For a long time I lay and dreamed of my love; I did not think of the way in which she must have regarded me, neither did I for a long while remember my degradation. I lived in happy forgetfulness of everything, save the love-joy that filled my life. The birds fluttered hither and thither on the twigs which grew so thickly around, and finally settled to rest, while the insects ceased to hum as the night descended, but I scarcely heeded them. I lay among the ferns, my head pillowed on a moss-covered stone, and thought of Naomi Penryn. I did not care who she was; I did not think. Why should I? For I believe that when God sends love into our hearts, it does not matter as to name and lineage. I had seen the flash of her eyes, and remembered the tear drops that glistened. I had seen the beauteous face, so full of tenderness and truth; I had heard her voice, sweeter than the sighing of the night wind as it played among the wild flowers, and I cared for nothing else. Hour after hour passed away, the woods became darker and darker, but I could still see Naomi's face. Then the eastern sky became streaked with golden light, and the birds sang to welcome the advent of day, but their songs were not so sweet as the memory of Naomi's voice. For my love was the gift of God, and I thought then only of what was beautiful and true. But with the dawn of day other memories came to me. I thought of my shame; I remembered that she had been told to regard me as a vagabond and a street brawler. I knew that Nick Tresidder would seek to poison her mind against me, and that even now I was being searched for that I might be degraded by the lash of a whip; and then a great pain and bitterness filled my heart, for I felt that my love was hopeless. While I had rejoiced in loving I thought not of this, but after a time my love became a desire, an overmastering desire to woo Naomi Penryn, to make her love me as I loved her. And this was hopeless. Had she not seen me pilloried as a shameful vagrant? Had she not seen me persecuted, tormented--the byeword, the laughing-stock for the offals of Falmouth town? Had I not been pelted by refuse? Was I not made hideous by disfigurement? How could I win her love? Then I hated the Tresidder tribe more than ever. They had robbed me of my home, my heritage, my all, and now through them I must be loathed by the one, the light of whose eyes burned into my heart like fire. But more than all this she would be with Nick Tresidder day by day. He would walk with her, ride with her, talk with her. They would roam among the woods and pluck the wild flowers that should be mine, while I--I was hiding from the men who held a whip to lash me.