With the shouts of the boys were now mingled the deeper tones of the seiners as, ranged in a row in their boat, they began to haul on the tuck, calling "Yo, heave ho!" in time with their rhythmic movements. "Pull away, boys!" shouts the huer; "Yo-hoy!" scream the boys. "Up she comes! Look at ’em! Look at ’em!" The water eddies like a mill-race; in the midst is seen a heaving mass of gleaming scales; and from round the point come boats of all sizes, which range themselves in a circle about the shoal. Men lean over the sides, dip their baskets, lift them full of shining fish, empty them into the boats, and dip them again for more. Soon they stand ankle deep in pilchards, and when the boats sink to the gunwales, they are rowed away to the jetty, where men are waiting with shovels and barrows, ready to carry the fish to the salting-house. Dick Trevanion was among the spectators. He never missed the first haul of the season. But to-day he was acutely conscious of a change. Last year the villagers had greeted him with smiles and cheery words; to-day they lowered their eyes, passed him in silence, and edged away from him as he moved from place to place. He could not but feel bitterly his isolation. Why did they so misjudge him? He had not changed: he knew well that, in any ordinary contest between the smugglers and the revenue officers, his sympathy would have been with the former; friendly as he was with Mr. Mildmay, he would enjoy nothing better than that gentleman’s discomfiture, if it were due to fair means and the villagers’ wits. Yet, because he had intervened to prevent harm to an old man, he was now regarded by the villagers as their enemy, one who would descend to play the mean part of spy and informer. With gloomy face he turned away and walked back along the promontory. At the end he met Mr. Carlyon, who had just ridden up on his cob. The parson’s ruddy face was suffused with cheerfulness; he knew by the jubilant shouts of the crowd that the catch was a good one, and rejoiced that his parishioners were winning from the deep their means of subsistence for the winter. He marked Dick’s clouded face, and, guessing the occasion of it, he tried to cheer him. "Come, Dick," he said genially, "cheer up, my lad; this haul will put the folk in a good temper, and they will forget their grudge against you." "I hope they will, sir," replied Dick, "but there’s one man who’ll try to keep them in mind of it." "You mean your cousin?" "Yes." "But surely he’ll not be such a cur. He’s a scoundrel—there now, what am I saying? I’ll tackle him, my boy. Why, bless my soul, he was in church on Sunday, and my text was ’Love your neighbour as yourself.’ I’ll ride there now, and get him to give me some breakfast—though I detest the fellow," he added in one of his unconscious asides. "He is away from home, I believe," said Dick.