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
understand them. 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. They seemed so loaded; they lifted her up high above the
working-day 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 neuralgia and profound depression of
spirit upon Tom's departure to the sea, but who comforted herself even in