The village itself straggled down to the edge of the sea in untidy
fashion, its cob-walled cottages in some places huddling together as
though for company, in others standing far apart, with spaces of waste
land between them where you might often see the women sitting mending
the fishing nets and gossiping together as they worked.

Diana's eyes wandered affectionately over the picturesque little
houses; she loved every quaint, thatched roof among them, but more than
all she loved the glimpse of the sea that lay beyond them, pierced by
the bold headland of red sandstone, Culver Point, which thrust itself
into the blue of the water like an arm stretched out to shelter the
little village nestling in its curve from the storms of the Atlantic.

Presently she heard the distant click of a gate, and very soon the
Rector and Joan appeared, Stair with the dreaming, far-away expression
in his eyes of one who has been communing with the saints.

Diana went to meet them and slipped her arm confidingly through his.

"Come back to earth, Pobs, dear," she coaxed gaily. "You look like
Moses might have done when he descended from the Mount."

The glory faded slowly out of his eyes.

"Come back to heaven, Di," he retorted a little sadly, "That's where
you came from, you know."

Diana shook her head.