She was silent a full minute, then answered 
 slowly. 
 
 "I see what you mean, uncle. I hadn' thot 
 o' she just then. Iss fay, you'm right theer. 
 Ban't no work o' mine to tell 'bout her." 
 
 She hesitated, and the old man spoke again. 
 
 "I s'pose that a bit o' prayer wouldn' shaw 
 light on it — eh, Polly? Wi'out gwaine to San- 
 creed. The Lard knaws your fix better'n what 
 any words 'ud put it clear to passon. An' 
 theer's yourself tu. 'Pears to me, axin' your 
 pardon, for you'm clever'n what I am, that 
 'tedn' a tale what you can put out 'fore any 
 other body 'sactly — even a holy man like 
 him."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 207 
 
 She saw at once that it was not. Her custom 
 had been to get the kind-hearted old clergyman 
 of her parish church to soothe the doubts and 
 perplexities which not seldom rose within her 
 strenuous mind. And before this great, crush- 
 ing problem, with the pretext of the one diffi- 
 culty which had tumbled uppermost from the 
 chaos and so been grasped as a reality, she had 
 naturally turned to her guide and friend. But, 
 as her uncle spoke, she saw that in truth this 
 matter could not be laid naked before any man. 
 Another's hidden life was involved; another's 
 secret must come out if all was told, and Mary's 
 sense of justice warned her that this could not 
 be. She had taken her own mighty grief to the 
 little parsonage at Sancreed, and a kindly coun- 
 selor, who knew sorrow at first hand, helped her 
 upon the road that henceforth looked so lonely 
 and so long; but this present trial, though it 
 tore the old wounds open, must be borne alone. 
 She saw as much, and turned and went upstairs 
 again to her chamber. 
 
 "Think of her kindly," said Uncle Chirgwin 
 as Mary left him without more words. "She'm 
 so young an' ignorant o' the gert world, Polly. 
 An' if the worst falls, which God forbid, 'tis her 
 as'll suffer most, not we." 
 
 "Us have all got to suffer an' suffer this side 
 our graaves," she said, mounting wearily. 
 
 "So young an' purty as she be — the moral o' 
 her mother. I doan't knaw — 'tis sich a wonner- 
 ful world— but them blue eyes — them round blue 
 e}^es couldn't do a thing as was wrong afore God
 
 2(58 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 as wan might fancy," he said aloud, not know- 
 ing she was out of earshot. Then he heaved a 
 sigh, returned to the kitchen, and presently de- 
 parted to the fields. 
 
 CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 WAITING FOR "MISTER JAN" 
 
 With searching of heart, Mary Chirgwin 
 spent time during that afternoon. In one room 
 J oan, happier than she had been for many days, 
 set out her few possessions, boldty hung the pict- 
 ure of Joe Noy's ship upon the wall and gazed 
 at it with affection, for it spoke of the painter, 
 not the sailor, to her ; while, in a chamber hard 
 by, Mary solved the problem of the day, coming 
 at her conclusion with great struggle of mind 
 and clashing of arguments. She resolved at 
 last to abide at Drift with her uncle and with 
 Joan. The reason for those events now crowd- 
 ing upon her life was hidden from her; and why 
 Providence saw fit to awaken or mightily in- 
 tensify the sorrows which time was lulling to 
 sleep, she could not divine. She accepted her 
 position, none the less, doubted nothing but that 
 the secret hidden in these matters would some 
 day be explained, and, according to her custom
 
 LYING PROPHETS 269 
 
 before the approach of all mundane events and 
 circumstances affecting herself, viewed the pres- 
 ent trial as heaven-sent to purify and strengthen . 
 So your religious egotists are ever wont to read 
 into the great waves of chance, as here and 
 there a ripple from them sets their own little 
 vessels shaking, as here and there some splash 
 of foam, a puff of wind, strikes the nutshell 
 which floats their lives, a personal, deliberate 
 intervention, an event designed by the Ever- 
 lasting to test their powers, ripen their char- 
 acters, equip their souls for an eternity of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 At tea time the cousins met again, and Uncle 
 Chirgwin, returning from his affairs, was re- 
 joiced to learn Mary's decision. No outward 
 sign marked her struggle. She was calm, even 
 stately, with a natural distinction which physi- 
 cally appeared in her bearing and carriage. She 
 chilled Joan a little, but not with intention. Yet 
 Joan Avas bold for her love and spoke no less 
 than the truth when she asserted that she viewed 
 her position without shame and without remorse. 
 She spoke of it openly, fearlessly, and kept Uncle 
 Chirgwin on thorns between the cold silence of 
 his elder niece and the garrulous chatter of the 
 younger. The saint was so stern, the sinner so 
 happ3 r and so perfectly impressed with her own 
 innocence, which latter fact Mary too saw clear- 
 ly; and it instantly solved half the problem in 
 her mind. Joau had obviously been sent to 
 Drift that the truth might reach her heart. She 
 came a heat lien from the outer darkness of sin,
 
 270 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 with vain babbling on her lips and a mind empty. 
 She called herself "Nature's child" aud the 
 theatric thunders of Luke Gospeldom had never 
 taught her that she was God's. Here, then, 
 was one to be brought into the fold with all pos- 
 sible dispatch, and Mary, who loved religious 
 battle, braced herself to the task while silently 
 listening to Joan, that she might the better learn 
 what manner of spiritual attack would best meet 
 this sorry case. 
 
 Uncle Chirgwin took charge of his niece's 
 bank-notes, and, after some persuasion, con- 
 sented to accept the weekly sum of three shil- 
 lings and sixpence from Joan. He made many 
 objections to any such arrangement, but the girl 
 overruled them, declaring absolutely that she 
 would not stop at Drift, even until her future 
 husband's return, unless the payment of money 
 was accepted from her. It bred a secret joy in 
 Joan to feel that "Mister Jan's" wealth now 
 enabled her to enjoy an independence which 
 even Mary could not share. She much desired 
 to give more money, but Uncle Chirgwin re- 
 duced the sum to three shillings and sixpence 
 weekly and would take no more. This wealth 
 was viewed with very considerable loathing by 
 Mary Chirgwin, and she criticised her uncle's 
 decision unfavorably ; but he accepted the own- 
 er's view, arguing that it was only justice to all 
 parties so to do, until facts proved whether Joan 
 was mistaken. The notes did not cause him un- 
 easiness — at any rate during this stage of affairs 
 — and he took them to Penzance upon the occa-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 211 
 
 sion of his next visit. Mr. Ckirg win's lawyer 
 saw to the safe bestowal of the money; and 
 when she heard that her nine hundred pounds 
 would produce about five-and-twenty every year 
 and yet not decrease the while, Joan was much 
 astonished. 
 
 Meantime John Barron neither came to fetch 
 her, nor sent any writing to tell of the causes 
 for his delay. The girl was fruitful of new rea- 
 sons for his silence, and then grew a black fear 
 which answered all doubts and, by its reason- 
 ableness, terrified her. Perhaps "Mister Jan" 
 was ill— too ill even to write. He had but little 
 strength — that she knew, and few friends — of 
 that Joan was also aware, for he had told her 
 so. Yet, surely, there were those, if only his 
 servants, who might have written to bid her 
 hasten. A line — a single word — and she would 
 get into the train and stop in it until she saw 
 "London" written on a board at a station. 
 Then she would leap out and find him and get 
 to his heart and warm it and kiss life back to 
 his body, light to his loved gra} r eyes. So think- 
 ing, time dragged, and as the novelty of the new 
 life abated, and wore thin, Joan's spirits wav- 
 ered until long and longer intervals of gloomy 
 sadness marked the duration of each day for 
 her. But she was young, and Jiope yet held 
 revels in her heart when the mood favored, 
 when the wind was soft, the sun bright, and 
 Mother Nature seemed close and kind, as often 
 happened. Joan worked too, helping Mary and 
 the maids, but after a wayward manner of her
 
 272 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 own. There was no counting upon her and she 
 loved better to be with her uncle, abroad upon 
 the land, or by herself, hidden in the orchard, 
 in the fruit garden, or in the secret places of the 
 coomb. 
 
 She had her favorite spots, for as yet that 
 great, overwhelming regard for the old stone 
 crosses, which came to her afterward, had not 
 grown into a live passion. Her present pilgrim- 
 ages were short, her shrines those of Nature's 
 building. Much she loved the arm of an an- 
 cient apple-tree hid in the very heart of the 
 orchard. A great gnarled limb bent abruptly 
 out, grew long and low, and was propped at 
 a distance of three yards from the parent tree. 
 Midway between the stem and support, a crooked 
 elbow of the bough made a pleasant seat for 
 Joan; and here, when life at the farm looked 
 more gray than common, she came and some- 
 times sat long hours. Her perch raised her 
 above a velvet scented sea of wall-flowers which 
 ran in regular waves beneath the apple-trees, un- 
 der murmuring of many bees. The blossom 
 above Joan's head was all a lacework of sunny 
 rose and cream; and the sun painted glorious 
 russet harmonies below, glinted magically in 
 the green and white above, turned the gray 
 lichens, which clustered on the weather side of 
 the trunks and boughs, to silver. The glory 
 of life here always heartened Joan. She felt 
 the immortality of Nature, who, from naked 
 earth and barren boughs, thus at the sun's 
 smile splendidly awakened, and teemed and
 
 LYING PROPHETS 273 
 
 overflowed with bewildering, inexhaustible 
 luxuriance. Not seldom this aspect of her 
 Mother's infinite wealth touched her blood, 
 and a strange sensation as of very lust of life 
 made her wild. At such times she would pick 
 the green things and tear them and watch the 
 colorless life ooze from their wounds ; she would 
 gather blossoms and scatter them against the 
 wind, break buds open and pluck their hearts 
 out, fill her mouth with sorrel and young grass- 
 shoots, and feel the cool saps of them upon her 
 palate. And sometimes her Mother frightened 
 her, for the dim clouds hid beneath the horizon 
 of maternity were moving now and their color 
 was dark. Nature had as many moods as Joan 
 and often looked distant and terrible. Poor lit- 
 tle blue-eyed "sister of the sun and moon!" 
 She likened herself so bravely to the other chil- 
 dren of her Mother — to the stars, to the fair 
 birch-trees, where emerald showers now twinkled 
 down over the silver stems, to the uucurling 
 fronds of the fern, to the little trout in the 
 coomb-stream; and yet she was not content 
 as they were. 
 
 ; 'Her's good, so good, but oh! if her was a 
 bit nigher— if I could sit in her lap an' feel her 
 arms around me an' thread the daisies into 
 chains like when I was a lil maid ! But I be 
 a grawed wummon now— an' yet caan't feel it 
 so — not yet. Her'll hold my hand, maybe, an' 
 lead me 'pon the road past pain an' sorrow. I 
 can trust her, 'cause Mister Jan did say as 
 Nature never lies — never."
 
 274 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 So the child's thoughts wandered on a day 
 when she sat upon the bough and brought a 
 shower of pale petals down with every move- 
 ment. But as yet only the shadows of shadows 
 clouded her thoughts when she thought about 
 herself. It was the loneliness brought real care 
 — the loneliness and the waiting. 
 
 She spent time, too, in Uncle Chirgwin's old 
 walled garden. This place and its products 
 went for little in the traffic of the farm, though 
 every year its owner was wont to count upon 
 certain few baskets of choice fruit as an addi- 
 tion to his income, and every year his hopes were 
 blighted. For the walls whereon his peaches 
 and nectarines grew had stood through genera- 
 tions, their red brick work was much fretted by 
 time, and the interstices between the bricks made 
 snug homes for a variety of insects. Joan once 
 listened to her uocle upon this subject, and 
 henceforth chose to make his scanty fruit her 
 special care. 
 
 " 'Tis like this," he explained, '*an' specially 
 wi' the necter'ns. The moment they graws a 
 shade, an' long afore they stone, them dratted 
 lil auld sow-pigs * falls 'pon 'em cruel. Then 
 they waits theer time till the ripenin, an', blame 
 me, but the varmints do alius knaw just a day 
 'fore I does, when things be ready, an' they eats 
 the peaches an' necter'ns by night, gouging 'em 
 shameful, same as if you'd done it wi' your 
 nails. 'Tis a terrible coorious wall for sow -pigs, 
 
 * Sow-pigs*- Woodlice.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 275 
 
 likewise for snails; an' I be alius a gwaine to 
 have en repaired an' pinted, but yet somehow 
 'tedn' done. But your sharp eyes'll be a sight 
 o 1 use wi' creepin' things. 'Tis a reg'lar Noah's 
 Ark o' a wall, to be sure ; not but what I lay 
 theer's five pound worth o' stone fruit 'pon it 
 most years if 'twas let bide." 
 
 Joan enjoyed watching the peaches grow. 
 First they peeped like pearls from the dried 
 frills of their blossoms; then they expanded 
 and cast off the encumbrance of dead petals 
 and nestled against the red bricks that sucked 
 up sunshine and held it for them when the sun 
 had gone. She found the garden wall was a 
 whole busy world, and, taught by her vanished 
 master, she took interest in all that dwelt there- 
 on. But the snails and woodlice she slew ruth- 
 lessly that her uncle might presently come by 
 his five pounds' value of fruit. 
 
 Mary Chirgwin speedily discovered the task 
 of reforming her cousin was like to be lengthy 
 and arduous. There appeared no foundations 
 upon which to work, and while the certaint}' of 
 Barron's return still remained with Joan as a 
 vital guide to conduct, no other gospel than that* 
 which he had taught found her a listener. She 
 refused to go to church, to Mary's chagrin and 
 Uucle Chirgwin's sorrow; but he explained the 
 matter correctly and indeed found a clew to 
 most of Joan's actions at this season. Mary 
 saw the old man's growing love for the new ar- 
 rival, and a smaller mind might have sunk to 
 jealousy quickly enough under such circum-
 
 276 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 stances, but she, deeply concerned with Joan's 
 eternal welfare, rose above temporary details. 
 At the same time her uncle's mild and tolerant 
 attitude caused her pain. 
 
 "As to church-gwaine," he said, on a Sunday 
 morning when he and his elder niece had driven 
 off to Sancreed as usual, leaving Joan in the 
 orchard; "she've larned to look 'pon it from 
 a Luke Gosp'ler's pint o* view. Doan't you 
 fret, Polly. Let her bide. 'Twill come o' itself 
 bimebye wan o' these Sundays. Poor tiby lamb ! 
 Christ's a watchin' of her, Polly. An' if this 
 here gen'leman, by the name o' Mister Jan, 
 doan't come — " 
 
 "You make me daft!" she interrupted, with 
 impatience. "D'you mean as you ever thot he 
 would?" 
 
 "I hopes. Theer's sich a 'mazin' deal o' good 
 in human nature. Mayhap he'm wraslin' wi' 
 his sawl to this hour. An' the Lard do alius 
 fight 'pon the side o' conscience. Iss fay ! Some 
 'ow I do think as he'll come." 
 
 Mary said no more. She was quite positive 
 that her cousin and her uncle were alike mis- 
 taken; but she saw that, until the hard truth 
 forced itself upon Joan, the girl would go her 
 present way. It was not that Joan lacked good- 
 ness and sweetness, but, in Mary's opinion, she 
 took an obstinate and wrong-headed course upon 
 the one vital subject of her own salvation. Mary 
 fought with herself to love Joan, and the battle 
 now was only hard when Joe Noy came within 
 the scope of her thoughts. She banished him as
 
 LYING PROPHETS 277 
 
 much as she could, but it never grew easy, and 
 the complex problems bred of reflections on this 
 1 heme maddened her. For she had always loved 
 him, and that affection, thrust away as deadly 
 sin, when he left her for another, could not be 
 wholly strangled now. 
 
 Time hung heavily and more heavily with 
 Joan at Drift. A fortnight passed; but the 
 hope of the ignorant and trustful dies very hard 
 and the faith which is bred of absolute love has 
 a hundred lives. The girl walked into Penzance 
 every second day, and hope blazed brightly on 
 the road to the post-office, then sank a little 
 deeper into the hidden places of her heart as she 
 plodded empty-handed back to Drift. 
 
 Slowly, and so gradually that she herself knew 
 it not, her thoughts grew something less occu- 
 pied with John Barron, something more con- 
 cerned about herself. For the world was full 
 of happy mothers now. One "Brindle" — a 
 knot-cow of repute — dropped a fine bull-calf in 
 a croft hard by the orchard, and Joan looked 
 into "Brindle's" solemn eyes after the event, 
 and learned. She marveled to see the little 
 brown calf stand on his shaking legs within an 
 hour of his birth; then his mother licked him 
 lovingly, while Uncle Chirgwin himself drew 
 off her "buzzy milk." There was another 
 mother in a disused pigsty. There Joan 
 found a red and white tortoise-shell cat with 
 four blind, squeaking atoms beside her, and 
 as the cat rolled over and the atoms sucked 
 life, Joan saw her shining eyes, afore-time so
 
 3;s LYING PROPHETS 
 
 bright and hard, full of a new strange light, 
 like the cloud that glimmers over the fires of an 
 opal. The cat's green orbs were full of mys- 
 tery: of pain past, of joy present. So again 
 Joan learned. But a black tragedy blotted out 
 that little happy family in the pigsty, and 
 Death, in the shape of Amos Bartlett, Mr. 
 Chirgwin's head man, fell upon them. Then 
 the farmer learned that his niece could be an- 
 gry. One morning Joan found the mother cat 
 running wildly here and there, with a world of 
 misery in its cry; while a moment afterward 
 she came upon the kittens in a duck pond. Mr. 
 Bartlett was present and explained. 
 
 "Them chets had to gaw, missy. 'Tis a auld 
 word an' it ban't wise to take no count of say- 
 ings like that. 'May chets bad luck begets.' 
 You've heard tell o' that? Never let live no 
 kittens born in May. They theer dead chets 
 corned May Day." 
 
 "You'm a cruel devil!" she said hotly ; "how'd 
 you like for your two lil children to be thrawed 
 in the water, May or no May? Look at thicky 
 cat, breakin' her heart, poor twoad!" 
 
 Mr. Bartlett was justly angry that Joan could 
 dare to thus class his priceless red-headed twins 
 with a litter of dead kittens, and he said more 
 than was wise, ramming home a truth, and that 
 coarsely. 
 
 "Theer's plenty more wheer them corned from, 
 I lay. ISTachur's so free, you see — tu free like 
 sometimes. Ban't no dearth o' chets or chil- 
 dern as I've heard on. They comes unaxed, an'
 
 LYING PROPHETS 270 
 
 unwanted tu. You miglit a heard tell o' some 
 sich p'raps?" 
 
 She blushed and shook with passion at this 
 sudden new aspect of affairs. Here was a 
 standpoint from which nobody had viewed her 
 before. Worse— far worse than her father's 
 rage or Uncle Chirgwin's tears was this. Amos 
 Bartlett represented the world's attitude. The 
 world would not be angry with her, or cry for 
 her; it would merely laugh and pass on, like 
 Mr. Bartlett. So Joan learned yet again; and 
 the new knowledge cowed her for full eight-and- 
 forty hours. But the eyes of the mothers had 
 taught Joan something of the secret of pain, 
 and a thread of gravity ran henceforth through 
 all thoughts concerning the future. She much 
 marveled that "Mister Jan" had never touched 
 upon this leaf in the book. Beauty was what he 
 invariably talked about, and he found beauty 
 hidden in many a strange matter too; but not 
 in pain. That was because he suffered himself 
 sometimes, Joan suspected. And yet, to her, 
 pain, though she had never felt it, seemed not 
 wholly hideous. She surprised herself mightily 
 by the depth of her own thoughts now. She 
 seemed to stand upon the brink of deep matters 
 guessing dimly at things hidden. Then her 
 moods would break again from the clouds to 
 brightness. Hot sunshine on her cheek always 
 raised her 3 T oung spirits, and her health, now excel- 
 lent, threw joy into life despite the ever-present 
 anxiety. Then came a meeting which roused in- 
 terest and brought very genuine delight with it.
 
 ^80 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 It happened upon a line Sunday afternoon, 
 when Joan was walking through the fields on 
 the farm — those which extended southward — 
 that she reached a stile where granite blocks Iny 
 lengthwise, like the rungs of a ladder, between 
 two uprights. Here she stopped a while, and 
 sat her down, and looked out over the promise 
 of fine hay. The undulating green expanse was 
 studded with the black knobs of ribwort plantain 
 and gemmed with buttercups, which here were 
 dotted like sparks of fire, here massed in broad 
 bunches and splashes of color. The wind swept 
 over the field, and its course was marked b} T 
 sudden flecks and ripples of transient sheeny 
 light, paler and brighter than the mass of the 
 herbage. Then a figure appeared afar off, fol- 
 lowing the course of the footpath where it wound 
 through the gold of the flowers and the silver of 
 the bending grasses. It approached, resolved 
 itself into a fisher-boy and presently proved to be 
 Tom Tregenza. Joan ran forward to meet him 
 as soon as the short figure, with its exaggerated 
 nautical roll, became known to her. She kissed 
 her half-brother warmly, and he hugged her 
 and showed great delight at the meeting, for he 
 loved Joan well. 
 
 "I've stealed away, 'cause I was just burstin' 
 to get sight of 'e again, Joan. Faither's home 
 an' I corned off for a walk, creepin' round here 
 an' hopin' as we'd meet. 'Tis mighty wisht to 
 home now you'm gone, I can tell 'e. I've got 
 a sore head yet along o' you." 
 
 "G'wan, bwov! Whv should 'e?' 
 
 ' W m J 
 
 i>»
 
 LYING PROPHETS 28 I 
 
 "lss so. 'Twas like this. When us coined 
 back from sea wan mornin' a week arter you'd 
 gone I ups an' sez, ' 'Tis 'bout as lively as bad 
 feesh ashore now Joan ban't here.' I dedn' 
 knaw faither was in the doorway when I said 
 it, 'cause he'd give out you was never to be 
 named no more. But mother seed en an' sez 
 to me, 'Shut your mouth.' An', not knawin' 
 faither w^as be'ind me, I ups agin an' sez, 'Why 
 caan't I, as be her awn brother, see Joan any- 
 way an' hear tell what 'tis she've done? I lay 
 as it ban't no mighty harm neither, 'cause Joan's 
 true Tregenza!' " 
 
 ' ' Good Lard ! An' faither heard 'e?' ' 
 "Iss, an' next minute I knawed it. He blazed 
 an' roared, an' corned over an' bummed my 
 head 'pon the earhole — a buster as might 'a' 
 killed some lads. My ivers! I seed stars 
 'nough to fill a new sky, Joan, an' I went down 
 tail over nose. I doubt theer's nobody in New- 
 lyn what can hit like faither. But I got up agin 
 an' sot mighty still, an' faither sez, 'She as was 
 here ban't no Tregenza, nor my darter, nor 
 nothin' to none under my hellings* no more — 
 never more, mark that.' Then mother thrawed 
 her apern over her faace an' hollered, 'cause I'd 
 got such a welt, an' faither walked out in the 
 garden. I was for axin' mother then, but 
 reckoned not for fear as he might be listenin' 
 agin. But I knawed you was up Drift, 'cause 
 I heard mother say that much; an' now I've sot 
 
 * Hellings— Roof .
 
 282 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 eyes on you agin; an 1 I knaw you'll tell me 
 what's wrong wi' you ; an' if I can do anything 
 for 'e I will, sink or swim." 
 
 "Faither's a cruel beast, an' he'll come to a 
 bad end, Tom, 'spite of they Gosp'lers. He'm 
 all wrong an' doan't knaw nothin' 'tall 'bout 
 God. I do knaw what I knaw. Theer s more o 1 
 God in that gert shine o' buttercups 'pon the 
 grass than in all them whey-faced chapel folks 
 put together." 
 
 "My stars, Joan!" 
 
 " 'Tis truth, an' you'll find 'tis some day, 
 same as what I have." 
 
 "I doan't see how any lad be gvvaine to make 
 heaven myself," said Tom gloomily. "Us had 
 a mining cap'n from Camborne preach this 
 marnin', an', by Gollies! 'tweer like sittin' tu 
 near a gert red'ot fire. Her rubbed it in, I tell 
 'e, same as you rubs salt into a hake. Faither 
 said 'twas braave talk. But you, Joan, what's 
 wrong with 'e, what have you done?" 
 
 "I ain't done no wrong, Tom, an' you can 
 take my word for't." 
 
 "Do 'e reckon you'm damned, like what 
 faither sez?" 
 
 "Never! I doan't care a grain o' wheat what 
 faither sez. What I done weern't no sin, 'cause 
 him, as be wiser an' cleverer an' better every 
 way than any man in Cam wall, said 'tweern't; 
 an' he knawed. I've heard wise things said, an' 
 I've minded some an' forgot others. None can 
 damn folks but God, when all's done, an' He's 
 the last as would; for God do love even the
 
 Lvji\(i t-Koi-u i: rs 283 
 
 creeping, gashly worms under a turned stone tu 
 well to damn 'em. Much more humans. I be 
 a Nature's cheel an' doan't b'lieve in no devil 
 an' no hell-fire 'tall." 
 
 "I wish I was a Nachur's cheel then." 
 
 Joan flung down a little bouquet of stariy 
 stitchworts she had gathered upon the way and 
 turned very earnestly to Tom. 
 
 "You be, you be a Nature's cheel. Us all be, 
 but awnly a few knaws it." 
 
 Tom laughed at this idea mightilj 7- . 
 
 "Well, I'll slip back long, Joan; an' if I be 
 a Nachur's cheel, I be; but I guess I'll keep it 
 a secret. If I tawld faither as I dedn' b'lieve 
 in no auld devil, I guess he'd hurry me into 
 next world so's I might see for myself theer was 
 wan." 
 
 They walked a little way together. Then Tom 
 grew frightened and stopped his companion. 
 "Guess you'd best to be turnin'. Folks is 'bout 
 everywheer in the fields, bein' Sunday, an' if it 
 got back to faither as I'd seed you, he'd make 
 me hop." 
 
 "Dyou like the sea still, Tom?" 
 
 "Doan't I just! Better'n better; an' I be 
 grawin' smart, 'cause I heard faither tell mother 
 so when I was in the wash'ouse an' they thot I 
 wasn't. Faither said as I'd got a hawk's eye 
 for moorin's or what not. An' I licked the 
 bwoy on Pratt's bwoat a fortnight agone. A 
 lot o' men seed me do't. I hopes I'll hit so hard 
 as faither hisself wan day, when I'm grawed. 
 Qood-by, sister Joan. I'll see 'e agin when I
 
 284 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 cau, an* bring up a feesh maybe. Doau't say 
 nothin' 'bout me to them at the farm, else it 
 may get back." 
 
 So Tom marched off, speculating as to what 
 particular lie would best meet the case if cross- 
 questioning awaited him on his return, and Joan 
 watched the thickset little figure very lovingly 
 until it was out of sight.
 
 CHAPTER NINE 
 
 MEADOWSWEETS 
 
 June came. The wall-flowers were long 
 plucked or dead, the last snows of apple-blossom 
 had vanished away, and the fruit was setting 
 well. The woodlice were already ruining the 
 young nectarines. "They spiles 'em in the 
 growth an' scores 'em wi' their wicked lil teeth, 
 then, come August an' they ripens, they'll begin 
 again. But the peaches they won't touch now, 
 'cause of the fur 'pon 'em. Awnly they'll make 
 up for't when the things is ready for eatinV 
 So Uncle Thomas explained the position to Joan. 
 He, good man, had fulfilled his promise to see 
 Michael Tregenza. It happened that a load of 
 oar- weed was wanted on the farm, and Mr. 
 Chirgwin, instead of wending one of the hands 
 with horse and cart to Newlyn according to his 
 custom when seaweed was needed, went him- 
 self. His elder niece expostulated with him and 
 explained that such a trip would be interpreted 
 to mean straitened circumstauces on the farm ; 
 but her uncle was not proud, and when he ex- 
 
 (285)
 
 286 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 plaiued that his real object was an opportunity 
 to speak with Joan's father Mary said no more. 
 Screwing courage to the sticking-point, there- 
 fore, the old man went down to Newlyn on a 
 morning when Joan was not by to question his 
 movements. Fortune favored him. Michael 
 had landed at daylight and was not sailing again 
 till dusk. The fisherman listened patiently, but 
 Mr. Chirgwin's inconsequent and sentimental 
 conversation sounded as tinkling brass upon his 
 ear. Both argued the question upon religious 
 grounds, but from an entirely different stand- 
 point. Michael was not at the trouble to talk 
 much, for his visitor seemed scarce worthy of 
 powder and shot. He explained that he deemed 
 it damnation to hold unnecessary converse with 
 sinners ; that, by her act, Joan had raised eter- 
 nal barriers between herself and those of her 
 own home, and, indeed, all chosen people; that 
 he had walked in the light from the dawn of his 
 days until the present time, and could not im- 
 peril the souls of his wife, his son and himself 
 by any further communion with one, in his 
 judgment, lost be3 T ond faintest possibility of re- 
 demption. Uncle Chirgwin listened with open 
 mouth to these sentiments. He longed to relate 
 how Joan had repented of her offense, how she 
 had thrown herself upon the Lord, and found 
 peace and forgiveness. No such thing could be 
 recorded, however, and he felt himself at a dis- 
 advantage. He prayed for mercy on her be- 
 half, but mercj^ was a luxury Gray Michael 
 doomed beyond the reach of num. ETe showed
 
 LYING PROPHETS , 281' 
 
 absolutely no emotion upon the subject, and his 
 chill unconcern quenched the farmer's ardor. 
 Mr. Chirgvvin mourned mightily that he held 
 not a stronger case. Joan had tied his hands, 
 at any rate, for the present. If she would only 
 come round, accept the truth and abandon her 
 present attitude — then he knew that he would 
 fight like a giant for her, and that, with right 
 upon his side, he would surely prevail. His 
 last words upon the subject shadowed this con- 
 viction. 
 
 "Please God time may soften 'e, Tregenza; 
 an', maybe, soften Joan tu. Her heart's warm 
 yet, an' the truth will find its plaace theer in 
 the Lard's awn time; but you — I doubt 'tedn' 
 in you to change." 
 
 "Never, till wrong be right." 
 
 "You makes me sorry for 'e, Tregenza." 
 
 "Weep for yourself, Thomas Chirgwin. 
 You'm that contented, an' the contented sawl 
 be alius farthest from God if you awnly knawed 
 it. Wheer's your fear an' tremblin' too? I've 
 never seed 'e afeared or shaken 'fore the thrawn 
 o' the Most High in your life. But I 'sure 'e, 
 thee'll come to it." 
 
 "An' you say that! You'm 'maziu' blind, 
 Tregenza, for all you walk in the Light. The 
 Light's dazed 'e, I'm thinkin', same as birds a 
 breakin' theer wings 'gainst lighthouse glasses. 
 You sez you be a worm twenty times a day, an' 
 yet you'm proud enough for Satan hisself purty 
 nigh. If you'm a worm, why doau't 'e act like 
 a worm an' be humble-minded? 'Tis the lil
 
 288 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 childern gets into heaven. You'm stiff-necked, 
 Michael Tregenza. I sez it respectful an' in 
 sorrer; but 'tis true." 
 
 "I hope the Lard won't lay thy sin to thy 
 charge, my poor sawl, ' ' answered the fisherman 
 with perfect indifference. "You — you dares to 
 speak agin me ! I wish I could give 'e a hand 
 an' drag 'e a HI higher up the ladder o' right- 
 eousness, Chirgwin; but you'm o' them as 
 caan't dance or else won't, not if God 
 A'mighty's Self piped to 'e. Go your ways, 
 an' knaw you'm in the prayers of a man whose 
 pray era be heard." 
 
 "Then pray for Joan. If you'm so cocksure 
 you gets a hearin' 'fore us church folks, 'tis 
 your fust duty to plead for her." 
 
 "It was," he said. "Now it is too late. I've 
 sweated for her, an' wrastled wi' principalities 
 an' powers for her, an' filled the night watches 
 by sea an' shore wi' gert agonies o' prayer for 
 her. But 'tweern't to be. Her name's writ in 
 the big Book o' Death, not the small Book o' 
 Life. David prayed hard till that cheel, got 
 wrong side the blanket., died. Then he washed 
 his face an' ate his meat. 'Twas like that wi' 
 me. Joan's dead now. Let the dead bury theer 
 dead." 
 
 " 'Tis awful to hear 'e, Tregenza." 
 
 "The truth's a awful thing, Chirgwin, but a 
 lie is awfuler still. 'Tis the common fate to be 
 lost. You an' sich as you caan't grasp the truth 
 'bout that. Heaven's no need to be a big 
 plaace — theer 'edn' gwaine to be no crowdin*
 
 LYING PROPHETS 289 
 
 theer. 'Tis hell as'll fill space wi' its roomi- 
 
 ness." 
 
 "I be gwaine," answered Mr. Chirgwin. 
 "Us have talked three hour by the clock, an' us 
 ain't gotten wan thot in common. I trusts in 
 Christ; you trusts in yourself. Time'll shaw 
 which was right. You damn the world; I 
 wouldn't damn a dew-snail.* I awnly sez 
 again, ' May you live to see all the pints you'm 
 wrong.' An' if you do, 'twill be a tidy big 
 prospect." 
 
 They exchanged some further remarks in a 
 similar strain. Then Tom informed Uncle 
 Chirgwin that his cart with a full load of oar- 
 weed was waiting at the door. Whereupon the 
 old man got his hat, loaded his pipe, wished 
 Thomasin good- by, and drove sorrowfully away. 
 Mrs. Tregenza had secretly inquired after Joan's 
 health and wealth. That the first was excellent, 
 the second carefully put away in the lawyer's 
 hands, caused her satisfaction. She told Mr. 
 Chirgwin to make Joan write out a will. 
 
 "You never knaws," she said. "God keep the 
 gal, but they do die now an' agin. 'Tweer bet- 
 ter she wrote about the money 'cordin' to a 
 lawyer's way. And, say, for the Lard's love, 
 not to leave it to Michael. So well light a fire 
 wi' it as that. He bawled out as the money had 
 lit a fire a'ready, when I touched 'pon it to en — 
 a fire as was gwaine to burn through eternity; 
 but Michael's not like a human. His ideas 'pon 
 
 * Deu'snail—K slug.
 
 290 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 affairs is all pure Bible. You an' me caan't 
 grasp hold o' all he says. An' the money's 
 done no wrong. So you'll drop in Joan's ear as 
 it might be worldly-wise to save trouble by say- 
 in' what should be done if anything ill failed 
 'pon her — eh?" 
 
 Uncle Chirgwin promised that he would do so, 
 and Mrs. Tregenza felt a weight off her mind 
 which had distressed it for some while. She 
 was thinking of Tom, of course. She knew 
 that Joan loved him, and though the prospect 
 of his ever coming by a penny of the money 
 appeared slender, yet to think that he might be 
 in a will, named for hundreds of pounds, was a 
 shadowy sort of joy to her. 
 
 That night Joan's uncle told the girl of his 
 afternoon's work, and she expressed some sor- 
 row that he should have thus exerted himself on 
 her behalf. 
 
 "Faither's dirt beside the likes of you," she 
 said. " 'Twas wastin' good time to talk to en, 
 an' I wouldn't go back to Newlyn, you mind, if 
 he was to ax me 'pon his knees. I'm a poor 
 fool of a gal, but I knaws enough to laugh at 
 the ignorance o' faither an' that fiddle-faaced 
 crowd to the Luke Gospel Chapel." 
 
 "Doan't 'e be bitter, Joan. Us all makes 
 mistakes an' bad's the best o' human creatures. 
 Your faither will chaange, sure as I'm a livin' 
 man, some day. God ban't gwaine to let en 
 gaw down to's graave wi' sich a 'mazin' num- 
 ber o' wrong opinions. Else think o' the wakin ' 
 t'other side! Iss, it caan't be. Why, as 'tis, if
 
 LYING PROPHETS 291 
 
 he went dead sudden, he'd gaw marchin' into 
 heaven as bold as brass, an' bang up to the 
 right hand o' the thrawne ! Theer's a situation 
 for a body! An' the awk'ardness o' havin' to 
 step forrard an' tell en! No, no, the man'll be 
 humbled sure 'fore his journey's end. Theer's 
 Everlasting eyes 'pon en, think as you may." 
 
 "I never think at all about him," declared 
 Joan, "an' I ban't gwaine to. He won't 
 chaange, an' I never wants en to. I've got you 
 to love me, an' to love; an' I'm — I'm waitin' 
 for wan as be gawld to faither's dross." 
 
 She sighed as she spoke. 
 
 "Waitin' for en still?" 
 
 "Ay, for Mister Jan. It caan't be no gert 
 length o' time now. I s'pose days go quicker 
 up Lunnon town than wi' us." 
 
 "Joan, my dovey, 'tis idle. Even I sees it 
 now. I did think wi' you fust as he was a 
 true man. I caan't no more. I wish I 
 could." 
 
 A month before Joan would have flashed into 
 anger at such a speech as this, but now she did 
 not answer. Young love is fertile in imagina- 
 tion. She had found a thousand glories in John 
 Barron, and, when he left her, had woven a 
 thousand explanations for his delayed return. 
 Now invention grew dull; enthusiasm waned; 
 her confidence was shaken, though she denied 
 the fact even to herself as a sort of treachery. 
 But there is no standing still in time. The re- 
 morseless fact of his non-return extended over 
 weeks and mouths.
 
 292 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Mr. Chirgwin saw her silence, noted the little 
 quiver of her mouth as he declared his own loss 
 of faith, stroked the hand she thrust dumbly 
 into his and felt her silence hurt his heart. 
 
 Presently Joan spoke. 
 
 "I've got none to b'lieve in en no more then 
 — not wan now, not even you. Whiles you 
 stuck up for en I felt braave 'bout his comin' ; 
 now — now Mister Jan have awnly got me to say 
 a word for en. An' you doan't think he'm a 
 true man no more then, uncle?" 
 
 "Lassie, I wish to God as I did. Time's time. 
 Why ban't he here?" 
 
 "I doan't dare think this is the end. I'm 
 feared to look forrard now. If it do wance 
 come 'pon me as he've gone 'twill drive me 
 mad, I knaws." 
 
 "No, never, not if you'd awnly turn your 
 faace the right way. Theer's oceans o' com- 
 fort an' love waitin' for 'e, gal. You did belong 
 to a hard world, as I knaws who have just corned 
 from speech wi' your faither; but 'twas a world 
 o' clean eatin' an' dressin' an' livin' — a God- 
 fearin' world leadin' up'ards on a narrer, ugly 
 road, but a safe road, I s'pose. An' you left 
 it. You'll say I be harsh, but my heart do bleed 
 for 'e, Joan. If you'd awnly drop this talk 
 'bout Nature, as none of us understands, an' 
 turn to the livin' Christ, as all can understand. 
 That's wheer rest lies for 'e, nowheers else. 
 You'm like Eve in the garden. She was kindid- 
 dled an' did eat an' lost eternal life an' had to 
 quit EJden, An' 'tis forbidden fruit as you've
 
 LYING PROPHETS 293 
 
 ate, not knawin' 'twas sich. Nature doan't 
 label her pisins, worse luck." 
 
 "Eve? No, Iban'tnoEve. She had Adam." 
 
 There was a world of sorrow in the words and 
 the hopeless ring in them startled Uncle Chirg- 
 win, for it denoted greater changes in the girl's 
 mind than he thought existed. She seemed 
 nearer to the truth. It cut his heart to see 
 her suffering, but he thanked Heaven that the 
 inevitable knowledge was coming, and prayed 
 it might be the first step toward peace. He was 
 silent with his thoughts, and Joan spoke again, 
 repeating her last words. 
 
 "Iss, Eve had Adam to put his arm around 
 her an' kiss her wet eyes. He were more to her 
 than what the garden was, I'll lay, or God 
 either. That's the bitter black God o' my 
 faither. What for did He let the snake in the 
 garden 'tall if He really loved them fust poor 
 fools? Why dedn' He put they flamin' angels 
 theer sooner. 'Twas the snake they should 
 have watched an' kep' out." 
 
 Uncle Chirgwin looked at her with round 
 terrified eyes. She had never echoed Barron's 
 sentiments to such a horrified listener. 
 
 "Doan't, for pity's sake, Joan! The wicked- 
 ness of it! Him as taught you to think such 
 frightful thoughts tried to ruin your sawl so 
 well as your body. Oh, if you'd awnly up an' 
 say, 'That man was wrong an' I'll forget en an' 
 turn to the Saviour. ' ' ' 
 
 "You caan't understan'. I do put ugly bits 
 o' thot afore 'e, but if you'd heard him as opened
 
 294 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 my eyes, you'd knaw 'teem' ugly taken alto- 
 gether. I knaws so much, but caan't speak it 
 out. Us done no sin, an' I ban't shamed to look 
 the sun in the faace, nor you. An' he will come 
 — he will — if theer's a kind God in heaven he'll 
 come back to me. If 'e doan't, then I'll say that 
 faither's God's the right wan." 
 
 "Doan't 'e put on a bold front, Joan gal. 
 Theer's things tu deep for the likes o' us. You 
 ban't prayin' right, I reckon. Theer's a voice 
 hid in you. Listen to that. Nature's spawk to 
 'e an' now er's dumb. Listen to t'other, lassie. 
 Nature do guide beasts an' birds an' the poor 
 herbs o' the field; but you — you listen to t'other. 
 You'll never be happy no more till you awns 
 'twas a sad mistake an' do ax in the right plaace 
 for pardon." 
 
 "I want no pardon," she said. "I have done 
 no wrong, I tell 'e. Wheer's justice to? 'Cause 
 the man do bide away, I be wicked ; if he corned 
 back to-morrer an' married me — what then? I 
 be sinless in the matter of it, an' Nature do knaw 
 it, an' God do knaw it." 
 
 But her breast heaved and her eyes were wet 
 with unshed tears. Uncle Chirgwin, her soli- 
 tary trust and stand-by, had drifted away too. 
 His hope was dead and she could not revive it. 
 He had never spoken so strongly before, but now 
 he was taking up Mary's line of action and had 
 ranged himself against her. It almost seemed 
 to Joan that he reflected in a meek, diluted fash- 
 ion, as the moon turns the sun's golden fire to 
 silver, something of what he must have heard
 
 LYING PROPHETS 295 
 
 that afternoon from her father. This defection 
 acted definitely on the girl's temperament. She 
 fought fear, hardened her heart against doubt, 
 cast suspicion far away as treason to "Mister 
 Jan" and gave to hope a new lease of life. She 
 would be patient for his sake, she would trust in 
 him still. 
 
