"Can't you see, father?" she said, with a low, despairing sigh. "I'm not good enough to be his wife, and he's not the man to trifle and say soft things to me. You see down yonder," she added, pitifully, as she waved one brown hand in the direction of the path. "Nay, it's along of Madge Mullion," said the old man, wrathfully. "Yon's nothing, and will come to naught. They say old Paul's niece--" "It's a lie, father, a cruel lie," cried Bess, starting from him. "I heard it, and it's a lie. Mr Trethick's a gentleman, and he's as noble as he's good." "Curse him for coming here," cried the old man fiercely. "God bless him!" said Bess, simply, as, kneeling there, she let her joined hands drop into her lap. "God bless him for a good man, and-- and--may he be very--very happy in the time to come." Bess Prawle's face dropped into her hands, and she sank lower and lower, with the tears of agony growing less scalding, and falling by degrees, as it were, like balm upon her burning love--a love which she had held unveiled before her father's gaze, while the old man bent over her, the savage roughness of his face growing less repulsive, and a look of love and pride transforming him for the time. He knelt down and kissed her bright black hair; then he put his arms round her, and drew her to him, and at last held her to his heart, rocking to and fro as he had nursed her a dozen or fifteen years before. "My pretty flower," he cried hoarsely, "my Bess! He don't know--he don't know. You not good enough for he? Harkye, my girl. He shall marry you--he shall be proud to marry you--for I know that as will bring him to you, and put him on his knees and ask you to be his wife." "Father?" said the girl, looking at him wonderingly. "Yes," he said, nodding his head exultantly, and kissing her broad forehead. "I can make you as fine a lady as any in Cornwall, my lass, and I can bring him to you when I will." "No, no, no," moaned Bessie, with a piteous smile. "But I say yes," cried the old man. "I haven't had my eyes open all these years for nothing. Let's go home, Bess; I'll talk to thee there. Get up, my girl, and I'll bring him to thy feet whene'er thou wilt." Bess rose sadly, and put her hand in her father's, but, as they took a step forward, the nook in the cliff where she had stood at bay opened out beneath them, and they both saw that which made Bessie Prawle feel as if her heart would break. CHAPTER THIRTY. MAKING A VICTIM. Breakfast-time at Dr Rumsey's, and Mrs Rumsey, in a very henny state, clucking over her brood, for whom she was cutting bread and butter.