It was two miles to St. Clair, but Denas walked there very rapidly. She remembered that Pyn's cottage was the first cottage; and as she approached it the boatman came to the door. He looked at her with a grave curiosity, and she went straight up to him and said: "Have you a letter for me?" "I do think I have. You be John Penelles' little girl?" "Yes." "I knew John years ago. We sat in the same boat. I like John--he is a true man. Here be three letters. At first I thought these letters be going to bring a deal of potter and bother--maybe something worse--and I will put them in the fire. Then I thought, they bean't your letters, Pyn, and if you want to keep yourself out of a mess, never interfere and never volunteer. So here they be. But if you will take an old man's advice, I do say to you, burn the letters. It will be better far than to be reading them." "Why will it be better?" "There be letters worse than death drugs. If you do buy a bottle of arsenic, the man will put its character on the bottle. You see 'poison' and you be warned. But young men do write poison, and worse than poison, to young women, and no warning outside the letter. It isn't fair, now, is it?" "Why did you take charge of the poison?" "To be sure! Why did I? Just because it was for John Penelles' little girl, and I thought mayhap she'd take a warning from me. Don't you read them letters, my dear. If you do, let the words go in at one ear and out of the other. Roland Tresham! he be nothing to trust to! Aw, my dear--a leaky boat--a boat adrift; no man at the helm; no helm to man; no sail; no compass; no anchor; no anything for a woman to trust to! There, then, I have had my say; if this say be of no 'count, twould be the same if I talked my tongue away. If you come again and there be any letters, you will find them under the turned boat--slip your hand in--so. Dear me! You be fluttering and wuttering like a bird. Poor dear! Step into my boat and I'll put you back home. You look as quailed as a faded flower." Thus Pyn talked as he helped Denas into the boat and slowly settled himself to the oars. Afterward he said nothing, but he looked at Denas in a way that troubled her and made her thankful to escape his silent, pitiful condemnation. Her mother was still absent when she reached the cottage, and she was so weary that she was very grateful for the solitude. She shut her eyes for a few minutes and collected her strength, and then opened Roland's letters. They were full of happiness--full of wonders--full of love. He was going to Switzerland with his father. Elizabeth was there, and Miss Caroline Burrell, and a great many people whom they knew. But for him, no one was there. "Denas was all he longed for, cared for, lived for!" Oh, much more of the same kind, for Roland's love lay at the point of his pen.