 There was something grand in the loneliness, 
 she told herself. He would know perhaps one 
 day of her great patient faith and love. And 
 the trial would make her brain and heart bigger 
 and better fit her for the position of wife to him. 
 The struggle was fought by her with that cour- 
 age which lies beyond man's comprehension. 
 She looked at the world with bright eyes when 
 there was necessity for facing it ; she exhausted 
 her ingenuity in schemes for communicating 
 with John Barron. If he only knew ! She felt 
 that even had change darkened his affection for 
 her, yet, most surely, the thought of the baby 
 must tempt him back again. Thus, with sus- 
 tained bravery and ignorance, she left her hand 
 in Nature's, and her faith, rising gloriously 
 above the doubt of the time, trusted that ma- 
 jestic heathen goddess as a little child trusts its 
 mother. 
 
 Fate played another prank upon her not long- 
 afterward and thrust into her hands a possible 
 means of access to John Barron. A favorite re- 
 sort of Joan's was the brook which ran down 
 the valley beneath Drift and Sancreed. The 
 little stream wound through a fair coomb be- 
 tween orchards, meadows, wastes of fern and
 
 ,y% LYINCJ PROPHjBTS 
 
 heather. At this season of the year the valley- 
 was very lonely, and a certain spot beside the 
 stream often tempted Joan by reason of its com- 
 fort and its peace. From here, sitting on a 
 granite bowlder clothed in soft green mosses 
 and having a shape into which human limbs 
 might fit easily, the girl could see much that 
 was fair. The meadows were all sprinkled with 
 the silver-mauve of cuckoo-flowers — Shake- 
 speare's "lady's smock"; the hills sloped up- 
 ward under oaken saplings as yet too young for 
 the stripping; the valley stretched winding land- 
 ward beneath Sancreed. Above and far away 
 stretched the Cornish moors dotted with man's 
 mining enterprises, chiefly deserted. Ding-Dong 
 raised its gaunt engine stack and, distant though 
 it was, Joan's sharp eyes could see the rusty 
 arm of iron stretching forth from the brick- 
 work, motionless, not worth the removing. 
 Close at hand, where the stream wandered 
 babbling at her feet, the whole glory of spring 
 shone on blossoms and grasses where the world 
 of the stream-side sent forth a warm, living- 
 smell. The wildness of the upland moors 
 stretched down into the valley below them. 
 There glimmered blue-green patches of brack- 
 en, speckled with the red and white hides 
 of calves which fed and scampered dew-lap 
 deep; and the fern was all sheened with light 
 where the sunshine brightened its polished 
 leaves. The stream wound through the midst, 
 bedecked and adorned with purple bugle flow- 
 ers, bridged with dog-roses and honeysuckles, in
 
 \,\ tNG PROPHETS 297 
 
 festoons, in bunches and in sprays, crowned with 
 scented gorse, fringed with yellow irises which 
 splashed flaming reflections where the brook 
 widened and slowed into shallow little back- 
 waters. Flags and cresses framed the margins ; 
 meadowsweets made the air fragrant above, and 
 granite bowlders fretted the waters silver, their 
 foundations hidden in dark water-weed. Sun- 
 shine danced on every tiny cascade and threw 
 stars and twinkling flashes of light upward from 
 the brown pools upon the banks. Everything 
 was upon a miniature scale, even to the trout 
 which lived in the stream, flashed their dim 
 shadows under its waters, leaped into the air 
 after the flies, set little clouds of sand shimmer- 
 ing as they darted up and down or, when sur- 
 prised, wriggled away into favorite holes and 
 hiding places beneath the banks and trailing 
 weeds. Ling and wortleberry too were moor- 
 land visitors in the valley, and the bog heather 
 already budded. 
 
 Here was one of the many favorite resting- 
 places of Joan, and hither she came on a rare 
 morning in mid June at the wish of another 
 person. 
 
 Uncle Chirgwin had set his niece a task, and 
 the object of her present visit was no mere daw- 
 dling and thinking while perched upon the gran- 
 ite throne above the meadowsweets. This fact 
 a basket and a three-pronged fork indicated. 
 Her uncle deemed himself an authority on sim- 
 ples and possessed much information, mostly er- 
 roneous, concerning the properties of wild herbs
 
 298 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 and flowers. A decoction of hemp agrimony he 
 at all times considered a most valuable bitter 
 tonic; and of this plant the curious flesh-colored 
 flowers on their long green stems grew pretty 
 freely by the stream-side in the valley. The 
 time of flowering was not yet come, but Joan 
 knew the dull leaf of the herb well enough and, 
 that found, she could easily dig up the root, 
 wherein its virtue dwelt. But oefore starting 
 on her search, the girl rested a while where the 
 serrated foliage and creamy blossom of the 
 meadowsweets laced and fringed the granite 
 of her couch; and, as she sat there, her eye 
 taking in the happy valley, her brain reading 
 into the luxuriant life of nature, some strange 
 new thoughts hidden until lately, she became 
 suddenly conscious of a phenomenon beyond her 
 power to immediately explain or understand. It 
 drove the hemp agrimony quite out of her head, 
 and, when the mystery came to be explained, filled 
 Joan's mind with the memory of her own sad 
 affairs. First and repeatedly there glimmered 
 a gossamer over the stream, falling into the water 
 and as often rising again; then above the film 
 of light flashed another, rising abruptly golden 
 into the sunshine. Not for a moment or two 
 did she discover the flashing thing was a fly- 
 rod, but presently the man who held it appeared 
 below her at a bend of the streamlet. He was 
 clad much like the artists, and it made the blood 
 flush hot to her cheek as she thought he might 
 be one. Young men sometimes fished the brook 
 for the fingerling trout it contained. They were
 
 LYING PROPHETS 299 
 
 small but sweet, and the catching thern with a 
 fty was difficult work in a stream so overhung 
 with tangles of vine and brier, so densely planted 
 in the wider reaches with water hemlock and 
 lesser weeds. This fisherman, at any rate, 
 found successful sport beyond his power to 
 achieve. He flogged away, but hung his fly 
 clear of the stream at every second cast and 
 deceived not the smallest troutlet of them all. 
 The young mam after the manner of those 
 anglers classified as "chuck and chance it," 
 worked his clumsy way toward Joan's chair 
 on the granite bowlder. Motionless she sat, 
 and her drab attire and faded sun-bonnet har- 
 monized so well with the tones around it— the 
 gray of the stones, the lights of the river, the 
 masses of the meadowsweet — that while noting 
 a broad and sparkling stickle winding away be- 
 neath her, the angler missed the girl herself. 
 This stickle spread, with an oily tremor and 
 white undercurrent full of air pearls, from a 
 waterfall where the foot of Joan's throne fretted 
 the stream. Below it the waters slowed and ran 
 smoothly into dark brown shadows, being here 
 marked by the wrinkled lines of their currents 
 and splashed with the sky's reflected blue. An 
 ideal spot for a trout it doubtless was, and the 
 approaching sportsman exercised unusual care 
 in his approach, crouching along the bank and 
 finally creeping bent double within casting dis- 
 tance. Then, as he freed his fly, he saw Joan, 
 like a queen of the pool reigning motionless and 
 silent. She moved and no fish was likely to rise
 
 300 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 after within the visual radius of her sudden ac- 
 tion. Thereupon the angler in the man cursed ; 
 the artist in him drew a short, sharp breath. 
 He scrambled to his feet and looked again upon 
 a beautiful picture. The plump, baby freshness 
 of Joan's face had vanished indeed, and there 
 was that in the slightly anxious expression and 
 questioning look of her blue eyes that had told 
 any medical man he stood before a future mother ; 
 but, in her seated position, no tangible sugges- 
 tion of a hidden life was thrust upon the specta- 
 tor's view. He only saw a wondrously pretty 
 woman in a charming attitude, amid objects 
 which enhanced her beauty by their own. She 
 seemed a trifle pale for a cottage girl, but her 
 mouth was scarlet and dewy as ripe wood-straw- 
 berries, her eyes were just of that color where 
 the blue sky above was reflected and changed 
 to a darker shade by the pools of the brook. 
 She sat with her hands folded in her lap and 
 looked straight at the sportsman with a frank 
 interest which surprised him. He was a modest 
 lad, but the sudden presentment of an object so 
 lovely woke his pluck and he fished ostenta- 
 tiously to Joan's very feet, suspecting that the 
 absurdity of the action would not be apparent 
 to her. She watched the morsel of feather and 
 fur dragged across the water after the fantastic 
 fashion of the "chuck and chancer," and he, 
 when her eyes were on the water, kept his own 
 fast upon her face. Both man and woman were 
 profoundly anxious each to hear the other's 
 voice, but neither felt brave enough to speak
 
 LYING PROPHETS 301 
 
 first. Then the artist's ingenuity found a 
 means, and Joan presently saw his fly stick 
 fast upon the side of the stream where she 
 sat. The thing was caught at the seed-head 
 of a rush within reach of Joan's hand, and while 
 this incident appeared absolutely accidental, yet 
 it was not so, for the artist had long been en- 
 deavoring to get fast somewhere hard by Joan. 
 Now, finding his maneuver accomplished, he 
 made but the feeblest efforts to loosen the fly, 
 then raised his hat and accosted Joan. 
 
 "Might I trouble you to set my line clear? 
 Ashamed to ask such a thing, but it would be 
 awfully kind. Oh, thank you, thank you. 
 Take care of your fingers! The hook is very 
 sharp. ' ' 
 
 Joan got the fly free in a moment, and then, 
 to Harry Murdoch's gratification, addressed him. 
 The young fellow was Edmund Murdoch's cousin, 
 and at present dwelt in Newlyn with the elder ar- 
 tist already mentioned as John Barron's friend. 
 
 "May I make so bold as to ax if you do knaw 
 a paintin' gen'leman by name o' — o' Mister Jan? 
 Leastways, that's wan on's names, but I never 
 can call home the other, though he tawld me 
 wance. He was here last early spring-time, an' 
 painted a gert picture of me up 'pon top the hill 
 they calls Gorse Point." 
 
 "Lucky devil," thought the artist; but though 
 he knew something of Barron and his work and 
 had heard that Barron painted when at Newlyn, 
 he did not associate these facts with the girl bo- 
 fore liim.
 
 302 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "He'm in Lunnon, so far's I knaw," she con- 
 tinued. 
 
 Harry Murdoch had to look hard at Joan be- 
 fore answering, and he delayed a while with 
 an expression of deep thought upon his face. 
 At length he spoke. 
 
 "No, I cannot say that I have heard of him 
 or the picture. But perhaps some of the men 
 in Newlyn will know. He was lucky to get you 
 to paint. I wish you would let me try." 
 
 She shook her head impatiently. 
 
 "No, no. He done it 'cause — 'cause he just 
 wanted a livin' thing to fill up a bit o' his can- 
 vas. 'Tweern't for shaw or for folks to see. 
 He done it for pleasure. An' I wants to knaw 
 wheer he lives 'cause he might think I be in 
 Newlyn still, but I ban't. I'm livin' up Drift 
 along wi' Mr. Chirgwin. An' I wish he could 
 knaw it." 
 
 "He was called 'Mister John'? Well, I'll see 
 what I can do to find out anything about him. 
 And your name?" 
 
 "Joan Tregenza. If you'll be so good as to 
 put a question round 'mongst the painting gen'le- 
 men, I'd thank 'e kindly." 
 
 "Then I certainly will. And on Saturday 
 next I'll come here again to tell you if I have 
 heard anything. Will you come?" 
 
 "Iss fay, an' thank you, sir." 
 
 So he passed slowly forward, and she sat a 
 full hour after he had left her building new 
 castles on the old crumbling foundations. It 
 was even in her mind to pray, to pray with her
 
 LYING PROPHETS 303 
 
 whole heart and soul ; but chaos had settled like 
 a storm upon her beliefs. She did not know- 
 where to pray to now; yet to-day Hope once 
 more glimmered like a lighthouse lamp through 
 the dreary darkness. So she turned her eyes 
 to that radiance and waited for next Saturday 
 to come. 
 
 Then she set about grubbing up roots of hemp 
 agrimony where they grew. She was almost 
 happy and whistled gently to herself as she filled 
 her little basket. 
 
 That night Edmund Murdoch heard his cousin's 
 story and explained that ' ' Mister Jan" was doubt- 
 less John Barron. 
 
 "I'm owing the beggar a letter; I'll write to- 
 morrow. ' ' 
 
 "Was it a good picture?" 
 
 "I should say that few better ever came out 
 of Newlyn. Perhaps none so good. Is the 
 model as pretty as ever?" 
 
 Young Harry raved of the vision that Joan 
 had presented among the meadowsweets. 
 
 "Well, I suppose he wouldn't mind her know- 
 ing where he lives; but he's such a queer devil 
 that I'll write and ask him first. We shall hear 
 in a couple of days ; I can tell him her address, 
 at any rate ; then he may write direct to her, if 
 he cares to."
 
 304 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 CHAPTER TEN 
 
 TWO LETTERS 
 
 Four days elapsed, and then Edmund Mur- 
 dock received an answer to his letter. He had 
 written at length upon various affairs and his 
 friend did no less. 
 
 " No. 6 Melbury Gardens, S.W. 
 "June 8, 189—. 
 
 "Dear Murdoch — Your long screed gave 
 me some pleasure and killed an hour. You 
 relate the even course of your days since my 
 departure from Cornwall, and I envy the good 
 health and happy contentment of mind which 
 your note indicates. I gained no slight benefit 
 from my visit to the West Country, and it had 
 doubtless carried me bravely through this sum- 
 mer but for an unfortunate event. A shaip 
 cold, which settled on my chest, has laid me 
 low for some length of time, though I am now 
 as well again as I shall ever be. So much for 
 facing the night air in evening dress. Nature 
 has no patience with our idiotic conventions, 
 and hates alike man's shirt-front and woman's 
 bare bosom when displayed, as is our imbecile 
 custom, at the most dangerous hours in the 
 twenty-four. My doctors are for sending me
 
 LYING PROPHETS 305 
 
 away, and I shall probably follow their advice 
 presently. But the end is not very far off. 
 
 "I rejoice that you have sucked in something 
 of ray spirit and are trying to get at the heart of 
 rocks and sea before you paint them. Men 
 waste so much time poking about in art gal- 
 leries, like the blind moles they mostly are, and 
 forget that Nature's art gallery is open every 
 day at sunrise. Dwell much in the air, glean 
 the secrets of dawns, listen when the white rain 
 whispers over woodland, translate the tinkle of 
 summer seas where they kiss your rocky shores ; 
 get behind the sunset ; think not of what colors 
 you will mix when you try to paint it, but let 
 the pageant sink into your soul like a song. Do 
 not drag your art everywhere. Forget it some- 
 times and develop your individuality. You 
 have learned to draw tolerably; now learn to 
 think. Believe me, the painting people do not 
 think enough. 
 
 "Truly I am content to die in the face of the 
 folly I read and see around me. Know you 
 what certain obscure writers are now about in 
 magazines? They are vindicating the cosmic 
 forces, whitewashing Mother Nature after 
 Huxley's Romanes lecture! He told the truth, 
 and Nature loved him for it; but now come 
 hysterical religious ciphers who squeak boldly 
 forth in print that Nature is the mother of 
 altruism, that self-sacrifice is her first law! One 
 genius observes that 'tis their cruelty and self- 
 ishness have arrested the progress of the tiger 
 and the ape ! Poor Nature ! Never a word of
 
 30(5 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 shotguns in all this drivel, of course. Cruelty 
 and selfishness! Qualities purely aud solely 
 human — qualities resulting from conscious intel- 
 ligence alone. You and I are selfish, not the 
 ape; you and I are cruel, not the tiger. He at 
 least learns Nature's lessons and obeys her dic- 
 tates; we never do and never shall. A plague 
 upon these fools with their theologic rubbish 
 heaps. They would prostitute the very fonts 
 of reason and make Nature's eternal circle fit 
 the little squares of their own faiths. Man ! I 
 tell you that the root of human misery might be 
 pulled out and destroyed to-morrow like the 
 fang of a decayed tooth if only reason could kill 
 these weeds of falsehood which choke civiliza- 
 tion and strangle religion. But the world's 
 'doers' have all got 'faith' (or pretend to it) ; the 
 world's thinkers are mere shadows moving about 
 in the background of active affairs. They only 
 write and talk. Action is the sole way of chain- 
 ing a nation's mind. 
 
 "Your churchman is active enough, hence the 
 spread of that poison which keeps human reason 
 stunted, impotent, anaemic. Take Liberty — the 
 cursed ignis fatuus our dear poets have shrieked 
 for, our preachers have prayed for, our patriots 
 have perished for through all time. In pursuit 
 of this rainbow-gold more blood and brains have 
 been wasted than would have sufficed to make a 
 nation. And yet a breath from Reason blows 
 the thing to tatters, as an uprising wind annihi- 
 lates a fog. Freedom is an attribute of the Eter- 
 nal, and creation cannot share it with him, any
 
 LYING PROPHETS 307 
 
 more than it can share his throne with him, 
 'The liberty of the subject'! A contradiction 
 in terms. Banish this unutterable folly of free- 
 dom, and control the breeding- of human flesh as 
 we control the output of beef and of mutton. 
 Then the face of the world will alter. Millions 
 of money is annually spent in order that mind- 
 less humanity, congenital lunatics and madmen, 
 may be fed and housed and kept alive. Their 
 existences are to themselves less pleasurable 
 than that of the beasts, they are a source of 
 agony to those who have borne them; but they 
 live to old age and devour tons of good food, 
 while wholesome intellects starve in the gutters 
 of every big city. Banish this cant of freedom 
 then, I tell you. The lightning in heaven is not 
 free; the stars are not free; Nature herself is 
 the created slave of the Great Will — and we 
 prattle about liberty. Let the State look to it 
 and practice these lessons Nature has taught 
 and still preaches patiently to deaf ears. Let it 
 be as penal to bring life into the world without 
 permission from authority as it is to put life out 
 of the world. Let the begetting of paupers be a 
 crime ; let the health and happiness of the com- 
 munity rise higher than the satisfaction of indi- 
 viduals; let the self-denial practiced by the rea- 
 sonable few be made a legal necessity to the 
 unreasonable many. Let the blighted, the 
 malformed, the brainless go back to the earth 
 from which they came. Let the world of 
 humanity be cleansed and sweetened and puri- 
 fied as Nature cleanses and sweetens and puri-
 
 308 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 fies her own kingdom. She removes her fail- 
 ures; we put ours under glass and treat them 
 like hothouse flowers. That is called humanity ; 
 it is the mad leading the mad. . . . But why 
 waste your time? Nature will have the last 
 word ; Reason must win in the end ; a genius, 
 at once thinker and doer, will come along some 
 day and put the world right, at a happy moment 
 when the din of theologists is out of its ears. We 
 want a new practical religion; for Christianity, 
 distorted and twisted through the centuries into 
 its present outworn, effete, ignoble shape, is a 
 mere political force or a money-making machine, 
 according to the genius of the country which 
 professes it. The golden key of the founder, 
 which is lost, may be found again, but I think 
 it never will be." 
 
 [Here the man elaborated his opinions. They 
 were like himself: a medley — a farrago — wherein 
 ascerbity, acuteness, and a mind naturally phil- 
 osophic were stranded in the arid deserts of a 
 pessimism bred partly from his own decaying 
 physical circumstances and partly from recogni- 
 tion of his own wasted time.] 
 
 "I do not suppose that I shall paint any more. 
 I had my Cornish picture brought from its pack- 
 ing-case and framed, and supported on a great 
 easel at the foot of my bed while I was stricken 
 down last month. Mistress Joan e)'ed me curi- 
 ously from under her hand, and through the 
 night- watches, while my man snored in the next
 
 LYING PROPHETS 309 
 
 chamber and I tossed with great unrest, the girl 
 seemed to live and move and smile at me under 
 the flicker of the night lamp. Everybody is 
 pleased to say that 'Joe's Ship' seems good to 
 them. I have it now in the studio, and con- 
 trasted it yesterday with my bathing negresses 
 from Tobago. I think I like it better. It is 
 difficult to read the soul in black faces, especially 
 when the models are freezing to death as mine 
 were. But there is something near to soul in 
 this painted Joan — more I doubt than the living 
 reality would be found to possess to-day. She 
 was a good girl all the same, and I am gratified 
 to hear she did not quite forget me. I have 
 written to her at the address you mention. 
 They pester me to send the picture somewhere, 
 and to. stop their importunities— especially the 
 women — I have promised to let the thing go to 
 the Institute in the autumn. I shall doubtless 
 change my mind before the time comes. 
 
 "My life slowly but surely dwindles to that 
 mere battle with Death which your consumptive 
 wages at the finish. I fancy Biskra will see my 
 bones later in the year. The R.A. took not less 
 than six months off my waning days this spring. 
 Thank God they hung Brady as he deserved. 
 Twenty good works I saw — 'the rest is silence.' 
 "Yours, while I remain, 
 
 "John Barron." 
 
 It was true that the artist had written another 
 letter addressed to Joan Tregenza at Drift. He 
 had written it first — written it hurriedly, wildly,
 
 aiU LYING PKOPHETS 
 
 on the spur of the moment. But, after the com- 
 pletion of his communication to Murdoch, the 
 mood of the man changed. He had coldly read 
 again the former epistle, and altered his mind 
 concerning it. Barron wanted Joan back again 
 sometimes, if life dragged more than usual; but 
 pens and paper generally modified his desire 
 when he got that far toward calling her to him. 
 Her memory tickled him pleasantly and whiled 
 away time. He framed the various sketches he 
 had made of her and suffered thought to occupy 
 itself with her as with no other woman who had 
 entered his life. But the day on which he wrote 
 to Murdoch was a good one with him. He felt 
 stronger and better able to suck pleasure out of 
 living than he had for a month. 
 
 "When I whistle she will come," he thought 
 to himself. "Perhaps there would be some 
 pleasure in taking her to Biskra presently. I 
 will wait, at any rate, until nearer the last 
 scene. She would be pretty to look at when 
 I'm dying. Yes, she shall close my eyes some 
 day, if she likes. That's a pleasant thought — 
 for me." 
 
 So the letter to Murdoch was sent forth, but 
 the letter to Joan, containing some poetic 
 thoughts on Nature, a pathetic description of 
 Barron's enfeebled state, and an appeal to her 
 to join him that they might part no more on 
 this side the grave, was torn up. He laughed 
 at the trouble he had taken to print it all, and 
 pondered pleasantly on the picture which Mur- 
 doch had drawn of Joan ruling the kingdom of
 
 LYING PROPHETS 311 
 
 the meadowsweets, of her eager question con- 
 cerning "Mister Jan." 
 
 "Strange," he reflected, "that her mediocre 
 intelligence should have clung to a man so out- 
 wardly mean as mj^self. If I thought that she 
 had remembered half I said when I was with 
 her, or had made a single attempt to practice 
 the gospel I preached so finely — damned if I 
 wouldn't have her back again to-morrow and be 
 proud of her too. But it can't be. She was 
 such an absolute fool. No, I much fear she only 
 desires to find out what has become of the goose 
 who laid the big golden egg. Or if she doesn't, 
 perhaps her God-fearing father and mother do." 
 
 Which opinion is not uninteresting, for it illus- 
 trates the usual failure of materialism to dis- 
 cover or gauge those mental possibilities which 
 lie hidden within the humblest and worst 
 equipped intelligences. John Barron was an 
 able man in some respects, but his knowledge 
 of Joan Tregenza had taught him nothing con- 
 cerning her character and its latent powers of 
 development.
 
 312 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 DISENCHANTMENT 
 
 With summer, Nature, proceeding on her 
 busy way, approached again the annual phe- 
 nomena of seed-time and harvest. To Joan, 
 as spring had brought with it a world of 
 mothers, so the subsequent season filled Nature 
 with babies; and, in the light of all this new- 
 born life, the mothers suffered a change. Now, 
 sorrow-guided, did Joan begin to read under the 
 face of things, "to get behind the sunset," as 
 Barron had said in his letter to Murdoch, to 
 realize a little of the mystery hidden in green 
 leaves and swelling fruits and ripening grain, to 
 observe at least the presence of mystery though 
 she could not translate more than an occasional 
 manifestation thereof. She found much matter 
 for wonder and for fear. Visible Nature had 
 grown to be a smiling curtain behind which 
 raged eternal struggles for life. Every leaf 
 sheltered a tragedy, every bough was a battle- 
 field. The awful frailty of all existence began 
 to dawn upon Joan Tregenza, and the discovery 
 left her helpless, lonely, longing for new gods. 
 She knew not where to turn. Any brightness 
 from any source had been welcome then.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 313 
 
 Disenchantment came with the second visit of 
 the artist to the stream. There, young Murdoch 
 had met her and told her that "Mister Jan'* was 
 going to write her a letter. Upon which she had 
 sung glad songs in a sunlit world and amazed 
 Mary and Uncle Chirgwin alike by the exhibi- 
 tion of a sudden and profound happiness. But 
 that longed-for letter never came ; weeks passed 
 by ; the truth rolled up over her life at last ; and, 
 as a world seen in a blaze of sunshine only daz- 
 zles us and conceals its facts under too much light, 
 but reveals the same clear cut and distinct at 
 dawn or early twilight, so now Joan's eyes, ob- 
 scured no more by the blinding promise of great 
 joy, began to see her world as it was, her future 
 as it would be. 
 
 Strange thoughts came to her on an evening 
 when she stood by the door of the kitchen at 
 Drift, waiting for the cart to return from market. 
 It was a cool, gray gloaming, wreathed in di- 
 aphanous mists born of past rain. These ren- 
 dered every outline of tree and building vague 
 and immense. "Where Joan stood, the peace 
 of the time was broken only by a gentle drip- 
 ping from the leaves of a great laurel by the 
 gate which led from the farmyard to the fields. 
 Below it, moist ground was stamped with the 
 trident impress of many fowls' feet ; and, now 
 and then, a feather sidled down from the heart 
 of the evergreen, where poultry, black and white 
 and spangled, were settling to roost. A sub- 
 dued clucking and fluttering marked their hid- 
 den perches; then came showers of rain-drops
 
 3H LYING PROPHETS 
 
 from the shining leaves as a bird mounted to a 
 higher branch; after which silence fell again. 
 
 And Joan found all hope fairly dead at last. 
 There and then, in the misty eveningtide, the fact 
 fell on the ear of her heart as though one had 
 spoken it; and henceforth she dated disenchant- 
 ment from that hour. The whole pageant of 
 her romance, with the knightly figure of the 
 painter that filled its foreground, shriveled to 
 a scroll no bigger than a curled, dead leaf— sere, 
 wasted, ghostly, and light enough to be washed 
 away on a tear, borne away upon a sigh. 
 
 Then there followed for her prodigious trans- 
 formations in the panorama of Nature. Seen 
 from the standpoint of his great, overwhelming 
 lie to her, the philosophy which this man had 
 professed changed in its appearance, and that 
 mightily. He had used his cleverness like a net 
 to trap her, and now, though she could not prove 
 his words untrue save in one particular, yet that 
 crowning act of faithlessness much tended to 
 vitiate all the beauties of imagination which had 
 gone before it. They were lilies grown from a 
 dung-heap. Looking back in the new cold side- 
 light, her life came out clearty with all the color 
 gone from it and the remorseless details distinct. 
 And in this survey Nature dwindled to a minor 
 Deity, a goddess with moods as many and whims 
 as wild as a woman's. She was unstable, it 
 seemed to Joan then; the immemorial solidity 
 and splendor of her had departed ; her eyes were 
 not fixed on Heaven any more, nor did peace 
 any longer rest within them ; the3 T were fright-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 315 
 
 ened, terrified, and their wild and furtive glances 
 followed one Shadow, reflected one Shape. It 
 stood waiting at the end of all her avenues ; it 
 peered from the heart of her forests ; it wandered 
 on her heaths and moors ; it lay under the stones 
 in her rivers; it stalked her sea-shores, floated 
 on her waves, rode upon her lightning, hid in 
 her four winds; and the Shadow's name was 
 Death. Joan stood face to face with it at last 
 and gazed round-eyed at a revelation. She was 
 saddened to find her own story told by Nature 
 in many allegories, painted upon the garden, set 
 forth in waste places, fashioned by humble 
 weeds, reflected in the small, brief lives of un- 
 considered creatures. Now she imagined her- 
 self an ill-shaped apple in the orchard which the 
 mother of all had neglected. It was crumpled 
 up on one side, twisted out of its fair full beauty, 
 ruined by some wicked influence — a failure. Now 
 she was a fly caught by the gold spider who set 
 his web shaking to deceive. Now r she was a lit- 
 tle bird singing one moment, the next crawling 
 dazed and shaking under the paw of a cat. Why 
 should Nature make the strong her favorites and 
 be so cruel to the weak? That seemed an un- 
 godly thing to Joan. She had only reached this 
 point. She had no inkling of the great cleans- 
 ing process which removes the dross, the eternal 
 competition from which only the cleanest and 
 sweetest and best come forth first. She saw the 
 battle indeed, but did not understand the mean- 
 ing of it any more than the rest of the world 
 which, in the words of the weakling Barron, be-
 
 ;31G LYING PROPHETS 
 
 neath the emblems of a false humanity, keep© 
 its weeds under hot-house glasses and, out of 
 mercy to futile individuals, does terribly wrong 
 its communities. Our cleansing processes are 
 only valuable so far as they go hand in hand 
 with Nature, and where the folly of many fools 
 rejects the wisdom of the wise, there Nature has 
 her certain revenge sooner or later. The sins of 
 the State are visited on the children of the State, 
 and those who repeal laws which Science, walk- 
 ing hand in hand with Nature, has proposed, 
 those who refuse laws which Science, Nature- 
 taught, urges upon Power, do not indeed suffer 
 themselves, but commit thousands of others to 
 suffering. So their false sentiment in effect 
 poisons the blood-springs of a nation. Religion 
 leads to these disasters, and any religion an- 
 swerable for gigantic human follies is either 
 false or most falsely comprehended. 
 
 Her uncle still tarried, and Joan, weary of 
 waiting, betook herself and her sorrows to the 
 old garden, there to view a spectacle which she 
 never tired of. She watched the evening prim- 
 roses, saw their green bud-cases spring open and 
 the soft yellow leaves tremble out like butterflies 
 new come from the chrysalis. She loved these 
 little lemon-colored lamps that twinkled anew at 
 every sundown in the green twilight of the gar- 
 den. She knew their eyes would watch through 
 the night and that their reward would be death. 
 Many shriveled fragments marked the old blos- 
 soms on the long stems, but the crowns of each 
 still put out new buds, and every dusk saw the
 
 LYING PROPHETS 317 
 
 wakening of fresh blossoms heedless of their 
 dead sisters below. "They was killed 'cause 
 they looked at the sun," thought Joan. "I 
 suppose the moon be theer mistress and they 
 should not chaange their god. Yet it do seem 
 hard like to be scorched to death for lookin' 
 upward." 
 
 What she saw now typified in a dead flower 
 was her own case under a new symbol ; but the 
 girl wasted no anger on the man who had played 
 with her to make a holiday pleasant, on that 
 mock sun whose light now turned to darkness. 
 Her mind was occupied entirely with pity for 
 herself. And that fact probably promised to be 
 a sure first step to peace. The lonely void of 
 her life must be filled, else Joan was like to go 
 mad; and the filling, left to Faith, might yet 
 be happily accomplished. For Faith, if no more 
 than a "worm with diamond eyes" yet has eyes 
 of diamonds, and rainbows are the arches of her 
 shape. Faith is fair and a very heart-companion 
 to those who know her and love her courts; and 
 Joan, of all others, was best endowed by disposi- 
 tion and instinct for the possession of her. Faith 
 had slept in the girl's heart since her mother died ; 
 but, sleeping, had grown, and now waited in all 
 strength to be called to a great task. The void 
 was at its deepest just now; the lowest note of 
 Joan's soul had sounded ; the facts of her ruin 
 and desertion were fully accepted at last ; and 
 such knowledge served even to turn the grow- 
 ing mother in her sour for a time. Maternal in- 
 stinct stood still just a little while at this point
 
 318 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 in the girl's inner life; then, when all things 
 whirled away to chaos; on this night, when 
 nothing remained sure for her but death ; in her 
 hour of ultimate, unutterable weakness and at 
 the dawn of a blank despair, came one last plea 
 from Uncle Chirgwin. Mary had given up talk- 
 ing, fairly wearied out and convinced that to 
 waste more words on Joan would be a culpable 
 disposal of time; but Mr. Chirgwin blundered 
 doggedly on with the humility of a worm and 
 the obstinacy of a friendly dog. He hammered 
 at the portals of Joan's spiritual being with ad- 
 mirable pertinacity; and at length he had his 
 reward. Faith in something being an absolute 
 and vital essential to the welfare of every wo- 
 man, Joan Tregenza was no exception to the 
 rule. 
 
 It fell out on the night of her uncle's weekly 
 visit to market, that Joan had just returned 
 from the garden, when she heard the clatter of 
 the spring-cart. It drew up at the kitchen door 
 and Mary alighted with Mr. Chirgwin. The 
 baskets that had started laden with eggs, butter 
 and other produce came back empty save for a 
 few brown paper parcels. Exceptional prices 
 had ruled in the market-place that day, so Mr. 
 Chirgwin and his niece returned home in excel- 
 lent temper. 
 
 They all met at supper, together with those 
 farm-servants who took their meals at the far- 
 mer's table. Then the laborers and the women 
 workers withdrew; Mary sat down to a little 
 sewing before berltime; and Mr, Chirgwin
 
 LYING PROPHETS 319 
 
 Bmoked his pipe and looked at Joan. He no- 
 ticed that the weather reflected much upon her 
 moods. She was more than usually silent to- 
 night despite the bright news from market. 
 
 Presently Mary put on the kettle and brought 
 out a bottle of rum. Her uncle had taken his 
 nightcap of spirit and water from her hand for 
 nearly ten years, and the little duty of preparing 
 it was dear to her. She also made cups of tea 
 for Joan and herself. Mary often blamed her- 
 self for this luxury and only allowed it on the 
 night that ended those arduous duties proper to 
 market-day. "While thus employed, both she 
 and Uncle Thomas tried to draw Joan out of 
 her gloomy silence. 
 
 "Theer's to be a braave sight o' singin' down 
 to Penzance come next week, Joan. Lunnon 
 folks, they tell me, wi' names a foot tall stuck 
 'pon the hoardings. Us thot 'twould be a pleas- 
 in' kind o' junketin' to go an' listen. Not but 
 entertainments o' singin' by night be mighty 
 exciting to the blood. Awnly just for wance, 
 Polly reckoned it might do us all good. An' 
 Polly knaws what's singin' an' what edn' so 
 well as any lass. The riders* be comin' like- 
 wise, though maybe that's tu wild an' savage 
 amoosment for quiet folks." 
 
 "You an' Polly go to the singin' then. 'Tedn' 
 for the likes o' me." 
 
 Then Joan turned to her cousin, who was 
 pouring tea out of a little pot which held two 
 cups and no more. 
 
 * 'I'hr riders—A circus.
 
 320 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "Let me have the last nine drops, Polly; 
 they'm good for the heartache, an' mine's 
 more'n common sore to-night." 
 
 Mary sighed, opened her mouth to preach 
 a sermon, but shut it without a word. She 
 drained the teapot into Joan's cup, and then, 
 from a bright mood for her, relapsed into cold 
 silence. Uncle Chirgwin, however, prattled on 
 about the concert until his elder niece finished 
 her tea and went to bed. Then he put down 
 his pipe, took a long pull at his drink, and be- 
 gan to talk hurriedly to Joan. 
 
 "I bin an' got a wonnerful fine notion this 
 day, drivin' home-long, Joan; an' it's corned 
 back an' back that importuneous that I lay it's 
 truth, an' sent for me to remember. D'you 
 knaw that since you corned to Drift us have 
 prospered uncommon? Iss, us have. The win- 
 ter dedn' give no mighty promise, nor yet the 
 spring, till you corned. Then the Lard smiled 
 'pon Drift. Look at the hay what's gwaine to 
 be cut, God willin', next week. I never seed 
 nothin' more butivul thick underneath in all my 
 days. A rare aftermath tu, I'll warrant. "Pis 
 so all round. The wheat's kernin' somethin' 
 cruel fine — I awnly wish theer was more of it — 
 an' the sheep an' cattle's in braave kelter like- 
 wise. Then the orchard do promise no worse- 
 I never seed such a shaw of russets an' of quar- 
 antines 'pon they old trees afore." 
 
 " 'Tis a fine, fair season." 
 'Why, so I say — a 'mazin' summer thus far 
 — but what's the reason o't? That's the poser
 
 LYING PROPHETS 321 
 
 as an answer coined to in the cart a drivin' 
 home. You'm the reason! You mind when 
 good Saint Levan walked througli the fields 
 that the grass grawed the greener for his tread, 
 an' many days arter, when he'd gone dead years 
 an' years, the corn alius corned richest 'long the 
 path what he trod. An' 'tis the same here, 
 'cause God's eye be on you, Joan Tregenza, an' 
 His eye caan't be fixed 'pon no spot wi'out 
 brightening all around. You mind me, that's 
 solemn truth. The Lard's watchin' over you — 
 watchin' double tides, as the sailors say — and so 
 this bit o' airth's smilin' from the herb o' the 
 field to the biggest tree as graws. He'm watch- 
 in' over Drift for your sake, my girl, an' the 
 farm prospers along o' the gert goodness o' the 
 watchin' Lard. Iss fay, He fills all things liv- 
 in' with plenshousness, an' fats the root an' 
 swells the corn 'cause He'm breathin' sweet 
 over the land — 'cause He'm wakin' an' watch- 
 in' for you, Joan." 
 
 "He'm watchin' all of us, I s'pose — just to 
 catch the trippin' footstep, like what faither sez. 
 He abbun no call to worry no more 'bout me, I 
 reckon. I be Nature's cheel, I be; an' my 
 mother's turnin' hard too — like a cat, as purrs 
 to 'e wan moment an' sclows 'e the next. My 
 day's done. I've chose wrong an' must abide 
 by it. But 'tis along o' bein' sich a lil fool. 
 Nature pushes the weak to the wall. I've seed 
 that much 'o late days. I was born to have nry 
 heart broke, I s'pose. 'Tedn' nolhin' very 
 stvaange."
 
 322 LYING PKOPHETS 
 
 "I judge your angel do cry gert tears when 
 you lets on like that, my Joan. Oh, gal, why 
 won't 'e give ear to me, as have lived fifty an' 
 more winters in the world than what you have? 
 Why caan't 'e taste an' try what the Lard is? 
 Drabbit this nonsense 'bout Nature! As if you 
 was a fitcher, or an 'awk, or an owl! Caan't 'e 
 see what a draggle tail, low-minded pass all this 
 be bringin' 'e to? Yet you'm a thinkin' creat- 
 ure an' abbun done no worse than scores o' folks 
 who be tauklin' 'pon harps afore the throne o' 
 God this blessed minute. You chose wrong; 
 you said so, an' I was glad to hear 'e, for you 
 never 'lowed even that much till this night. 
 What then? Everybody chooses wrong wan 
 time or another. Some alius goes for it, like 
 the bud-pickers to the red-currant bushes, some 
 slips here an' theer, an' do straightway right 
 'emselves — right 'emselves again an' again. 
 The best life be just a slippin' up an' rightin' 
 over an' over, till a man dies. You've slipped 
 young an' maybe theer's half a cent'ry o' years 
 waitin' for 'e to get 'pon the right road; yet you 
 sez you must abide by what you've done. Think 
 how it stands. You've forgived him as wronged 
 'e, an' caan't the Lard forgive as easy as you 
 can? He forgived you 'fore you was bora. I 
 lay the Luke Gosp'lers never told 'e that braave 
 fact, 'cause they doan't knaw it theerselves. 
 'Tis like this: your man did take plain Nature 
 for God, an' he did talk fulishness 'bout finding 
 Him in the scent o' flowers, .the hum o' bees an' 
 sichlike. Mayhap Nature's a glide working God
 
 LYING PROPHETS 323 
 
 for a selfish man, but she edn' wan for a maid, 
 as you knaws by now. Then your faither — his 
 God do sit everlastingly alongside hell-mouth, an' 
 laugh an' girn to see all the world a walkin' in, 
 same as the beasts walked in the Ark. Theer's 
 another picksher of a God for 'e; but mark this, 
 
 g 
 
 al, they be lying prophets — lying prophets both ! 
 You've tried the wan, an' found it left your 
 heart hollow like, an' you've tried t'other an' 
 found that left it no better filled ; now try Christ, 
 will 'e — ? Just try. Doan't keep Him, as is 
 alius busy, a waitin' your whims no more. Try 
 Christ, Joan dearie, an' you'll feel what you've 
 never felt yet. I knaw, as put my 'and in His 
 when 'twas plump an' young as yourn. An' 
 He holds it yet, now 'tis shriveled an' crooked 
 wi' rheumatics. He holds it. Iss, He do." 
 
 The old man put out his hand to Joan as he 
 spoke and she took it between her own and 
 kissed it. 
 
 "You'm very good," she said, "an' you'm 
 wise 'cause you'm auld an' have seen many 
 years. I prayed to Saint Madern to hear me 
 not long since, an' I bathed in his waters, an' 
 went home happy. But awnly the birds an' 
 the rabbits heard me. An' next day faither 
 turned me out o' his house an' counted me 
 numbered for hell." 
 
 "Saints be very well, but 'tedn' in 'cordance 
 with what we'm tawld nowadays to pray to any 
 but the Lard direct." 
 
 He pleaded long and patiently, humbly pray- 
 ing for the religion whi< h had lightened his own
 
 334 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 road. The thought of his vast experience and 
 the spectacle of his own blameless and simple 
 life, as she reviewed it, made Joan relent at last. 
 The great loneliness of her heart yearned for 
 something to fill it. Man had failed her, saints 
 had failed her; Nature had turned cold; and 
 Uncle Chirgwin held out a great promise. 
 
