They were all rough-looking men, of the rather sinister type he had begun to know so well, but neither Bill Plunder, nor Robin Cursemother, Ben the Blast, Jack Price, nor Gardener Tom, was among them. “How comes it her brother is not one of the bearers?” asked he of a bystander. “Sure, sir, ’tis you should know the reason of that better than anybody,” returned the woman, saucily. For the person of the lieutenant was now well known in the neighborhood, and there was a sort of lively warfare carried on between him on the one side, and the women of the place, with their free-trading sympathies, on the other. By this time the little procession had started towards the churchyard, and Tregenna, bare-headed, joined it on its way. Slowly they went, past the few remaining houses of the village, and up the hill where the Parsonage stood. The church, a weather-beaten little structure, innocent of any sort of restoration except whitewash, stood beyond, on a somewhat lower level, and nearer to the marsh. Under the building, at the east end of the church, there was a vault, which had belonged to the family at Rede Hall for nearly a century. The way to it was by a flight of worn steps, damp, uneven and overgrown with weeds, behind the east window. Here the vicar stood, with the great key of the vault in his hand, waiting for the arrival of the solemn little procession. Very weird, very awe-inspiring it seemed to Tregenna—the brief service held in the keen frosty air, under the lee of the old church, whose stones had been gray and old before the ancient Faith gave place to the new. There was a dead calm that day over land and sea, and the sea-birds flew inland, screaming, over the brown fields. A strange contrast all the calm, the peace seemed to make, to the image of fire and passion, restless energy and feverish struggle which was called up by the name of Ann. When the service was over, and the coffin had been locked away in the great bare vault, Tregenna left the rest of the company, and took a straight cut across the cliffs towards the Hastings road. It was with no definite object of going in the direction of Joan’s present residence, yet there was doubtless some thought of her hovering in his mind; so that when, at a distance of some mile and a half from Hurst, he came suddenly face to face with her at a turning in the road, he flushed indeed, but without much surprise, as if the person who had been in his thoughts had become on the instant present to him in the flesh. She was in the company of a stout country lass, who was carrying a parcel under her cloak. Tregenna bowed, but, except for the space of half a second, did not stop. And in return for the slightly resentful, cold and distant curtsey she gave him, he held his head very high in the air, and looked her full in the face with a defiant expression.