Andrew had heard more than enough and, before Tregellas could add another word, he hurried through the open doorway, crossed the brook that ran through the mowhay, and was soon breasting the rugged hill leading to the Deadman.
On the edge of the moor he paused to listen. From out the distance came the cry of some bird: the sea called faintly behind him. He looked towards the East. There was no sign of dawn.
“I’ll faace un, come what may. Be quiate, stop thet theere whinin’ will ee.”
Then he trimmed the wick of the lantern, pulled his cap well on to his ears and, stepping from tuft to tuft of the silent heather, set out across the moor. He made straight for the cairn and with trembling hands stopped the earth; but though he heard the wind sighing in the reeds he feared to turn his eyes towards the tarn.
Hurrying from the eerie spot he set out on his way homewards, staying his steps a moment near a pool to look at the clean-cut footprints of a fox. Water was oozing into them, for the ground was very marshy. And so he came to the gaunt ruin of Ding Dong Mine which serves as a mark to the long-line fishermen of Mount’s Bay. Only the walls and end timbers of the lofty roof are left for the gales to whistle through; and in the grey dawn a kestrel perched on the gable was preening its feathers. From the mine-burrows hard by, the wayfarer overlooks headland and harbour, the surf round St Michael’s base and the waters of the sail-flecked bay.
Well might the Earthstopper, whose soul, like that of many a toiler, was far above his lowly work, dwell on the awakening beauty of land and sea below him.
The stars had paled their fires and crimson streaks in the throbbing east heralded the sun. Lighting first the hungry Manacles the gladdening orb rose over the serpentine cliffs of Lizard, bathing with its rays the sea and circling hills, and touching with gold the battlements of the castle and the pinnacles of the westward churches.
“No wonder thet furriners do bow their knees on desert sands and wusshup ee. Don’t knaw when I’ve seed ee lookin’ so beetiful missel.” The hawk, now hovering over its prey, disturbed his simple reverie. “Come, me dear”—but Vennie had slipped away—“ ’tes nigh breakfust time, and the cheeld will be ’spectin’ us.” So down the hill he hurried, the smoke from his own hearth cheering him and turning his thoughts to his peaceful home. He pictured the little room neat and clean, the breakfast-table with his chair drawn up to it, the sanded floor and the kettle on the brandis amidst the glowing embers. He forgot his fatigue; his steps were lightened as he thought of the child who looked after his few comforts and always welcomed his home-coming. At a turn in the track by some stormbent hawthorns he came suddenly upon her, come out to meet him. What a change comes over the old man’s face at the sight of her! How his eyes brighten as she runs to greet him!
“I knawed thee couldna be fur away, granfer, for Vennie’s been home these ten minits or moore.”
He looked behind him, but the bitch was gone.