 "Ban't no sort o' use, I'm thinkin'," she said 
 at last, "but if you'm that set 'pon it I'll do 
 your wish. I owe you that an' more'n that. 
 Iss, I'll come along wi' you an' Mary to San- 
 creed church next Sunday. 'Tis lil enough to 
 do for w'an as have done so much for me." 
 
 "Thank God!" he said earnestly. "That's 
 good news, to be sure, bless your purty eyes! 
 An' doan't 'e go a tremblin' an' fearin', j^ou 
 mind, like to meetin'. 'Tedn' no ways like 
 that. Just love o' the Lard an' moosic an' holy 
 thots from passon. an' not more hell-fire than 
 keeps a body healthy-minded an' awake. My 
 ivers! I could a'most sing an' dance myself 
 now, an' arter my day's work tu, to think as 
 you'll sit alongside o' me in church come Sun- 
 day!" 
 
 Joan smiled at his enthusiasm on her behalf, 
 then kissed him and went to bed; while he, mix- 
 ing up his prayers, his last pipe, and his final 
 glass of spirits according to his custom, sat the 
 fire out while he drank deeper and prayed harder 
 than usual in the light of his triumph. 
 
 "Polly couldn' do it, not for all her brains an' 
 godliness," he murmured to himself, "yet 'twas 
 given to an auld simple sawl like me! An 1 I
 
 LYING PROPHETS 3^5 
 
 have. I've led her slap-bang into the hand o' 
 the Lard, an' the rest be His business. No 
 man's done a better day's work inside Cornwall 
 to-day than what I have — that's sure!" 
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 PROM JOE 
 
 Since her visit to the church at Newlyn, 
 Joan had been in no place of worship save the 
 chapel of the Luke Gospelers. What might be 
 the nature of the service before her she did not 
 know, nor did she care. But the girl kept her 
 promise and drove in the market-cart to San- 
 creed with her uncle and cousin when Sunday 
 came. The little church lay bowered in its 
 grove of sycamores, and, around it, a golden- 
 green concourse of quivering shadows cooled 
 those who had walked or driven from Drift — 
 an outlying portion of the parish — approached 
 through lanes innocent of all shade. Mr. 
 Chirgwin put up the horse and presently joined 
 his nieces in church. Then Joan saw him 
 under interesting and novel conditions. He 
 wore glasses with gold rims; he covered his 
 bald head with a little velvet cap; at the ap- 
 pointed time he took a wooden plate and carried 
 it round for money. Mary found the old man's
 
 326 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 places for him anil sang in a way that fairly 
 astounded Joan. The enormous satisfaction 
 brought to herself by these vocal efforts was 
 apparent. Her soul appeared mightily lifted 
 up. She amused chance visitors to the church, 
 but the regular congregation liked to hear Mary ; 
 and Joan, seeing the comfort her cousin sucked 
 from singing, wished she had heart to join. 
 That, however, she wholly lacked. Moreover, 
 the words were strange to her. 
 
 The quiet service, brightened by music, 
 dragged its slow length murmuringly along. 
 The sermon, delivered by a visitor, was not of 
 a sort to hold Joan, and, indeed, could hardly 
 be expected to attract many in such a congrega- 
 tion. The preacher had lately been reading old 
 Cornish history, and, overcome by the startling- 
 fact that the far west of England — Cornwall 
 and Devon — were Christian long before Augus- 
 tine saw Kent, dwelt upon the matter after a 
 very instructive fashion in ears unlikely to 
 benefit from such knowledge. That the Cornu- 
 British bishops preached Christ while yet Sussex, 
 Wessex, Hampshire, Berks and other districts 
 worshiped Woden, Freya, the Queen of Heaven, 
 the Thunder God, and other deities whose altars 
 were set up after the Conquest, did not interest 
 Joan for one or Mr. Chirgwin for another. But 
 the girl woke up at the mention of Irish and 
 Welsh and Breton saints. Pleasant to hear was 
 the utterance of names which she had loved once 
 but of late almost forgotten. They came back 
 now, and, the service having turned her heart
 
 LYING PKOPHETS '627 
 
 to softness, she welcomed them gladly as friends 
 returned from afar. For the rest, the Litany it 
 was which roused Joan to deepest interest and 
 opened her mind to new impressions. Here was 
 a prayer, gigantic in length, universal, all-em- 
 bracing, catholic beyond the compass of any- 
 thing her thoughts had heretofore conceived. 
 From the Queen upon her throne to Joan her- 
 self, from the bishops, the princes aud the Lords 
 of the Council to Uncle Chirgwin and his fruits 
 of the earth, that astounding petition ranged 
 with equal vigor and earnestness. Nothing was 
 too high, nothing was too low for it; all the 
 world was named, and the people cried for a 
 hearing or for mercy between each supplication 
 and each prayer. The overwhelming majesty 
 of such praying impressed Joan much; as, in- 
 deed, it impresses all who come adult thereto 
 and do not associate it with their childhood, 
 with weary hours dragging interminably out, 
 with sleepy buzz of voices, with sore knees or a 
 breaking back, with yearnings stifled, with de- 
 vices for passing time, with the longed-for sun- 
 shine stealing inch by inch eastward on the 
 church walls. 
 
 "A power o' larnin' in a small headpiece," 
 commented Uncle Chirgwin as he drove home 
 with the girls sitting side by side on his left. 
 "A braave ch'ice o' words an' a easy knowledge 
 o 1 the saints as weern't picked up in a day. "Tis 
 well to hear a furriner now an' again. They do 
 widen the grasp of a man's mind, looking 'pon 
 things from a changed point o' view. Not as us
 
 328 LYING l'JtOi J HETS 
 
 could be '.spec ted to be Latiners, 3 T et I seem 'tis 
 very well to listen to it as chance offers. 'Tis 
 something to knaw 'twas Latin, an' that did I, 
 though I doubt some o' the good neighbors 
 couldn' tell it for what 'twas, by no means." 
 
 Joan said little about the service, but she 
 praised the Litany from her own peculiar atti- 
 tude toward it. 
 
 "That be fine praj-in', " she said, "with nobody 
 forgot, an' all in black print so's wance said 
 'tedn' lost." 
 
 After dinner, when Mary had gone to see a 
 friend and the farm people were dawdling 
 abroad till evening milking-time, Joan made 
 her uncle read the service through again. This 
 he did comfortably between the whiffs of his 
 pipe, and Joan answered the responses, cooing 
 them in her sweet voice as softly as the red and 
 blue pigeons crooned on the roof outside. Drift 
 was asleep under a hot blaze of afternoon sun- 
 shine. Sometimes a child's keen voice in the 
 road cut the drowsy silence and came to Joan's 
 ears where she sat, in the best parlor with Uncle 
 Thomas ; sometimes slow wheels rumbled up the 
 hill toward Buryan. Other sounds there were 
 none. The old people slept within their cot- 
 tages after the extra baked meats of Sunday's 
 dinner; many of the young paired and walked 
 where pathways ran over meadows and through 
 yellowing wheat; while others, more gregarious 
 and unattached, had tramped away to Penzance 
 to join the parade by the sea and meet their 
 friends from the shops.
 
 I.\IN<; PROPHETS 329 
 
 Anou nailed boots stamped up the little path- 
 way to Drift farmhouse, and Tom Tregenza 
 appeared. To-day he entered fearlessly, for he 
 came upon an errand from his father. He 
 kissed Joan and shook hands with Uncle 
 Thomas. Then he said: 
 
 " 'Tis a letter as I've brought for Joan — a 
 furriner." 
 
 The girl's heart beat hard, and the blood 
 rushing from her cheeks left them white. But 
 the letter only came from Joe Noy, and it is cer- 
 tain that Mr. Tregenza would have forwarded 
 no other. Excitement died, and was painfully 
 renewed, in a fresh direction, when Joan real- 
 ized from whom the missive came and thought 
 about its writer. He had long been a stranger 
 to her mind, and now he seemed suddenly to re- 
 enter it — like a stranger. 
 
 "I can stay for a bit of tea so long as I be 
 back b} 7- chapel-time," explained Tom. 
 
 "An' so you shall, my son. Run 'e out o' doors 
 an' amoose yourself where you mind to; awnly 
 don't ope the lil linhay in the Brook Croft, 
 'cause auld bull's fastened up theer an' his tem- 
 per's gettin' more'n more out o' hand." 
 
 So Tom departed, and Uncle Chirgwin read 
 Joan's letter aloud to her. It came from Santa 
 Rosalia, and contained not much news but plenty 
 of love and some religious sentiments bred from 
 the writer's foreign environment. Joe Noy 
 would be back in England again before the 
 end of the year.
 
 330 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Joan was reduced to tears by this communica- 
 tion. She refused to be comforted, and, indeed, 
 the position was beyond Uncle Chirg win's power 
 to brighten. The letter had come at a bad mo- 
 ment, and that calm and repose which almost 
 appeared to be softening Joan's sorrows now 
 spread speedy wings and departed, leaving her 
 wholly forlorn. Curtains were falling behind 
 her, but curtains were also rising in front. She 
 had looked forward vaguely, and now the posi- 
 tion was suddenly defined by the arrival of 
 Joe's letter, with all its future phases clear-cut, 
 cold and terrible. 
 
 "My baaby's comin' just then. An' 1 that's 
 what'll fall 'pon his ear fust thing. Oh, if us 
 could aw nly tell en afore he comes so he might 
 knaw 'tis all chaanged ! 'Twould be easier for 
 en, lovin' me that keen. He'd grawed to be a 
 shadder of a man in my mind ; but now I sees 
 en real flaish'n blood; an' maybe — maybe he'll 
 seek me out an' kill me for what's done." 
 
 "I do creem to hear 'e, gal! No, no, Joe 
 Noy's a God fearin' sawl." 
 
 "If he'd forgive me fust, I'd so soon he killed 
 me as not. Sam Martin killed Widow Garth's 
 gal 'cause she were ontrue to en; an' a man}- 
 said 'twas wrong to hang en to Bodmin. 
 Death's my deserts, same as Ann Garth; an' 
 she got it; an' I doan't care how soon I do. 
 None wants me no more, nor what I'm breedin' 
 neither. I'd die now, an' smilin', if 'tweern't 
 for arterwards." 
 
 "Cuss the letter!" said Uncle Chirgwin, get-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 331 
 
 ting red in the face. "Cuss it, I says, for 
 gwaine an' turnin' up just this day! A fort- 
 night later you could 'a' looked on it wi' quiet 
 mind an' knawed wheer to turn; to-day's it's 
 just bin an' undone what was done. Not but 
 what 'tis as butivul a letter as ever corned off 
 the sea; but if theer'd awnly been time to 
 'stablish 'e 'fore it corned! Now you've turned 
 your back 'pon the Household o' Faith just as 
 arms was being stretched out that lovin'." 
 
 "Faith won't undo what I've done, nor yet 
 make my wickedness fall lighter for Joe. Yes, 
 'twas wicked, wicked, wicked. I knaw it now." 
 
 Mary and Tom came in from different direc- 
 tions about this time. The latter had regaled 
 himself with a peep at "auld bull," heard the 
 terrific snorting of his nostrils and observed how 
 he bellowed mightily at durance on such an 
 afternoon. Tea being finished, the boy started 
 homeward with a basket of fresh eggs and but- 
 ter, a pound of cream and some early apples of 
 a sort used for cider, but yet equal to the mak- 
 ing of a pie. 
 
 "As for the butter, 'tis Joan's churnin'," said 
 Mary, "but you'd best not to tell your faither 
 that, else, so like's not, he'll pitch it into the 
 sea. If us could send en a pound o' charity, I 
 doubt he'd be better for't." 
 
 "Faither's a holy man, whatever else he be," 
 said Tom stoutly. "He doan't want for no 
 good qualities like, 'cause what he doan't knaw 
 'bout God edn' worth knawin'." 
 
 Mary laughed. It was a feat she seldom per-
 
 332 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 formed, and the sound of her amusement lacked 
 
 joy- 
 
 "Well, us won't argue 'bout en. You'm right 
 to say that. Be the basket too heavy for 'e?" 
 
 "No! not likely. Have 'e ever seed my fore- 
 arm, Polly?" 
 
 "Never. I will another time. Best be 
 gwaine, else you'll be late for chapel." 
 
 So Tom marched off, and Mary, returning to 
 the house, heard of Joan's letter. 
 
 The old gusts of misery, sorrow, indignation, 
 rose in her heart again then, but faintly, like 
 the dying flutter of winds that have blown 
 themselves out. She tried to find a way of 
 bringing comfort to her cousin, but failed. 
 Joan had retired and refused consolation. 
 
 The glory of splendid summer hours passed 
 awajr; the long twilight sank to darkness; the 
 opal lights in the west at last died under the 
 silver of the moon. And then, like a child 
 weary with crying, Joan slept, while Mary, 
 creeping a third time to see and speak with her, 
 departed silently. But she did not sleep; and 
 her wakefulness was fortunate, for long after 
 eleven o'clock came a noisy summons at the 
 outer door. Looking from her room which 
 faced the front of the house, the woman saw 
 Tom with his full basket standing clearly de- 
 fined below. The world of the weald and 
 woods shimmered silvery in dew and moonlight. 
 Infinite silence reigned. Then the boy's sm;;li, 
 indignant voice broke it. 
 
 "You'll have to let me in, I reckon. Blamed
 
 LYING FKOPHETS 333 
 
 if I doan't think you was right 'bout fait her 
 arter all." 
 
 The reason for Tom's return may be briefly 
 told. He had taken his basket home and got it 
 safely under cover to his mother. Then, after 
 chapel, Gray Michael went into the village, and 
 Thomasin had an opportunity to ask some of 
 those questions she was burning to put. 
 
 "An' how be Joan?" she began. 
 
 "Wisht an' drawed thin 'bout the faace seem- 
 iu'ly. An' Joe's letter just made her cry fit to 
 bust her eyes, 'stead o' cheerin' of her like." 
 
 "Poor lass. I dedn' expect nothin' differ'nt. 
 I've most a mind to go up Drift an' see her— for 
 a reason I've thot upon. Did Joan say anythin' 
 'bout a last will an' testament to 'e?" 
 
 "No, nothin' 'bout anything worth namin'. 
 But Polly had a deal to say. Her wished her 
 could send faither a pound o' charity 'stead o' 
 butter." 
 
 "She dared!" 
 
 At that moment Mr, Tregenza returned to, 
 supper, and soon afterward his son went to bed. 
 The lad had not been asleep half an hour before 
 Gray Michael came across the basket from Drift. 
 Two minutes later Tom heard the thunder of his 
 father's voice. 
 
 "Tom! you come down here an' be sharp 
 about it!" 
 
 The boy tumbled out of bed instantly, and 
 went down to the kitchen in his nightshirt and 
 trousers. Michael Tregenza was standing by 
 the table. Upon it appeared the basket from
 
 334 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Drift, stored with cream, butter, eggs and 
 apples. Thomasin sat in the low chair by the 
 fire with her apron over her face, and that was 
 always a bad sign, as Tom knew. 
 
 "What day be this, bwoy?" began Michael. 
 
 "The Lard's, faither." 
 
 "Ay: the Lard's awn day, though you've 
 forgot it seemin'ly." 
 
 "No I abbun, faither." 
 
 "Doan't 'e answer me 'cept I tells you to. 
 Where did these things come from?" 
 
 "Drift, faither. Uncle Chirgwin bid me 
 bring 'em with his respects." 
 
 "Did you tell en 'twas breakin' the command- 
 ments?" 
 
 "No, faither." 
 
 "Why didn't 'e? You knawed it yourself." 
 
 "Iss, faither; but uncle's a ancient man, an' 
 I guessed he knawed so well as me, an' I reck- 
 oned 'twould be sauce for such as me to say any- 
 thing to a auld, gray bod}- like him." 
 . "Sinners is all colors an' ages. Another time 
 doan't you do what's wrong, whether 'tis auld 
 or young as tempts 'e to't. You'm a Luke 
 Gosp'ler, an' it edir being a shinin' light 'tall to 
 go wrong just because wan as did ought to knaw 
 wiser an' doan't, tells 'e to. Now you can lace 
 on your boots, as soon as you'm minded to, an' 
 traapse up Drift with that theer basket an' all 
 in it. 'Twon't harm godless folks to wake 'em 
 an' faace 'em with their wrongdoing. An' I 
 lay you'll remember another time." 
 
 Tom, knowing that words would be utterly
 
 LYING PROPHETS 335 
 
 Wasted, went back to his attic, dressed, and 
 started. He had the satisfaction of eating 
 apples in the moonlight and of posing as a bit- 
 terly wronged boy at Drift when Mary came 
 down, lighted a candle, and let him into the 
 house. 
 
 Uncle Chirgwin also appeared, and said some 
 hard things in a sleepy voice, while Tom drank 
 cider and ate a big slice of bread and bacon. 
 
 "A terrible Old Testament man, your faither, 
 sure 'nough," said Uncle Chirgwin. "Be you 
 gwaine to stop the night 'long o' us or no?" 
 
 "Not me! I got to be in the bwoat ; fore half- 
 past five to-morrer marnin'." 
 
 "This marnin' r tis," said Mary, "or will be 
 in a few minutes. An' you can tell your faither 
 what I said 'bout charity, if you like. I sez it 
 again, an' it won't hurt en to knaw." 
 
 "But it might hurt me to tell. The less said 
 soonest mended wi' faither." 
 
 Tom departed, the lighter for his basket. He 
 flung a stone at a hare, listened to the jarring of 
 a night-hawk, and finally returned home about 
 one o'clock. Both his parents were awaiting 
 him, and the boy saw that his mother had been 
 enduring some trouble on his behalf. 
 
 "Mind, my son, hencefarrard that the Sabbath 
 is the Lard thy God's. You may have done 
 others a good turn besides yourself this night." 
 
 "What did they say, Tom?" asked his mother. 
 
 "They wasn't best pleased. They said a hard 
 sayin' I'd better not to say agin," answered the 
 boy, heavy with ^lcep.
 
 3o6 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 : 'Letitbe. Us doan't want to hear it. Get 
 you to bed. An', mind, the bwoat at the steps 
 by half-past five to-morrer. " 
 
 "Ay, ay, faither." 
 
 Then Tom vanished, his parents went to their 
 rest, and the cottage on the cliff slept within the 
 music of the sea, its thatch all silver-bright 
 under a summer moon. 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 A BARGAIN FOR MRS. TREGENZA 
 
 To the superficial eye dead hopes leave ugly 
 traces ; viewed more inquiringly the cryptic sig- 
 nificance of them appears ; and that is often beau- 
 tiful. Joan's soul looked out of her blue eyes 
 now. Seen thoughtfully her beauty was refined 
 and exalted to an exquisite perfection ; but the 
 unintelligent observer had simply pronounced 
 her pale and thin. The event which first prom- 
 ised to destroy the new-spun gossamers of a re- 
 ligious faith and break them even on the day of 
 their creation, in reality acted otherwise. For 
 Joan, Joe's letter was like a window opening 
 upon a hopeless dawn ; and her helplessness be- 
 fore this spectacle of the future threw the girl 
 upon religion— not as a sure rook in the storm of
 
 LYING PROPHETS 33* 
 
 her life, but as a straw to the hand of the drown- 
 ing. The world had nothing else left in it for 
 her. She, to whom sunshine and happiness 
 were the breath of life, she who had envied but- 
 terflies their joyous being, now stood before a 
 future all uphill and gray, lonely and loveless. 
 As yet but the dawn of affection for the unborn 
 child lightened her mind. Thought upon that 
 subject went hand in hand with fear of pain. 
 And now, in her dark hours, Joan happily did 
 not turn to feed upon her own heart, but fled 
 from it. For distraction she read the four Gos- 
 pels feverishly day by day, and she prayed long 
 to the Lord of them by night. 
 
 Mary helped her in an earnest, cheerless fash- 
 ion, and before her cousin's solicitude, Joan's 
 eyes opened to another thought : the old friend- 
 ship between Mary and Joe Noy. It had wak- 
 ened once, on her first arrival at Drift, then 
 slept again till now. She was troubled to see 
 the other woman's indifference, and she formed 
 plans to bring these two together again. The 
 act of getting away from herself and thinking 
 for others brought some comfort to her heart 
 and seemed to rise indirectly out of her reading. 
 
 The Christianity of Drift was old-fashioned, 
 and reflected the Founder. No distractions rose 
 between Joan and the story. She took it at first 
 hand, escaping thus from those petty follies and 
 fooleries which blight and fog the real issues to- 
 day. She sucked her new faith pure. A noble 
 rule of conduct lay before her; she dimly dis- 
 cerned something of its force; and unselfishness
 
 338 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 appeared in her, proving that she had read 
 aright. As for the dogma, she opened her arms 
 to that very readily because it was beautiful and 
 promised so much. Faith's votaries never turn 
 critical eyes upon the foundations of her gor- 
 geous fabric ; their sight is fixed aloft on the rain- 
 bow towers and pinnacles, upon the golden fanes. 
 And yet this man-born structure of theology, 
 with aisles and pillars fretting and crumbling 
 under the hand of reason, needs such eternal 
 propping, restoring and repairing, that priestly 
 tinkers, masons, hod-carriers are solely occupied 
 with it. They grapple and fight for the poor 
 shadows of dogma by which they live, and, so 
 engaged, the spirit and substance of religion is 
 by them altogether lost. None of the Christian 
 churches will ever be overcrowded with men 
 who possess brain-power worthy the name. 
 Mediocrity and ignorance may starve, but tal- 
 ent and any new nostrum to strangle reason 
 and keep the rot from the fabric will always 
 open their coffers. 
 
 Joan truly found the dogma more grateful 
 and comforting than anything else within her 
 experience, and the apparition of a flesh and 
 blood God, who had saved her with His own 
 life's blood before she was born, appeared too 
 beautiful and sufficing to be less than true. 
 Her eyes, shut so long, seemed opening at last. 
 With errors that really signify nothing, she drew 
 to herself great truths that matter much and are 
 vital to all elevated conduct. She thought of 
 other people and looked at them as one wakened
 
 LYING FROPHETS 339 
 
 from sleep. And, similarly, she looked at Nat- 
 ure. Even her vanished lover had not taught 
 her all. There were truths below the formulas 
 of his worship; there were secrets deeper than 
 his intellectual plummet had ever sounded. 
 Without understanding it, Joan yet knew that 
 a change had come to pass in material things. 
 Sunshine on the deep sea hid more matters for 
 wouder than John Barron had taught or known. 
 Once only as yet had she caught a glimpse of 
 Nature's beating heart ; and that was upon the 
 occasion of her visit to St. Madron's chapel. 
 She was lifted up then for a magic hour ; but 
 the lurid end of that day looked clearer after- 
 ward than ever the dewy dawn of it. Nature 
 had smiled mutely and dumbly at her suffer- 
 ings for long months since then. But now 
 added knowledge certainly grew, and from a 
 matrix mightier than the love of Nature or of 
 man, was Joan's new life born. It embraced a 
 new sight, new senses, ambitions, fears and 
 hopes. 
 
 Joan went to church at every opportunity. 
 Faith seemed so easy, and soon so necessary. Se- 
 cret prayer became a real thing to be approached 
 with 303'. To own to sins was as satisfactory as 
 casting down a heavy burden at a journey's end ; 
 to confess them to God was to know that the.y 
 were forgiven. There were not many clouds in 
 her religious sky. As Mary's religion was bounded 
 by her own capabilities and set forth against a 
 background of gloom, which never absolutely 
 vanished save in moments of rare exaltation, so
 
 840 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Joan's newfound faith took upon itself an aspect 
 of sunshine. Her clouds were made beautiful 
 by the new light ; they did not darken it. Mary's 
 gray Cornish mind kept sentiment out of sight. 
 She lived with clear eyes always focusing reality 
 as it appeared to her. Heaven was indeed a 
 pleasanter eternal fact than hell ; yet the place 
 of torment existed on Bible authority; and it 
 was idle to suppose it existed for nothing. 
 Grasping eternity as a truth, she occupied her- 
 self in strenuous preparation ; which preparation 
 took the form of good works and personal self- 
 denial. Joan belonged to an order of emotional 
 creatures widely different. She loved the beau- 
 tiful for its own sake, kept her face to the sun 
 when it shone, shivered and shut up like a scar- 
 let pimpernel if bad weather was abroad. And 
 no w a chastened sunshine, daily growing stronger, 
 shot through the present clouds, painted beauty 
 on their fringes, and lighted the darkness of their 
 recesses so that even the secrets of suffering were 
 fitfully revealed. Joan grasped at new thoughts, 
 the outcome of her new road. 
 
 Nature presently seemed of a nobler face, and 
 certain immemorial achievements of man also 
 Hashed out in the side-light of the new convic- 
 tions; as objects, themselves inconsiderable, will 
 suddenly develop unsuspected splendors from 
 change of standpoint in the beholder. The 
 magic of that Christianity, which Joan now 
 received directly from her Bible, wrought and 
 embroidered a new significance into many 
 things. And it worked upon none as upon
 
 LYING PROPHETS 341 
 
 the old crosses, some perfect still, some ruined 
 as to arm or shaft, some quite worn out and 
 gnawed by time from their original semblance. 
 These dotted her native land. Them she had 
 always loved, but now they appeared marvel- 
 ously transfigured, and the soul hid in their 
 granite beamed through it. Supposing the true 
 menhirs to be but ruined crosses also, Joan shed 
 on them no scantier affection than upon the less 
 venerable Brito-Celtic records of Christianity. 
 Bid so to do, and prompted also by her inclina- 
 tion, the girl was wont to take walks of some 
 length for her health's sake; and these had an 
 object now. As her dead mother's legends came 
 back to her memory and knit Nature to her new 
 Saviour, so the weather-beaten stones brought 
 Him likewise nearer, marked the goal of pre- 
 cious daily pilgrimages, and filled a sad young 
 life with friends. 
 
 Returning from a visit to Tremathick cross, 
 where it stands upon a little mound on the St. 
 Just road, Joan heard a thin and well-known 
 voice before she saw the speaker. It was Mrs. 
 Tregenza, who had walked over to drink tea and 
 satisfy herself on sundry points respecting her 
 stepdaughter. 
 
 "Oh, my Guy Faux, Polly!" she said upon 
 arriving, "I'm in a reg'lar take to be here, 
 though I knaws Michael's t'other side the isl- 
 ands an' won't fetch home 'fore marnin'. I've 
 corned 'cause I couldn't keep from it no more. 
 How's her doin', poor tibby lamb, wi' all them 
 piles o' money tu. Not that money did ought to
 
 342 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 make a differ'nce, but it do, an' that's the truth, 
 an' it edn' no good makin' as though it doan't. 
 "What a world, to be sure! An' that letter from 
 Noy? I knaw you was fond of en likewise in 
 your time. The sadness of it! Just think o' 
 that mariner comin' home 'pon top o' this mis- 
 hap." 
 
 Mary winced and answered coldly that the 
 world was full of mishaps and of sadness. 
 
 "The man must faace sorrer same as what us 
 all have got to, Mrs. Tregenza. Some gets more, 
 some gets less, as the sparks fly up'ard. Joe 
 ISToy's got religion tu." 
 
 Mary spoke the last words witli some bitter- 
 ness, which she noted too late and set against 
 herself for a sin. 
 
 "Oh, my dearsawl," said Mrs. Tregenza, look- 
 ing round nervously, as though she feared the 
 shadow of her husband might be listening. "Luke 
 Gosp'ling's a mighty uncomfortable business, 
 though I lay Tregenza' d most kill me if he 
 heard the word. 'Tedn' stomachable to all, 
 an' I doubts whether 'twill be a chain strong 
 enough to hold Joe Noy, when he comes back 
 to find this coil. 'Tis a kicklish business an' I 
 wish 'twas awver. Joe's a fiery feller when 
 he reckons he's wronged; an' there ban't no 
 balm to this hurt in Gosp'ling, take it as you 
 will. I tell you, in your ear awnly, that Luke 
 Gosp'lers graw ferocious like along o' the wicked- 
 ness o' the airth. Take Michael, as walks wi' 
 the Lard, same as Moses done; an' the more he 
 do, the ferociouser he do get. Religion! He
 
 LYING PROPHETS oZS 
 
 slinks o' religion worse than ever Newly n stinks 
 o' feesh; he goes in fear o' God to his marrow; 
 an' yet 'tis uncomfortable, now an' then, to live 
 wi' such a righteous member. Theer's a sour- 
 ness along of it. Luke Gosp'ling doan't soften 
 the heart of en." 
 
 "It should," said Mary. 
 
 "An's so it should, but he says the world's no 
 plaace for softness. He'm a terror to the evil- 
 doer; an' he'm a terror to the righteous-doer; 
 an' to hisself no less, I reckon; an' to God A'- 
 mighty tu, so like's not. The friends of en be 
 as feared of en as his foes be. An' that's awful 
 wisht, 'cause he goes an' comes purtynigh alone. 
 The Gosp'lers be like fry fly in' this way an' that 
 'fore a school o' mackerl when Michael's among 
 'em. Even minister, he do shrivel a inch or two 
 'longside o' Michael. I've seen en wras'lin' wi' 
 the Word same as Jacob wras'led wi' the angel. 
 An' yet, why? Theer's a man chosen for glory 
 this five-an' -forty years, an' he knaws it so well 
 as I do, or any wan." 
 
 "He knaws nothin' o' the sort. The best ab- 
 bun no right to say it," declared Mary. 
 
 Then Mrs. Tregenza fired up, for she resented 
 any criticism on this subject other than her own. 
 
 "An' why not, Polly Chirgwin? Who's a 
 right to doubt it? Not you, I reckon. Ban't 
 your plaace to judge a man as walks wi' God, 
 like Moses done. If Michael edn' saved, then 
 theer's no sawl saved 'pon land or sea. You 
 talk — a young maiden ! His sawl was bleedin' 
 an' his hands raw a batterin' the gate o' heaven
 
 '3U LYING PROPHETS 
 
 'fore you was born, Polly — ay, an' he'd got the 
 bettermost o' the devil wance for all 'fore you 
 was conceived in the womb; you mind that." 
 
 "Us caan't get the bettermost o' the devil 
 wance for all," said Mary, changing the issue, 
 "no — not no more'n us can wash our skin clean 
 wance for all. But you an' me thinks differ'nt 
 an' alius shall, Mrs. Tregenza." 
 
 "Iss, though I s'pose 'tis the same devil as 
 takes backslidin' church or chapel folks. Let 
 that bide now. Wheer's Joan to? I've got to 
 thank 'e kindly for lookin' arter Tom t'other 
 Sunday night. 'Tis things like that makes re- 
 ligion uncomfortable. But you gived the bwoy 
 some tidy belly-timber in the small hours o' day, 
 an' he corned home dog-tired, but none the worse. 
 An' thank 'e for they apples an' cream an' eggs, 
 which I'm sorry they had sich poor speed. A 
 butivul basket as hurt me to the heart to paart 
 with. But I wasn't asked. No offense, I hope, 
 'bout it? Maybe uncle forgot 'twas the Lard's 
 day?" 
 
 "He'm the last ever to do that." 
 
 Joan entered at this point in the conversation 
 and betrayed some slight emotion as her step- 
 mother kissed her. It was nearly five months 
 since they had met, and Mary now departed, leav- 
 ing them to discuss Joan's physical condition. 
 
 "I be doin' clever," said Joan, "never felt 
 righter in body." 
 
 Mrs. Tregenza, poured forth good advice, and 
 after a lengthy conversation came to a secret 
 ambition and broached it with caution.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 345 
 
 "I called to mind some baaby's things — shoes, 
 clouts, frocks an' sich-like as I've got snug in 
 lavender to home. They was all flam-new for 
 Tom, an' I judged I'd have further use for 'em, 
 but never did. Theer they be, even to a furry- 
 cloth, as none doan't ever use nowadays, though 
 my mother did, and thot well on't. So I did tu. 
 'Tis just a bit o' crimson red tailor's cloth to 
 cover the soft plaace 'pon a lil baaby's head 
 'fore the bones of en graw together. An' I 
 reckon 'tis better to have it then not. I seem 
 you'd do wise to take the whole kit; an' you'm 
 that well-to-do that 'twouldn' be worth thinkin' 
 'bout. 'Tvvould be cheaper'n a shop ; an' theer's 
 everything a royal duke's cheel could want; an' 
 a butivul robe wi' lace work cut 'pon it, an' lil 
 bits o' ribbon to tie in the armholes Sundays. 
 They'm vitty clothes." 
 
 Joan's eyes softened to a misty dreaminess 
 before this aspect of the time to come. She had 
 thought so little about the baby and all matters 
 pertaining thereto, that every day now brought 
 with it mental novelty and a fresh view of that 
 experience stored for her in the future. 
 
 "Iss, I do mind they things when Tom was 
 in 'em. What be the value in money?" 
 
 Mrs. Tregenza answered shyly and almost 
 respectfully. 
 
 "Well, 'tis so difficult to say, not bein' a reg'- 
 lar seller o' things. They cost wi'out the robe, 
 as was a gift from Mrs. Blight, more'n five 
 pound." 
 
 "Take ten pound, then. I'll tell uncle."
 
 346 LYING PEOPHETS 
 
 Thomasin's red tongue-tip crept along her lips 
 and her bright eyes blinked, but conscience was 
 too strong. 
 
 "No, no — a sight too much — too much by- 
 half. I'll let 'e have the lot for a fi'-pun' note. 
 An' I'd like it to be a new wan, if 'tis the same 
 to you." 
 
 Joan agreed to this, and ten minutes after- 
 ward Uncle Chirgwin was opening his cash- box 
 and handing Thomasin the snowy, crackling 
 fragment she desired. 
 
 " 'Tis the fast bit o' money ever I kept unbe- 
 knawnst to Michael," she said, "an', 'pon me 
 life, Chirgwin, I be a'most 'feared on't. " 
 
 ''You'll soon get awver that," declared Uncle 
 Thomas. "I'll send the trap home with 'e, an' 
 you can look out the frippery; an' you might 
 send a nice split hake back-along with it, if 
 you've got the likes of sich a thing gwaine beg- 
 gin' to be ate." 
 
 Presently Mrs. Tregenza drove away and Joan 
 went to her room to think. Magic effects had 
 risen from the spectacle of the well remembered 
 face, from the sound of the sharp, high voice. 
 A new sensation grew out of them for Joan. 
 Home rose like a vision, with the sighing of the 
 sea, the crying of the gulls, the musical rattle 
 of blocks in the bay, the clink, clink of picks in 
 the quarry, the occasional thunder of a blast. 
 Many odors were with her : the smell of tar and 
 twine and stores, the scent of drying fish. She 
 saw the low cliffs all gemmed at this season with 
 raoon-flowers — the great white convolvulus
 
 LYING PROPHETS 341' 
 
 which twinkled there. A red and purple fuch- 
 sia in the garden, had blossomed also. She could 
 see the bees climbing into its drooping bells. 
 She remembered their music, as it murmured 
 drowsily from dead and gone summers, and 
 sounded sweeter than the song of the bees at 
 Drift. She heard the tinkle of a stream outside 
 the cottage, where it ran under the hedge 
 through a shute and emptied itself into a great 
 half -barrel; and then, turning her thoughts to 
 the house, her own attic, with the view of St. 
 Michael's Mount and the bay, rose in thought, 
 with every detail distinct, even to the glass 
 scent-bottle on the mantel-piece, and the colored 
 print of John Wesley being rescued in his child- 
 hood from a burning house. These and kindred 
 memories made a live picture to Joan's eyes. 
 For the first time since she had left her home 
 the girl found in her heart a desire to return to 
 it. She awoke next morning with the old recol- 
 lections increased and multiplied ; and the sensa- 
 tion bred from continued contemplation was the 
 sensation of a loss.
 
 348 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 BOOK THREE 
 
 CHANCE 
 
 CHAPTER ONE 
 
 OP THE CROSSES 
 
 The significance of the ancient crosses in 
 Joan Tregenza's latest phase of mental growth 
 becomes much finer after learning somewhal 
 more concerning them than she could ever 
 know. The ephemeral life of one unhappy 
 woman viewed from these granite records of 
 Brito-Celtic pagan and Christian faith, examined 
 in its relation to these hoary splinters of stone, 
 grows an object of some pathetic interest. Such 
 memorials of the past as are here indicated, 
 vary mightily in age. The Christian monu- 
 ments are n.ot older than the fifth century, but 
 many have been proved palimpsests and rise 
 on pagan foundations dating from a time far 
 more ancient than their own. The relics are 
 divided into two classes by antiquarians: Pillar 
 Stones and Sculptured Crosses. The former 
 occur throughout the Celtic divisions of Great 
 Britain, and are sometimes marked with the 
 Chi Rho monogram, or early rude cross form. 
 In most cases these earlier erections indicated 
 a grave, while the sculptured crosses either de-
 
 LYING PROPHETS oi'J 
 
 noted boundaries of sanctuary, or were raised 
 promiscuously where men and women passed or 
 congregated, their object being to encourage de- 
 votion and lead human thoughts heavenward. 
 The designs on these monuments are usually a 
 bad imitation of Irish key patterns and spirals ; 
 but man}', in addition, show crucifixes in their 
 midst, with pre-Norman figures depicting the 
 Christ in a loose tunic or shirt, his head erect 
 and his body alive, after the Byzantine fashion. 
 The mediaeval mode of carving a corpse on the 
 cross is of much later date and may not be ob- 
 served before the twelfth century. 
 
 More than three hundred of these sculptured 
 crosses have been discovered within the confines 
 of Cornwall. In churchyards and churchyard 
 walls they stand; they have even been discov- 
 ered wrought into the fabric of the churches 
 themselves; the brown moor likewise knows 
 them, for they stud its wildernesses and rise at 
 the crossways of many lonely roads; while else- 
 where, villages hold them in their hearts, and 
 the emblem rises daily before the sight of gener- 
 ation upon generation.- In hedges they are also 
 to be seen, and in fields; many have been 
 rescued from base uses; and all have stood 
 through the centuries as the sign and testimony 
 of primitive Cornish faith, even as St. Piran's 
 white cross on a black ground, the first banner 
 of Cornwall, bore aloft the same symbol in 
 days when the present emblem, with its fifteen 
 bezants and its motto, "One and All," was not 
 dimly dreamed of.
 
 350 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 These ancient crosses now rose like gray- 
 sentinels on the gray life of Joan Tregenza. 
 At Drift she was happily placed among them, 
 and many, not necessary to separately name, 
 lay within the limit of her daily wanderings, 
 and her superstitious nature, working with the 
 new-born faith, wove precious mystery into 
 them. Much she loved the more remote and 
 lonely stones, for beside them, hidden from the 
 world's eye, she could pray. Those others about 
 which circled human lives attracted her less fre- 
 quently. To her the crosses were sentient creat- 
 ures above the fret of Time, eternally watching 
 human affairs. The dawn of art as shown in 
 early religious sculpture generally amuses an 
 ignorant mind, but, to Joan, the little shirted 
 figures of her new Saviour, which opened blind 
 eyes on the stones she loved, were matter for 
 sorrow rather than amusement. They did by no 
 means repel her, despite the superficial hideous- 
 ness of them; indeed, with a sort of intuition, 
 Joan told herself that human hands had fash- 
 ioned them somewhere in the dawn of the world 
 when yet her Lord's blood was newly shed, at a 
 time before men had learned skill to make beau- 
 tiful things. 
 
 Once, beside the foot of the cross which stood 
 in Sancreed* churchyard wall, between two 
 
 * This fine sculptured cross has since these events 
 been placed within the said churchyard, at the desire of 
 Mr. A. G. Langdon, the greatest living authority on the 
 
 subject of Cornish remains.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 351 
 
 tree-trunks under a dome of leaves, the girl 
 found growing a spotted persicaria, and the 
 force of the discovery at such a spot was great 
 to her. Familiar with the legend of the purple 
 mark on every leaf of the plant, nothing doubt- 
 ing that it had aforetime grown at the foot of 
 the true cross and there been splashed with the 
 blood of her Master, Joan accepted the old story 
 that henceforth the weed was granted this proud 
 livery and badge of blood. And now, finding it 
 here, the fable revived with added truth and 
 conviction, the legend of the persicaria was as 
 true to her as that other of the Lord's resurrec- 
 tion from death. Thus her views of Nature suf- 
 fered some approach to debasement in a new di- 
 rection, but this degradation, so to call it, brought 
 mighty comfort to her soul, daily rounded the 
 ragged edges of life, woke merciful trust and 
 belief in a promised life of bliss beyond the 
 grave, and embroidered thereupon a patchwork, 
 not unbeautiful, built of fairy folk-lore, saintly 
 legend and venerable myth. Her credulous nat- 
 ure accepted right and left ; anything that har- 
 bored a promise or was lovety or wonderful in 
 itself found acceptance ; and Joan read into the 
 very pulses of the summer world the truth as 
 she now understood it. Cornwall suddenly be- 
 came a new Holy Land to the girl. Here the 
 circumstances of life chimed with those recorded 
 in the New Testament, and it was an easy men- 
 tal achievement to transplant her Saviour from 
 a historical environment into her own. She 
 pictured Him as walking amid Uncle Chirg win's
 
 352 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 ripening corn ; she saw Him place His hands on 
 the heads of the little children at cottage doors ; 
 she imagined Him standing upon one of the 
 stranded luggers in Newly n harbor with the 
 gulls floating round His head and the fisher- 
 men listening to his utterance. 
 
 The growing mother instincts in Joan also 
 developed about this season. They leaped from 
 comparative quiescence into activity ; they may 
 indeed be recorded as having arisen within her 
 after a manner not less sudden than had the new 
 faith itself, which was exhibited to you as blos- 
 soming with an abruptness almost violent, be- 
 cause it thus occurred. Now most channels of 
 thought led Joan to her unborn infant, and there 
 came at length an occasion upon which she prayed 
 for the first time that her child might be justified 
 in its existence. 
 
 The petition was raised where, in the past, 
 she had uttered one widely different: at the 
 altar-stone in the ruined baptistery of Saint 
 Madron. Thither on a day in early August, 
 Joan traveled by short cuts over fields which 
 brought the chapel within reach of Drift. The 
 scene had changed from that of her former visit, 
 and summer was keeping the promises of spring. 
 Yellow stars of biting stone-crop covered the 
 walls of the ruin; the fruit of the blackthorn 
 was growing purple, of the hawthorn, red; the 
 lesser dodder crept, like pink lacework, over 
 furze and heather; bright-eyed euphrasy and 
 sweet wild thyme were murmured over by 
 many bees; at the altar's foot grew brake fern
 
 LYING PROPHETS 353 
 
 and towering foxgloves ; while upon the sacred 
 stone itself brambles laid their fruit, a few ripe 
 blackberries shining from clusters of red and 
 green. Seeding grasses and docks likewise 
 flourished within the little chapel, and ragged 
 robins and dandelions brought the best beauty 
 they had. Among which matters, hid in loneli- 
 ness, to the sound of that hymn of life which 
 rises in a whisper from all earth at summer 
 noon, Joan prayed for her baby that it might 
 not be born in vain. 
 
