"There be things twenty pound can't buy nor pay for; I tell you that, Denas. And to see your father go off with the boat to-night, without heart in him and only care for company! I do not feel to like it, Denas. If your lover be dear to you, so be my old husband to me." "What lover are you talking about, mother?" "The lover that kept you on the cliff-breast--Roland Tresham, he be the lover I mean." "Who told you I was with Roland?" "I know that you were not at Mr. Tresham's, for one called there to put you safely home." "I suppose Tris Penrose has been spying me and telling tales to father and you." "There be no need for Tris nor for anyone else to speak. Say to me, plain and straight, that you were not with Roland Tresham to-night. Say that to me, if you dare." "I have had such a happy day, mother, and now you have taken all the pleasure out of it--a mean thing to do! I say that." "Your father and I had a happy day, thinking of your happiness. And then to please that bad young man, who is not of your kind and not of your kin, you do stay out till bad birds and night creatures are prowling; till the dew be wetting you; till you have sent your father off to the deep sea with a heart heavy enough to sink his boat--a mean thing that to do! Yes! yes! cruel mean thing!" "Mrs. Burrell gave me twenty pounds. I had to do something to earn it." "My faith! I'd fling the twenty pound to the fishes. Aw, then, 'tis a poor price for my girl's love, and her innocent heart, and the proud content she once had in her own folk. Only fishers! but God's folk, for all that! But there! What be the use of talking? After Mr. Tresham's flim-flams, my words be only muddling folly." "I am going to bed, mother." "To be sure. Go your ways." Then Joan also rose, and went to the fireside, and drew the few coals together, and lit a lamp. For a moment she stood still, looking at the closed door between her and her child; then she lifted a large book from the window-sill, laid it on the small round table, opened it wide, and sat down before it. It was a homely, workaday-looking book, and she did not read a word of it, though her eyes were upon the page. But it was the Bible. And the Bible is like the sunshine, it comforts and cheers us only to sit down in its presence. And very soon Joan lifted her hand and laid it across the open page. It was like taking the hand of a friend. God knows what strength, what virtue, there was in that movement! For she immediately covered her face with her other hand and tears began to fall, and anon mighty whispered words parted her lips--words that went from the mother's heart to the heart of God! How can such prayer ever fail?