CHAPTER XIX.
A VERY WOMAN.
It was with strangely mixed feelings that Tregenna heard this story of the carrying away of the body of “Jem Bax,” the smuggler. Knowing, as he did, that it was a woman who had been thus borne across the water to her last resting-place, and with the memory of that farewell interview strong upon him, he was stirred, in spite of himself, by the thought of that swift and silent passage across the water to the shore; and he seemed to be able to see, as he strained his eyes in the cold morning light, the smugglers’ boat with its quiet burden, gliding over the gray sea to the dim line of rocks and foam which marked the edge of the shore.
The sloop had disappeared.
Later in the day the lieutenant went ashore, and lost no time in making his way to the parsonage, as usual.
To his surprise and dismay, he was informed by old Nance, who opened the door to him, that Miss Joan had gone away that very morning.
“Gone away!” repeated Tregenna, in stupefaction. “But whither?”
“That’s more’n I can tell you, sir,” grumbled Nance, who seemed in an ill-humor, as if resenting her own position of ignorance. “But if you’ll step in, maybe the master’ll be able to tell you more.”
So Tregenna went into the little dining-parlor, where he found the good vicar looking rather gloomy.