 CHAPTER TWO 
 
 HOME 
 
 Among the varied ambitions now manifested 
 by Joan was one already hinted at — one which 
 increased to the displacement of smaller inter- 
 ests : she much desired to see again her home, if 
 but for the space of an hour. The days and 
 weeks of an unusually smiling summer brought 
 autumn, and with it the cutting of golden grain; 
 but the bustle and custom of harvest failed to 
 draw Joan among her kind. Human life faded 
 somewhat, even to the verge of unreality with 
 her. Silence fell upon her, and a gravity of 
 demeanor which was new to the beholders.
 
 354 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Uncle Chirgwin and Mary were alike puzzled at 
 this sign, and, misunderstanding the nature of 
 the change, feared that the girl's spiritual de- 
 velopment must be meeting unseen opposition. 
 Whims and moods were proper to her condition, 
 so the farmer maintained; but the fancy of 
 eternally sequestering herself, the conceit of 
 regarding as friends those ancient stones of the 
 moor and crossroads, was beyond his power to 
 appreciate. To Mary such conduct presented 
 even greater elements of mystery. Yet the fact 
 faced them, and the crosses came in time to be 
 one of the few subjects which Joan cared to talk 
 upon. Even then it was to her uncle alone she 
 opened her heart concerning them : Mary never 
 unlocked the inner nature of her cousin. 
 
 "I got names o' my awn for each of 'em," 
 Joan confessed, "an' I seem they do knaw my 
 comin' an' my secrets an' my troubles. They 
 teach me the force o' keepin' my mouth shut ; 
 an' much mixin' wi' other folks arter the silence 
 o' the stones 'mazes me — men an' wummen do 
 chatter so." 
 
 "An' so did you, lassie, an' weern't none the 
 worse. Us doan't hear your purty voice enough 
 
 now." 
 
 "Tis better thinkin' than talkin', Uncle 
 Thomas. I abbun nort to talk 'bout, you 
 see, but a power o' things to think of. The 
 auld stones speaks to me solemn, though they 
 can't talk. They'm wise, voiceless things an' 
 brings God closer. An' me, an' all the world 
 o' grass an' flowers, an' the lil chirruping grig-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 355 
 
 gans* do seem so young beside 'em; but they'm 
 big an' kind. They warm my heart somethin' 
 braave; an' they let the gray mosses cling to 
 'em an' the dinky blue butterflies open an' shut 
 their wings 'pon 'em, an' the bramble climb 
 around theer arms. They've tawld me a many 
 good things; an' fust as I must be humbler in 
 my bearin'. Wance I said I'd forgive faither, 
 an' I thot 'twas a fair thing to say; now I awnly 
 wants en to forgive me an' let me come to my 
 time wi' no man's anger hot agin me. If I could 
 win just a peep o' home. I may never see it no 
 more arter, 'cause things might fall out bad wi' 
 me." 
 
 " 'Tis nachrul as you harp on it; an', blame 
 me, if I sees why you shouldn' go down-long. 
 Us might ride in the cart an' no harm done." 
 
 "Ay, do 'e come, theer's a dear sawl. Just 
 to look upon the plaace — ' ' 
 
 "As for that, if us goes, us must see the mat- 
 ter through an' give your faither the chance to 
 do what's right by 'e." 
 
 "He'll not change; but still I'd have en hear 
 me tell I'm in sorrer for the ill I brot 'pon his 
 name. ' ' 
 
 "Ay, facks! 'Tis a wise word an' a right. 
 Us'll go this very arternoon. You get a odd 
 pound or so o' scald cream, an' I'll see to a 
 basket o' fruit wi' some o' they scoured necterns, 
 as ban't no good for sellin', but eats so well as 
 t'others. Iss, we'll go so soon as dinner be swal- 
 
 * Grasshoppers,
 
 356 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 lowed. Wishes doan't run in a body's head for 
 nothin'." 
 
 Uncle Chirgwin's old market-cart, with the 
 gray horse and the squeaking wheel, rattled off 
 to Newlyn some two hours later, and the ordeal, 
 longed for at a distance, towered tremendous 
 and less beautiful at nearer approach. When 
 they started, Joan had hoped that her father 
 might be at home ; as they neared Newlyn she 
 felt a growing relief in the reflection that his 
 presence ashore was exceedingly improbable. 
 Her anxieties were forgotten for a few moments 
 at sight of the well-known outlines of the hills 
 above the village. Now arrish-mows — little 
 thatched stacks some eight feet high — glim- 
 mered in the pale gilded stubbles of the fields; 
 the orchards gleamed with promise ; the foliage 
 of the elms was at its darkest before the golden 
 dawn of autumn. Well-remembered sights rose 
 on Joan's misty eyes with the music proper to 
 them ; then came the smell of the sea and the 
 jolting of the cart, going slowly over rough 
 stones. Narrow, steep streets and sharp cor- 
 ners had to be traversed not only with cau- 
 tion but at a speed which easily placed Joan 
 within the focus of many glances. Troubles 
 and humiliation of a sort whony unexpected 
 burst suddenly upon her, bringing the girl's 
 mind rudely back from dreams born of the fa- 
 miliar scene. Newlyn women bobbed about 
 their cottage doors with hum and stir, and 
 every gossip's mouth was full of news at this 
 entry. Doors and windows filled with curious
 
 LYING PROPHETS 357 
 
 Leads and bright eyes; there was sumo laughter 
 in the air; fishermen got up with sidelong looks 
 from the old masts or low walls whereon, dur- 
 ing hours of leisure, they sat in rows and 
 smoked. Joan, all aflame, prayed Uncle Chirg- 
 win to hasten, which he did to the best of his 
 power; but their progress was of necessity slow, 
 and local curiosity enjoyed full scope and play. 
 Tears came to the girl's eyes long before the vil- 
 lage was traversed; then, through a mist of 
 them, she saw a hand stretched to meet her own 
 and heard a voice which rang kindly on her 
 ears. It was Sally Trevennick, who faced the 
 spiteful laughter without flinching and said a 
 few loud, friendly words, though indeed her 
 well-meant support brought scant comfort with 
 it for the victim. 
 
 "Lard sakes! Joan, doan't 'e take on so at 
 them buzzin' fools! 'Tedn' the trouble, 'tis the 
 money make 'em clatter! Bah! "Wheer's the 
 wan of them black-browed gals as 'alf the money 
 wouldn' buy? You keep a bold faace, an' doan't 
 let 'em see as their sniggerin's aught more to 'e 
 than dog-barking." 
 
 "Us'll be theer in a minute," added Mr. Chirg- 
 win, "an' I'll drive back agin by Mouzle; then 
 you'll 'scape they she-cats. I never thot as 
 you'd a got to stand that dressin' down in a 
 plaace what's knawed you an' yours these many 
 years. ' ' 
 
 Joan asked Sally Trevennick whether she could 
 say if Gray Michael was on the water, and she 
 felt very genuine thankfulness on learning that
 
 358 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Sally believed so. Two minutes later the spring- 
 cart reached level ground above the sea, then, 
 whipping up his horse, Uncle Chirgwin increased 
 the pace, and very quickly Joan found herself at 
 the door of home. 
 
 Thomasin was within, and, hearing the sound 
 of wheels cease before the cottage, came forth to 
 learn who had arrived. Her surprise was only 
 equaled by her alarm at sight of Joan and Mr. 
 Chirgwin. So frightened indeed did she appear 
 that both the newcomers supposed Mr. Tregenza 
 must be within. Such, however, was not the 
 case, and Joan's stepmother explained the nature 
 of her fears. 
 
 "He'm to sea, but the whole world do knaw 
 you be come, I'll lay; an' he'll knawtu. Sure's 
 death some long-tongued female will babble it to 
 en 'fore he's off the quay. Then what?" 
 
 " 'Tedn' your fault anj^ways," declared Uncle 
 Thomas. "Joan's wisht an' sad to see home 
 agin, as was right an' proper; an' in her pres- 
 ent way she've got to be humored. So I've 
 brot her, an' what blame comes o't my shoul- 
 ders is more'n broad enough to carry. I wish, 
 for my paart, as Michael was home, so's I might 
 faace en when Joan says what her've corned to 
 say. I be gwaine to Penzance now, 'pon a mat- 
 ter o' business, an' I'll come back here in an 
 hour or so an' drink a dish o' tea along with you 
 'fore we staarts." 
 
 He drove away immediately, and for a while 
 Joan was left with Mrs. Tregenza. The latter's 
 curiosity presently soothed her fears, and almost
 
 LYING PROPHETS 350 
 
 the first thing she began to talk about was that 
 "will and testament" which she had long since 
 urged upon her stepdaughter. But the girl, 
 moving about in the well-known orchard, had 
 no attention for anything but the sights, sounds 
 and scents around her. Silently and not unhap- 
 pily she basked in old sensations renewed; and 
 they filled her heart. Meanwhile Thomasin 
 kept up a buzz of conversation concerning 
 Joan's money and Joan's future. 
 
 "Touchin' that bit o' writin' ! Do 'e see to it, 
 soas; 'tis awnly wisdom. Theer's alius a fear 
 wi' the fust, specially in the case o' a pin-tail 
 built lass like you be. An' if you was took, 
 which God forbid, theer'd be that mort o' 
 money to come to Michael, him bein' your 
 faither — that is, s'pose the cheel was took tu, 
 which God forbid likewise. An' he'd burn it — 
 every note — I mean Michael. Now if you was 
 to name Tom — just in case o' accidents — ? 
 He'm of your awn blood by's faither." 
 
 "But my baaby must be fust." 
 
 "In coorse er must. 'Tis lawful an' right. 
 Love childern do come as sweet an' innercent 
 on to the airth as them born o' wedlock — purty 
 sawls. 'Tis the fashion to apprentice 'em to 
 theer faithers mostly, an' they be a sort o' poor 
 cousins o' the rightful fam'ly ; but your lil wan 
 — well — theer edn' gwaine to be any 'poor cousin' 
 talk 'bout en — if en do live. But I was talkin' 
 o' the will." 
 
 "I've writ it out all fair in ink 'cordin' as 
 Uncle Chirgwin advised," said Joan. "Fust
 
 otiO LYING PROPHETS 
 
 comes my cheel, then Tom. Uncle sez theer 
 ban't no call to name others. I wanted his- 
 self to take a half on it, but he said theer 
 weren't no need an' he wouldn't nohow." 
 
 ' ' Quite right, ' ' declared Thomasin . " Iss fay ! 
 He be a plain dealer an' a good righteous man." 
 
 Joan's thoughts meanwhile were mainly con- 
 cerned with her surroundings, and when she had 
 walked thrice about the garden, visited the pigs, 
 peeped into the tool-house to smell the paint and 
 twine, noted the ripening plums and a promis- 
 ing little crop of beets coming on in the field be- 
 yond, she went indoors. There a pair of Michael's 
 tall sea -boots stood in the chimney-corner, with 
 a small pair of Tom's beside them; the old, well- 
 remembered crockery shone from the dresser; 
 geraniums and begonias filled the window ; on a 
 basket at the right of the fireside stood a small 
 blue plate with gold lettering upon it and a pict- 
 ure of Saltash Bridge in the middle. The legend 
 ran — A present for a good girl. It was a gift 
 from her father to Joan, on her tenth birthday. 
 She picked it up, polished it, and asked for a 
 piece of paper to wrap it in, designing to carry 
 the trifle away with her. 
 
 Every old nook and corner had been visited 
 by the time that Uncle Chirgwin returned. 
 Then all sat down to eat and drink, and the 
 taste of the tea went still further to quicken 
 Joan's memory. 
 
 Mrs. Tregenza gave them such information as 
 suggested itself to her during the progress of the 
 meal. She was chiefly concerned about her son.
 
 LYING PBOPHKTS 361 
 
 "Cruel 'ard worked he be, sure 'nough," she 
 murmured. " 'Tis contrary to reason a boy can 
 graw when he's made to sweat same as Tom be. 
 An' short for his age as 'tis. But butivul broad, 
 an' 'mazin' strong, an' a fine sight to see en ate 
 his food. Then the Gosp'lers — well, they'm 
 cold friends to the young. A bwoy like him 
 caan't feel religion in his blood same as grawed 
 folks." 
 
 "Small blame to en," said Joan promptly. 
 "Let en go to church an' hear proper holy min- 
 isters in black an' white gownds, an' proper 
 words set down in print, same as what I do 
 now." 
 
 "I'd as soon not have my flaish creep down 
 the spine 'pon Sundays as not," confessed 
 Thomasin, "but Michael's Michael, an' so 
 all's said." 
 
 Uncle Chirgwin went to smoke a pipe and 
 water his horse at this juncture; but he re- 
 turned within less than ten minutes. 
 
 "It's blowin'," he said, "an' the fust skew o' 
 gray rain's breakin' over the sea. I knawed 
 'twas comin' by my corns. The bwoats is sail- 
 in' back tu — a frothin' in proper ower the lumpy 
 water." 
 
 "Then you'd best be movin'," said Mrs. Tre- 
 genza. "I judged bad-fashioned weather was 
 comin' tu when I touched the string o' seaweed 
 as hangs by the winder. 'Tis clammy to the 
 hand. God save us!" she continued, turning 
 from the door, "theer's ourn at the moorin's! 
 They've been driv' back 'fore us counted 'pon
 
 3G2 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 seein' 'cm by the promise of storm. Get you 
 gone, for the love o' the Lard ; an' go Mouzle 
 way, else you'll run on top o' Michael for sure." 
 
 "Ban't no odds if us do. Joan had a mind to 
 see en," answered the farmer; but Joan spoke 
 for herself. She explained that she now wished 
 to depart without seeing her father if possible. 
 
 It was, however, too late to escape the meet- 
 ing. Even as the twain bade Mrs. Tregenza a 
 hasty farewell, heavy feet sounded on the cob- 
 bles at the cottage door and a moment later Tre- 
 genza entered. His oilskins were wet and shiny ; 
 half a dozen herrings, threaded through the gills 
 on a string, hung from his right hand.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 363 
 
 CHAPTER THREE 
 
 "the lord is king'* 
 
 Michael Tregenza instantly observed Joan 
 where she sat by the window, and, seeing her, 
 stood still. The fish fell from his hand and 
 dropped slithering in a heap on the stone floor. 
 There was a silence so great that all could hear 
 a patter of drops from the fisherman's oilskins 
 as the water rolled to the ground. At the same 
 moment gusts of rising wind shook the casement 
 and bleared the glass in it with rain. Joan, as 
 she rose and stood near Mr. Chirgwin, heard her 
 heart thump and felt the blood leap. Then she 
 nerved herself, came a little forward, and spoke 
 before her father had time to do so. He had 
 now turned his gaze from her and was looking 
 at the farmer. 
 
 "Faither," she said very gently, "faither 
 dearie, forgive me. I begs it so hard; 'tis the 
 thing I wants most. I feared to see 'e, but you 
 was sent off the waters that I might. I corned 
 in tremblin' an' sorrer to see wheer I've lived 
 most all my short days. I'm that differ'nt now 
 to what I was. Uncle Thomas'll tell 'e. I know 
 I'm a sinful, wicked wummon, an' I'm heart- 
 broke day an' night for the shame I've brot 'pon
 
 304 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 my folks. I'll trouble 'e no more if 'e will awnly 
 say the word. Please, please, faither, for- 
 give." 
 
 She stood without moving, as did he. Uncle 
 Chirgwin watched silently. Mrs. Tregenza made 
 some stir at the fire to conceal her anxiety. No 
 relenting glimmer softened either the steel of 
 Gray Michael's eyes or one line in his great 
 face. The furrows knotted between his eye- 
 brows and at the corners of his eyes. His sou'- 
 wester still covered his head. At his mouth was 
 a down-drawing, as of disgust before some offen- 
 sive sight or smell, and the hand which had held 
 the fish was clinched. He swallowed and found 
 speech hard. Then Joan spoke again. 
 
 ''Uncle's forgived me, an' Mary, an' Tom, 
 an' mother here. Caan't 'e, caan't 'e, faither? 
 My road's that hard." 
 
 Then he answered, his words bursting out of 
 his lips sharply, painfully at first, rolling as usual 
 in his mighty chest voice afterward. The man 
 twisted Scripture to his narrow purposes accord- 
 ing to Luke Gospel usage. 
 
 " 'Forgive'? Who can forgive but the Lard, 
 an' what is man that he should forgive them as 
 the A'mighty's damned? 'Tis the sinners' bleat 
 an' whine for forgiveness what's crackin' the 
 ear o' God whensoever 'tis bent 'pon airth. 
 Ain't your religion taught you that — you, 
 Thomas Chirgwin? If not, 'tis a brawken 
 reed, man. Get you gone, you fagot, you 
 an* this here white-haired sawl, as is foolin' 
 you an ? holdin' converse wi' the outcast o'
 
 LYING PROPHETS 365 
 
 heaven. I ban't no faither o' yourn, thank 
 God, as shawed me I weern't — never, never. 
 Gaw! Gaw both of 'e. My God! the sight 
 of 'e do sicken me as I stand in the same air. 
 You — an auld man — touchin' her an' her devil - 
 sent, filthy moneys. 'Twas a evil day, Thomas 
 Chirgwin, when I fust seed them o' your blood 
 — an ill hour, an' you drives it red-hot into my 
 brain with your actions. Bad, bad you be — bad 
 as that lyin', false, lost sinner theer— a-draggin' 
 out your cant o' forgiveness an' foolin' a damned 
 sawl wi' falsehoods. You knaws wheer she'm 
 gwaine; an' your squeakin', time-servin' passon 
 knaws; an' you both tells her differ'nt!" 
 
 "Out on 'e, you stone-hearted wretch o' a 
 man!" began Uncle Chirgwin in a small voice, 
 shaking with anger; but the fisherman had not 
 said his last word, and roared the other down. 
 Gray Michael's self-control was less than usual ; 
 his face had grown very red and surcharged 
 veins showed black on the un wrinkled sides of 
 his forehead. 
 
 "No more, not a word. Get you gone an' 
 never agin set foot 'pon this here draxel.* 
 Never — never none o' Chirgwin breed. Gaw! 
 or auld as you be, I'll force 'e! God's on the 
 side o' right!" 
 
 Hereupon Joan, not judging correctly of the 
 black storm signs on her father's face or the 
 force of the voice, now grating into a shriek as 
 passion tumbled to flood, prayed yet again for 
 
 *Draa?eJ— Threshold.
 
 366 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 that pardon which her parent was powerless to 
 grant. The boon denied grew precious in her 
 eyes. She wept and importuned, falling on 
 her knees to him. 
 
 "God can do it, God can do it, faither. Please 
 —please, for the sake o' the God as leads you, 
 forgive. Oh, God in heaven, make en forgive 
 me — 'tis all I wants." 
 
 But a religious delirium gripped Tregenza and 
 poisoned the blood in him. His breast rose, his 
 fists clinched, his mouth was dragged sidewise 
 and his underlip shook. A damned soul, look- 
 ing up with wild eyes into his, was all he saw — 
 the very offscouring and filth of human nature 
 — hell tinder, to touch which in kindness was to 
 risk his own salvation. 
 
 "Gaw, gaw! Else the Lard'll make me His 
 weapon. He's whisperin' — He's whisperin'!" 
 
 There was something horribly akin to genuine 
 madness in the frenzy of this utterance. Mrs. 
 Tregenza screamed ; Joan struggled to her feet 
 in some terror and her head swam. She turned 
 to get her hat from the dresser-ledge, and, as 
 she did so, the little blue plate, tied up in paper 
 beside it, fell and broke, like the last link of a 
 snapping chain. Gray Michael was making a 
 snorting in his nostrils and his head seemed to 
 grow lower on his shoulders. Then Mr. Chirg- 
 vvin found his opportunity and spoke. 
 
 "I've heard you, an' it ban't human nachur to 
 knuckle down dumb, so I be gwaine to speak, 
 an' you can mind or not as you please." 
 
 He flung his old hat upon the ground and
 
 LYING PROPHETS 367 
 
 walked without fear close beside the fisherman 
 who towered above him. 
 
 "God be with 'e, I sez, for you need En fine 
 an' bad for sartain — worse'n that poor 'mazed 
 lamb shakin' theer. You talk o' the ways o' 
 God to men an' knaw no more 'bout 'em than 
 the feesh what you draw from the sea! You'm 
 choustin' yourself cruel wi' your self-righteous- 
 ness — take it from me. YoiCm saved, be 3 r ou? 
 You be gwaine to heaven, are V? Who tawld 
 'e so, Michael Tregenza? Did God A'mighty 
 send a flyin' angel to tell 'e a purpose? Look 
 in your heart, man, an' see how much o' Christ 
 be in it. Christ, I tell 'e, Christ— Christ— Jesus 
 Christ. It's Him as'll smuggle us all into 
 heaven, not your psalm-smitin', knock-me- 
 down, ten-commandment, cussin' God. I'm 
 grawin' very auld an' I knaw what I knaw. 
 Your God's a devil, fisherman— a graspin', 
 cruel devil; an' them the devil saves is damned. 
 'Tis Christ as you've turned your stiff back 'pon 
 — Christ as'll let this poor lass into heaven afore 
 ever you gets theer ! You ban't in sight o' the 
 gates o' pearl, not you, for all your cold prayers. 
 You'm young in well-doin' ; an' 'tis a 'ard road 
 you'll fetch home by, I'll swear; an' 'tis more'n 
 granite the Lard'll use to make your heart 
 bleed. He'll break you, Tregenza — you, so 
 bold, as looks dry-eyed 'pon the sun an* reckons 
 your throne '11 wan day be as bright. He'll 
 break you, an' bring j-ou to your knees, an' that 
 More your gray hairs be turned, as mine, to 
 white. Oli, Christ Jesus, look you at this blind
 
 368 LYING PHOPHETS 
 
 sawl an' give en somethin' better to lay hold 
 'pon than his poor bally -muck o' religion what's 
 nort but a gert livin' lie!" 
 
 Thomas Chirgwin seemed mightily transfig- 
 ured as he spoke. The words came without 
 an effort, but he uttered them with pauses 
 arid in a loud voice not lacking solemnity. 
 His head shook, yet he stood firm and motion- 
 less upon his feet; and he made his points 
 with a gesture, often repeated, of his open 
 right hand. 
 
 As for Tregenza, the man listened through 
 all, though he heard but little. His head was 
 full of blood ; there was a weight on his tongue 
 striking it silent and forcing his mouth open at 
 the same moment. The world looked red as he 
 saw it; his limbs were not bearing him stiffly. 
 Thomasin had her eye upon him, for she was 
 quite prepared to throw over her previous state- 
 ments and support her husband against an at- 
 tack so astounding and unexpected. And the 
 more so that he had not himself hurled an im- 
 mediate and crushing answer. 
 
 Meantime the old farmer's sudden fires died 
 within him ; he shrank to his true self, and the 
 voice in which he now spoke seemed that of 
 another man. 
 
 "Give heed to what I've said to 'e, Michael, 
 an' be humble afore the Lard same as your 
 darter be. Go in fear, as you be forever biddin' 
 all flaish to go. Never say no sawl's lost while 
 you give all power to the Maker o' sawls. Go 
 in fear, I sez, else theer'll come a whirlwind o'
 
 LYING PROPHETS 369 
 
 God-sent sorrer to strike wheer your heart's de- 
 sire be rooted. 'Tis alius so — alius — " 
 
 Tom entered upon these words, and Uncle 
 Chirgwin's eyes dropping upon him as he spoke, 
 his utterance sounded like a prophecy. So the 
 boy's mother read it, and with a half sob, half 
 shriek, she turned in all the frenzy of sudden 
 maternal wrath. Her sharp tongue dropped 
 mere vituperation, but did so with boundless 
 vigor, and the woman's torrent of unbridled 
 curses and threats swept that scene of storm 
 to its close. Joan went first from the door, 
 while Mr. Chirgwin, picking up his hat and 
 buttoning his coat, retreated after her before 
 the volume of Thomasin's virago attack. Tom 
 stood open-mouthed and silent, dumfounded at 
 the tremendous spectacle of his mother's rage 
 and his father's stricken silence. Then, as Mrs. 
 Tregenza slammed the door and wept, her hus- 
 band sunk slowly down with something strangely 
 like terror in his eyes. The man in truth had 
 just passed through a physical crisis of alarm- 
 ing nature. He sat in his easy-chair now, re- 
 moved his hat, and wiped the perspiration from 
 his forehead with hands that shook. It was not 
 what he had heard or beheld that woke alarm 
 in a spirit which had never known it till then, 
 but what he had felt : a horror which crowded 
 down upon every sense, gripped his volition with 
 unseen hands, blinded him, slopped his ears, 
 held his limbs, stirred his brains into a whirl- 
 ing waste. He knew now that in his moment 
 of passion he had stood upon the very brink of
 
 '610 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 some terrific, shattering evil, possibly of death 
 itself. Body or brain or both had passed through 
 a great, unknown danger; and now, dazed and 
 for the time much aged, he looked about him 
 with slow eyes — mastered the situation, and 
 realized the incident was ended. 
 
 "The Lard — 'the Lard is King,' " he said, 
 and stopped a moment. Then he slowly rose to 
 his feet and with the old voice, though it shook 
 and slurred somewhat upon his tongue, spoke 
 that text which served him in all occasions of 
 unusual stress and significance. 
 
 '"The Lard is King, be the people never so 
 impatient; He sitteth between the cherubims, 
 be the airth never so unquiet' !" 
 
 Then he sat again and long remained motion- 
 less with his face buried in his hands. 
 
 Meantime the old horse dragged Uncle Chirg- 
 win and his niece away along the level road to 
 Mousehole. Joan was wrapped in a tarpaulin 
 and they proceeded silently a while under cold 
 rains, which swept up from a leaden south over 
 the sea. The wind blew strong, tore green 
 leaves from the hedges, and chimed with the 
 thoughts of the man and his niece. 
 
 "How did you come to speak so big an' braave, 
 Uncle Thomas? I couldn' say no more to en, for 
 the lights rose up in my throat an' choked me ; 
 but you swelled out somethin' grand to see, an' 
 spawk as no man ever yet spawk to faither 
 afore." 
 
 " 'Twas put in me to say; I doan't knaw how 
 ever I done it, but my tongue weenvt my awn
 
 LYING PROPHETS 37 I 
 
 for the time. Pull that thing tighter about 'e. 
 This rain would go through a barn door." 
 
 At the steep hill rising from Mousehole to 
 Paul, Uncle Chirgwin got out and walked, 
 while the horse, with his shoulders to the col- 
 lar, plodded forward. Then, down the road 
 came the laboring man, Billy Jago, mentioned 
 aforetime as one who had worked for Mr. Chirg- 
 win in the past. He touched his hat to his old 
 master and greeted him with respect and regard. 
 For a moment the farmer also stopped. No false 
 sentiment tied Billy's tongue and he spoke of 
 matters personal to those before him, having 
 first mournfully described his own state of 
 health. 
 
 "But theer, us gaws down to the tomb to 
 make way for the new born. I do say, an' 
 swear tu, that the butivulest things in all wild 
 nachur be a ship in full sail an' a wummon in 
 the fa.m'ly way. Ban't nothin' to beat 'em. 
 An' I'll say it here, 'pon this spot, though tho 
 rain's bitin' into my bones like teeth. So 
 long to 'e, maaster, an' good cheeldin' to 'e, 
 miss!" 
 
 The man rolled with loutish gait down the 
 hill; the darkness gathered; the wind whistled 
 through high hedges on the left; farmer Chirg- 
 win made sounds of encouragement to his horse, 
 which moved onward; and Joan thought with 
 curious interest of those things that Billy Jago 
 had said. 
 
 " 'Tis straange us met that poor, croony antic 
 at sich a moment," mused Uncle Thomas; "the.
 
 372 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 words of en jag sore 'pon a body's mind, comin' 
 arter what's in our thots like." 
 
 "Maybe 'tis paart o' the queerness o' things 
 as us should fall 'pon en now," answered Joan. 
 
 Then, through a stormy gloaming, they re- 
 turned in sadness to the high lands of Drift. 
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 A GLEN-ADER 
 
 a. 
 
 'A new broom sweeps clean, but 'tis the 
 auld wan as is good for corners," said Uncle 
 Chirgwin, when with his nieces he sat beside 
 the kitchen fire that night and discussed the 
 events of the day. 
 
 "By which I means," he added, "that these 
 new-fangled ways of approaching the A 'mighty 
 may go to branch and trunk an' make a clean 
 sweep o' evil, but they leaves the root o' pride 
 stickin' in a man's sawl. 'Tis the auld broom 
 as Christ brought in the world as routs into the 
 dark corners like nothin' else." 
 
 "I be glad you spawk to en," said Mary. 
 "Seed sawed do bring forth fruit in a 'mazin' 
 way." 
 
 "I reckoned he'd a smote me, but he dedn'. 
 He just turned rosy red an' stood glazin' at me 
 as if I was a ghost."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 373 
 
 "I never see en look like that afore," declared 
 Joan; "he 'peared to be afeared. But the 
 door's shut 'gainst me now. I caan't do no 
 more'n I have done. He'll never forgive." 
 
 "As to that, Joan, I won't say. You bide 
 quiet till the seed sprouts. I lay now as you'll 
 hear tell about your faither an' maybe get a 
 message from en 'fore the year's a month 
 older." 
 
 With which hopeful prediction Uncle Chirg- 
 win ended the discussion. 
 
 That night the circular storm, which had died 
 away at dark, turned upon itself and the wind 
 moaned at window latches and down chimneys, 
 prophesying autumn. Dawn broke on a 
 drenched, gray world, but the storm had clean 
 passed, and at noon the gray brightened to 
 silver and burned to gold when the sun came 
 out. The wind wore to the west, and on to 
 northwest; the weather settled down and days 
 of a rare late summer pursued their even 
 way. 
 
 A fortnight passed, and the farmer's belief 
 that Gray Michael would communicate with his 
 daughter began to waver. 
 
 "Pharaoh's a soft-'earted twoad to this wan," 
 he declared gloomily. "It do beat me to pick- 
 sher sich a man. I've piped to en hot an' strong, 
 as Joan knaws, but he ban't gwaine to dance 
 'tall seemin'ly. Poorsawl! When the hand o' 
 the Lard do fall, God send 'twon't crush en all 
 in all. 'Saved'— him— dear, dear!" 
 
 'The likes of Tregenza be saved 'pon St. 
 
 <cr
 
 374 LYING riiOl'HETS 
 
 Tibbs Eve,* I reckon, an' no sooner," answered 
 Mary scornfully. Then she modified her fiery 
 statement according to her custom, for the 
 woman's zeal always had first call upon her 
 tongue, and her judgment usually took off the 
 edge of every harsh statement immediately upon 
 its utterance. 
 
 "Leastways 'tis hard to see how sich bowl- 
 dashious standin' up in the eye o' God should 
 prosper. But us can be saved even from our 
 awnselves, I s'pose. So Tregenza have got his 
 chance along o' the best." 
 
 Joan never resented the outspoken criticisms 
 on her parent. She listened, but rarely joined 
 the discussion. The whole matter speedily sank 
 to a position of insignificance. Her own mind 
 was clear, and the deadlock only cut off one 
 more outer interest and reduced Life's existing 
 influences to a smaller field. She drew more 
 and more into herself, slipped more and more 
 from out the routine life of Drift. She became 
 self -centered, and when her body was not absent, 
 as happened upon most fine days, her mind ab- 
 stracted itself to extreme limits. She grew shy 
 of fellow-creatures, found no day happy of 
 which a part had not been spent beside a cross, 
 showed a gradual indifference to the services of 
 the church which not long since had attracted 
 her so strongly and braced the foundations of 
 her soul. There came at last a black Sunday 
 when Joan refused to accompany Mary and the 
 
 * St. Tibbs Eve— Equivalent to the "Greek Calends."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 375 
 
 farmer to morning worship at Sancreed. She 
 made no excuse, but designed a pilgrimage of 
 more than usual length, and, having driven as 
 far as the church with her uncle and cousin, left 
 them there and walked on her way. Even the 
 fascinations of a harvest festival failed to charm 
 her; and the spectacle of fat roots, mighty mar- 
 rows, yellow corn and red apples on the window- 
 ledges, of grapes and tomatoes, flowers and 
 loaves upon the altar, pulpit and font, did not 
 appeal overmuch to Joan — a fact perhaps sur- 
 prising. 
 
 With a plump pasty of meat and flour in her 
 pocket and one of Uncle Chirgwin's walking- 
 sticks to help her footsteps, Joan went on her 
 way, passed the Wesle} T an Chapel of Sancreed, 
 and then maintained a reasonably direct line to 
 her destination by short cuts and field paths. 
 She intended to visit Men Scryfa, that famous 
 "long stone" which stands away in a moor croft 
 beyond Lanyon. She knew that it was no right 
 cross, but she remembered it well, having visited 
 the monument frequently in the past. It was 
 holy with infinite age, and the writing upon it 
 fascinated her as a mj'stery fascinates most 
 of us. 
 
 The words, "Rialobrani Cunovali Fill," 
 which probably mark the fact that Rialobran, 
 son of Cunoval, some Brito-Celtic chieftain of 
 eld, lies buried not far distant, meant nothing to 
 Joan, but the old gray-headed stone, perhaps 
 the loneliest in all Cornwall, was pleasant to 
 her thoughts, and she trudged forward gladly,
 
 37ti LYING PROPHETS 
 
 with her eyes open for all the beauties of a smil- 
 ing world- 
 Summer clouds, sunny-hearted and towering 
 against the blue, dropped immense shadows on 
 the glimmering gold of much stubble and on the 
 wastes of the moor rising above them. In the 
 cornfields, visible now that the crops were cut 
 and gathered into mows, stood little gray-green 
 islands — a mark distinctive of Cornish hus- 
 bandry. Here grew cow-cabbages in rank lux- 
 uriance, on mounds of manure which would be 
 presently scattered over the exhausted land. 
 The little oases in the deserts of the fields were 
 too familiar to arrest Joan's eye. She merely 
 glanced at the garnered wheat and thought 
 what a brief time the arrish geese, stuffing 
 themselves in the stubble, had yet to live. A 
 solemn, splendid peace held the country-side, 
 and hardly a soul was abroad where the road led 
 upward to wild moor and waste. Sometimes a 
 group of calves crowding under the shady side of 
 hedges regarded Joan with youthful interest; 
 sometimes, in a distant coomb-bottom, where 
 blackberries grew, little sunbonnets bobbed 
 above the fern and a child's shrill voice came 
 clear to her upon the wind. But the loneli- 
 ness grew, and, anon, turning from her way a 
 while, the traveler sat on the gray crown of 
 Trengwainton Cam to rest and look at the 
 wide world. 
 
 From the little tor, over undulations of broad 
 light and blue shadow, Joan could see afar to 
 Buryan's lofty tower, to Paul above the sea, to
 
 LYING PROPHETS 377 
 
 Sanereed's sycamores and to Drift beyond them. 
 Wild sweeps of fell and field faded on the sight 
 to those dim and remote hues of distance only 
 visible upon days of exceeding aerial brilliancy. 
 Immediately beneath the eminence subtended 
 ragged expanses of rainbow-colored heath and 
 fern and furze spotted with small fir trees which 
 showed blue against the tones of the moor. The 
 heather's pink clearly contrasted with the paler 
 shades of the ling, and an additional silvery 
 twinkle of light inhabited the latter plant, its 
 cause last year's dead white branches and twig« 
 still scattered through the living foliage and 
 flow T er. Out of a myriad bells that wild world 
 spoke, and the murmur of the heath came as the 
 murmur of a wise voice to the ear on which it 
 fell. There was a soul in the day; it lived, and 
 Joan looked into the eyes of a glorious, conscious 
 entity, herself a little part of the space-filling 
 whole. 
 
 Presently, refreshed by brief rest, the pilgrim 
 journeyed on over a road which climbs the moor 
 above deep fox-covers of rhododendron, already 
 mentioned as visible from Madron chapel. The 
 way dipped presently, crossed a rivulet and 
 mounted again past the famous cromlech of Lan- 
 yon. But Joan passed the quoit unheeding, and 
 kept upon flint roads through Lanyon farm, 
 where its irregular buildings stretch across the 
 hill-crest. She saw the stacks roped strangely 
 in nets with heavy stones to secure them against 
 winter gales ; she observed the various familiar 
 objects of Drift repeated on a greater scale;
 
 378 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 then, going down hill yet again, Joan struck up 
 the course of another stream and passed steadily 
 over broad, granite-dotted tangles of whin, 
 heather and rank grasses to her destination. 
 Here the heath was blasted and scarred with 
 summer fires. Great patches of the waste had 
 been eaten naked bj r past flames, and Men-an-tol 
 — the "crick-stone" — past which she progressed, 
 stood with its lesser granite pillars in a dark bed 
 of scorched earth and blackened furze-stems 
 stripped bare by the fire. She stood in a wide, 
 desolate cup of the Cornish moor. To the south 
 Ding-Dong Mine reared its shattered chimney- 
 stack, toward the northwest Cam Galvas — that 
 rock-piled fastness of dead giants — reared a 
 gray head against the blue. A curlew piped; 
 a lizard rustled into a tussock of grass where 
 pink bog-heather and seeding cotton grasses 
 splashed the sodden ground; a dragon-fly from 
 the marsh stayed a moment upon Men-an-tol, 
 and the jewel of his eyes was a little world hold- 
 ing all the colors of the larger. 
 
 Joan, keeping her way to where Cam Galvas 
 rose over the next ridge, walked another few 
 hundred yards, crossed a disused road, climbed 
 a stony bank, and then stood in the little croft 
 sacred to Men Scryfa. At the center, above a 
 land almost barren save for stunted heath and 
 wind-beaten fern it rose — a tall stone of rough 
 and irregular shape. The bare black earth, in 
 which shone quartz crystals, stretched at hand 
 in squares. From these raw spaces, peat had 
 been cut, to be subsequently burned for manure;
 
 LYING PROPHETS % 379 
 
 and it stood hard by stacked in a row of beat- 
 burrows or little piles of overlapping pieces, the 
 cut side out. Near the famous old stone itself, 
 surmounting a barrow-like tumulus, grew 
 stunted bracken; and here Joan presently sat 
 down full of happiness in that her pilgrimage 
 had been achieved. The granite pillar of Men 
 Scryfa was crested with that fine j^ellow-gray 
 lichen which finds life on exposed stones; upon 
 the windward side clung a few atoms of golden 
 growth ; and its rude carved inscription straggled 
 down the northern face. The monument rose 
 sheer above black corpses of crooked furze, for 
 lire had swept this region also, adding not a lit- 
 tle to the prevailing sobriety of it, and only the 
 elemental splendor of weather and the canopy of 
 blue and gold beneath which spread this desola- 
 tion rendered it less than mournful. Even un- 
 der these circumstances imagination, as though 
 rebelling against the conditions of sunshine and 
 summer then maintaining, leaped to picture Men 
 Scryfa under the black screaming of winter 
 storm or rising darkly upon deep snows; cast- 
 ing a transitory shadow over a waste ghastly 
 blue under flashes of lightning, or throbbing to 
 its deep roots when thunder roared over the 
 moor and the levin brand hissed unseen into 
 quag and fen. 
 
 The double crown of Carn Galvas fronted 
 Joan as she present^ sat with her back rest- 
 ing against the stone ; and a medley of the old 
 thoughts rose not unwelcome in her mind. Giant 
 mythology seemed a true thing in sight of these
 
 380 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 vast regular piles of granite ; and the thought of 
 the kind simple monsters who had raised that 
 earn led to musings on the "little people." Her 
 mind brooded over the fairies and their strange 
 ways with young human mothers. She remem- 
 bered the stories of changeliDgs, and vowed to 
 herself that her own babe should never be out of 
 sight. These reflections found no adverse criti- 
 cism in faith. The Bible was full of giants; 
 and if no fairies were mentioned therein, she 
 had read nothing aimed against them. Pres- 
 ently she prayed for the coming child. Her 
 soul went with the words ; and they were ad- 
 dressed with vagueness as became her vague 
 thoughts, half to Men Scryfa, half to God, all 
 in the name of Christ. 
 
 Going home again, after noon, Joan found 
 a glen-ader,* which circumstance is here men- 
 tioned to illustrate the conflicting nature of those 
 many forces still active in her mind. That they 
 should have coexisted and not destroyed each 
 other is the point of most peculiarity. But it 
 seemed for a moment as though the girl had 
 intellectually passed at least that form of super- 
 stition embraced by coveted possession of a glen- 
 ader; for, upon finding the thing lying extended 
 like a snake's ghost, she hesitated before picking- 
 it up. The old tradition, however, sucked in 
 from a credulous parent with much similar folly 
 
 * Glen-ader— The cast skin of an adder. Once ac- 
 counted a powerful amulet, and still sometimes secretly 
 preserved by the ignorant, as sailors treasure a caul.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 381 
 
 at a time when the mind accepts impressions 
 most readily, was too strong for Joan. Qualms 
 she had, and some whisper at the bottom of her 
 mind was heard with a clearness sufficient to 
 make her uncomfortable, but reason held a feeble 
 citadel at best in Joan's mind. The whisper 
 died, memory spoke of the notable value which 
 wise men through long past years had placed 
 upon this charm, and in the face of the future it 
 seemed wicked to reject a thing of such proven 
 efficacy. So she picked up the adder's slough, 
 designing to sew it upon a piece of flannel and 
 henceforth wear it against her skin until her 
 baby should be born. But she determined to 
 tell neither Mary nor her uncle, though she did 
 not stop to ask why secrecy thus commended 
 itself to her. 
 
 That evening Mary came primed from church- 
 going with grave admonition. Mr. Chirgwin 
 was tearful, and hinted at his owu sorrow aris- 
 ing from Joan's backsliding, but Mary did not 
 mince language and spoke what she thought. 
 
 'You'm wrong, an' you knaw you'm wrong," 
 she said. "The crosses be very well, an' coori- 
 ous, butivul things to see 'pon the land tu, but 
 they'm poor food to a body's sawl. They caan't 
 shaw wheer you'm out; they caan't lead 'e 
 right," 
 
 "Iss they can, then, an' they do," declared 
 Joan. "The more I bide along wi' 'em the 
 better I feel an' the nearer to God A'mighty, so 
 theer! They'm alius the same, an' they puts 
 thots in my head that's good to think; an' I
 
 382 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 must go my ways, Polly, same as you go 
 yours." 
 
 When night came Joan slept within the mys- 
 tic circumference of the glen-ader; and that she 
 derived a growing measure of mental satisfac- 
 tion from its embrace is unquestionable. 
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 "come to me!" 
 
 A space of time six weeks in duration may be 
 hastily dismissed as producing no alteration in 
 Joan's method of thought and life. It swept 
 her swiftly through shortening days and the 
 last of the summer weather to the climax of 
 her fortunes. As the season waned she kept 
 nearer home, going not much further than Tre- 
 mathick Cross on the St. Just road or to that 
 relic already mentioned as lying outside San- 
 creed churchyard. These, in time, she asso- 
 ciated as much with her child as with herself. 
 The baby had now taken its natural place in her 
 mind, and she prayed every day that it might 
 presently forgive her for bringing it into the 
 world at all. Misty-eyed, not unhappy, with 
 her beauty still a startling fact, Joan mused 
 away long hours at the feet of her granite 
 friends through the waning splendors of many
 
 LYING PROPHETS 383 
 
 an autumn noon. Then, within the brief space 
 of two weeks, a period of weather almost unex- 
 ampled in the memory of the oldest agricultur- 
 ists drew to its close. 
 
 That mighty rains must surely come all knew, 
 but none foretold their tremendous volume or 
 foresaw the havoc, ruin and destruction to fol- 
 low upon their outpouring. Meantime, with 
 late September, the leaves began to hustle 
 early to earth under great winds. Rain fell 
 at times, but not heavily at first, and a thirsty 
 world drank open-mouthed through deep sun- 
 cracks in field and moor and dried-up marsh. 
 But bedraggled autumn's robes were soon 
 washed colorless; the heath turned pallid be- 
 fore it faded to sere brown; rotten banks of 
 decaying leaves rose high under the hedges. 
 There was no dry, crisp whirl of gold on the 
 wind, but a sodden condition gradually over- 
 spread the land. The earth grew drunken with 
 the later rains and could hold no more. October 
 saw the last of the purple and crimson, the tawny 
 browns and royal yellows. Onty beeches, their 
 wet leaves by many shades a darker auburn than 
 is customary, still retained lower foliage. The 
 trees put on their winter shapes unduly early. 
 The world was dark and sweated fungus. Un- 
 couth children of the earth, whose hour is that 
 which sees the leaf fall, sprang into short-lived 
 being. Black goblins and gray, white goblins 
 and brown, spread weird life abroad. With 
 fleshy gills, squat and lean, fat and thin, burst- 
 ing through the grass in companies and cirri -s,
 
 384 LYING PKOPHETS 
 
 lurking livid, gigantic and alone on the trunks 
 of forest trees, gemming the rotten bough with 
 crimson, twinkling like topaz on the crooked 
 stems of the furze, battening upon death, rising 
 into transitory vigor from the rack and rot of 
 a festering earth, they flourished. Heavy mists 
 now stretched their draperies over the high lands ; 
 and exhalations from the corpse of the summer 
 hung bluish under the rain in the valleys. One 
 night a full moon shone clearly, and through 
 the ambient light ominous sheets and splashes 
 of silver glimmered in the low fields. Here they 
 had slowly and silently spread into existence, 
 their birth hidden under the mists, their signifi- 
 cance marked by none but anxious farmers. All 
 men hoped that the full moon would bring cessa- 
 tion of this rainfall ; but another gray dawn faced 
 them on the morrow and a thousand busy rills 
 murmured and babbled down the lanes round 
 Drift. Here and there unsuspected springs burst 
 • their hidden chambers and swept by steep courses 
 over the green grass to join these main waters 
 which now raced through the valley. The light 
 of day was heavy and pressed upon the sight. 
 It acted like a telescope in the intervals of no 
 rain and brought distant objects into strange 
 distinctness. The weather was much too warm 
 even for Western Cornwall. A few leaves still 
 hung on the crown of the apple trees, and such 
 scanty peach and nectarine foliage as yet re- 
 mained was green. The red currants flaunted 
 a gold leaf or two and the remaining leaves of 
 the black currant were purple after his fashion.
 
 LYING FEOPHETS 36o 
 
 Joan marveled to see sundry of her favorites 
 thrusting forth tokens of spring almost before 
 autumn was ended. Lilac buds swelled to burst- 
 ing; a peony pushed many pink points upward 
 through the brown ruins of the past; bulbs were 
 growing rapidly; Nature had forgotten winter 
 for once, thought Joan. Thus the sodden, sun- 
 less, steaming days followed each on the last 
 until farming folk began to grow grave before 
 a steady increase of water on the land. Much 
 hay stood in danger and some ricks had been al- 
 ready ruined. Many theories were rife, Uncle 
 Chirgwin's being, upon the whole, the most 
 fatuous. 
 
 " 'Tis a thunder-planet," he told his nieces, 
 "an' till us get a rousin' storm o' crooked forks 
 an' heavy thunder this rain '11 go on fallin'. But 
 not so much as a flap o' the collybran * do us 
 get for all the heat o' the air. I should knaw, 
 if any, for I be out turnin' night into day an' 
 markin' the water in the valley every evenin' 
 long after dark now. I'm fearin' graave for 
 the big stack; an' theer's three paarts o' last 
 year's hay beside, an' two tidy lil mows of the 
 aftermath. So sure's the waters do rise another 
 foot and a half, 'tis 'good-by' to the whole boil- 
 in'. Not but 'twill be a miracle for the stream 
 to get much higher. The moor's burstin' wi' 
 rain, but the coffins f do hold it up, I s'pose, an' 
 keep it aloft. A penn'orth o' frost now would 
 
 * Collybran — Sheet lightning 1 . 
 
 |- Coffins — Anoient mining pxeavations.
 
 386 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 save a pound of produce from wan end o' Carn- 
 wall to t'other," 
 
 Joan spent many long days in the house at 
 this time and practiced an unskillful needle, 
 while her thoughts wandered far and near 
 through the sullen weather to this old cross 
 and that. Then came a night of rainless dark- 
 ness through which past augmentations of water 
 still thundered. Nature rested for some hours 
 before her final, shattering deluge, but the brief 
 peace was more tremendous than rain or wind, 
 for a mighty foreboding permeated it, and all 
 men felt the end was not yet, though none could 
 say why they feared the silence more than storm. 
 
 It happened upon this black night that Joan 
 was alone in the kitchen. Supper had been but 
 a scrambling meal and her uncle with Amos 
 Bartlett and all the men on the farm were now 
 somewhere in the valley under the darkness 
 fighting for the hay with rising water. Where 
 Mary was just then, Joan did not know. Her 
 thoughts were occupied with her own affairs, 
 and in the oppressive silence she sat watching 
 some little moving threadlike concerns which 
 hung in a row through a crack below the man- 
 tel-piece above the open fire. They were the 
 tails of mice which often here congregated nigh 
 the warmth and sat in a row, themselves in- 
 visible. The tails moved, and Joan noted some 
 shorter tails beside long ones, telling of infant 
 vermin at their mothers' sides. In the silence 
 she could hear the squeaking of them, and now 
 and then she talked to them very softly.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 387 
 
 "Thank God, you lil mice, as you abbuu got 
 no brains in your heads an' no call to look far in 
 the future. I lay you'm happier than us, wi' 
 nort to fear 'bout 'cept crumbs an' a lew snug 
 spot to live in." 
 
 Thus she stumbled on the lowest note of pes- 
 simism : that conscious intelligence is a supreme 
 mistake. But the significance of her idea she 
 knew not. 
 
 Then Joan rose up, shivered with a sudden 
 sense of chill, stamped her feet, and caused the 
 row of tails below the mantel to vanish. 
 
 "Goose-flaish down the spine do mean as 
 theer's feet walkin' 'pon my graave, I s'pose," 
 she thought, as a heavy knock at the front door 
 interrupted her reflections. Hastening to open 
 it, Joan found the postman — a rare visitor at 
 Drift. He handed her a letter and prepared to 
 depart immediately. 
 
 "I'm grievous af eared o' Buryas Bridge to- 
 night," he said; "when I corned over, two hour 
 back, the water was above the arches, an', so 
 like's not, I won't get 'cross 'tall if it's riz 
 higher. An' somethin' cruel's comin', I'll lay 
 my life, 'fore marnin'. This pitch-black silence 
 be worse than the noise o' the rain." 
 
 He vanished down the hill, and, returning to 
 the kitchen, Joan lighted a candle and examined 
 the letter. A fit of trembling shook the girl to 
 the hidden seat of her soul as she did so, for her 
 own name greeted her, in neat printed letters 
 akin to those on the superscription of another 
 letter she had received in the past. From John
 
 38S LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Barron it was that this communication came, 
 and the reception of it begot a wild chaos of 
 mind which now carried Joan headlong back- 
 ward. Images swept through her brain with 
 the bewildering rapidity and brilliance of light- 
 ning flashes; she was whirled and tossed on a 
 flood of thoughts ; a single sad-eyed figure re- 
 tained permanency and rose clear and separated 
 itself from the phantasmagorial procession of 
 personages and events wending through her 
 mind, dissolving each into the other, stretch- 
 ing the circumstances of eight short months into 
 an eternity, crowding the solemn aisles of time 
 past with shadows of those emotions which had 
 reigned over the dead spring time of the year 
 and were themselves long dead. Thus she stood 
 for a space of vast apparent duration, but in 
 reality most brief. That trifling standpoint in 
 time needed for a dream or for the brain-picture 
 of his past which dominates the mind of the 
 drowning was all that had sped with Joan. 
 Then, shaking herself clear of thought, she 
 found her candle, which burned dim when 
 first lighted, was only now melting the wax 
 and rising to its full flame. A mist of damp 
 had long hung on the inner walls of the kitchen 
 at Drift, begotten not of faulty building but by 
 the peculiar condition of the atmosphere; and 
 as the candle flickered up in a chamber dark 
 save for its light and the subdued glow of a low 
 fire, Joan noticed how the gathering moisture 
 on the walls had coalesced, run into drops and 
 fallen, streaking the misty gray with bright
 
 LYING PROPHETS 389 
 
 burs and networks, silvery as the slime of 
 snails. 
 
 With shaking hand, she set the candle upon a 
 table, dropped into a chair beside it and opened 
 her letter. For a moment the page with its large 
 printed characters danced before her eyes, then 
 they steadied and she was r ><le to read. Like a 
 message from one long dead, came the words; 
 and in truth, though the writer lived, he wrote 
 upon the threshold of the grave. John Barron 
 had put into force his project, which was, as 
 may be remembered, to write to Joan when the 
 end of his journey came in sight. The words 
 were carefully chosen, for he remembered her 
 sympathy with suffering and her extensive igno- 
 rance. He wrote in simple language, therefore, 
 and dwelt on his own helpless condition, exag- 
 gerating it to some extent. 
 
 " No. 6 Melbury Gardens, London. 
 "My own dear love — What can I say to 
 make you know what has kept me away from 
 you? There is but one word and that is my 
 poor sick and suffering body. I wrote to you 
 and tore up what I wrote, for I loved you too 
 much to ask you to come and share my sad life. 
 It was very, very awful to be away and know 
 you were waiting and waiting for Jan; yet I 
 could not come, because Mother Nature was so 
 hard. Then I went far away and hoped you 
 had forgotten me. Doctors made me go to a 
 place over the sea where tall palm trees grew up 
 out of a dry yellow desert : but my poor lungs
 
 390 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 were too sick to get well again and I came home 
 to die. Yes, sweetheart, you will forgive me 
 for all when you know poor lonely Jan will soon 
 be gone. He cannot live much longer, and he is 
 so weak now that he has no more power to fight 
 against the love of Joan. 
 
 "For your own ;vood, dear one, I made myself 
 keep away and hid myself from you. Now the 
 little life left to me cries out by night and by day 
 for you. Joan, my own true love, I cannot die 
 until I have seen you again. Come to me, Joan, 
 love, if you do not hate me. Come to me ; come ; 
 and close my eyes and let poor Jan have the one 
 face that he loves quite near him at the end. 
 Even your picture has gone, for they came when 
 I was away and took it and put it in a place with 
 many others for people to see. And all men and 
 women say it is the best picture. I shall be dead 
 before they send it back to me. So now I have 
 nothing but the thoughts of my Joan. Oh, come 
 to me, my love, if you can. It will not be for 
 long, and when Jan lies under the ground all 
 that he has is yours. I have fought so hard to 
 keep from you and from praying you to come 
 to me, but I can fight no more. My home is 
 named at the top of this letter. You have but 
 to enter the train for London and stop in it until 
 it gets to the end of its journey. My servant 
 shall wait each day for your coming. I can 
 write no more, I can only pray to the God we 
 both love to bring you to me. And if you come 
 or do not I shall have the same great true love 
 for you. I will die alone rather than trouble
 
 LYING PROPHETS 391 
 
 you to come if you have forgotten nie and not 
 forgiven me for keeping silence. God bless yon, 
 my only love. Jan." 
 
 This feeble staff rang like a clarion on the ear 
 of the reader, for he who had written it knew 
 how best to strike, how best to appeal with over- 
 whelming force to Joan Tregenza. Her mind 
 plunged straight into the struggle and the bil- 
 lows of the storm, sweeping aside lesser obstruc- 
 tions, were soon beating against the new-built 
 ramparts of faith. The rush of thought which 
 had coursed through her brains before reading 
 the letter now made the task of deciding upon it 
 easier. Indeed it can hardly be said that any 
 real doubt from first to last assailed Joan's de- 
 cision. Faith did not crumble, but, at a second 
 glance, appeared to her wholly compatible with 
 obedience to this demand. There was an elec- 
 tric force in every word of the letter. It proved 
 Mister Jan's wondrous nobility of character, his 
 unselfishness, his love. He had suffered, too, 
 had longed eternally for her, had denied him- 
 self out of consideration for her future happi- 
 ness, had struggled with his love, and only 
 broken down and given way to it in the shadow 
 of death. Grief shook J oan upon this thought, 
 but joy was uppermost. The long months of 
 weary suffering faded from her recollection as 
 nocturnal mists vanish at the touch of the sun's 
 first fire. She had no power to analyze the po- 
 sition or reflect upon the various courses of ac- 
 tion the man might have taken to spare her so
 
 392 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 much agony. She accepted his bald utterance 
 word for word, as he knew she would. Every 
 inclination and desire swept her toward him 
 now. His cry of suffering, his love, his lone- 
 liness, her duty, as it stood blazoned upon her 
 mind ten minutes after reading his letter; the 
 child to be born within two months— all these 
 considerations united to establish Joan's mind 
 at this juncture. "Come to me!" Those were 
 the words echoing within her heart, and her 
 soul cried upon Christ to shorten time that she 
 might reach him the sooner. Before the world 
 was next awake, she would be upon her way; 
 before another night fell, Mister Jan's arms 
 would be round her. The long, dreary night- 
 mare had ended for her at last. Then came 
 tears of bitter remorse, for she saw how his love 
 had never left her, how he had been true as 
 steel, while she, misled by appearances, had lost 
 faith and lapsed into forgetf ulness. A wild, un- 
 reasoning yearning superior to time and space 
 and the service of railways got hold upon her. 
 "Come to me," "Come to me," sounded in Joan's 
 ears in the live voice she had loved and lost and 
 found again. An hour's delay, a minute's, a 
 moment's seemed a crime. Yet delay there 
 must be, but the tension and terrific excitement 
 of her whole being at this period demanded some 
 immediate outlet in action. She wanted to talk 
 to Uncle Chirgwin, and she desired instant in- 
 formation upon the subject of her journey. 
 First she thought of seeking the farmer in the 
 valley; then it struck her, the hour being not
 
 LYIN<; PROPHETS 393 
 
 later than eight o'clock, that by going into Pen- 
 zance she might learn at what time the morning- 
 train departed to London. 
 
 Out of doors it was inky black, very silent, 
 very oppressive. Joan called Mary twice before 
 departing, but received no answer. Indeed the 
 house was empty, though she did not know it. 
 Finally, thrusting the letter into her bosom, tak- 
 ing her hat and cloak from a nail in the kitchen 
 and putting on a pair of walking shoes, the girl 
 went abroad. Her present medley of thoughts 
 begot a state of exceeding nervous excitation. 
 For the letter touched the two poles of extreme 
 happiness and utmost possible sorrow. "Mister 
 Jan" was calling her to him indeed, but only 
 calling her that she might see him die. Care- 
 less of her steps, soothed unconsciously by rapid 
 motion, she walked from the farm, her mind 
 full of joy and grief; and the night, silent no 
 longer for her, was full of a voice crying "Come 
 to me, Joan, love, come!" 
 
 CHAPTER SIX 
 
 THE FLOOD 
 
 In the coomb beneath Drift, flashing as 
 though red-hot from a theater of Cimmerian 
 blackness, certain figures, flame-lighted, flick- 
 ered hurriedly this way and that about a dark 
 and monstrous pile which rose in their midst.
 
 394 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 From the adjacent hill, superstitious watchers 
 might have supposed that they beheld some 
 demoniac throng newly burst out of the bowels 
 of earth and to be presently re-engulfed; but 
 seen nearer, the toiling creatures, fighting with 
 all their hearts and souls to save a haystack 
 from flood, had merely excited human interest 
 and commiseration. Farmer Chirgwin and his 
 men were girt as to the legs in old-fashioned 
 hay-bands ; some held torches while others toiled 
 with ropes to anchor the giant rick against the 
 gathering waters. There was no immediate 
 fear, for the pile still stood a clear foot above 
 the stream on a gentle undulation distant nearly 
 two yards from the present boundary of the 
 swollen river. But, on the landward side, an- 
 other danger threatened, because in that quarter 
 the meadow sank in a slight hollow which had 
 now changed to a lake fed by a brisk rivulet 
 from the main river. The great rick thus stood 
 almost insulated, and much further uprising of 
 the flood would place it in a position not to be 
 approached by man without danger. Above the 
 stack, distant about five-and-twenty yards, 
 stood a couple of stout pollarded willows, and 
 by these Uncle Chirgwin had decided to moor 
 his hay, trusting that they might hold the great 
 mass of it secure even though the threatened 
 flood swept away its foundations. Nine figures 
 worked amain, and to them approached a tenth, 
 appearing from the darkness, skirting the lake 
 and splashing through the streamlet which fed 
 it. Mary Chirgwin it was who now arrived —a
 
 LYING PROPHETS 305 
 
 grotesque figure with her gown and petticoats 
 fastened high and wearing on her legs a pair of her 
 uncle's leather gaiters. Mary had been up to the 
 farm for more rope, but the clothesline was all 
 that she could find, and this she now returned 
 with. Already three ropes had been passed 
 round the rick and made fast to the willows, 
 but none among them was of great stoutness, 
 nor had they been tied at an elevation best 
 calculated to resist a possible strain. Amos 
 Bartlett took the line from Mary and set to work 
 with many assistants; while the farmer himself, 
 waving a torch and stumping hither and thither, 
 now directed Bartlett, now encouraged two men 
 who worked with all their might at the cutting 
 of a trench from the lake in order that this 
 dangerous body of water might be drained back 
 to the main stream. The flame-light danced in 
 many a flash and splash over the smooth surface 
 of the face of the inland pond. Indeed it re- 
 flected like a glass at present, for no wind fret- 
 ted it, neither did a drop of rain fall. Intense, 
 watchful silence held that hour. The squash 
 of men's feet in the mud, the soft swirl of the 
 water, the cry of voices alone disturbed the 
 night. 
 
 "God be praised! I do think 'tis 'bating," 
 cried the farmer presently. He ran every few 
 minutes to the water and examined a stake 
 hammered into it a foot from the edge. It 
 seemed, as far as might be judged by such fitful 
 light and rough measurement, that the river 
 had sunk an inch or two, but it was running in
 
 396 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 undulations, and what its muddy mass had lost 
 in volume was gained in speed. The water 
 chattered and hissed; and Amos Bartlett, who 
 next made a survey, declared that the flood had 
 by no means waned, but rather risen. Then, 
 the last ropes being disposed to the best advan- 
 tage, all joined the laborers who were digging. 
 Twenty minutes later, however, and before the 
 trench was more than three parts finished, there 
 came a tremendous change. Turning hastily to 
 the river, Bartlett uttered a shout of alarm and 
 called for light. He had approached the tell- 
 tale stake, and suddenly, before he reached it, 
 found his feet in the water. The river was ris- 
 ing with fierce rapidity at last, and five minutes 
 later began to lick at the edge of the hay-rick, 
 and churn along with a strange hidden force 
 and devil in it. The pace increased with the 
 volume, and told of some prodigious outburst on 
 the moor. The uncanny silence of the swelling 
 water as it slipped downward was a curious 
 feature of it in this phase. Chirgwin and his 
 men huddled together at the side of the rick; 
 then Bartlett held up his hand and spoke. 
 "Hark 'e all! 'Tis comin' now, by God!" 
 They kept silence and listened with straining 
 ears and frightened eyes, fire-rimmed by the 
 flickering torchlight. A sound came from afar 
 — a sound not unmelodious but singular beyond 
 power of language to express — a whisper of 
 sinister significance to him who knew its mean- 
 ing, of sheer mystery to all others. A murmur 
 filled the air, a murmur of undefined noises still
 
 LYING PROPHETS 397 
 
 far distant. They might have been human, they 
 might have arisen from the flight and terror of 
 beasts, from the movement of vast bodies, from 
 the reverberations of remote music; Earth or 
 Heaven might have bred them, or the upper 
 chambers of the air midway between. They 
 spoke of terrific energies, of outpourings of force, 
 of elemental chaos come again, of a crown of 
 unimagined horror set upon the night. 
 
 All listened fearfully while the solemn ca- 
 dences crept on their ears, fascinated them like 
 a siren song, wakened wild dread of tribulations 
 and terrors unknown till now. It was indeed a 
 sound but seldom heard and wholly unfamiliar 
 to those beside the stack save one. 
 
 " 'Tis the callin' o' the cleeves," said Uncle 
 Chirgwin. 
 
 "IS ay, man, 'tis a live, ragin' storm corned off 
 the sea an' tearin' ower the airth like a legion 
 out o' hell! 'Tis the floodgates o' God opened 
 you'm hearin' ! Ay, an' the four winds at each 
 other's throats, an' a outburst o' all the springs 
 'pon the hills ! 'Tis death and ruin for the whole 
 country-side as be yelling up-long now. An' 
 'tis comin' faster'n thot." 
 
 As Bartlett spoke, the voice of the tempest 
 grew rapidly nearer, all mystery faded out of it 
 and its murmuring changed to a hoarse rattle. 
 Thunder growled a bass to the shriek of coming- 
 winds and a flash of distant lightning bridged 
 the head of the coomb with a crooked snake of 
 fire. 
 
 "Us'd best to get 'pon high land out o' this,"
 
 398 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 shouted Bartlett. "All as men can do us have 
 done. The hay's in the hand o' Providence, but 
 I wouldn't be perched on top o' that stack not 
 for diamonds all the same." 
 
 A cry cut him short. Mary had turned and 
 found the way to higher ground already cut off. 
 The lake was rising under their eyes, and that in 
 spite of the fact that the waters had already 
 reached the trench cut for them, and now tum- 
 bled in a torrent back to the parent stream. 
 Escape in this direction was clearly impossible. 
 It only remained to wade through the head of 
 the lake, and that without a moment's delay. 
 Mar}' herself, holding a torch, went first through 
 water above her knees and the men hastily fol- 
 lowed, Uncle Chirgwin coming last and being 
 nearly carried off his short legs as he turned to 
 view the rick. Once through the water, all were 
 in safety, for the meadow sloped steeply upward. 
 An increasing play of lightning made the torches 
 useless, and they were dropped, while the party 
 pressed close beneath an overhanging hedge 
 which ran along the upper boundary of the 
 meadow. From this vantage-ground they be- 
 held a spectacle unexampled in the memory of 
 any among them. 
 
 Screaming like some incarnate and mad mani- 
 festation of all the elements massed in one, the 
 hurricane launched itself upon that valley. As 
 a wall the wind heralded the water, while forked 
 lightnings, flaming above both, tore the black 
 darkness into jagged rags and lighted a chaos of 
 yellow foaming torrent which battled with livid
 
 LYING PROPHETS 399 
 
 front straight down the heart of the coomb. 
 The swollen river was lost in the torrent of it; 
 and the hiss of the rain was drowned by its 
 sound. 
 
 So Nature's full, hollowed hand ran over 
 lightning-lighted to the organ music of the 
 thunder; but for these horror-stricken watchers 
 the majestic phenomena sweeping before them 
 held no splendor and prompted no admiration. 
 They only saw ruin tearing at the roots of the 
 land ; they only imagined drowned beasts float- 
 ing before them belly upward, scattered hay 
 hurried to the sea, wasted crops, a million tons 
 of precious soil torn off the fields, orchards deso- 
 lated, bridges and roads destroyed. For them 
 misery stared out of the lightning and starva- 
 tion rode upon the flood. The roar of water 
 auswering the thunder above it was to their ears 
 Earth groaning against the rod, and right well 
 they knew that the pale torrent was drowning 
 those summer labors which represented money 
 and food for the on-coming of the long winter 
 months. They stared, silent and dumb, under 
 the rain; they knew that the kernel of near a 
 year's toil was riding away upon the livid tor- 
 rent; that the higher meadows, held absolutely 
 safe, were half under water now ; that the flood 
 tumbling under the blue fire most surely held 
 sheep and cattle in its depths ; that tons of up- 
 land hay swam upon it; that, like enough, dead 
 men also turned and twisted there in a last mad 
 journey to the sea. 
 
 A passing belief that their labors might snve
 
 400 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 the stack sprung up in the breast of one alone. 
 Uncle Chirgwin trusted Providence and his 
 hempen ropes and clothesline; but it was a 
 childish hope, and, gazing open-mouthed upon 
 that swelling, hurtling cataract of roaring 
 water, none shared it. An almost continuous 
 mist of livid light crossed and recrossed, fes- 
 tooned and cut by its own crinkled sources, re- 
 vealed the progress of the flood, and, heedless 
 of themselves, Uncle Chirgwin and his men 
 watched the fate of the stack, now rising very 
 pale of hue above the water, seen through shin- 
 ing curtains of rain. First the torrent tumbled 
 and rose about it, and then a sudden tremor 
 and turning of the mass told that the rick 
 floated. As it twisted the weak ropes, receiv- 
 ing the strain in turn, snapped one after an- 
 other ; then the great stack moved solemnly for- 
 ward, stuck fast, moved again, lost its center of 
 gravity and foundered like a ship. Under the 
 lightning they saw it heave upward upon one 
 side, plunge forward against the torrent which 
 had swept its base from beneath it, and vanish. 
 The farmer heaved a bitter groan. 
 
 "Dear God, that sich things can be in a 
 Christian land," he cried. "All gone, this year, 
 an' last, an' the aftermath; an' Lard He knaws 
 what be doin' in the valley bottom. I wish the 
 light may strike me dead wheer I stand, for I be 
 a blot afore Him, else I'd never be made to suf- 
 fer like this here. Awnly if any man among 'e 
 will up an' tell me what I've done I'll thank en." 
 
 " 'Tis the land as have sinnod, not you," said
 
 LYING PROPHETS 401 
 
 Mary. "This reaches more'n us o' Drift. Come 
 your ways au' get out o' these clothes, else you'll 
 catch your death. Come to the house, all of 'e," 
 «he cried to the rest. "Theer ban't no more for 
 us to do till marnin' light." 
 
 "If ever it do come," groaned the man 
 Bartlett. "So like's not the end o' the world 
 be here; an' I'd be fust to hollo it, awnly 
 theer's more water than fire here when all's 
 said-, an' the airth's to be burned, not 
 drowned." 
 
 "Let a come when a will now," gasped an 
 aged man as the drenched party moved slowly 
 away upward to the farm; "our ears be tuned 
 to the trump o' God, for nort— no, not the 
 screech o' horns blawed by all the angels in 
 heaven — could soimd awfuler than the tantarra 
 o' this gert tempest. I, Gaffer Polglaze, be the 
 auldest piece up Drift, but I never heard tell o' 
 no sich noise, let alone havin' my awn ears 
 flattened wi' it." 
 
 They climbed the steep lane to the farm, and 
 the wind began to drown the more distant roar 
 of the water. Rain fell more heavily than be- 
 fore, and the full heart of the storm crashed and 
 flamed over their heads as Drift was reached. 
 
 Dawn trembled out upon a tremendous chap- 
 ter of disasters, still fresh in the memory of 
 man}- who witnessed it. A gray, sullen morn- 
 ing, with sky-glimpses of blue, hastily shown 
 and greedily hidden, broke over Western Corn- 
 wall and uncovered the handiwork of a flood
 
 402 LYIXG PROPHETS 
 
 more savage in its fury and far-reaching in its 
 effects than man's memory could parallel — a 
 flood which already shrunk fast backward from 
 its own havoc. To describe a single one of those 
 valleys through which small rivers usually ran 
 to the sea is to describe them all. Thus the tor- 
 rent which raved down the coomb beneath Drift, 
 and carried Uncle Chirgwin's massive hayrick 
 with it like a child's toy -boat, had also uprooted 
 acres of gooseberry bushes and raspberry canes, 
 torn apple trees from the ground, laid waste ex- 
 tensive tracts of ripe produce and carried ripen- 
 ing roots by thousands into the sea. Beneath 
 the orchards, as the flood subsided, there ap- 
 peared great tracts of nakedness where banks of 
 stone had been torn out of the land and scattered 
 upon it; dead beasts stuck jammed in the low 
 forks of trees; swine, sheep and calves appeared, 
 cast up in fantastic places, strangled by the 
 water; sandy wastes, stripped of every living 
 leaf and blade, ran like banks where no banks 
 formerly existed, and here and there from their 
 midst stuck out naked boughs of upturned trees, 
 fragments of man's contrivances, or the legs of 
 dead beasts. Looking up the coomb, desolation 
 was writ large and the utmost margins of the 
 flood clearly recorded on branch and bough, 
 where rubbish which had floated to the fringe 
 of the flood was caught and hung aloft. Below, 
 as the waters gained volume and force, Buryas 
 Bridge, an ancient structure of three arches 
 beneath which the trout-stream peacefully bab- 
 bled under ordinary conditions, was swept head-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 403 
 
 long away and the houses hard by flooded; 
 while the greatest desolation had fallen on 
 those orchards lying lowest in the valley. In- 
 deed the nearer the flood approached Newlyn 
 the more tremendous had been the ravage 
 wrought by it. The orchards of Talcarne val- 
 ley were ruined as though artillery had swept 
 them, and of the lesser crops scarce any at 
 all remained. Then, bursting down Street-an- 
 nowan, as that lane is called, the waters run- 
 ning high where their courses narrowed, 
 swamped sundry cottages and leaped like a wolf 
 on the low-lying portion of Newlyn. Here it 
 burst through the alleys and narrow passages, 
 drowned the basements of many tenements, iso- 
 lated cottages, stores and granaries, threatened 
 nearly a hundred lives startled from sleep by its 
 sudden assault. Then, under the raging weather 
 and in that babel of angry waters, brave deeds 
 were done by the fisher folk, who chanced to be 
 ashore. Grave personal risks were hazarded by 
 many a man in that turbid flood, and not a few 
 women and children were rescued with utmost 
 danger to their saviors' lives. Yet the petty 
 rivalry of split and riven creeds actuated not a 
 few even at that time of peril, and while life 
 was allowed sacred and no man turned a deaf 
 ear to the cry of woman or child, with property 
 the case was altered and sects lifted not a finger 
 each to help the other in the saving of furniture 
 and effects. 
 
 Newly n furnished but one theater of a des- 
 olation which covered wide regions. At Pen-
 
 404 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 zance, the Laregau River flooded all the low- 
 lands as it swept with prodigious cataracts to 
 the sea; mighty lakes stretched between Pen- 
 zance and Gulval; the brooklets of Ponsan dine 
 and Coombe, swollen to torrents, bore crushing 
 destruction upon the valleys through which they 
 fell. Bleu Bridge with its ancient inscribed 
 "long stone" was swept into the bed of the Pon- 
 sandine, and here, as in other low-lying lands, 
 many tons of hay were torn from their founda- 
 tions and set adrift. At Churchtown the rain- 
 fall precipitated off the slopes of Castle-an-dinas 
 begot vast torrents which, upon their roaring 
 way, tore the very heart out of steep and stony 
 lanes, flooded farmyards, plowed up miles of 
 hillside, leaped the wall of the cemetery below 
 and spread twining yellow fingers among the 
 graves. 
 
 Three hundred tons of rain fell to the acre in 
 the immediate tract of that terrific storm, and the 
 world of misery, loss and suffering poured forth 
 on the humble dwellers of the land only came to 
 be estimated in its bitter magnitude during the 
 course of the winter which followed. 
 
 Ashore it was not immediately known whether 
 any loss of human life had added crowning hor- 
 ror to the catastrophe, but evil news came 
 quickly off the sea. Mourning fell upon Mouse- 
 hole for the crews of two among its fisher fleet 
 who were lost that night upon the way toward 
 Plymouth waters to join the herring fishery; 
 and Newlyn heard the wail of a robbed mother. 
 
 At Drift the farmhouse was found to hold a
 
 LYING PROPHETS 405 
 
 mystery soon after the day had broken. Joan 
 Tregenza, whose condition rendered it impossi- 
 ble for her to actively assist at the struggle in 
 the coomb, did not retire early on the previous 
 night, as her family supposed, and Mary, enter- 
 ing her room at breakfast-time, found it empty. 
 There was no sign of the girl and no indication 
 of anything which could explain her absence. 
 
 CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 OUT OF THE DEEP 
 
 At the dawn of the day which followed upon 
 the great storm, while yet the sea ran high and 
 the gale died hard, many tumbling luggers, some 
 maimed, began to dot the wind-torn waters of 
 Mounts Bay. The tide was out, but within the 
 shelter of the shore which rose between Newlyn 
 and the course of the wind, the returning boats 
 found safety at their accustomed anchorage; and 
 as one by one they made the little roads, as boat 
 after boat came ashore from the fleet, tears, hys- 
 teric screams and deep- voiced thanks to the Al- 
 mighty arose from the crowd of men and women 
 massed at the extremity of Newlyn pier beneath 
 the lighthouse. Cheers and many a shake of 
 hand greeted every party as, weary-eyed and 
 worn, it landed and climbed the slippery steps. 
 From such moments even those still in the 
 shadow of terrible fear plucked a little courage
 
 40G LYING PROPHETS 
 
 and brightened hopes. Then each of the re- 
 turned fishermen, with his own clinging to him, 
 set face homeward — a rejoicing stream of little 
 separate processions, every one heralding a saved 
 life. There crept thus inland wives smiling 
 through the mist of dead tears, old mothers 
 hobbling beside their bearded sons, young moth- 
 ers pouring blessing on proud sailor boys, sweet- 
 hearts, withered ancients, daughters, sons, little 
 children. Sad beyond power of thought were 
 the hearts of all as they had hastened to the 
 pierhead at early morning light; now the sor- 
 rowful still remained there, but those who came 
 away rejoiced, for none returned without their 
 treasures. 
 
 Thomasin stood with many another care- 
 stricken soul, but her fears grew greater as 
 the delay increased; for the Tregenza lugger 
 was big and fast, yet many boats of less fame 
 had already come home. All the fishermen told 
 the same story. Bursting out of an ominous 
 peace the storm had fallen suddenly upon them 
 when westward of the Scilly Islands. One or 
 two were believed to have made neighboring 
 ports in the isles, but the fleet was driven before 
 the gale and had experienced those grave hazards 
 reserved for small vessels in a heavy sea. That 
 all had weathered the night seemed a circum- 
 stance too happy to hope for, but Newlyn hearts 
 rose high as boat after boat came back in safety. 
 Then a dozen men hastened to Mrs. Tregenza 
 with the good news that her husband's vessel 
 was in sight.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 'J 07 
 
 "She've lost her mizzen by the looks ou it," 
 said a fisherman, "an' that's more'n good 
 reason for her bein' 'mong the last to make 
 home." 
 
 But Thomasin's hysterical joy was cut short 
 by the most unexpected appearance of Mary 
 Chirgwin on the pier. She had visited the 
 white cottage to find it locked up and empty; 
 she had then joined the concourse at the pier- 
 head, feeling certain that the Tregenza boat 
 must still be at sea; and she now added her con- 
 gratulations to the rest, then told Mrs. Tregfenza 
 her news. 
 
 "I be corned to knaw if you've heard or seen 
 anything o' Joan. 'Tis 'niazin' straange, but 
 her've gone, like a dream, an' us caan't find a 
 sign of her. "What wi' she an' terrible doin's 
 'pon the land last night, uncle's 'bout beside his- 
 self. Us left her in the kitchen, an' when we 
 corned back from tryin' to save the hay she was 
 nowheer. Of coorse, us thot she'd gone to her 
 bed. But she weern't, an' this mornin' we 
 doan't see a atom of her, but finds a envelope 
 empty 'pon the kitchen floor. 'Twas addressed 
 to Joan an' corned from Lunnon." 
 
 "Aw jimmery! She've gone to en arter all, 
 then — an' in her state." 
 
 "The floods was out, you see. Her might 
 have marched off to Penzance to larn 'bout the 
 manner o' gwaine to Lunnon an' bin stopped in 
 home-comin'; or her might have slept in Pen- 
 zance to catch a early train away." 
 
 "Iss, or her might a got in the water, poor
 
 408 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 lamb," said Thomasin, who never left the dark 
 side of a position unconsidered. Mary's face 
 showed that the same idea had struck her. 
 
 "God grant 'tedn' nothin' like that, though 
 maybe 'twould be better than t'other. Us 
 caan't say she've run away, but I thot I'd 
 tell 'e how things is so's you could spread it 
 abroad that she'm lost. Maybe us'll hear some- 
 thin' 'fore the day's much aulder. I be gwaine 
 to Penzance now an' I'll let 'e knaw if theer's 
 anything to tell. Good-by, an' I be right glad 
 all's well wi' your husband, though I don't hold 
 wi' his 'pinions." 
 
 But Mrs. Tregenza did not answer. Her eyes 
 were fixed on the lugger which had now got to 
 its anchorage and looked strange and unnatural 
 shorn of its lesser mast. She saw the moorings 
 dragged up; and a few minutes later the boat, 
 which had rolled and tumbled at them all night, 
 was baled. Thereupon men took their seats in 
 her and began to row toward the harbor. It 
 seemed that Gray Michael was steering, and his 
 crew clearly pulled very weak and short, for 
 their strength was spent. 
 
 Then, as they came between the arms of the 
 harbor, as they shipped oars and glided to the 
 steps, Tregenza's hybrid yellow dog, who ac- 
 companied the fisherman in all his goings, 
 jumped ashore barking and galloped up the 
 slippery steps with joy; while, at the same 
 moment, a woman's sharp cry cut the air like 
 a knife and two wild eyes looked down into the 
 boat.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 400 
 
 "Wheer'm the bvvoy, Michael? Oh, my good 
 God, wheer'm Tom?' , 
 
 Everybody strained silently to hear the an- 
 swer, but though the fisherman looked up, he 
 made no reply. The boat steadied and one after 
 another the men in her went ashore, Tregenza 
 mounting the steps last. His wife broke the 
 silence. Only a murmur of thankfulness had 
 greeted the other men, for their faces showed a 
 tragedy. They regarded their leader fearfully, 
 and there was something more than death in 
 their e3 T es. 
 
 "Wheer'm ^he bwoy — Tom? For the love of 
 God, speak, caan't 'e? Why be you all dumb 
 an' glazin' that awful!" cried the woman, know- 
 ing the truth before she heard it. Then she list- 
 ened to the elder Pritchard, who whispered his 
 wife, and so fell into a great convulsion of rav- 
 ing, dry-eyed sorrow. 
 
 "Oh, my bwoy! Drownded — my awn lil pre- 
 cious Tom! God a mercy! Dead! Then let 
 me die tu!" 
 
 She gave vent to extravagant and savage grief 
 after the manner of her kind. She would have 
 torn her hair and throw n herself off the quay 
 but for kindly hands which restrained. 
 
 "God rot you, an' blast you, an' burn you 
 up!" she screamed, shaking her fists at the sea. 
 "I knawed this would be the end. I dreamed 
 it 'fore 'e was born. Doan't 'e hold me back, 
 you poor fools. Let me gaw an' bury myself in 
 the same graave along wi' en. My Tom, my
 
 410 LYINO PROPHETS 
 
 Tom! I awnly had but wan — awnly wan, an' 
 now — " 
 
 She wailed and wrung her hands, while rough 
 voices filled her ears with such comfort as words 
 could bring to her. 
 
 "Rest easy, bide at peace, dear sawl." " 'Tis 
 the Lard's doin', mother; an' the lil bwoy's bet- 
 ter off now." "Take it calm, m}^ poor good 
 creature." "Try an' bring tears to your eyes, 
 theer's a dear wummon." 
 
 Tears finally came to her relief, and she wept 
 and moaned while friends supported her, look- 
 ing with wonder upon Michael, her husband. 
 He stood aloof with the men about him. But 
 never a word he spoke to his wife or any other. 
 His eyes dilated and had lost their steady for- 
 ward glance, though a mad misery lighted them 
 with flashes that came and went; his face was a 
 very burrow of time, seared and trenched with 
 pits and wrinkles. His hat was gone, his hair 
 blew wild, the strong set of his mouth had van- 
 ished ; his head, usually held so high, hung for- 
 ward on a shrunken neck. 
 
 The brothers Pritchard told their story as a 
 party conducted Thomasin back to her home. 
 For the moment Gray Michael stood irresolute 
 and alone, save for his dog, which ran round 
 him. 
 
 "Us was tackin' when it fust began to blaw, 
 an' all bustlin' 'bout in the dark, when the main- 
 sail went lerrickin' 'cross an' knocked the poor 
 dam bwoy owerboard into as ugly a rage o' 
 water as ever I seed. Tom had his sea-boots
 
 \.\ tNG PROPHETS I I 1 
 
 on, an' every sawl 'pon the bwoat knawed 'twas 
 all up as soon as we lost en. We shawed a light 
 an' tumbled 'bout for quarter o' an hour wi' the 
 weather gettin' wicked. Then corned a scat as 
 mighty near thrawed us 'pon our beam-ends, 
 an' took the mizzen 'long wi' it. 'Tis terrible 
 bad luck, sure 'nough, for never a tidier bwoy 
 went feeshin' ; but theer's worse to tell 'e. Look 
 at that gert, good man, Tregenza. Oh, my God, 
 my blood do creem when I think on't!" 
 
 The man stopped and his brother tool: up the 
 story. 
 
 " 'Twas arterwards, when us had weathered 
 the worst an' was tryin' to fetch home, Michael 
 failed forward on's faace arter the bwoy was 
 drownded; an' us had to do all for the bwoat 
 wi'out en. But he corned to bimebye an' didn't 
 take on much, awnly kept so dumb as a adder. 
 Not a word did er say till marnin' light ; then a 
 'orrible thing fell 'pon en. You knaw that yal- 
 ler dog as sails wi' us most times? He turned 
 'pon en sudden an' sez: 'Praise God, praise the 
 Lard o' Hosts, my sons, here's Tom, here's my 
 lad as us thot weer drownded!' Then he kissed 
 that beast, an' it licked his faace, an' he cried — 
 that iron sawl cried like a wummon ! Then he 
 thundered out as the crew was to give God the 
 praise, an' said the man as weern't on's knees in 
 a twmklin' should be thrawed out the bwoat to 
 Jonah's whale. God's truth ! I never seed noth- 
 in' so awful as skipper's eyes 'pon airth ! Then 
 er calmed down, an' the back of en grawed 
 humpetty an' his head failed a bit forrard an'
 
 •J 1.' LYING PROPHETS 
 
 he sat strokin' of the dog. Arter that, when us 
 seed Newlyn, it 'peared to bring en to his senses 
 a bit, an' he knawed Tom was drownded. He 
 rambled in his speech a while; then went mute 
 again, wi' a new look in his eyes as though he'd 
 grawed so auld as history in a single night. 
 Theer he do stand bedoled wi' all manner o' 
 airthly sufferin', poor creature. Him wi' all 
 his righteousness behind en tu! But the think- 
 in' paarts of en be drownded wheer his bwoy 
 was, an' I lay theer ban't no druggister, nor 
 doctor neither, as'll bring 'em back to en." 
 
 "Look at that now!" exclaimed another man. 
 "See who's a talkin' to Tregenza! If that han't 
 terrible coorious! 'Tis Billy Jago, the softy!" 
 
 Billy was indeed addressing Gray Michael and 
 getting an answer to his remarks. The laborer's 
 brains might be addled, but they still contained 
 sane patches. He had heard of the fisherman's 
 loss and now touched his hat and expressed re- 
 gret. 
 
 "Ay, the young be snatched, same as a build- 
 in' craw will pick sprigs o' green wood for her 
 nest an' leave the dead twig to rot. Here I be, 
 rotten an' coffin-ripe any time this two year, yet 
 I'm passed awver for that braave young youth. 
 An' how is it wi' you, Mr. Tregenza? I s'pose 
 the Lard do look to His awn in such a pass?" 
 
 Gray Michael regarded the speaker a moment 
 and then made answer. 
 
 "I be that sleepy, my son, an' hungry wi' it. 
 Iss fay, I could eat a bloody raw dog-fish an' 
 think it no sin. See to this, but doan't say
 
 LYING PROPHETS 413 
 
 not-kin' 'bout it. The bwoat went down wi' all 
 hands, but us fliuged a bottle to Bucca for en to 
 wash ashore wi' the news. But it never coined, 
 for why? 'Cause that damnation devil bringed 
 the bottle 'gainst granite rocks, an' the message 
 was washed away for mermaids to read an' laugh 
 at ; an' the grass-green splinters o' glass as held 
 the last cry o' drownin' men — why, lil childern 
 plays wi' 'em now 'pon the sand. 'Sing to the 
 Lard, ye that gaw down to the sea.' An' I'll 
 sing — trust me for that, but I must eat fust. I 
 speaks to you, Billy, 'cause you be wan o' God's 
 chosen fools." 
 
 He stopped abruptly, pressed his hand over 
 his forehead, said something about breaking 
 the news to his wife, and then walked slowly 
 down the quay. The manner of his locomotion 
 had wholly changed, and he moved like one 
 whose life was a failure. 
 
 Meantime Jago, full of the great discovery, 
 hastened to the Pritchards and other men who 
 were now following Gray Michael at a distance. 
 Them he told that the fisherman had taken leave 
 of his senses, that he had actually called Billy 
 himself one of God's chosen fools. 
 
 Several more boats had come in, and as it was 
 certainly known that some had taken refuge at 
 Scilly, those vitally interested in the few re- 
 maining vessels withdrew from the quay com- 
 forting each other and putting a hopeful face on 
 the position. Gray Michael followed his wife 
 home. As yet she had not learned of his state; 
 but, although his conduct on returning was some-
 
 ±14 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 what singular, no word which fell now from him 
 spoke clearly of a disordered mind. He clamored 
 first for food, and, while he ate, gave a clear if 
 callous account of his son's death and the lug- 
 ger's danger. Having eaten, he went to his bed- 
 room, dragged off his boots, flung himself down 
 and was soon sleeping heavily; while Thomasin, 
 marveling at his stolidity and resenting it not a 
 little, gave way to utter grief. During an inter- 
 val between storms of tears the woman put on 
 a black gown, then went to her work. The day 
 had now advanced. On seeing her again down- 
 stairs, two or three friends, including the Pritch- 
 ards, entered the house and asked anxiously after 
 Michael, without, however, stating the nature 
 of their fears. She answered querulously that 
 the man was asleep and showed no more sorrow 
 than a brute beast. She was very red-eyed and 
 bedraggled. Every utterance was an excuse for 
 a fresh outburst of weeping, her breast heaved, 
 her hands moved spasmodically, her nerves wore 
 at extreme tension and she could not stay long- 
 in one place. Seeing that she was nearly light- 
 headed with much grief, and hoping that her 
 husband's disorder would vanish after his slum- 
 ber was ended, her friends forbore to hint at what 
 had happened to him. They comforted her to 
 the best of their power; then, knowing that long 
 hours of bitter sorrow must surely pass over the 
 mother's head before such grief could grow less, 
 departed one by one, leaving her at last alone. 
 She moved restlessly about from room to room, 
 carrying in one hand a photograph of Tom, in
 
 LYING PROPHETS 415 
 
 the other a handkerchief. Now and then she 
 sat down, looked at the picture and wept anew. 
 She tried to eat some supper presently but could 
 not. It is seldom a sudden loss strikes home so 
 speedily as had her tribulation sunk into Thom- 
 asin Tregenza's soul. She drank some brandy 
 and water which a friend had poured out for her 
 and left standing on the mantel-shelf. Then she 
 went up to bed — a stricken ruin of the woman 
 who had risen from it iu the morning. Her hus- 
 band still slept, and Thomasin, her grief being 
 of a nature which required spectators for its full- 
 est and most soothing expression, felt irritated 
 alike with him and with those friends who had 
 all departed, and, from the best motives, left her 
 thus. She Hung herself into bed and anger ob- 
 scured her misery — anger with her husband. 
 His heavy breathing worked her to a frenzy at 
 last, and she sat up, took him by the shoulder 
 and tried to shake him. 
 
 "Wake up, for God's sake, an' speak to me, 
 caan't 'e? You eat an' drink an' sleep like a 
 gert hog — you new-come from your awnly son's 
 drownin' ! Oh, Christ, caan't 'e think o' me, as 
 have lived a hunderd cruel years since you went 
 to sleep? Ain't you got a word for me? An' 
 you, as had your sawl centered 'pon en — how 
 comes it you can — " 
 
 She stopped abruptly, for he lay motionless 
 and made no sort of response to her shrill com- 
 plaining. She had yet to learn the cause ; she 
 had yet to know that Michael had drifted be- 
 yond the reach of all further menial suffering
 
 416 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 whatsoever. No religious anxieties, no mun- 
 dane trials, none of the million lesser carking 
 troubles that fret the sane brain and stamp care 
 on the face of conscious intelligence would plague 
 him more. Henceforth he was dead to the 
 changes and chances of human life. 
 
 At midnight there came the awful waking. 
 Thomasin slept at last and slumbered dream- 
 tossed in a shadow-world of fantastic troubles. 
 Then a sound roused her— the sound of a voice 
 speaking loudly, breaking off to laugh, and 
 speaking again. The voice she knew, but the 
 laugh she had never heard. She started up and 
 listened. It was her husband who had wakened 
 her. 
 
 "How do it go then? Lard! my memory be 
 like a fishin' net, as holds the gert things an' 
 lets the little 'uns creep through. 'Twas a 
 braave song as faither singed, though maybe 
 for God fearers it ban't a likely song." 
 
 Then the bed trembled and the man reared up 
 violently and roared out an order in such words 
 as he had never used till then. 
 
 "Port! Port your God-damned helm if you 
 don't want 'em to sink us." 
 
 Thomasin, of whose presence her husband ap- 
 peared unconscious, crept trembling from the 
 bed. Then his voice changed and he whispered : 
 
 "Port, my son, 'cause of that 'pon the waters. 
 Caan't 'e see — they bubbles a glimmerin' on the 
 foam? That's the last life of my li I Tom; an' 
 the foam-wreath's put fcheer by God's awn right 
 hand. He'm saved, if 'twasn't that down at
 
 LYING PROPHETS 41? 
 
 the bottom o' the sea a man be twenty fathom 
 nearer hell than them as lies in graaves ashore. 
 But let en wait for the last trump as'll rip the 
 deep oceans. An' the feesli — damn 'em — if I 
 thot they'd nose Tom, by God I'd catch every 
 feesh as ever swum. But shall feesh be 'lowed 
 to eat what's had a everlasting sawl in it? God 
 forbid. He'm theer, I doubt, wi' seaweed round 
 en an' sea-maids a cryin' awver his lil white 
 faace an' keepin' the crabs away. Hell take 
 crabs — they'd a ate Christ 'issolf if so be He'd 
 failed in the water. Pearls — pearls — pearls is 
 on Tom, an' the sea creatures gives what they 
 can, 'cause they knaw as he'd a grawed to be 
 a man an' theer master. God bless 'em, they 
 gives the best the} 7 can, 'cause they knawed 
 how us loved en. 'The awnly son o' his mother. ' 
 "Well, well, sleep's better'n medicine; but no 
 sleepin' this weather if us wants to make home 
 again. Steady! 'Tis freshenin' fast!" 
 
 He was busy about some matter and she heard 
 him breathing in the darkness and stirring him- 
 self. Thomasin, her heart near standing still- 
 before this awful discovery, hesitated between 
 stopping and flying from the room before he 
 should discover her. But she felt no fear of the 
 man himself, and bracing her nerves, struck a 
 light. It showed Gray Michael sitting up and 
 evidently under the impression he was at sea. 
 He grasped the bed-head as a tiller and peered 
 anxiously ahead. 
 
 "Theer's light shawin' forrard!" he cried. 
 Then he laughed, and Thomasin saw his faco
 
 £18 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 was but the caricature of what it had been, with 
 all the iron lines blotted out and a strange, feeble 
 expression about eyes and mouth. He nodded 
 his head, looked up at the ceiling from time to 
 time, and presently began to sing. 
 
 It was the old rhyme he had been trying to 
 recollect, and it now came, tossed uppermost in 
 the mind-quake which had shattered his intel- 
 lect, buried matters of moment, and flung to 
 the surface long hidden events and words of 
 his youth. 
 
 ' 'Bucca's a churnin' the waves of the sea, 
 Bucca's a darkenin' the sky wi' his frown, 
 His voice is the roll o' the thunder. 
 The lightnin' do shaw us the land on our lee, 
 An' do point to the plaace wheer our bodies 
 shall drown 
 When the bwoat gaws down from under.' 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha, missis! So you'm aboard, eh? 
 Well, 'tis a funny picksher you makes, an' if 
 fcweern't murder an' hell-fire to do it, blamed 
 if I wouldn't thraw 'e out the ship. 'Thou 
 mad'st him lower than the angels,' but not much 
 lower, I'm thinkin'. 'Tis all play an' no work 
 wi' them. They ought to take a back seat 'fore 
 the likes o' us. They abbun no devil at theei* 
 tails all times. 
 
 " 'But I'll tame the wild devil afore very 
 long. 
 If I caan't wi' my feests, I will wi' my 
 tongue!' "
 
 LYING PROPHETS 419 
 
 Thomasin Tregenza scuffled into her clothes 
 while he babbled, and now, bidding him sleep in 
 a shaking voice, putting out the candle and tak- 
 ing the matches with her, she fled into the night 
 to rouse her neighbors and summon a doctor. 
 She forgot all her other troubles before this over- 
 whelming tragedy. And the man driveled on 
 in the dark, concerning himself for the most 
 part with those interests which had occupied 
 his life when he was a boy. 
 
 CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 THE DESTINATION OF JOAN 
 
 Mary Chirgwin did not return to Newlyn 
 after making inquiries at Penzance. There in- 
 deed she learned one fact which might prove 
 important, but the possibilities to be read from 
 it were various. Joan had been at the Penzance 
 railway station, and chance made Mary question 
 the identical porter who had studied the time- 
 table for her cousin. 
 
 "She was anxious 'bout the Lunnon trains an' 
 tawld me she was travelin' up to town to-mor- 
 row," explained the man. "I weer 'pon the 
 lookout this marnin', but she dedn' come again." 
 
 "What time did you see her last night?" 
 
 " 'Bout nine or earlier. I mind the time 
 'cause the storm burst not so very long arter, 
 an' I wondered if the gal had got to her home."
 
 4.20 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "No, she didn't. Might she have gone by any 
 other train?" 
 
 "She might, but I'm every wheers, an' 'tedn' 
 likely as I shouldn't have seed her." 
 
 This much Mary heard, and then went home. 
 Her news made Mr. Chirgwin very anxious, for 
 supposing that Joan had returned from Pen- 
 zance on the previous evening, or attempted to 
 do so, it was probable that she had been in the 
 lowest part of the valley, at or near Buryas 
 Bridge, about the time of the flood. The waters 
 still ran high, but Uncle Thomas sent out 
 search parties through the afternoon of that 
 day, and himself plodded not a few miles in the 
 lower part of the coomb. 
 
 Meantime the truth must be stated. On the 
 night of the storm Joan had gone to Penzance, 
 ascertained the first train which she could catch 
 next day, and then returned as quickly as she 
 could toward Drift. But at Buryas Bridge she 
 remembered that her uncle was in the coomb 
 with the farm hands, and might be there all 
 night. It was necessary that he should know 
 her intentions and direct her in several particu- 
 lars. A farm vehicle must also be ordered, for 
 Joan would have to leave the farm at a very 
 early hour. Strung to a tension of nerves above 
 all power of fatigue, in a whirl of excitement 
 and wholly heedless of the mysterious nocturnal 
 conditions around her, Joan determined to seek 
 Uncle Thomas directly, and with that intention, 
 instead of climbing the hill to Drift and so plao- 
 ing herself in a position- of safety, passed the
 
 LYING PROPHETS 421 
 
 smithy and cots which lie by Bury as Bridge and 
 prepared to ascend the coomb in this fashion and 
 so reach her friends the quicker. She knew her 
 road blindfold, but was quite ignorant of the 
 altered character of the stream. Joan had not, 
 how r ever, traveled above a quarter of a mile 
 through the orchard lands when she began to 
 realize the difficulties. Once well out of the 
 orchards, she believed that the meadows would 
 offer an easier path, and thus, buried in her own 
 thoughts, proceeded with many stumblings and 
 splashings over the wet grasses and earth, 
 under a darkness that made progress very slow 
 despite her familiarity with the way. 
 
 Then it was that, deep hidden in the night 
 and all alone, where the stream ran into a pool 
 above big bowlders which banked it — at the spot, 
 indeed, where she had reigned over the milky 
 meadowsweets seated on a granite throne — the 
 vibrating thread of Joan Tregenza's little life 
 was sharply severed and she died with none to 
 see or hear, in that tumult of rising waters 
 which splashed and gurgled and rose on the 
 skirts of the coming storm. A pathway ran 
 here at the edge of the river, and the girl 
 stepped upon it to find the swollen current sud- 
 denly up to her knees. Bewildered she turned, 
 slipped, turned again, and then, under the im- 
 pression that she faced toward the meadow- 
 bank, put up her hands to grapple safety, set 
 her foot forward and, in a moment, was drown- 
 ing. Distant not half a mile, laboring like 
 giants to save a thing far less precious than this
 
 422 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 life, toiled Uncle Thomas and his men. Had si- 
 lence prevailed among them the single cry which 
 echoed up the valley might well have reached 
 their ears; but all were laboring amain, and 
 Joan was at that moment the last thought in 
 the minds of any among them. 
 
 So she died; for the gathering waters soon 
 beat out her life and silenced her feeble struggle 
 to save it. A short agony ended the nine 
 months of experience through which Joan's life 
 has been followed ; her fires were quenched, and 
 that most roughly; her fears, hopes, sorrows, 
 joys were all swept away; and Nature stood 
 defeated by herself, to see a young life strangled 
 on the threshold of motherhood, and an infant 
 being drowned so near to birth that its small 
 heart had already begun to beat. 
 
 Two men, tramping through the desolation 
 of the ruined valley at Uncle Chirgwin's com- 
 mand, discovered Joan's body. The elder was 
 Amos Bartlett, and he fell back a step at the 
 spectacle with a sorrowful oath on his lip; 
 the younger searcher turned white and showed 
 fear. The dead girl lay on her back, so left by 
 the water. Her dress had been caught between 
 two great bowlders near the pool of her drown- 
 ing and the flood had thus caused her no injury. 
 
 "God's goodness! how corned she here!" cried 
 out Bartlett. "Oh, but this'll be black news- 
 black news; an' her brother drowned at sea like- 
 wise! Theer's a hidden meanin' in it, I lay, if 
 us awnly knawed,"
 
 LYING PROPHETS 423 
 
 The lad who accompanied Bartiett was shak- 
 ing, and did not dare to look at the still figure 
 which lay so stiff and straight at their feet. 
 Amos therefore bid him use his legs, hasten to 
 the farm, break the news, and dispatch a couple 
 of men to the coomb. 
 
 "I can pull up a hurdle an 1 wattle it with 
 withys meantime," he said; "for 'tis alius well 
 to have work for the hand in such a pass as 
 this. Ban't no good for me to sit an' look at 
 her, poor fond wummon." 
 
 He busied himself with the hurdle accordingly, 
 and when two of the hands presently came down 
 from Drift they found their burden ready for 
 them. 
 
 The old, silent man called Gaffer Polglaze 
 found sufficient excitement in the tragedy to 
 loosen a tongue which seldom wagged. He 
 spat on his hands and rubbed them together 
 before seizing his end of the hurdle. Then 
 he spoke: 
 
 "My stars! to see maaster when he heard! 
 He rolled all about as if he was drunk. An' 
 yet 'tis the bestest thing as could fall 'pon the 
 gal. 'Er was lookin' for the cheel in a month 
 or so, they do say. Poor sawl — so cold as a 
 quilkin* now, and the unborn baaby tu." 
 
 Then Mr. Bartiett answered : 
 
 "The unhappy creature was fine an' emperent 
 to me 'bout a matter o' drownin' chets in the 
 
 ft QuilJcin — A frog.
 
 424 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 spring. Yet here she'm drowned herself sure 
 'nough. Well, well, God's will be done." 
 
 " 'Tis coorious, to be sure, how bazzomy* a 
 corpse do get 'bout the faace arter a water 
 death," said the first speaker, regarding the 
 dead with frank interest. 
 
 "Her eyes do make me wimbly-wambly in the 
 stomach," declared the second laborer; "when 
 you've done talkin', Gaffer Polglaze, us'll go 
 up-long, an' the sooner the better." 
 
 "Butivul eyes, tu, they was — wance. Sky- 
 color an' no less. What I'm wonderin' is as to 
 however she corned here 'tall." 
 
 "Piskey-led, I'll warrant 'e," said the ancient. 
 
 "Nay, man-led, which is worse. You mind 
 that printed envelope us found in the kitchen. 
 'Twas some dark doin' of that anointed vellun 
 as brot her in trouble. Ay, an' if I could do 
 en a "graave hurt I would, Methodist or no 
 Methodist." 
 
 "He'm away," answered Bartlett. " 'Tedn' 
 no call for you nor yet me to meddle wi' the 
 devil's awn business. The man'll roast for't 
 when his time do come. You'd best to take 
 your coats off an' cover this poor clay, lest the 
 wuraraen should catch a sight an' go soundin'." 
 
 They did as he bid them, and Mr. Bartlett 
 laid his own coat upon the body likewise. Then 
 slowly up the hill they passed, and rested now 
 and again above the steep places. 
 
 "A wisht home-comin' as ever a body heard 
 
 * Bazzomy— Blue or lf™M
 
 LYING PROPHETS 425 
 
 tell on," commented Gaffer Polglaze; "an' yet 
 the Lard's good pleasure's alius right if you 
 lives long enough to look back an' see how 
 things was from His bird's-eye view of 'em. A 
 tidy skuat* o' money tu they tells me. Who be 
 gwaine to come by that?" 
 
 "Her give it under hand an' seal to her 
 brother." 
 
 "Theer's another 'mazin' thing for 'e! Him 
 drownded in salt an' her in fraish! We lives in 
 coorious times to be sure, an' theer's more in 
 such happenings than meets the eye." 
 
 "Bear yourself more sorrow-stricken, Gaffer. 
 Us be in sight of the house." 
 
 Mary Chirgwin met the mournful train, di- 
 rected them to bring the body of Joan into the 
 parlor where a place was prepared for it, and 
 then turned to Bartlett. She was trembling 
 and very pale for one of her complexion, but 
 the woman's self-command had not left her. 
 
 "The auld man's like wan daft," she said 
 hurriedly. "He must be doin', so he rushed 
 away to Newlyn to tell 'em theer. He ban't 
 himself 'tall. You'd best to go arter en now 
 this minute. An' theer's things to be done in 
 Penzance — the doctor an' the crowner an' — an' 
 the coffin-maker. Do what you can to take 
 trouble off the auld man." 
 
 "Get me my coat an' I'll go straight 'way. 
 'Tis thrawed awver the poor faace of her." 
 
 Two minutes later Mr. Bartlett followed his 
 
 * SJawt— Windfall, legacy.
 
 426 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 master, but Uncle Chirgwin had taken a con- 
 siderable start of him. The old man was ter- 
 ribly shocked to hear the news, for he had clung 
 to a theory that Joan was long since in London. 
 Dread and fear came over him. The thought of 
 facing this particular corpse was more than he 
 could contemplate with self-control. A great 
 nervous terror mingled with his grief. He 
 wished to avoid the return from the valley, and 
 the first excuse for so doing which came to his 
 mind he hurriedly acted upon. He declared it 
 essential that the Tregenzas should be told in- 
 stantly, and hastened away before Mary could 
 argue with him. Only that morning they had 
 heard of Gray Michael's condition, but Uncle 
 Chirgwin forgot it when the blasting news of 
 his niece's death fell upon him. He hurried 
 snuffling and weeping along as fast as his legs 
 would bear him, and not until he stood at their 
 cottage door did he recollect the calamities which 
 had overtaken the fisherman and those of his 
 household. 
 
 Uncle Chirgwin began to speak hastily the 
 moment Mrs. Tregenza opened the door. He 
 choked and gurgled over his news. 
 
 "She'm dead — Joan. They've found her in 
 the brook as the waters went down. Drownded 
 theer — the awnly sunshine as ever smiled at 
 Drift. Oh, my good God ! — 'tis a miz-maze to 
 drive us all out of our senses. An' you, mother 
 — my dear, dear sawl, my heart bleeds for 'e." 
 
 "I caan't cry for her— my tears be dried at 
 the roots o' my eyes. I be down-danted to the
 
 LYING PROPHETS 427 * 
 
 edge o' my awn graave. If my mail wasn't 
 gone daft hisself, I reckon I should a gone. 
 Come in— come in. Joan an' Tom dead in a 
 night, an' the faither of 'em worse than dead. 
 I shall knaw it is so bimebye. Tis awnly vain 
 words yet. Iss, you'd best to see en now you'm 
 here. He may knaw 'e or he may riot. He sits 
 craakin' beside the fire, full o' wild, mad, awful 
 words. Doctor sez theer ban't no bettering of 
 it. But he may live years an' years, though 
 'tedn' likely. Tell en as Joan's dead. Theer 
 edn' no call to be afeared. He's grawed quite 
 calm — a poor droolin' gaby." 
 
 Uncle Chirgwin approached Gray Michael and 
 the fisherman held out his hand and smiled. 
 
 " 'Tis farmer Chirgwin, to be sure. An' how 
 is it with 'e, uncle?" 
 
 "Bad, bad, Tregenza. Your lil darter, your 
 Joan, be dead— drownded in the flood, poor sweet 
 lamb." 
 
 "You'm wrong, my son. Joan's bin dead 
 these years 'pon years. She was damned afore 
 'er mother conceived her. Hell-meat in the 
 womb. But the 'Lard is King,' you mind. 
 Joan — iss fay, her mother was a Hittite — a 
 lioness o' the Hittites, an' the mother's sins be 
 visited 'pon the childern, 'cordin' to the dark 
 ways o' the livin' God." 
 
 "Doan't 'e say it, Michael! She died lovin' 
 Christ. Be sure o' that." 
 
 The other laughed loudly, and burst into 
 mindless profanity and obscenity. So the pur- 
 est liver and most cleanly thinker has often
 
 428 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 cursed and uttered horrible imprecations and 
 profanations under the knife, being chloroformed 
 and unconscious the while. Uncle Chirgwin 
 gazed and listened open-mouthed. This spec- 
 tacle of a shattered intellect came upon him as 
 an absolutely new manifestation. Any novel 
 experience is rare when a man has passed the 
 age of seventy, and the farmer was profoundly 
 agitated. Then a solemn fit fell upon Gray 
 Michael, and as his visitor rose to depart he 
 quoted from words long familiar to the speaker 
 — weird utterances, and doubly weird from a 
 madman's mouth in Uncle Chirgwin's opinion. 
 Out of the wreck and ruin of quite youthful 
 memories, Michael's maimed mind had now 
 passed to these later, strenuous days of his early 
 religious existence, when he fought for his soul, 
 and lived with the Bible in his hand. 
 
 "Hark to me, will 'e? Hark to the word o' 
 God echoed by His worm. 'He that heareth let 
 en hear, an' he that forbeareth let en forbear, 
 for they are a rebellious house.' An' what shall 
 us do then? Theer was a man as builded a 
 heydge around a guckoo, thinkin', poor fool, to 
 catch the bird; but her flew off. That edn' the 
 Lard's way. 'Make a chain, for the land is full 
 o' bloody crimes an' the city is full o' violence!' 
 'An' all that handle the oar, the mariners, an' 
 all the pilots o' the sea, shall come down from 
 theer ships,' an' me amongst the rest. That's 
 why I be here now, wi' bitterness o' heart an' 
 bitter wailin' for my dead bwoy. 'As for theer 
 rings, they was (were) so high that they was
 
 LYING PROPHETS 429 
 
 (were) dreadful; an* theer rings were full of 
 eyes round about.' Huntin' damned sawls, my 
 son — a braave sight for godly folks. That's 
 why the rings of 'em be so full of eyes ! They 
 need be. An' theer wings whistle like a hawk 
 arter a pigeon. 'Because o' the mountain of 
 Zion, which is desolate, the foxes walk upon 
 it.' " 
 
 He relapsed into absolute silence and sat 
 with his eyes on the fire. Sometimes he shook, 
 sometimes he nodded his head ; now he frowned, 
 then grinned vacuously at the current of his 
 thoughts. 
 
 Mr. Chirgwin took his leave of Thomasin, 
 prayed that she might be supported in her tribu- 
 lation, and so departing met Amos Bartlett who 
 was standing outside the cottage awaiting him. 
 The man gave a forcible and blunt description 
 of his morning's work which brought many 
 tears to Uncle Chirg win's eyes; then, together, 
 they walked to Penzance, there to chronicle the 
 sudden death of Joan Tregenza and arrange for 
 those necessary formalities which must precede 
 her burial. 
 
 The spectacle of Tregenza's insanity, which 
 to an educated observer had perhaps presented 
 features of some scientific interest and appeared 
 grotesque rather than tremendous, fell upon the 
 ignorant soul of Uncle Chirgwin in a manner 
 far different. The mystery of madness, the 
 sublimity and horror of it, rise only to tragic 
 heights in the untutored minds of such beholders 
 as the farmer, for no mere scientific manifesto-
 
 430 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 tion of mental disease is presented to their intelli- 
 gence. Instead they stand face to face with the 
 infinitely more terrific apparition of God speak- 
 ing direct through the mouth of one among His 
 chosen insane. In their estimation a madman's 
 utterance is pregnant, oracular, a subject worthy 
 of most grave consideration and appraisement. 
 And after Gray Michael's mental downfall 
 many humble folks, incited by the remarkable 
 religious fame of his past life, begged permis- 
 sion to approach within sound of his voice at 
 those moments when the desire for utterance 
 was upon him. This, indeed, came to be a 
 privilege not a little sought after. 
 
 CHAPTER NINE 
 
 AT SANCREED 
 
 Mary Chirgwin would allow none but her- 
 self to perform the last offices of kindness for 
 her cousin. In poor Joan's pocket she found a 
 wet, crumpled mass of paper which might have 
 been dried and read without difficulty, but Mary 
 lacked curiosity to approach the matter. She 
 debated with herself as to how her duty stood in 
 connection with the communication from John 
 Barron, then took it in her hand, not without 
 a sensation of much loathing, and burned it 
 to ashes. The act produced considerable and 
 unforeseen consequences. Her own mundane
 
 LYING PROPHETS 431 
 
 happiness was wholly dependent on the burn- 
 ing of the letter, and a man's life likewise hung 
 upon the incident; but these results of her con- 
 duct were only brought to the woman's under- 
 standing in the light of subsequent events. 
 Then, and with just if superficial cause, she 
 directly read God's hand in the circumstance. 
 Another discovery saddened Mary far more than 
 that of the letter, which had caused her little 
 surprise. Around Joan's white body was a 
 strange amulet — the glen-ader. She had sewed 
 it upon flannel, then fastened the ends about 
 herself, and so worn the snake skin at all seasons 
 since the finding of it. The fact was nothing, 
 the condition of mind which it indicated brought 
 great grief to the discoverer. She judged that 
 Joan was little better than heathen after all; 
 she greatly feared that the girl had perished 
 but half-believing. Any soul which could thus 
 cherish the slough of a serpent must most 
 surely have been wandering afar out of the 
 road of faith. The all-embracing credulity of 
 Joan was, in fact, a phenomenon beyond Mary's 
 power to estimate or translate; and her present 
 discovery, therefore, caused her both pain and 
 consternation. But as she had burned the let- 
 ter, so she likewise destroyed all evidence of her 
 cousin's superstitious weakness; and of neither 
 one nor the other did she speak when the farmer 
 returned to his home. 
 
 He was sadly crushed and broken; and the 
 spectacle of his loved one, lying silent and peace- 
 ful, brought with it deep grief for him. Not
 
 432 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 until lie had seen lier and held her dead hand 
 did he begin slowly to realize the truth. 
 
 "Her mother do lie at Paul 'cordin' to the wish 
 o' Michael, but I seem as Joan had best be laid 
 "long wi' the Chirgwins at Sancreed. If you'll 
 awnly give your mind to the matter an 1 settle it, 
 I'll go this evenin' to wan plaace or t'other an' 
 see the diggers," said Mary. 
 
 "Sancreed for sartain. Her'll be nearer to us, 
 an' us can see wheer she be restin' 'pon Sundays. 
 Sancreed's best an' fittest, for she was Chirgwin 
 all. They be comin' to sit 'pon her to-morrow 
 marnin'. Please God He'll hold me up agin it, 
 but I feels as if I'd welcome death to be 'long- 
 side my lil Joan again." 
 
 He wept an old man's scanty tears, and Mary 
 comforted him, while she smothered her own 
 real sorrows entirely before his. She spoke 
 coldly and practically; she fetched him a stiff 
 dose of spirits and a mutton-chop freshly cooked. 
 These things she made him drink and eat, and 
 she spoke to the old man while he did so, lard- 
 ing the discussion of necessary details with ex- 
 pressions of hope for the dead. 
 
 "Be strong, an' faace it, uncle. God knaws 
 best. I lay the poor lovey was took from gert 
 evil to come. You knaw so well as me. You 
 can guess wheer her'd be now if livin'. She'm 
 in a better home than that. I s'pose the bury- 
 in' might be two days off, or three. I'll step 
 awver to Sancreed bimebye, an' if the under- 
 taker come, Mrs. Bartlett can be with him 
 when he do his work."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 433 
 
 "Iss, an' I've said as 'tis to be oak — braave, 
 bold, seasoned oak, an' polished, wi' silvered 
 handles to it. Her should lie in gawld, my awn 
 Joan, if I could bring it about." 
 
 "Ellum be more — " began Mary, then held 
 her tongue upon that detail and approached an- 
 other. 
 
 "Shall us ask Mrs. Tregenza? Sorrer be grip- 
 ping her heart just now, but a buryin's a sooth - 
 in' circumstance to such as she. An' she could 
 carry her son in the mind. Poor young Tom 
 won't get no good words said above his dust; 
 us can awnly think 'em for him." 
 
 "She might like to come if her could get some 
 o' the neighbors to bide along wi' Michael. 
 He'm daft for all time, but 'tis said as he'll 
 be childlike wi' it, thank God. I let en knaw 
 'bout the lass an' he rolled his head an' dropped 
 his jaw, like to a feesh, an' said as 'tweern't no 
 news to en. Which maybe it weern't, for the 
 Lard's got His awn way wi' the idiot. The 
 sayin's of en ! Like as not Thomasin'll be here 
 if 'tis awnly to get the rids of Michael for a 
 while." 
 
 The coroner's inquest found that Joan Tre- 
 genza had come by her death from drowning 
 upon the night of the flood ; the tragedy filled 
 an obscure paragraph or two in local journals; 
 Joan's funeral was fixed for two days later, and 
 Mrs. Tregenza decided that she would attend it. 
 
 At a spot where fell the shadow of the church 
 when the sun sank far westerly on summer days, 
 they dug the grave in Sancreed churchyard.
 
 434 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Round about it on slate slabs and upright stones 
 appeared the names of Chirgwins not a few. 
 Her maternal grandparents lay there, her uncle, 
 Mary's father, and many others. Some of the 
 graves dated back for a hundred and more years. 
 On the morning of the funeral, Uncle Thomas 
 himself tied scraps of crape around the stems of 
 his tall geraniums, according to an ancient cus- 
 tom ; and Mrs. Tregenza arrived at Drift in good 
 time to join the few who mourned. Six men 
 bore Joan's oaken coffin to Sancreed, while there 
 walked behind her, Uncle Chirgwin, Mary and 
 Thomasin, Mr. Bartlett, his wife, Gaffer Pol- 
 glaze, and two farm maidens. A few of the 
 Drift folk and half a dozen young children came 
 in the wake of the procession proper; and that 
 was all. The mourners and their dead pro- 
 ceeded along the high lanes to Sancreed, and 
 conversation was general. Uncle Chirgwin 
 tugged at his black gloves and snuffled, then 
 snuffled and tugged again; Mary walked on 
 one side of him; and Mrs. Tregenza, in new 
 and heavy black bought for another, found the 
 opportunity convenient for the display of varied 
 grief, as she marched along on the farmer's 
 right hand. Her condition indeed became hys- 
 terical, and Mary only soothed her with diffi- 
 culty. So the party crawled within sound of 
 the minute bell and presently reached the church. 
 The undertaker buzzed here and there issuing 
 directions, an old clergyman met the dead at the 
 lych-gate and walked before her up the aisle; 
 while those who had a right to attend the ser-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 435 
 
 vice, clustered in the pews to right and left of 
 the trestles. Upon them lay Joan. The words 
 of the service sounded with mournful reverbera- 
 tions through the chill echoes of an unwarmed 
 and almost empty church; and then the little 
 sister, sleeping peacefully enough after her one 
 short year of storm, was carried to the last abode 
 of silence. Then followed an old man's voice, 
 sounding strangely thin in the open air, the 
 straining of cords, the sweating and hard breath- 
 ing and shuffling of men, the grating of oak on 
 a grave-bottom, the updrawing of the ropes that 
 had lowered the coffin. Genuine grief accom- 
 panied the obsequies of Joan Tregenza, and her 
 uncle's sorrow touched even men to visible grief 
 and sympathy ; but there was no heart to break 
 for the heart which had itself come so near to 
 breaking, there was no mighty vvellspring of 
 love to be choked with tears for one who had 
 herself loved so much. A feeling, hidden in 
 some minds, expressed by others, latent in all, 
 pervaded that throng; and there was not one 
 among those present, save Thomas Chirgwin, 
 but felt that Providence, harsh till now, had 
 dealt kindly by Joan in dealing death to her. 
 
 Upon the flowerless, shiny coffin-lid a staring 
 plate of white metal gleamed up at the world 
 above like an eye and met the gaze of the mourn- 
 ers, as each in turn, with Mrs. Tregenza first, 
 peered down into Joan's grave before departing. 
 After which all went away; the children were 
 shut out of the churchyard; the old clergyman 
 disappeared to the vestry; a young florid man,
 
 436 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 with pale hair, tightened his leather belt, turned 
 up his sleeves, watched a grand pair of biceps 
 roll up as he crooked his elbows, then, taking a 
 spade, set to work upon the wet mound he had 
 dug from the earth the day before to clear those 
 few square feet of space below. As he worked, 
 he whistled, for his occupation held no more sig- 
 nificance to him than an alternative employment : 
 the breaking of stones by the highway side. He 
 could see the black heads of the mourners bob- 
 bing away upon the road to Drift, and stopped 
 to watch them for a moment. But soon he re- 
 turned to his labor; the earth rose foot by foot, 
 and the strong young man stamped it down. 
 Then it bulged and overflowed the full hole; 
 whereupon he patted and hammered it into the 
 customary mound and slapped upon it sundry 
 pieces of sodden turf with gaping gashes be- 
 tween their edges. The surplus soil he removed 
 in a wheelbarrow, the boards he also took away, 
 then raked over the earth-smeared, bruised grass 
 about the grave and so made an end of his 
 work. 
 
 "Blamed if I ever filled wan quicker'n that," 
 he thought, with some satisfaction; "I reckoned 
 the rain must fall afore I'd done, but it do hold 
 off yet seemin'ly." 
 
 The man departed, gra}* twilight fell, and out 
 from the gathering darkness, like a wound on 
 the hand of Time, that new-made grave and its 
 fringe of muddy grass stood forth, crude of 
 color, raw, unsightly in the deepening mono- 
 chrome of the gloaming.
 
 LYTtfG PROPHETS l-i 
 
 At Drift the important meal which follows a 
 funeral was enjoyed witli sober satisfaction by 
 about fifteen persons. Cold fowls and a round 
 of cold beef formed the main features of the re- 
 past; Mary poured out tea for the women at her 
 end of the table, while the men drank two or 
 three bottles of grocer's sherry among; them. 
 The undertaker and his assistants followed 
 when the funeral assembly dispersed. Mrs. 
 Tregenza was about to depart in the fly spe- 
 cially ordered to take her home when a lawyer, 
 who was of the company, begged she would stay 
 a little longer. 
 
 "I learn that you are the deceased's step- 
 mother, madam, and as you stand related to 
 the parties both now unhappily swept away by 
 Providence — I mean Thomas Tregenza and Joan 
 — it is sufficiently clear that you inherit directly 
 the bequest left by the poor girl to her brother. 
 I framed her little will myself; failing her own 
 child, her property went to Thomas Tregenza, 
 his heirs and assigns — those were the words. 
 The paper is here; the sum mentioned lies at 
 interest of three per cent. Let me know when 
 convenient what you would wish to be done. ' ' 
 
 So the pile of money, at a cost terrible enough, 
 had reached Mrs. Tregenza after all. She had 
 been drinking brown sherry as well as tea, and 
 was in a condition of renewed tears approaching 
 to maudlin, when the announcement reached 
 her. It steadied the woman. Then the thought 
 that this wealth would have been her son's made 
 her weep again, until the fact that it was now
 
 438 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 her own became grasped in ber mind. There 
 is a sort of people who find money a reasonably- 
 good support in all human misfortune, and if 
 Mrs. Tregenza did not entirely belong to that 
 callous company, yet it is certain that this sud- 
 den afflux of gold was more likely to assuage 
 her grief than most things. She presently re- 
 tired, all tears and care ; but at intervals, when 
 sorrow rested to regain its strength, the lawyer's 
 information recurred and the distractions of mind 
 caused by the contemplation of a future bright- 
 ened by this wealth soothed Thomasin's nerves 
 to an extent beyond the power of religion or any 
 other force which could possibly have been 
 brought to bear upon them. She felt that her 
 own position must henceforth be exalted in New- 
 lyn, for the effects of the combination of catas- 
 trophes led to that end. Her husband was the 
 sole care she had left, and physicians foretold no 
 great length of days for him. The lugger would 
 be put up to auction, with the drift nets and all 
 pertaining thereto. The cottage was already 
 Tregenza property. Thomasin therefore looked 
 through the overwhelming misery of the time, 
 counted her moneys and felt comforted without 
 knowing it. As for her insane husband, his 
 very sufferings magnified him into a man of 
 importance, and she enjoyed the reflected glory 
 of being his keeper. People came from remote 
 villages to listen to him, and it was held a privi- 
 lege among the humbler sort to view the ruin of 
 Michael Tregenza and hark to the chaotic rav- 
 ings of a mind overtnrown.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 439 
 
 CHAPTER TEN- 
 the HOME-COMING OP JOE 
 
 A fortnight and four days after the funeral 
 of Joan Tregenza there blew a southwest wind 
 over Newlyn, from out a gray sky, dotted with 
 watery blots of darker gray. No added light 
 marked the western horizon at sunset, but the 
 short, dull day simply fell headlong into night; 
 and with darkness came the rain. 
 
 About five o'clock in the afternoon, when the 
 flicker and shine of many lamps in little shop- 
 windows brightened the tortuous streets, a man 
 clad in tarpaulins, and carrying a big canvas 
 bag on his back, passed rapidly through the 
 village. He had come that day from London 
 upon the paying off of his vessel ; and while he 
 left his two chests at the railway station, he 
 made shift to bring his sea-bag along himself; 
 and that because he was bound for the white 
 cottage on the cliff, and the bag held many 
 precious foreign concerns for Joan Tregenza. 
 It had been impossible to communicate with the 
 sailor; and he did not write from London to tell 
 any of his return, that their pleasure and sur- 
 prise on his appearance might be the more com- 
 plete. Now a greater shock than that in his
 
 440 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 power to give waited the man himself. The 
 sailor's parents lived at Mousehole, but Michael's 
 cottage lay upon the way, and there he first de- 
 signed to appear. 
 
 Joe Noy was a very big man, loosely but 
 strongly set together, a Celt to the backbone, 
 hard, narrow of mind, but possessing rare deter- 
 mination. His tanned, clean-shaven face was 
 broader at the jaw than the eyes, and a lower- 
 ing heaviness of aspect, almost ape-like, resulted 
 when his features remained in repose. The 
 effect, however, vanished when he spoke or 
 listened to the speech of another. That such a 
 man had proved fickle in love was a thing diffi- 
 cult to credit to the mind familiar with his char- 
 acter. Solid, sober, simple, fearing God and 
 lacking humor, the jilting of a woman was an 
 offense of all others least likely to have been 
 associated with him. Yet circumstances and 
 some unsuspected secrets of disposition had 
 brought about that event; and now, as he hast- 
 ened along, the vision of the dark woman he 
 once loved at Drift did not for an instant cross 
 his thoughts, for they were full of the fair girl 
 he meant to marry at Newlyn. To her, at least, 
 he had kept faithful enough ; she had been the 
 guiding-star of his life for hard upon a year of 
 absence; not one morning, not one night, in fair 
 weather or foul, had he omitted to pray God's 
 blessing upon her. A fatalism, which his Luke 
 Gospel tenets did not modify, was strong in the 
 sailor. He had seen death often enough in his 
 business; and his instincts told him, apart from
 
 LYING PROPHETS 441 
 
 all religious teaching, that those who died ripe 
 for salvation were but few. Every man ap- 
 peared to be an instrument in God's hand, and 
 human free-will represented a condition quite 
 beyond the scope of his intelligence to estimate 
 or even conceive. Had any justified in so doing 
 asked of him his reasons for desertion of Mary 
 Ohirgwin, Nov would have explained that when 
 inviting her to be his wife he took a wrong step 
 in darkness; that light had since suddenly shone 
 upon him, as upon Saul, and that Mary, choos- 
 ing rather to remain outside the sure fold of 
 Luke Gospeldom, by so doing made it impossible 
 for him to love her longer. He would have 
 added that the match was doubtless foredoomed 
 according to the arrangements of the Almighty. 
 
 Now Joe came back to his own ; and his heart 
 beat faster by several pulses, and his steps 
 quickened and lengthened, as, through darkness 
 and rain, he sighted the lamp-lighted cottage 
 window of the Tregenzas. Thereupon he 
 stopped a moment, brought his bag to the 
 ground, mopped his forehead, then, raising the 
 latch, strode straight into the kitchen without a 
 knock of warning. For a moment he imagined 
 the room, lighted only by a dull glow of fire- 
 light, to be empty; but then, amid familiar 
 objects, he noted one not familiar — a tall and 
 roomy armchair. This stood beside the fire- 
 place, and in it sat Gray Michael. 
 
 "Why, so 'tis! Mr. Tregenza sure 'nough!" 
 the traveler exclaimed, setting down his bag 
 and coming forward with hand outstretched.
 
 442 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "Here I be at last arter nine months o' salt 
 water! An' Newlyn do smell pleasant in my 
 nose as I come back to it, I tell 'e!" 
 
 The other did not take Joe's hand ; he looked 
 up vaguely, with an open mouth and no recog- 
 nition in his expression; but Noy as yet failed 
 to note how insanity had robbed the great face 
 of its power, had stamped out the strength of it, 
 had left it a mindless vague of limp features. 
 
 "Who be you then?" asked Mr. Tregenza. 
 
 "Why, blamed if you abbun forgot me! I be 
 Joe — Joe Noy corned back-along at last. My 
 ivers! You, as doan't forget nothin', to-forget 
 me! Yet, maybe, 'tis the low light of the fire 
 as hides me from 'e." 
 
 "You'm a mariner, I reckon?" 
 
 "I reckon so, if ever theer was wan. An' I'll 
 be the richer by a mate's ticket 'fore the year's 
 dead. But never mind me. How be you all — 
 all well? I thot I'd pop in an' surprise 'e." 
 
 "Cruel fashion weather for pilchur fishin' lis 
 have had — cruel fashion weather. I knawed 
 'tweer comin', same as Noah knawed 'fore the 
 flood, 'cause the Lard tawld me. 'Forty years 
 long was I grieved wi' this generation.' Bnt 
 man tries the patience o' God these days. We'm 
 like the Ruan Vean men: 'doan't knaw an' 
 won't larn.' " 
 
 "Iss fay, mister, true 'nough; but tell me 
 'bout 'e all an' — an' my Joan. She've been the 
 cherub aloft for me ever since I strained my eyes 
 glazin' for the last peep o' Carnwall when us 
 sailed. How be my lil Joan?"
 
 LYING PROPHETS 443 
 
 The other started, sat up in his chair and 
 gripped the left arm of it, while his right hand 
 extended before him and he jolted it curiously 
 with all the fingers pointing down. 
 
 "Joan — Joan? In hell — ragin 1 , roastin' hell — 
 screechin', I lay, like a cat in a bonfire. 'Tis 
 lies they'll tell 'e 'bout her. She weern't 
 drownded — never. The devil set sail 'pon auld 
 Chirg win's hayrick, so they sez, an' her sailed 
 'long wi' en. But 'theer rings, they was so high 
 that they was dreadful, an' theer rings weer 
 fall o' eyes round about.' She'm damned, my 
 son — called, not chosen. 'The crop o' the 
 bunch' they called her — the crop o' the devil's 
 bunch she was — no cheel o' my gettin'. Her'll 
 burn for a million years or better — all along o' 
 free-traadin'. Free-traadin'! curse 'em — wiry 
 doan't they call it smugglin' an' have done?" 
 
 Joe Noy had fallen back. He forgot to 
 breathe, then Nature performed the necessary 
 act, and in a moment of the madman's silence 
 his listener sucked a long loud breath. 
 
 "Oh, my gracious Powers, what's fallen 'pon 
 en?" he groaned aloud. 
 
 "God's strong, but the devil's stronger, you 
 mind. Us must pray to the pit now. 'Our 
 devil which art in hell'— Ha! ha! ha! He hears 
 fast enough, an' pokes up the black horns of en 
 at the first smell o' prayer. Not but what my 
 Tom's aloft, in the main-top o' paradise. I seed 
 en pass 'pon a black wave wi' a gray foamin' 
 crest. An' the white sawl o' my bwoy went 
 mountin' and mountin' in shape o' a seabird.
 
 444 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Men dies hard in salt water, you mind. 11 
 plays wi' 'em like a cat wi' a mouse. But 'tis 
 all wan: 'The Lard is King an' sitteth 'tween 
 the cherubims,' though the airth's twitchin', 
 same as a crab bein' boiled alive, all the time." 
 
 Noy looked round him wildly and was about 
 to leave the cottage. Then it struck him that 
 the man's wife and daughter could not be far 
 off. What blasting catastrophe had robbed him 
 of his mind the sailor knew not; but once as- 
 sured of the fact that Michael Tregenza was 
 hopelessly insane, Noy lent no credit to any of 
 his utterances, and of course failed to dimly 
 guess at those facts upon which his ravings were 
 based. Indeed he heard little after the first 
 rambling outburst, for his own thoughts were 
 busy with the problems of Tregenza's fate. 
 
 "Sit down, mariner. I shan't sail till marnin' 
 an' you'm welcome. Theer be thots in me so 
 deep as Levant mine, but I doan't speak 'em 
 for anybody's hearin'. Joan weern't none o' 
 mine, an' I knawed it, thanks be to God, 'fore 
 ever she played loose. What do 'e think o' a 
 thousand pound for a sawl? Cheap as dirt — 
 eh? 'Thou hast covered thyself with a cloud 
 that our prayer should not pass through.' Not 
 as prayers can save what's lost for all eternitj' - 
 'fore 'tis born into time. He ruined her; he 
 left her wi' cheel; but ban't likely the un- 
 born clay counts. God Hisself edn' gwaine to 
 damn a thing as never drawed breath. Who'd 
 a thot the like o' her had got a whore's fore- 
 head? An' tokened at that — tokened to a sailor-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 445 
 
 man by name o' Noy. Let'n come home, let'n 
 come home an' call the devil as did it to his 
 account. Let the Lard see to't so that man 
 edn' 'lowed to flourish no more. I be tu auld 
 an' broken for any sich task. 'For the hurt o' 
 the darter o' my people I am hurt.' " 
 
 lie spoke no more upon that head, though 
 Noy, now awake to fear and horridly conscious 
 that he stood in the shadow of some tremendous 
 ill, reaching far beyond the madman, asked him 
 frantically what he meant. But Michael's mind 
 had wandered off the subject again. 
 
 "I seed en cast forth a net, same as us does 
 for macker'l, but 'twas sawls, not feesh, they 
 dragged in the bwoat; but braave an' few of 
 'em. The devil's nets was the full wans, 
 'cause — " 
 
 At this moment Thomasin came in, saw a 
 man by Mr. Tregenza, but did not realize who 
 had returned until she struck a light. Then, 
 approaching, she gasped her surprise and stood 
 for a moment dumb, looking from her husband 
 to the sailor, from the sailor back to her hus- 
 band. The horror on Noy's face frightened her; 
 indeed he was now strung to a pitch of frantic 
 excitement. He saw that the woman was alto- 
 gether clad in black, that her garments were 
 new, that even her bonnet had a black flower in 
 it ; and, despite his concern, he observed an ap- 
 pearance of prosperity about her, though her 
 face belied it, for Mrs. Tregenza was very thin, 
 and far grayer and older too than when he saw 
 her last. He took the ban. I she stretched sbak-
 
 446 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 ing toward him; then a question burst from his 
 lips. 
 
 "For God's sake speak an' tell me the worst 
 on it. What terrible evil be here? He'm — he'm 
 daft seemin'ly; he's spawk the awfulest mad 
 words as ever corned from lips. An' Joan — 
 doan't 'e say it — doan't 'e say 'tis true she'm 
 dead — not my lil treasure gone dead; an' me, 
 ever since I went, countin' the days an' hours 
 'gainst when I should come back?" 
 
 "Ay, my poor lad, 'tis true — all true. An' 
 worse behind, Joe. Hip an' thigh us be smitten 
 — all gone from us; my awnly wan drownded 
 — my awn bwoy; an' Michael's brain brawk 
 down along o' it. An' the bwoat an' nets be 
 all sold; though, thanks to God, they fetched 
 good money. An' poor Joan tu — 'pon the same 
 night as my Tom— drownded — in the gert land- 
 flood up-long." 
 
 Gray Michael had been nodding his head and 
 smiling as each item of the mournful category 
 was named. At Thomasin's last words he inter- 
 rupted angrily, and something of the old, deop 
 tones of his voice echoed again. 
 
 " 'Tis a lie! Dedn' I tell 'e, wummon, 
 'tweern't so? The devil took her — body an' 
 bones an' unborn baaby. They say she was 
 found by the meadowsweets; an' I say 'tis false. 
 You may groan an' you may weep blood, but 
 you caan't chaange the things that have hap- 
 pened in time past — no, nor more can God 
 A'mighty." 
 
 His wife looked to see how Joe viewed this
 
 LYING PROPHETS 447 
 
 statement. A great local superstition was 
 growing up round Gray Michael, and his wild 
 utterances (sometimes profanely fearful beyond 
 the possibility of setting down) were listened to 
 greedily as inspirations and oracles. Mrs. Tre- 
 genza herself became presently imbued with 
 something of this morbid and ignorant opinion. 
 Her deep wounds time promised to heal at the 
 first intention, and the significance now attrib- 
 uted to her insane husband grew to be a source 
 of real satisfaction to her. She dispensed the 
 honor of interviews with Michael as one distrib- 
 utes great gifts. 
 
 The force of circumstances and the futility 
 of fighting against fate impressed Thomasin 
 mightily now, as Noy's wild eyes asked the 
 question his lips could not force themselves to 
 frame. She sighed and bent her head and 
 turned her eyes away from him, then spoke 
 hurriedly : 
 
 "I doan't knaw how to tell 'e, an' us reckoned 
 theer weern't no call to, an' us weern't gwaine 
 to tell; but these things be in the Lard's hand 
 an' theer edn' no hidin' what He means to let 
 out. A sorry, cruel home-comin' for 'e, Joe. 
 Poor lass, her's done wi' all her troubles now, 
 an' the unborn cheel tu. 'Tis very hard to 
 stand up 'gainst, but the longest life's awnly 
 short, an' us ban't called 'pon to live it more'n 
 w T ance, thank God." 
 
 Here she gave way to tears, and dried the 
 same on a white pocket-handkerchief with a 
 black border.
 
 44S LYING PROPHETS 
 
 " 'Tis all so true as gospel," declared Gray 
 Michael, rolling his head round on his neck and 
 laughing. "An' my auld wummon's fine an' 
 braave, edn' her? That's cause I cleared a 
 thousan' pound in wan trip. Christ was aboard, 
 an 3 He bid me shoot the nets by munelight off 
 the islands. He do look arter His awn somethin' 
 butivul, as I tawld En. An' now I be a feesher 
 o' men, which is better, an' high 'mong the 
 salt o' the airth, bein' called to walk along 
 wi' James an' John an' the rest." 
 
 "He sits theer chitterin', ding dong, ding 
 dong, all the wisht day. Tom's death drove en 
 cracked, but 'e ban't no trouble, 'cept at feedin' 
 times. Besides, I keeps a paid servant girl 
 now," said Mrs. Tregenza. 
 
 Joe Noy had heard neither the man nor the 
 woman. From the moment that he knew the 
 truth concerning Joan his own thoughts barred 
 his ears to all utterances. 
 
 "Who weer it? Tell me the name. I want 
 no more'n that," he said. 
 
 " 'Tis Anne Bundle's darter," answered Mrs. 
 Tregenza, her mind on her maid. 
 
 "The man!" thundered Noy, "the man who 
 brot the thing about — the man what ruined — O 
 God o' Hosts, be on my side now! Who weer 
 'e? Give me the name of en. That's all as I 
 wants." 
 
 "Us doan't knaw. You see, Joan was away 
 up Drift wi' the Chirgwins, an' theer she was 
 took when they found her arter the drownin'. 
 She never knawed the true name of en herself,
 
 LYING PROFHETS li9 
 
 poor dear. But 'twas a paintin' man— a artist, 
 It corned out arter as he'd made a picksher of 
 her, an' promised to marry her, an' stawl all 
 she'd got to give 'pon the strength of the lie. 
 Then theer was a letter — " 
 
 "From the man?" 
 
 Mrs. Tregenza grew frightened at the thought 
 of mentioning the money, and now adroitly 
 changed the first letter from Barron, which was 
 in her mind when she spoke, to the second, which 
 Joan had received from him on the night of her 
 death. 
 
 "Iss, from him; an' Mary Chirgwin found it 
 'pon the dead frame o' the poor gal, but 'twas 
 partly pulp, along o' the water; an' Mary 
 burned it wi'out readiu' a word — so she said, at 
 least, though that's difficult to credit, human 
 nature bein' as 'tis." 
 
 "Then my work's the harder; but I'll find 
 en, s'elp me God, even if us be grawed gray 
 afore we meet." 
 
 'Think twice, Joe; you caan't bring back 
 your lass, nor wash her sins white. 'Tis tu 
 late." 
 
 "No, not that, but I can— I'm in God's hand 
 for this. Us be tools, an' He uses all for His 
 awn ends. I sees whereto I was born now, an' 
 the future be writ clear afore my eyes. Thicky 
 madman theer said the word; an' I lay the 
 Lard put it in en for my better light. Er said 
 'Let'n come home an' call the devil as did it to 
 account.' He was thinkin' o' me when he said 
 it, though he dedn' knaw me."
 
 450 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "Iss fay, 'tis generally allowed he be the lips 
 o' God A'mighty now. But you, Joe— doan't 
 J e waste life an' hard-won money huntin' down 
 a damned man. Leave en to his deserts." 
 
 " 'Tis I that be his deserts, wummon — 'tis I, 
 in the hand o' the God o' Vengeance. That's 
 my duty now standin' stark ahead o' me. The 
 Lard's pleased to pay all my prayers an' good 
 livin' like this here. His will be done, an' so it 
 shall to the dregs of it; an' if I be for the pit 
 arter all, theer's wan livin' as gaws along wi' 
 
 me." 
 
 "That's worse than a fool's thot. Bide till 
 you'm grawed cool anyways. 'Tis very hard 
 this fallin' 'pon a virtuous member like what 
 you be; but 'tedn' a straange talc 'tall. The 
 man was like other men, I doubt; the maid 
 was like other maids. You thot differ'nt. You 
 was wrong ; an' you'll be wrong again to break 
 your heart now. Let en go — 'tis best." 
 
 ' ' Let en go ! Blast en— I'll let heaven go fust ! 
 Us'll see what a wronged sawl's patience can do 
 now. Us'll see what the end of the road'll 
 shaw! O God o' the Righteous, fester this here 
 man's bones in his body, an' eat his life out of 
 en wi' fiery worms! Tear his heartstrings, God 
 o' Hosts, rob en of all he loves, stamp his foul 
 mind wi' memories till he shrieks for death an' 
 judgment; punish his seed forever; turn his 
 prayers into swearin'; torture en, rot en sawl 
 an' body till you brings me to en. Shaw no 
 mercy, God o' Heaven, but pile agony 'pon 
 agony mountains high for en; an' let mine be
 
 LYING PROPHETS 451 
 
 the baud to send his cussed sawl to hell, for 
 Christ's sake, Amen!" 
 
 "Oh, my Guy Faux! theer's cussin'! An' 
 yet 'tedn' gwaine to do a happard* o' good; an' 
 you wouldn' be no happier for knawin' sich a 
 prayer was granted," said Thomasin; but Gray 
 Michael applauded the outburst, and his words 
 ended that strange spectacle of two men, for the 
 time both mad. 
 
 "Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Braave prayin'! 
 Braave savor for the Lard's nose — sweeter than 
 the blood o' beasts. You 'in a shinin' light, 
 cap'n — a trumpet in the battle, like the sound o' 
 the sea-wind when it begins to sting afore heavy 
 weather, an' the waters roll to the top o' the 
 bulwarks an' awver. ' The snorting of his 
 horses was heard from Dan ' — sea-horses us 
 calls 'em nowadays. Mount an' ride, mount an' 
 ride! 'Cursed be the man that trusteth in man,' 
 saith the Lard ; but the beasts be truer, thanks 
 to the wickedness o' God, who's spared 'em the 
 curse o' brain paarts, but stricken man wi' a 
 mighty intelligence. 'Twas a fine an' cruel act, 
 for the more mind the more misery. 'Twas a 
 damned act sure 'nough! Doan't 'e let on 'bout 
 it, mate, but theer'll be clever surprises at Judg- 
 ment, an' the fust to be damned'll be the God o' 
 the Hebrews Hisself for givin' o' brains to weak 
 heads. Then the thrawn o' heaven'll stand 
 empty — empty — the plaace 'tween the cherubims 
 empty; an' they'll, call 'pon me to fill it so like's 
 
 * Happard — HalfpennywoH h.
 
 452 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 not. Tarraway, I shall be named, same as the 
 devil in the droll— a purty word enough tu." 
 
 He broke into laughter, and Joe Noy, saying 
 a few hasty words to Thomasin, departed. 
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN" 
 
 A NIGHT VISIT 
 
 He who less than an hour before had hastened 
 hot-footed through the Newlyn streets, whose 
 habitual stern expression had softened before the 
 well-known sights and smells of the gray vil- 
 lage, whose earnest soul was full of happiness 
 under the rain of the night, now turned back 
 upon his way and skulked through the darkness 
 with a murderer's heart in him. The clear spec- 
 tacle of his revenge blinded lesser presentations 
 and even distracted his sorrow. There was no 
 space now vacant in Noy's brain to hold the full 
 extent of his loss ; and the fabric of happiness 
 which for weary months on various seas he had 
 been building up in imagination, and which a 
 madman's word had now sent spinning to chaos, 
 yet remained curiously with him, as an impres- 
 sion stamped by steadfast gazing remains upon 
 the eye. It recurred as of old: a joy; and not 
 till the former emotion of happiness had again 
 and again reappeared to be blunted, as a dream, 
 at waking, by the new knowledge, did truth sink 
 into this man's mind and become part of memory.
 
 LYING PROPHETS 453 
 
 Now he was dazed, as one who has run hard and 
 well to a goal, and who, reaching it, finds his 
 prize stolen. Under these circumstances, Joe 
 Noy's natural fatalism— an instinct be} 7 ond the 
 power of any religion to destroy — appeared in- 
 stant and strong. Chance had now fed these 
 characteristics, and the3 T grew gigantic in an 
 hour. But the religious habit made him turn 
 to his Maker in this pass, and the merely primi- 
 tive passions, which were now breaking loose 
 within him, he regarded as the direct voices of 
 God. They proclaimed that solitary duty the 
 world still held for him ; they marked out his 
 road to the lurid end of it. 
 
 Thus Noy's own furious lust for revenge was 
 easily and naturally elevated into a mandate 
 from the Highest — into a message echoed and 
 reiterated upon his ear by the multitudinous 
 voices of that wild night. The rain whispered 
 it on the roof -trees, the wind and sea thundered 
 it ; out of elemental chaos the awful command 
 came, as from primal lips which had spoken 
 since creation to find at last the ultimate des- 
 tination of their message within a human ear. 
 To Noy, his purpose, not yet an hour old, seemed 
 ancient as eternity, a fixed and deliberate im- 
 pression which had been stamped upon his mind 
 at a period far earlier than his life in time. For 
 one end had he been created; that by some sad- 
 den short cut he should hurry to its close a vile 
 life, fill up God's bitter curse upon this man, de- 
 stroy the destroyer, and speed a black soul into 
 the torment awaiting it.
 
 454 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Irresolute and deep in thought as to his future 
 actions, Joe Noy walked unconsciously forward. 
 He felt unequal to returning to his home in 
 Mousehole after what he had learned at New- 
 lyn; and he wandered back, therefore, toward 
 Penzance. A glare of gas lamps splashed the 
 Avet surface of the parade with fire ; while below 
 him, against the sea wall, a high tide spouted 
 and roared. Now and again, after a heavy 
 muffled thud of sea against stone, columns of 
 glimmering, gray foam shot upward, like gi- 
 gantic ghosts out of the water. For a moment 
 they towered in the air, then, wind-driven, swept 
 hissing across the black and shining surfaces of 
 the deserted parade. 
 
 Noy stood here a moment, and the cold wind 
 cooled him, and the riot and agony of the sea 
 boiling against the granite face of the break- 
 water chimed with the riot and agony of his 
 mind, whose hopes were now rent in tatters, 
 riven, splintered and disannulled by chance. 
 He turned a moment where the Newly n har- 
 bor light flashed across the darkness to him. 
 From his standpoint he knew that a line drawn 
 through that light must fall upon the cottage of 
 the Tregenzas beyond it on the shore, and, fix- 
 ing his eyes where the building lay hidden, he 
 stretched out his hand and spoke aloud. 
 
 "May God strike me blind and daft if ever I 
 looks 'pon yon light an' yonder cot again till the 
 man be dead." 
 
 Then he turned, and was about to seek the 
 station, with a vague purpose to go straight to
 
 LYING PROPHETS 455 
 
 Loudon at the earliest opportum\v, when a wiser 
 thought arrested this determination. He must 
 learn all that it was possible to learn concerning 
 the last days of Joan. Mrs. Tregenza had ex- 
 plained her stepdaughter's life at Drift. To 
 Drift, therefore, the sailor determined to go; 
 and the stress upon his mind was such that 
 even the prospect of conversation with Mary 
 Chirgwin — a thing he had certainly shrunk 
 from under other circumstances — caused him 
 no uneasiness. 
 
 Over the last road that Joan had ever walked, 
 and under similar conditions of night and storm, 
 he tramped up to Drift, entered through the side 
 gate, and surprised Mr. Chirgwin and his niece v 
 at their supper. As before with the Tregenzas, 
 so now again in companj- of Uncle Thomas and 
 Mary, Joe Noy formed the third in a trio of cu- 
 rious significance. Though aware that the sailor 
 was due from his voyage, this sudden apparition 
 of him at such a time startled his former friends 
 not a little. Mary indeed was unnerved in a 
 manner foreign to her nature, and the candle- 
 lighted kitchen whirled in her eyes as she felt 
 her hand in his. Save for an ejaculation from 
 the old man, which conveyed nothing beyond 
 his astonishment, Noy was the first to speak; 
 and his earliest words relieved the minds of his 
 listeners in one great particular ; he alread}" knew 
 the worst that had happened. 
 
 "I be come from Newlyn, from the Tregenzas. 
 Thomasin have tawld me of all that's failed out ; 
 but I couldn't bide in my awful trouble wi'out
 
 I of! LYING PROPHETS 
 
 comin 1 up-long. I reckon you'll lei the past be 
 forgot now. I'm punished ugly enough. You 
 seed her last, dead an' alive; you heard the last 
 words ever she spoke to any of her awn folks. 
 That drawed me. If I must ax pardon for com- 
 in', then I will." 
 
 "Nay, nay, my poor sawl; sit you down an' 
 eat, Joe, an' take they wet boots off a while. 
 Oar hearts have bled for 'e this many days, Joe 
 Noy, an' never more'n now." * 
 
 "I thank you, uncle; an' you, Mary Chirgwin 
 — will 'e say as much? 'Tis you I wants to speak 
 with, 'cause you — you seed Joan arter 'twas 
 awver." 
 
 "I wish you well, Joe Noy, an' if I ever done 
 differ'nt 'tis past an' forgot. What I can tell 'e 
 'bout our poor lass, as lived the end of her days 
 along wi' me an' uncle, you've a right to knaw." 
 
 "An' God bless 'e for sayin' so. I corned 
 rough an' read}' - , an' thrust in 'pon you; but this 
 news be but two hour auld in my heart, you see, 
 an' 'tedn' easy for such as me to make choice o' 
 words at a time like this." 
 
 "Eat, my son, an' doan't 'e fancy theer's any 
 here but them as be friends. Polly an' me seed 
 more o' Joan through her last days than any; 
 an' I do say as she was a lamb o' God's foldin', 
 beyond all manner o' doubt; an' Polly, as feared 
 it mightn't 'sactly be so, be of my 'pinion now. 
 Them as suffered for the sins o' other folk, like 
 what she done, has theer hell-fire 'pon this side 
 o' the graave, not t'other." 
 
 "I lay that's a true sayin'," declared Noy
 
 ! ', i\i. PROPHETS <■'•• 
 
 shortly. "I won't keep 'e ower-long' from your 
 beds," he added. "If you got a drink o' spirits 
 I'll thank you for it; then I'll put a question or 
 two to she— to Mary Chirgwin, if she'll allow; 
 an' then I'll get going." 
 
 The woman was self-possessed again now, 
 although Joe's voice and well-remembered gest- 
 ures moved her powerfully and made it difficult 
 to keep her voice within absolute control. 
 
 "All you can ax that I knaw, I'll tell 'e, though 
 Joan shut her thots purty close most times. Us 
 awnly got side views of her mind, and them not 
 often." 
 
 "The man," he said. "Tell me all— every- 
 thin' you can call home — all what her said of 
 him." 
 
 "Fust she thot a 'mazin' deal 'bout en," ex- 
 plained the farmer; "then time made her mind 
 get stale of en, an' she begin to see us was right. 
 He sent money — a thousand pound, an' I — poor 
 fool — thot Joan weern't mistook at fust. But 
 'twas awnly conscience money; an' now Thom- 
 asin's the better for't by will." 
 
 But this sensational statement was not appre- 
 ciated, Joe's mind being elsewhere. 
 
 "You never heard the name of en?" 
 
 "Awnly the christening name, as was 'Jan.' 
 You may have heard tell she got a letter the 
 night she passed. Us found the coverin' under 
 the table next day, an' Mary corned across the 
 letter itself in her pocket at the last. ' ' 
 
 " 'Tis that I be corned for. If you could tell 
 so much as a word or two out of it, Mary? They
 
 458 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 said you burned it an' the crowner was mighty 
 angry, but I thot as p'raps you'd looked at it all 
 the same, awnly weern't pleased to say so." 
 
 "No," she answered. " 'Tis true I found a 
 letter, an' I might a read some of it if I would, 
 but I judged better not. 'Tweern't fair to her 
 like." 
 
 "Was theer anything else asshawed anything 
 'bout en?" 
 
 "No — awnly a picksher of a ship he painted 
 for her. I burned that tu ; an' I'd a burned his 
 money if I could. He painted her — I knaw that 
 much. She tawld us wnn night — a gert picksher 
 near as large as life. He took it to Lunnon — for 
 a shaw, I s'pose." 
 
 "I'd think of en no more if I was you, Joe," 
 said Uncle Chirgwin. "Leave the likes of en 
 to the God of en. Brace yourself agin this 
 sore onset an' pray to Heaven to forgive all 
 
 sinners." 
 
 Noy looked at the old man and his great jaw 
 seemed to spread laterally with his thought. 
 
 "God have gived the man to me! that's wiry 
 I be here: to knaw all any can teach me. I've 
 got to be the undoin' o' that devil — the undoin' 
 an' death of en. I'll be upsides wi' the man if 
 it takes me fifty year to do it. Awnly 'more 
 haste, more let.' I shall go slow an' sure. 
 That's why I corned here fust thing." 
 
 Mr. Chirgwin looked extremely alarmed, and 
 Mary spoke. 
 
 "This be wild, wicked talkin', Joe Noy, an' 
 no mort o' sorrer as ever was can excuse sich
 
 LYING PROPHETS 450 
 
 words as them. 'Tedn' no task o' yourn to take 
 the Lard's work out His hand that way. He'll 
 pay the evil-doer his just dues wi'out no help 
 from you." 
 
 "I've got a voice in my ear, Mary— a voice 
 louder'n any human voice ; an' it bids me be doin' 
 as the instrument of God A'mighty's just rage. 
 If you can help me, then I bid you do it, if not, 
 let me be away. Did you read any o' that theer 
 letter — so much as a word, or did 'e larn wheer 
 'twas writ from?" 
 
 "If I knawed, I shouldn't tell 'e, not now. I'd 
 sooner cut my tongue out than aid 'e 'pon the 
 road you'm set. An' you a righteous thinkin' 
 man wance!" 
 
 He looked at her and there was that in his 
 face which showed a mind busy with time past. 
 His voice had changed and his eyes softened. 
 
 "I be punished for much, Mary Chirgwin. I 
 be punished wi' loss an' wi' sich work put on 
 me as may lead to a terrible ugly plaace at the 
 end. But theer 'tis. Like the chisel in the 
 hand o' the carpenter, so I be a sharp tool in 
 the Lard's grip." 
 
 "Never! You be a poor, dazed worm in the 
 grip o' your awn evil thots! You'm foxing* 
 yourself, Joe; you'm listenin' to the devil an' 
 tellin' yourself 'tis God — knawin' 'tedn' so all 
 the while. Theer's no religion as would put you 
 in the right wi' sich notions as them. Listen to 
 your awn small guidin' voice, Joe Noy; listen 
 to me, or to Luke Gosp'lers or any sober-think- 
 
 * Foxing — Deceiving - .
 
 460 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 p 
 
 in', God-fearin' sawl. All the world would tell 
 'e you was wrong — all the wisdom o' the airth 
 be agin you, let alone heaven." 
 
 "If 'twas any smaller thing I'd listen to 'e, 
 Mary, for I knaw you to be a wise, strong wum- 
 mon; but theer ban't no mistakin' the message 
 I got down-long when they told me what's fallen 
 'pon Joan Tregenza. No fay; my way be clear 
 afore me ; an' the angel o' God will lead my 
 footsteps nearer an' nearer till I faace the man. 
 Windin' ways or short 'tis all wan in the end, 
 'tis all set down in the Book o' the Lard." 
 
 "How can the likes o' you dare to up an' say 
 what be in the Book o' the Lard, Joe?" asked 
 Uncle Chirgwin, roused to words by the other's 
 sentiments. "You've got a gashly, bloody- 
 minded fit on you along of all your troubles. 
 But doan't 'e let it fasten into your heart. Pray 
 to God to wipe away these here awful opinions. 
 Else they'll be the ruin of 'e, body an' sawl. If 
 Luke Gosp'ling brot 'e to this pass in time o' 
 darkness an' tribulation, 'tis a cruel pity you 
 didn't bide a church member." 
 
 "I wish I thot you was in the right, uncle," 
 said the sailor calmly, "but I knaws you ban't. 
 All the hidden powers of the airth an' the sea 
 edti' gwaine to keep me from that man. Now 
 I'll leave 'e; an' I'm sorry, Mary Chirgwin, as 
 you caan't find it in your heart to help me, but 
 so the Lard walls it. I won't ax 'e to shake my 
 hand, for theer'll be blood on it sooner or later 
 — the damnedest blood as ever a angry God 
 called 'pon wan o' His creatures to spill out."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 461 
 
 "Joe, Joe, stay an' listen to me! For the 
 sake of the past, listen!" 
 
 But Noy rose as Mary cried these words, and 
 before she had finished speaking he was gone. 
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 THE SEEKING OF THE MAN 
 
 Thus the sailor, Noy, wholly imbued with 
 one idea, absolutely convinced that to this end 
 it had pleased Providence to give him life, went 
 forth into the world that he might seek and slay 
 the seducer of Joan. After leaving Drift lie re- 
 turned to Penzance, lay there that night, and 
 upon the following morning began a methodical 
 visitation of the Newlyn studios. Five he called 
 at and to five artists he stated something of his 
 case in general terms; but none of those who 
 heard him were familiar with any of the facts, 
 and none could offer him either information or 
 assistance. Edmund Murdoch was not in New- 
 lyn, Brady had gone to Brittany; but at the 
 seventh studio which he visited, Joe Noy sub- 
 stantiated some of his facts. Paul Tarrant 
 chanced to be at home and at work when lie 
 called; and the artist would have told Joe ever) - 
 thing which he wished to learn, but that Noy 
 was cautious and reserved, not guessing that he 
 stood before one who knew his onomy and enter- 
 tained mi admiration for him.
 
 462 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 ''Axing pardon for taking up any of your time, 
 sir," he began, "but theer'm a matter concern- 
 ing a party in your business as painted a maiden 
 here, by name o' Joan Tregenza. She weern't 
 nobody — awnly a fisherman's darter, but the 
 picksher was said to be done in these paarts, 
 an' I thot, maybe, you'd knaw who drawed it." 
 
 Tarrant had not heard of Joan's death, and, 
 indeed, possessed no information concerning her, 
 save that Barron had prevailed upon the girl to 
 sit for a portrait. The question, therefore, struck 
 him as curious; and one which he put in return, 
 merely to satisfy his own curiosity, impressed 
 Joe in a similar way. His suspicious nature 
 took fright and Tarrant's dark, bright eyes 
 seemed to read his secret and search his soul. 
 
 "Yes, a portrait of Joan Tregenza was painted 
 here last spring, but not by a Newlyn man. How 
 does that interest you?" 
 
 "Awnly sideways. 'Tedn' nothin' to me. I 
 knaws the parties an' wanted to see the picksher 
 if theer weern't no objection." 
 
 "That's impossible, I fear, unless you go to Lon- 
 don. I cannot help you further than to say the 
 artist lives there and his picture is being exhibited 
 at an art gallery. Somebody told me that much ; 
 but which it is I don't know." 
 
 This was enough for Noy. Ignorant of the 
 metropolis or the vague import of the words "a 
 picture gallery," he deemed these directions am- 
 ply sufficient, and, being tmxious to escape further 
 questioning, now thanked Tarrant and speedily 
 departed. Not until half way back again to Pen-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 463 
 
 zance did he realize how slight was the nature of 
 this information and how ill-calculated to bring 
 him to his object; the man he wanted lived in 
 London and had a painting of Joan Tregenza in 
 a picture gallery there. 
 
 Yet upon these directions Joe Noy resolved to 
 begin his search, and as the train anon bore him 
 away to the field of the great quest he weighed 
 the chances and considered a course of action. 
 Allowing the ample margin of ten picture gal- 
 leries to London, and assuming that the portrait 
 of Joan once found would be easily recognized 
 by him, the sailor considered that a fortnight of 
 work should bring him face to face with the 
 picture. That done, he imagined that it would 
 not be difficult to learn the name and address of 
 the painter. He had indeed asked Tarraut this 
 question pointblank, but the artist's accidental 
 curiosity and Joe's own caution combined to pre- 
 vent any extension of the interview, or a repeti- 
 tion of the question. A word had at least placed 
 him in possession of John Barron's name, but 
 Chance prevented it from being spoken, as 
 Chance had burned Barron's letter and pre- 
 vented his name appearing at the inquest. 
 Now ISToy viewed the task before him with 
 equanimity. The end was already assured, 
 for, in his own opinion, he walked God-guided; 
 but the means lay with him, and he felt that 
 it was his duty to spare no pains or labors and 
 not to hesitate from the terrible action marked 
 for him when he should reach the end of his 
 journey. Mary's last words came to his ear*
 
 464 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 like a whisper which mingled with the jolt and 
 rattle of the railway train; but they held no 
 power to upset his purpose or force to modify 
 his rooted determination. Her image occupied 
 his thoughts, however, for a lengthy period. 
 Then, with some effort, he banished it and en- 
 tered upon a calculation of ways and means, 
 estimating the capabilities of his money. 
 
 Entering the great hive to accomplish that as- 
 sassination as he supposed both planned and pre- 
 destined for him before God made the sun, Nov 
 set about his business in a deliberate and care- 
 ful manner. He hired a bedroom in a mean 
 street near Padclington, and, on the day after 
 his arrival in London, purchased a large map 
 and index of the city which gave ample particu- 
 lars of public buildings and mentioned the names 
 and positions of the great permanent homes of 
 art. By the help of newspaper advertisements 
 he also ascertained where to find some of the 
 numerous private dealers' galleries and likewise 
 learned what public annual exhibitions chanced 
 to be at that time open. Whereupon, though 
 the circumstance failed to quicken his pulse, he 
 discovered that the extent of his labors would 
 prove far greater than he at first imagined. He 
 made careful lists of the places where pictures 
 were to be seen, and the number quickly ran up 
 to fifty, sixty, seventy exhibitions. That he 
 would be able to visit all these Joe. knew was 
 impossible, but the fact caused him no disquiet. 
 The picture he sought and the name of the man 
 who painted it must be presented to him in due
 
 LYING PKOPHETS 165 
 
 season. For him it only remained to toil sys- 
 tematically at the search and allow no clew to 
 escape him. As for the issue, it was with the 
 Lord. 
 
 London swept and surged about Joe Noy un- 
 heeded. He cared for nothing but canvases and 
 the places where they might be seen. Day bj* 
 day he worked and went early to rest, weary 
 and worn by occupation of a nature so foreign 
 to his experience. Nightly his last act was to 
 delete one or sometimes two of the exhibitions 
 figured upon his lists. Thus a week passed by 
 and he had visited ten galleries and seen upward 
 of five thousand pictures. Not one painting or 
 drawing of them all was missed or hurried over; 
 he compared each with its number in the cata- 
 logue, then studied it carefully to see if any hint 
 or suggestion of Joan appeared in it. Her Chris- 
 tian name often met his scrutiny in titles, and 
 those works thus designated he regarded with 
 greater attention than any others; but the week 
 passed fruitlessly, and Joe, making a calculation 
 at the termination of it, discovered that, at his 
 present rate of progression, it would be possible 
 to inspect no more than half of the galleries set 
 down before his funds were exhausted. The 
 knowledge quickened his ingenuity and he dis- 
 covered a means by which future labors might 
 be vastly modified and much time saved. He 
 already knew that the man responsible for Joan's 
 destruction was called John ; his mind now quick- 
 ened with the recollection of this important fact, 
 and henceforth lie did a thing which any man
 
 466 LYING PKOPHETS 
 
 less unintelligent had done from the first : he 
 scanned his catalogues without troubling about 
 the pictures, and only concerned himself with 
 those canvases whose painters had "John" for 
 their Christian names. He thanked God on his 
 knees that the idea should have entered his mind, 
 for his labors were thereby enormously light- 
 ened. Notwithstanding, through ignorance of 
 his subject, Joe wasted a great deal of time and 
 money. Thus he visited the National Gallery, 
 the Old Masters at the Academy and various 
 dealers' exhibitions where collections of the pict- 
 ures of foreign men were at that season being 
 displayed. 
 
 The brown sailor created some interest viewed 
 in an environment so peculiar. His picturesque 
 face might well have graced a frame and looked 
 down upon the artistic throngs who swept among 
 the pictures, but the living man, full of almost 
 tragic interest in what he saw, laboring along 
 catalogue in hand, dead to everything but the 
 art around him, seemed wholly out of place. 
 He looked what he was : the detached thread of 
 some story from which the spectator only saw 
 this chapter broken away and standing without 
 its context. Nine persons out of ten dismissed 
 him with a smile ; but occasionally a thoughtful 
 mind would view the man and occupy itself with 
 the problem of his affairs. Such built up imag- 
 inary histories of him and his actions, which 
 only resembled each other in the qualit} r of re- 
 moteness from truth. 
 
 Once it happened that at a small gallery, off
 
 LYING PROPHETS 467 
 
 Bond Street, the sudden sight of precious things 
 brought new emotions to Joe Noy — sentiments 
 and sensations of a sort more human and more 
 natural than those under which he was at pres- 
 ent pursuing his purpose. Before this spectacle, 
 suddenly presented in the quietness and loneli- 
 ness of the little exhibition, that stern spirit of 
 revenge which had actuated him since the knowl- 
 edge of his loss, and which, gripping his mind 
 like a frost from the outset, had congested the 
 gentler emotions of sorrow for poor Joan and 
 for himself — before this display of a familiar 
 scene, hallowed beyond all others in memory, 
 the man's relentless mood rose off his mind for 
 a brief moment like a cloud, and he stood, with 
 aching heartstrings, gazing at a great canvas. 
 Sweet to him it was as the unexpected face of 
 one dearly loved to the wanderer ; and startling 
 in a measure also, for, remembering his oath, to 
 see Newlyn no more until his enemy was dead, 
 it seemed as though the vow was broken by 
 some miracle and that from the heart of the 
 roaring city he had magically plunged through 
 space to the threshold of the home of Joan. 
 
 Before him loomed a picture like a window 
 opening upon Newlyn. The village lay there in 
 all the flame and glory of sunset lights. The 
 gray and black roofs clustered up the great dark 
 hill and the gloaming fell out of ;i primrose sky 
 over sea and land. The waters twinkled full of, 
 light to the very foreground of the canvas, and 
 between the piers of the harbor a fisher-boy was 
 sculling his boat. Between the masts of stoiie-
 
 468 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 schooners at the quay, Joe saw the white cot- 
 tage of the Tregenzas, and there his survey 
 stopped, for at this spectacle thought broke 
 loose. No man ever paid a nobler tribute to 
 a good picture. Very long he gazed motionless, 
 then, with a great sigh, moved slowly forward, 
 his eyes still turning back. 
 
 The day and the experience which it brought 
 him marked a considerable flux of new impres- 
 sions in Joe's mind — impressions which, with- 
 out softening the rugged aspect of his determina- 
 tion, yet added other lines of reflection. Sorrow 
 for what was lost fastened upon him, and an in- 
 dignation burned his soul that such things could 
 be in a world designed and ordered by the Al- 
 mighty. Revenge, however, grew no less de- 
 sirable in the light of sorrow. He looked to it 
 more and more eagerly as the only food which 
 could lead to peace of mind. His road probably 
 embraced the circumstances of an ignominious 
 death; but none the less peace would follow — a 
 peace beyond the power of future life on earth 
 to supply. Thus, at least, did his project then 
 present itself to him. Thought of the meeting 
 with his enemy grew to be a luxury which he 
 feasted upon in the night watches after fruitless 
 days and the investigation of endless miles of 
 pictures. Then he would lie awake and imagine 
 the inevitable climax. He saw himself standing 
 before the man who had ruined two lives; he 
 felt his hand close over a knife or a pistol, and 
 wondered which it should be; he heard his own 
 voice, slow and steady, pronounce sentence of
 
 LYING PROPHETS 409 
 
 death, and he saw terror light that other man's 
 face as the blood fled from it. He rehearsed the 
 words he should utter at that great juncture and 
 speculated as to what manner of answer would 
 come ; then the last scene of all represented his 
 enemy stretched dead at his feet and himself 
 with his hands linked in iron. There yet re- 
 maiaed the end of the tragedy for him — a spec- 
 taclo horrible enough in the e3 T es of those still 
 left to love him, but for himself empty of terror, 
 innocent of power to alarm. Clean-living men 
 would pity him, religious men would see in him 
 an instrument used by God to strike at a sinner. 
 His death would probably bring some wanderers 
 to the fold ; it must of a surety be long remem- 
 bered as the greatest sermon lived and preached 
 by a Luke Gospeler. Lulled by the humming 
 woof and warp of such reflections, his mind 
 nightly passed into the unconsciousness of sleep; 
 and quickened by subsequent visions, the brain 
 enacted these imaginings with an added gloom 
 and that tremendous appearance of reality proper 
 to the domain of dreams. 
 
 Thus the days sped and grew shorter as De- 
 cember waned. Then, at the end of the second 
 week of his work, Nov chanced to read that an 
 Exhibition at the Institute of Painters in Oils 
 was about to close ; and not yet having visited 
 that collection he set out on the morning of the 
 following day to do so.
 
 470 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 " joe's ship " 
 
 According to his custom, Nov worked 
 through the exhibition catalogue for each 
 room before entering it. The hour was an 
 early one, and but few persons had as yet pene- 
 trated to the central part of the gallery. For 
 these, however, an experience of a singular 
 character was now in store. Wandering hither 
 and thither in groups and talking in subdued 
 voices after the manner of persons in such a 
 place, all were suddenly conscious of a loud 
 inarticulate cry. The sudden volume of sound 
 denoted mixed emotions, but amazement and 
 grief were throned upon it, and the exclamation 
 came from a man standing now stiff and spell- 
 bound before "Joe's Ship," the famous master- 
 piece of John Barron. The beholders viewed an 
 amazed figure which seemed petrified even to an 
 expression on his face. There are countenances 
 which display the ordinary emotions of human- 
 ity in a fashion unusual and peculiar to them- 
 selves. Thus, while the customar}' and conven- 
 tional signs of sorrow are a down-drawing slant 
 to the corners of mouth and eye, yet it some- 
 times happens that the lines more usually asso- 
 ciated with gratification are donned in grief. Of 
 this freakish character was the face of Joe Noj\
 
 LYING PROPHETS 171 
 
 His muscles seemed to follow the bones under- 
 neath them; and now beholding him, the sur- 
 prised spectators saw a man of gigantic propor- 
 tions gigantically moved. Yet, while sorrow was 
 discernible in his voice, the corners of his mouth 
 were dragged up till his lips resembled a balf- 
 moon on its back, and the lids and corners of his 
 eyes were full of laughter wrinkles, while the 
 eyes themselves were starting and agonized. 
 The man's catalogue had fallen to the ground ; 
 his hands were clinched ; now, as others watched 
 him, he came step by step nearer to the picture. 
 To estimate the force of the thing upon Noy's 
 hungry heart, to present the chaos of emotions 
 which now gripped him at the goal of his pil- 
 grimage, is impossible. Here, restored to him 
 by art, was his dead sweetheart, the sum and 
 total of all the beauty he had worshiped and 
 which for nearly a year of absence had been his 
 guiding star. He knew that she was in her 
 grave, yet she stood before him sweet and fresh, 
 with the moisture of life in her eyes and on her 
 lips. He recognized everything, to the windy 
 &pot where the gorse flourished on the crown of 
 the cliff. The clean sk3 T told him from whence 
 the wind blew ; the gray gull above was flying 
 with it upon slanting wings. And Joan stood 
 below in a blaze of sunshine and yellow blossom. 
 A reflection from the corner of her sunbonnet 
 brightened her face, though it was shaded from 
 direct sunlight by her hand ; her blue e3~es mir- 
 rored the sea and the sky; and they met Joe's, 
 like a question. She was looking away to the
 
 ■472 1A1KU PROPHETS 
 
 edge of the world ; and he knew from the name 
 of the picture, which he had read before he saw 
 it, the object regarded. He glared on, and his 
 breath came quicker. The brown petticoat with 
 the black patch was familiar to him ; but he had 
 never seen the gleam of her white neck below 
 the collar where it was hidden from the sun. In 
 the picture an unfastened button showed this. 
 The rest he knew : her hair, turning at the flap- 
 ping edge of the sunbonnet; her slight figure, 
 round waist, and the shoes, whose strings he 
 had been privileged to tie more than once. 
 Then he remembered her last promise: to see 
 his ship go down Channel from their old meet- 
 ing-place upon Gorse Point; and the memory, 
 thus revived by the actual spectacle of Joan 
 Tregenza looking her last at his vanishing ves- 
 sel, brought the wild cry to Noy's lip with the 
 wringing of his heart. He was absolutely dead 
 to his environment, and his long days of silence 
 suddenly ended in a futile outpouring of words 
 addressed to any who might care to listen. 
 Passion surged to the top of his mind— rage for 
 his loss, indignation that the unutterably fair 
 thing before them had been blotted out of the 
 world while he was far away, without power to 
 protect her. For a few moments only was the 
 man beyond his own self-control, but in that brief 
 time he spoke; and his listeners enjoyed a sensa- 
 tion of a nature outside their widest experiences. 
 
 "Oh, Christ Jesus! 'tis Joan— my awn lil 
 Joan, as I left her, as I seed her alive!" 
 
 He had reached the rail separating the pict-
 
 LYING PEOPHETS 473 
 
 ures from the public. Here he stood and spoke 
 again, now conscious that there were people 
 round about him. 
 
 "She'm dead — dead an' buried — my Joan — 
 killed by the devil as drawed her theer in that 
 picksher. As large as life; an' yet she'm under 
 ground wi' a brawken heart. An' me, new- 
 comed off the sea, hears of it fust thing." 
 
 "It's 'Joe's Ship' he means," whispered some- 
 body, and Noy heard him. 
 
 "Iss fay, so 'tis, an' I be Joe — I talkin' to 'e; 
 an' she'm shadin' her eyes theer to see my ves- 
 sel a-sailin' away to furrin paarts! 'Tis a story 
 that's true, an' the God-blasted limb what 
 drawed this knawed I was gone to the ends o' 
 the airth outward bound." 
 
 A man from the turnstile came up here and 
 inquired what was the matter. His voice and 
 tone of authority brought the sailor back to the 
 position he occupied; he restrained himself, 
 therefore, and spoke no more. Already Noy 
 feared that his passion might have raised sus- 
 picions, and now, turning and picking up his 
 catalogue, he made hasty departure before those 
 present had opportunity to take much further 
 notice of him. The man hurried off into the 
 rattle of the bus} 7 thoroughfare, and in a mo- 
 ment he and his sorrows and his deadly purpose 
 had vanished away. 
 
 Meantime the curator of the gallery, a man of 
 intelligence, improved the moment and addressed 
 some apposite reflections to those spectators who 
 still flustered around John Barron's picture.
 
 471 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 "It isn't often we get such a sight as that. 
 Many people have wondered why this great 
 work was called as it is. The man who has 
 gone explains it, and you have had a glimpse of 
 the picture's history— the inner history of it. 
 The painting has made a great sensation ever 
 since it was first exhibited, but never such a 
 sensation as it made to-day." 
 
 "The beggar looked as though he meant mis- 
 chief," said somebod}-. 
 
 "He knows the model is dead apparently, but 
 there's another mystery there too, for Mr. Bar- 
 ron himself isn't aware of the fact. He was 
 here only the day before yesterday — a little pale 
 shadow of a man, like a ghost in a fur coat. 
 He came to see his picture and stopped ten min- 
 utes. Two gentlemen were with him, and I 
 heard him say, in answer to one of them as he 
 left the gallery, that he had quite recently en- 
 deavored to learn some particulars of Joan Tre- 
 genza, his model, but had failed to do so as yet." 
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 THE FINDING OF THE MAN 
 
 The gratification of his desire and the fulfill- 
 ment of his revenge, though steadfastly foreseen 
 by Joe Noy from the moment when first he set 
 foot in London and began his search, now for a 
 moment overwhelmed him at the prospect of
 
 LYING PROPHETS 475 
 
 their extreme propinquity. Had anything been 
 needed to strengthen his determination on the 
 threshold of a meeting with Joan's destroyer, it 
 was the startling vision of Joan herself from 
 which he had just departed. No event had 
 brought the magnitude of his loss more cruelly 
 to the core of his heart than the sudden splendid 
 representation of what he had left behind him 
 in her innocence and beauty ; and, for the same 
 reason, nothing could have more thoroughly 
 fortified his mind to the deed now ]ying in his 
 immediate future. 
 
 Noy's first act was to turn again to the gallery 
 with a purpose to inquire where John Barron 
 might be found; but he recollected that many 
 picture catalogues contained the private addresses 
 of the exhibitors, and accordingly consulted the 
 list he had brought with him. There he found 
 the name and also the house in which the owner 
 of it dwelt — 
 
 John Barron, 
 No. t; Melbury Gardens, S. W. 
 
 Only hours now separated him from his goal, 
 and it seemed strange to Noy that he should 
 have thus come in sight of it so suddenly. But 
 his wits cooled and with steady system he fol- 
 lowed the path long marked out. He stood and 
 looked in at a gunsmith's window for ten min- 
 utes, then moved forward to another. At the 
 shop-fronts of cutlers he also dawdled, but fi- 
 nally returned to the first establishment which 
 had attracted him, entered, and, for the sum of
 
 r;<; lying prophets 
 
 two pounds, purchased a small, five-chambered 
 revolver with a box of cartridges. He then went 
 back to his lodging, and set to work to find the 
 position of Melbury Gardens upon his map. This 
 done the man marked his road to that region, 
 outlining with a red chalk pencil the streets 
 through which he would have to walk before 
 reaching it. Throughout the afternoon he con- 
 tinued his preparations, acting very methodical- 
 ly, and setting his house in order with the de- 
 liberation of one who knows that he is going to 
 die, but not immediately. Sometimes he rested 
 from the labor of letter-writing to think and re- 
 hearse again the scene which was to close that 
 day. A thousand times he had already done 
 so; a thousand times the imaginary interview 
 had been the last thought in his waking brain ; 
 but now the approach of reality swept away 
 those unreal dialogues, dramatic entrances, exits 
 and events of the great scene as he had pictured 
 it. The present moment found Noy 's brain blank 
 as to everything but the issue ; and he surprised 
 himself by discovering that his mind now con- 
 tinually recurred to those events which would 
 follow the climax, while yet the death of John 
 Barron was unaccomplished. His active thoughts, 
 under conditions of such excitation as the day had 
 brought upon the top of his discovery, traveled 
 with astounding speed, and it was not John Bar- 
 ron's end but his own which filled the imagina- 
 tion of the sailor as he wrote. The shadow of 
 the gallows was on the paper, though the event 
 which was to bring this consummation still lay
 
 LYING PROPHETS 477 
 
 some hours deep in unrecorded time. But, for 
 Noy, John Barron was as good as dead, and 
 himself as good as under sentence of death. 
 
 Grown quite calm, fixed in mind, and immov- 
 able as the black sea cliffs of his mother-land, he 
 wrote steadily on until thought sped whirling 
 forward to a new aspect of his future : the last. 
 He saw himself in eternity, tossed to everlasting 
 flames by his Maker, as a man tosses an empty 
 match-box, after it has done its work, into the 
 fire. He put down his pen and pictured it. The 
 terrific force of that conviction cannot fairly be 
 set before the intelligence of average cultured 
 people, because, whatever they profess to believe 
 in their hearts, the truth is that, even with forty- 
 nine Christians out of fifty, hell appears a mere 
 vague conceit meaning nothing. They affirm 
 that they believe in eternal torment ; they con- 
 fess all humanity is ripe for it; but their pulses 
 are unquickened by the assertion or admission ; 
 they do not believe in it. Nor can educated 
 man so believe, for that way madness lies, and 
 lie who dwells long and closely upon this unut- 
 terable dogma, anon himself feels the first flick- 
 ering of the undying flame. It scorches, not his 
 body, but his brain, and a lunatic asylum pres- 
 ently shuts him from a sane world unless medi- 
 cal aid quickly brings healthy relief. 
 
 But with primitive opinions, narrow beliefs 
 and narrow intelligences, hell can be a live con- 
 ceit enough. Among Luke Gospelers and kin- 
 dred sects there shall be found such genuine fear 
 and sueli trembling as the church called oriho-
 
 478 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 dox never knows; and to Noy the tremendous 
 spectacle of his everlasting punishment now- 
 made itself actively felt. A life beyond death 
 — a life to be spent in one of two places and to 
 endure eternally was to Joe as certain as the 
 knowledge that he lived ; and that his destina- 
 tion must be determined by the work yet lying 
 between him and death appeared equally sure. 
 Further, that work must be performed. There 
 was no loophole of escape from it, and had there 
 been such he would have blocked it against him- 
 self resolutely. Moreover, as the will and desire 
 to do the deed was an action as definite in the 
 eye of Heaven as the accomplishment of the deed 
 itself, he reckoned himself already damned. He 
 had long since counted the whole cost, and now 
 it only seemed more vast and awful than upon 
 past surveys by reason of its nearer approach. 
 Now he speculated curiously upon the meetings 
 which must follow upon the world's dissolution; 
 and wondered if those who kill do ever meet and 
 hold converse in hell-fire with their victims. 
 Then again he fell to writing, and presently com- 
 pleted letters to his father, his mother, to Mrs. 
 Tregenza and to Mary Chirgwin. These he left 
 in his apartment, and presently going out into 
 the air, walked, with no particular aim, until 
 darkness fell. Hunger now prompted him, and 
 he ate a big meal at a restaurant and drank with 
 his food a pint of ale. Physically fortified, he 
 returned to his lodging, left upon the table in 
 his solitary room the sum he would that night 
 owe for the hire of the chamber, and, then, tak-
 
 LYING PROPHETS 479 
 
 ing his letters, went out to return no more. A 
 few clothes, a brush and comb and a small 
 wooden trunk was all he left behind him. Joe 
 No}' purchased four stamps for his letters and 
 posted them. They were written as though the 
 murder of John Barron had been already accom- 
 plished, and he thus completed and dispatched 
 them before the event, because he imagined that, 
 afterward, the power of communicating with his 
 parents or friends would be denied him. That 
 they might be spared the horror of learning the 
 news through a public source he wrote it thus, 
 and knew, as he did so, that to two of his corre- 
 spondents the intelligence would come without 
 the full force of a novelty. Thomasin Tregenza 
 and Mary Chirgwin alike were familiar with his 
 intention at the time of his departure, and to 
 them he therefore wrote but briefly ; his parents, 
 on the other hand, for all Joe knew to the con- 
 trary, might still be ignorant of the fact that he 
 had come off his cruise. His letters to them were 
 accordingly of great length; and he set forth 
 therein with the nervous lucidity of a meager 
 vocabulary the nature of his wrongs and the ac- 
 tion which he had taken under Heaven's guid- 
 ance to revenge them. He stated plainly in all 
 four of his missives to Newlyn, Drift and Mouse- 
 hole that the artist, John Barron, was shot dead 
 by his hand and that lie himself intended suffer- 
 ing the consequent punishment as became a brave 
 man and the weapon of the Lord. These notes 
 then he posted, and so went upon his way that 
 he mighl fulfill fco lli<- letter his written words.
 
 ■l&O LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Following the roads he had studied upon his 
 map and committed to memory, Noy soon reached 
 Melbury Gardens and presently stood opposite 
 No. 6 and scanned it. The hour was then ten 
 o'clock and lights were in some of the windows, 
 but not many. Looking over the area railings, 
 the sailor saw four servants — two men and two 
 women — eating their supper. He noted, as a 
 singular circumstance, that there were wine- 
 glasses upon the kitchen table and that they 
 held red liquor and white. 
 
 Noy's design was simple enough. He meant 
 to stand face to face with John Barron, to ex- 
 plain the nature of the events which had oc- 
 curred, to tell him, what it was possible he 
 might not know : that Joan was dead ; and then 
 to inform him that his own days were numbered. 
 Upon these words Joe designed to shoot the 
 other down like a dog, and to make absolutely 
 certain of his death by firing the entire contents 
 of the revolver. He expected that a private in- 
 terview would be vouchsafed to him if he de- 
 sired it; and his intention, after his victim 
 should fall, was to blow the man's brains out 
 at close quarters before even those nearest at 
 hand could prevent it. At half-past ten Noy 
 felt that his weapon was in the left breast pocket 
 of his coat ready for the drawing ; then ascended 
 the steps which rose to the front door of John 
 Barron's dwelling and rang the bell. 
 
 The man-servant whom he had seen through 
 the area railings in the kitchen came to the door, 
 and, much to Noy's astonishment, accosted him
 
 LYING PROPHETS 481 
 
 before he had time to say that he wished to se© 
 the master of the house. 
 
 "You've come at last, then," said the man. 
 
 Joe regarded him with surprise, then spoke. 
 
 "I want to see Mr. John Barron, please." 
 
 The other laughed, as if this was an admir- 
 able jest. 
 
 "I suppose you do, though that's a queer way 
 to put it. You talk as though you had come to 
 smoke a cigar along with him." 
 
 In growing amazement and suspicion, Noy 
 listened to this most curious statement. Fears 
 suddenly awoke that, by some mysterious cir- 
 cumstance, Barron had learned of his contem- 
 plated action and was prepared for it. He 
 stopped, therefore, looked about him sharply 
 to avoid any sudden surprise, and put a ques- 
 tion to the footman. 
 
 "You spoke as though I was wanted," he said. 
 "What do you mean by that?" 
 
 "Blessed if you're not a rum 'un!" answered 
 the man. "Of course you was wanted, else you 
 wouldn't be here, would you? You're not a 
 party as calls promiscuous, I should hope. Else 
 it would be rather trying to delicate nerves. 
 You're the gentleman as everybody requires 
 some time, though nobody ever sends for him- 
 self." 
 
 Failing to gather the other's meaning, Noy 
 only realized that John Barron expected some 
 visitor and felt, therefore, the more determined 
 to hasten his own actions. He saw the footman 
 was endeavoring to be jocose, and therefore hu-
 
 482 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 mored him, pretending at the same time to be 
 the individual who was expected. 
 
 "You're a funny fellow and must often make 
 your master laugh, I should reckon. Iss, I be 
 the chap what you thought I was. An' I should 
 like to see him — the guv'nor — at once if he'll 
 see me." 
 
 The footman chuckled again. 
 
 "He'll see you all right. He's been wantin' 
 of you all day, and he'd have been that dread- 
 ful disapp'inted if you 'adn't come. Always 
 awful particular about his clothes, you know, 
 so mind you're jolly careful about the measur- 
 ia', 'cause this overcoat will have to last him a 
 long time." 
 
 Taking his cue from these words Noy, still 
 ignorant of the truth, made answer: "Iss, I'll 
 measure en all right. Wheer is he to?" 
 
 "In the studio — there you are, right ahead. 
 Knock at that baize door and then walk straight 
 in, 'cause he'll very likely be too much occupied 
 to answer you. He's quite alone — leastways I 
 believe so. I'll come back in quarter'n hour; 
 and mind you don't talk no secrets or tell him 
 how I laughed at him behind his back, else he'd 
 give me the sack for certain." 
 
 The man withdrew, sniggering at his own 
 humor, and Noy, quite unable to see rhyme or 
 reason in his remarks, stood with an expression 
 of bewilderment upon his broad face and watched 
 the servant disappear. Then his countenance 
 changed, and he approached a door covered with 
 red baize at which the passage terminated. He
 
 LYING PROPHETS 483 
 
 knocked, waited, and knocked again, straining 
 his ear to hear the voice he had labored so long 
 to silence. Then he put his revolver into the 
 side pocket of his coat, and, afterward, follow- 
 ing the footman's directions, pushed open the 
 swing door, which yielded to his hand. A cur- 
 tain hung inside it, and, pulling tin's aside, he 
 entered a spacious apartment with a glass roof. 
 But scanty light illuminated the studio from one 
 oil lamp which hung by a chain from a bracket 
 in the wall, and the rays of which were much 
 dimmed by a red glass shade. Some easels, 
 mostly empty, stood about the sides of the great 
 chamber; here and there on the white walls were 
 sketches in charcoal and daubs of paint. A Ger- 
 man stove appeared in the middle of the room, 
 but it was not burning ; skins of beasts scattered 
 the floor; upon one wall hung the "Negresses 
 Bathing at Tobago." For the rest the room 
 appeared empty. Then, growing accustomed to 
 the dim red light, Noy made a closer examina- 
 tion until he caught sight of an object which 
 made him catch his breath violently and hurry 
 forward. Under the lofty open windows which 
 rose on the northern side of the studio, remote 
 from all other objects, was a couch, and upon 
 it la} r a small, straight figure shrouded in white 
 sheets save for its face. 
 
 John Barron had been dead twenty-four hours, 
 and he had hastened his own end, by a space of 
 time impossible to determine, through leaving 
 his sick-room two days previously, that he might 
 visit the picture gallery wherein hung- "Jin's
 
 484 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 Ship." It was a step taken in absolute defiance 
 of his medical men. The day of that excursion 
 had chanced to be a ver}^ cold one, and during 
 the night which followed it John Barron broke 
 a blood vessel and precipitated his death. Now., 
 in the hands of hirelings, without a friend to put 
 one flower on his breast or close his dim ej^es, 
 the man lay waiting for an undertaker; and 
 while Joe Noy glared at him, unconsciously 
 gripping the weapon he had brought, it seemed 
 as though the dead smiled under the red flicker 
 of the lamp — as though he smiled and prepared 
 to come back into life to answer this supreme 
 accuser. 
 
 As by an educated mind Joe Noy's estimate 
 and assurance of the eternal tortures of hell can- 
 not be adequately grasped in its full force, so 
 now it is hard to set forth with a power suffi- 
 ciently luminous and terrific the effect of this 
 discovery upon him. He, the weapon of the Al- 
 mighty, found his work finished and the fruits 
 of his labors snatched from his hand. His enemy 
 had escaped, and the fact that he was dead only 
 made the case harder. Had Barron hastened 
 from him and avoided his revolver, he could 
 have suffered it, knowing that the end lay in 
 the future at the determination of God ; but now 
 the end appeared before him accomplished ; and 
 it had been attained without his assistance. His 
 labor was lost and his longed-for, prayed-for 
 achievement rendered impossible. He stood 
 and scanned the small, marble-white face, then 
 drew a box of matches from his pocket, lighted
 
 LYING PROPHETS 485 
 
 one and looked closer. Worn bj^ disease to mere 
 skin and skull, there was nothing left to suggest 
 the dead man's wasted powers; and generation 
 of their own destroyers was the only task now 
 left for his brains. The end of Noj^'s match fell 
 red-hot on John Barron's face. Then he turned 
 as footsteps sounded; the curtains were moved 
 aside and the footman reappeared, followed by 
 another person. 
 
 "Why, you wasn't the undertaker after all!" 
 he explained. "Did you think the man was 
 alive? Good Lord! But you've found him 
 anyway." 
 
 "Iss, I thot he was alive. I wanted to see 
 en livin' an' leave en — " he stopped. Common 
 sense for once had a word with him and con- 
 vinced him of the folly of sa3 T ing anything now 
 concerning his frustrated projects. 
 
 "He died night 'fore last — consumption — and 
 he's left money enough to build a brace of iron- 
 clads, they say, and never no will, and not a 
 soul on God's earth is there with any legal claim 
 upon him. To tell the truth, we none of us 
 never liked him." 
 
 "If you'll shawme the way out into the street, 
 I'll thank 'e," said Nby. The undertaker was 
 already busy making measurements. Then, a 
 minute later, Joe found himself standing under 
 the sky again; and the darkness was full of 
 laughter and of voices, of gibing, jeering noises 
 in unseen throats, of rapid utterances on invisible 
 tongues. The supernatural things screamed into 
 his ears that he was damned for a wish and for
 
 486 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 an intention; then they shrieked and yelled their 
 derision, and he understood well enough, for the 
 point of view was not a new one. Given the ac- 
 complishment of his desire, he was prepared to 
 suffer eternally ; now eternal suffering must fol- 
 low on a wish barren of fruit, and hell for him 
 would be hell indeed, with no accomplished re- 
 venge in memory to lessen the torment. When 
 the voices at length died and a clock struck one, 
 Noy came to himself, and realized that, in so far 
 as the present affected him, Fate had brought 
 him back to life and liberty by a short cut. 
 Then, seeing his position, he asked himself 
 whether life was long enough to make atone- 
 ment and even allow of ultimate escape after 
 death. But the fierce disappointment which 
 beat upon his soul like a recurring wave, as 
 thought drifted back and back, told him that 
 he had fairly won hell-fire and must abide by it. 
 
 So thinking, he returned to his lodging, en- 
 tered unobserved and prowled the small cham- 
 ber till dawn. By morning light all his life ap- 
 peared transfigured and a ghastly anti-climax 
 faced the man. Presently he remembered the 
 letters he had posted overnight, and the recol- 
 lection of them brought with it sudden resolves 
 and a course of action. 
 
 Half an hour later he had reached Padding- 
 ton Station, and was soon on his way back to 
 Cornwall.
 
 LYING PROPHETS is? 
 
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 STARLIGHT AND FROST 
 
 Born of the sunshine, on a morning in late 
 December, gray ephemerae danced and dipped 
 and fashioned vanishing patterns against the 
 green of the great laurel at the corner of Drift 
 farmyard. The mildness of the day had wak- 
 ened them into brief life, but even as they 
 twinkled their wings of gauze death was abroad. 
 A sky of unusual clearness crowned the Cornish 
 moorland, and Uncle Chirgwin, standing at his 
 kitchen door, already foretold frost, though the 
 morning was still young. 
 
 'The air's like milk just now, sure 'nough, 
 an' 'twill bide so till noon; then, when the sun 
 begins to slope, the cold will graw an' graw to 
 frost. An' no harm done, thank God." 
 
 He spoke to his niece, who was in the room 
 behind him ; and as he did so a circumstance of 
 very unusual nature happened. Two persons 
 reached the front door of the farm simultane- 
 ously, and a maid, answering the double knock, 
 returned a moment later with two communica- 
 tions, both for Mary Chirgwin. 
 
 "Postman, he brot this here, miss, an' a bwoy 
 from Mouzle brot t'other." 
 
 The first letter came from London, the second, 
 directed in a similar hand, reached Mary from
 
 4&i> Li L\(i J'KoritETS 
 
 the adjacent fishing hamlet. She knew the big 
 writing well enough, but showed no emotion 
 before the maid. In fact her self command was 
 remarkable, for she put both letters into her 
 pocket and made some show of continuing her 
 labors for another five minutes before departing 
 to her room that she might read the news from 
 Joe Noy. 
 
 He, it may be said, had reached Penzance by 
 the same train which conveyed his various mis- 
 sives, all posted too late for the mail upon the 
 previous night. Thus he reached the white 
 cottage on the cliff in time to see Mrs. Tregenza 
 and bid her destroy unread the letter she would 
 presently receive ; and, on returning to his par- 
 ents, himself took from the letter-carrier his 
 own communications to them and burned both 
 immediately. He had also dispatched a boy to 
 Drift that Mary might be warned as to the let- 
 ter she would receive by the morning post, but 
 the lad, though amjDle time was given him to 
 reach Drift before the postman, loitered by the 
 way. Thus the letters had arrived simultane- 
 ously, and it was quite an open question which 
 the receiver of them would open first. 
 
 Chance decided: Mary's hand, thrust hap- 
 hazard into her pocket, came forth with Noy's 
 epistle recently dispatched from Mousehole ; and 
 that she read, the accident saving her at least 
 some moments of bitter suffering. 
 
 "Dear Mary," wrote Noy, "you will get this 
 by hand afore the coming in of the penny post. 
 When that comes in, there will be another letter
 
 LYING PROPHETS 489 
 
 for you from me, sent off from London. It is 
 all wrong, so bum it, and don't } t ou read it on 
 no account. Burn it to ashes, for theer's a 
 many reasons why you should. I be coming 
 up-long to see you arter dinner, and if you can 
 walk out in the air with me for a bit I'll thank 
 you so to do. Your friend, J. No} T . Burn the 
 letter to dust 'fore anything else. Don't let it 
 bide a minute and doan't tell none you had it." 
 
 Curiosity was no part of Mary Chirgwin's 
 nature. Now she merely thanked Heaven 
 which had led to the right letter and so enabled 
 her unconsciously to obey Joe's urgent com- 
 mand. Then she returned to the kitchen, placed 
 his earlier communication in the heart of the 
 fire and watched while it blackened, curled, 
 blazed, and finally shuddered down into a red- 
 hot ash. She determined to see him and walk 
 with him, as he asked, if he returned with clean 
 hands. While the letter which she had read 
 neither proved nor disproved such a supposition, 
 the woman yet felt a secret and sure conviction 
 in her heart that Noy was coming back innocent 
 at least of any desperate action. That he was 
 in Cornwall again and a free man appeared to 
 her proof sufficient that he had not committed 
 violence. 
 
 Mary allowed her anxiety to interfere with no 
 duty. By three o'clock she was ready to set 
 out, and, looking from her bedroom window as 
 she tied on her hat, she saw Joe Noy approach- 
 ing up the hill. A minute later she was at the 
 door, and stood there waiting with her eyes upon
 
 490 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 him as he came up the path. Then she looked 
 down, and to the man it seemed as though she 
 was gazing at his right hand which held a stick. 
 
 " 'Tis as it was, Mary Chirgwin — my hands 
 be white," he said. "You needn't fear, though 
 I promised if you ever seed 'em agin as they'd 
 be red. 'Tedn' so. I was robbed of my hope, 
 Mary. The Lard took Joan fust ; then he took 
 my revenge from me. His will be done. The 
 man died four-an' -twenty hours 'fore I found en 
 —just four-an '-twenty lil hours — that was all." 
 
 "Thank the Almighty God for it, Joe, as I 
 shall till the day of my death. Never was no 
 prayer answered so surely as mine for you." 
 
 "Why, maybe I'll graw to thank God tu 
 when 'tis farther to look back 'pon. I caan't 
 feel 'tis so yet. I caan't feel as he'm truly 
 dead. An' j*et 'twas no lie, for I seed en, 
 an' stood 'longside of en." 
 
 "God's Hand be every wheer in it. Think if 
 I'd read poor Joan's letter an' tawld 'e wheer 
 the man's plaace of livin' was!" 
 
 "Iss, then I'd have slain en. 'Tis such lil 
 things do mark out our paths. A gert pichsher 
 o' Joan he drawed — all done out so large as life; 
 an' I found it, an' it 'peared as if the dead was 
 riz up again an' staring at me. If 'tis all the 
 saame to you, Mary, us'll go an' look 'pon her 
 graave now, for I abbun seen it yet." 
 
 They walked in silence for some hundred 
 yards along the lanes to Sancreed. Then Noy 
 spoke again. 
 
 "How be uncle?"
 
 LYING PROPHETS 491 
 
 "Betwix' an' between. The trouble an' loss 
 o' Joan aged en cruel, an' the floods has brot 
 things to a close pass. 'Twas the harder for en 
 'cause all looked so more'n common healthy an' 
 promisin' right up to the rain. But he's got the 
 faith as moves mountains; he do knaw that 
 sorrer ban't sent tor nort." 
 
 "An' 3*011? I wonder I'm bowldacious 'nough 
 to look 'e in the faace, but sorrer's not forgot 
 me neither." 
 
 " "lis a thing what awver-passes none. I've 
 forgived 'e, Joe Noy, many a long month past, 
 an' I've prayed to God to lead 'e through this 
 strait, an' He have." 
 
 " 'Tis main hard to knaw what road's the 
 right wan, Mary." 
 
 "Iss fay, an' it is; an' harder yet to follow 
 'pon it when found." 
 
 "I judged as God was leadin' me against this 
 here evil-doer to destroy en." 
 
 " 'Twas the devil misleadin' 'e an' takin' 'e 
 along on his awn dance, till God saw, an' sent 
 death." 
 
 "Thanks to your prayin', I'll lay." 
 
 "Thanks to the mightiness of His mercy, Joe. 
 'Twas the God us worships, you mind, not Him 
 of the Luke Gosp'lers nor any other 'tall. 
 Theer's awnly wan real, livin' God; an' 3 r ou 
 left Him for a sham." 
 
 "An' I'm punished for't. Wheer should I 
 turn now? I've thrawed awver your manner o' 
 worship an' I'm sick o' the Gosp'lers, for 'twas 
 theer God as led me to this an' brot all my
 
 492 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 trouble 'pen me. He caan't be no God worth 
 namin', else how should He a treated that poor 
 limb, Michael Tregenza, same as He has. That 
 man had sweated for his God daj^ an' night for 
 fifty years. An' see his reward." 
 
 "Come back, come back to the auld road 
 again, Joe, an' leave the ways o' God to God. 
 The butivul, braave thing 'bout our road be that 
 wance lost 'tedn' alius lost. You may get night- 
 foundered by the way, yet wi' the comin' o' 
 light, theer's alius a chance to make up lost 
 ground agin an' keep gwaine on." 
 
 "A body must b'lieve in sometbin', else he'm 
 a rudderless vessel seemin'ly, but wi' sich a 
 flood of 'pinions 'bout the airth, how's wan 
 sailorman to knaw what be safe anchorage and 
 what ban't?" 
 
 Mary argued with him in strenuous fashion 
 and increased her vehemence as he showed 
 signs of yielding. She knew well enough that 
 religion was as necessaiw to him in some shape 
 as to herself. 
 
 Already a pageant of winter sunset began to 
 unfold fantastic sheaves of splendor, and over 
 the horizon line of the western moors the air 
 was wondrously clear. It faded to intense white 
 light where the uplands cut it, while, above, the 
 background of the sky was a pure beryl grad- 
 ually burning aloft into orange. Here waves of 
 fire beat over golden shores and red clouds ex- 
 tended as an army in regular column upon col- 
 umn. At the zenith, billows of scarlet leaped 
 in feathery foam against a purple continent and
 
 1.VIXG PROPHETS 493 
 
 the flaming tide extended from reef to reef among 
 a thousand aerial bays and estuaries of alternat- 
 ing gloom and glow until shrouded and dimmed 
 in an orange tawny haze of infinite distance. In 
 the immediate foreground of this majestic dis- 
 play, like a handful of rose-leaves fallen out of 
 heavau, small clouds floated directly downward, 
 withering to blackness as they neared the earth 
 and lost the dying fires. Beneath the splendor 
 of the sky the land likewise flamed, the winding 
 roadways glimmered, and many pools and ditches 
 reflected back the circumambient glory of the 
 air. 
 
 In a few more minutes, Mary and Joe reached 
 Sancreed churchyard and soon stood beside the 
 grave of Joan Tregenza. 
 
 "The grass won't close proper till the spring 
 come," said Mary; "then the turf will grow an' 
 make it vitty; an' uncle's gwaine to set up a 
 good slate stone wi' the name an' date an' some 
 verses. I planted them primroses 'long the top 
 myself. If wan abbun gone an' blossomed tu!" 
 
 She stooped to pick a primrose and an opening 
 bud; but Joe stopped her. 
 
 "Doan't 'e pluck 'em. Never take no flowers 
 off of a graave. They'm all the dead have got." 
 
 "But they'll die, Joe. Theer's frost bitin' in the 
 air already. They'll be withered come marnin'. ' ' 
 
 "No matter for that," he said; "let 'em bide 
 wheer they be." 
 
 The man was silent a while as he looked at 
 the mound. Then he spoke again. 
 
 "Tell me about her. Talk 'bout her doitt's
 
 494 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 an' savin's. Did she forgive that man afore she 
 died or dedn' she?" 
 
 "Iss, I reckon so." 
 
 Mary mentioned those things best calculated 
 in her opinion to lighten the other's sorrow. He 
 nodded from time to time as she spoke, and walked 
 up and down with his hands behind him. "When 
 she stopped, he asked her to tell him further 
 facts. Then the light waned under the syca- 
 more trees and only a red fire still touched their 
 topmost boughs. 
 
 "We'll go now," Noy said. "An' she died 
 believin' just the same as what you do — eh, 
 Mary?" 
 
 "Uncle's sure of it — positive sartain 'twas so. " 
 
 "An' you?" 
 
 "I pray that he was right. Iss fay, I've 
 grawed to b'lieve truly our Joan was saved, 
 spite of all. I never 'sactly understood her 
 thots, nor she mine; but she'm in heaven now 
 I do think." 
 
 "If bitterness an' sorrer counts she should be. 
 An' you may take it from me she is. An' I'll 
 come back, tu, if I may hope for awnly the low- 
 est plaace. I'll come back an' walk along to 
 church wance agin wi' you, wance 'fore I goes 
 back to sea. Will 'e let me do that, Mary 
 Chirgwin?" 
 
 "I thank God to hear you say so. You'm 
 welcome to come along wi' me next Sunday if 
 you mind to. ' ' 
 
 "An' now us'll go up the Cam an' look out 
 'pen the land and see the sun sink."
 
 LYING PROPHETS 495 
 
 They left the churchyard together, climbed 
 the neighboring eminence and stood silently at 
 the top, their faces to the West. 
 
 A great pervasive calm and stillness in the air 
 heralded frost. The sky had grown strangely 
 clear, and only the rack and ruin of the recent 
 imposing display now huddled into the arms of 
 night on the eastern horizon. The sun, quickly 
 dropping, loomed mighty and liery red. Pres- 
 ently it touched the horizon, and its progress, 
 unappreciated in the sky, became accentuated 
 by the rim of the world. A semi-circle of fire, 
 a narrowing segment, a splash, throbbing like 
 a flame — then it had vanished, and light waned 
 until there trembled out the radiance of a brief 
 after-glow. Already the voices of the frost be- 
 gan to break the earth's silence. In the dark- 
 ness of woods it was busy casing the damp 
 mosses in ice, binding the dripping outlets of 
 hidden water, whispering with infinitely deli- 
 cate sound as it flung forth its needles, the 
 mother of ice, and suffered them to spread like 
 tiny sudden fingers on the face of freezing water. 
 From the horizon the brightness of the zodiacal 
 light streamed mysteriously upward into the 
 depth of heaven, dimming the stars. But the 
 brightness of them grew in splendor and bril- 
 liancy as increasing cold gripped the world; and 
 while the stealthy feet of the frost raced and 
 tinkled like a fairy tune, the starlight flaslu id 
 upon its magic silver, powdered its fabrics with 
 light and pointed its crystal triumphs with fire. 
 Thus starlight and frost fell upon the forest and
 
 496 LYING PROPHETS 
 
 the Cornish moor, beneath the long avenue* of 
 silence, and over all the unutterable blackness 
 of granite and dead heather. The earth slept 
 and dreamed dreams, as the chain of the cold 
 tightened ; all the earth dreamed fair dreams, in 
 night and nakedness ; dreams such as forest trees 
 and lone elms, meadows and hills, moors and 
 valleys, great heaths and the waste, secret habi- 
 tations of Nature, one and all do dream : of the 
 passing of another winter and the on-coming of 
 another spring. 
 
 THE END.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES 
 
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