that? I'm sure it's Tregeagle at his .tion of everything that came in its way. tricks agen." But Tamzin thought of nothing but the Tamzin shuddered. "No, it ain't, Sal-end of her journey; she did not heed the ly," she replied, "it's a shouting down loose stones that lay in her path, or the the Port way." And before many min- rain that now and again splashed against utes a rush of footsteps past the door set- her face. As she approached the rocky tled the question, as along the village landing-place, the scene that presented street came the cry, "A vessel on the itself was indeed one of confusion. The narrow ledge was crowded with men, all shouting and gesticulating, some vainly trying to throw ropes to the ship across an awful chasm of boiling waves. For the vessel was not, as was naturally expected, stranded at the entrance of the Port, but in the Port itself on a rock that rises in the centre of the small cove, and on the summit of which a large wooden stake was fixed, as a warning at high tide.

"Sally, it's John Kernick's boat, I know it is something told me as there was mischief to come to-night. I must go down to the Port, I must."

"It's no fit place for a woman, girl; there'll be no standing down there agen this wind. Give it up-it'll soon end one way or another."

"Look here, Sally," said Tamzin, not heeding her words, "you stay here and keep a good fire up, and get blankets ready you know what's wanted at these times, and I'll go down Port. Give me my jacket and my hood, and don't let them know up-stairs."

Nothing on earth could have kept Tamzin back-all her spirit was up. She was no longer a weak girl, but a strong, determined woman, whose whole soul was in that boat, and yet her thoughts were "John Kernick's safe enough, he can take care of hisself in any sea, but he'll leave Pascho, and there'll be no one knows as Pascho's aboard but me. I must go." In a few moments she had prepared herself for the wind in a tight jacket and close hood, and opening the door she found herself out in a fierce storm of wind with occasional dashes of pelting rain, though the moon shone through the clouds at intervals so that at times the surrounding objects were plain enough.

All the men in the village were astir; the news ran like wild fire that a vessel was on the rocks, and as they hurried down the steep path they conjectured where she was.

"She's sure to have foundered on the Island Rock," said one.

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No, on Barras Nose," said another. "It'll go hard with her wherever it be," said a third. 66 Why, here's Tamzin. Lord, girl! it's not a night for you to be out; go back go back!"

"I must come I will come!" cried Tamzin, hurrying on; "nothing hurts ine, and maybe it's my friends aboard."

Nimble feet on a fine day might make ten minutes' work of getting down to the Port, but to-night the wind was so strong that it was a hard matter for a woman to stand against it as it whirled up the narrow valley, seemingly bent on the destruc

It was indeed John Kernick's boat; with wonderful skill he had rounded the point, but by that time even he had seen that in face of such a storm as was now rising, his only chance of safety was to make for Padstow Harbor; but it was too late the wind was dead against him, and he was in spite of all his efforts driven back again round Trevenna Head into the surging angry waves that dashed with a roar like thunder into the caves at the foot of the island and raged right up to the landing-stage, sending the foam and spray far above over the cliffs.

A sudden gust of wind drove the vessel right into the tiny Port and against the dangerous rock we have mentioned, on which it now remained fast, washed from stem to stern by the breakers.

Not one of the crowd of sailors present expected for a moment to save the vessel - all were only anxious for the lives of the five men on board, but these were just beyond reach, and at present all their efforts were being directed towards fling. ing a rope across the boiling chasm of water that separated their friends from safety.

The moon burst forth suddenly as Tamzin pushed her way on to the landing. place and beheld the foaming sea below her, while just opposite was John Kernick's vessel, looking as if each wave must make an end of it, and send its planks drifting asunder.


'Try again, mates," cried a Trevenna man, once more hurling with all his might a strong rope weighted at the end across the gulf; but both wind and wave were against him, and it fell short.

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"Save them you must save them ! cried Tamzin, and though her voice was drowned in the storm, the men about her saw her distress and pitied her. One or

two women now joined the group, and among them was Pascho's sister, who had only just heard of the danger her brother was in. The girl wrung her hands as she saw the awful situation of the vessel, and hardly knowing what she did, seized hold of Tamzin; Tamzin_turned her beautiful face towards her and murmured,


'They must yes, they must save them!" But the woman recoiled. "Save them! ay, Tamzin, you may well say that you that have been nearly the death of him, with your cruel heart; there's not another like Pascho all the country round, but he ain't the same man since you jilted him."

Tamzin had no time to answer, for suddenly there was a shout, or rather a groan from all present as a huge wave swept over the vessel and broke her up as if she had been touchwood. But the tide was still all in favor of the sailors, and happily the moon was yet brilliant.

"Ropes, ropes! " cried the men. "Now's the time, mates; if they can keep afloat five minutes, we'll save them." And there, sure enough, was one dark figure rising on the crest of a wave and evidently clinging to a plank. It was easy now to throw the rope, and what a shout of joy arose when it was seized, and how willing were the hands that hauled up the man who clung to it!

"Saved!" It was John Kernick who stood there among them, apparently little the worse for his ducking.

"John - John Kernick!" cried Tamzin, seizing him. "Where's Pascho? He can't swim like you; save him, do."

to the village, which was no small act of
charity on their part, considering the ex-
citement at the Port was at its height.
"Pascho, Pascho!" shrieked his sis

"You must save him," echoed Tamzin, who had now struggled to the edge, whilst John Kernick kept close by her side, his face lowering with an angry, vengeful look.

"There's another!" they cried; 66 a rope, a rope ! Battling, struggling, clinging to a mast, there, indeed, was another. It would have been impossible to recog nize him had it not been for his light reddish hair. Yes, it must be Pascho; and Tamzin stretched out her arms towards the man she had wronged, as if she must be the one to rescue him.

"Save him!" again she cried; "he mustn't die !"

"You didn't take on so about me, Tamzin," said John Kernick angrily, as other hands, not his, flung a rope into the seething water. This unworthy jealousy exhibited at such a moment suddenly angered Tamzin; her soul rebelled against it. She did not know that John had spoken hard words to Pascho, and that there was ill-blood between them, though the miner had been true to his promise of keeping the peace. The drowning man seized the rope.

"Hold fast!" they cried, for a tremendous wave was driving in, and would certainly engulf him before they could pull him up. It passed, and spent itself against the rocky wall, and then all hands at once hoisted in the rope. This required great care, for Pascho could give but little help on his side; he had been longer fighting for life, and was more exan-hausted than the other two.

There was a muttered oath as John dashed away the salt water from his hair. The sailors had closed in again near the edge. Another head had appeared other effort was being made to save life. No one noticed Tamzin and John.

"Is that the way you greet me, Tamzin, with your first words given to Pascho Fuge?"


"Thank God!" said Tamzin, with a sob in her voice, as they drew him to the foot of the ledge, and now began pulling him up.

A terrible, overwhelming feeling of jealousy suddenly seized John Kernick. He had been so proud of having won Tamzin, so elated over his superior powers of fascination, that now the Devil seemed to take possession of his soul when he heard her voice saying, "Thank God!" with that little sob of relief in it, for John was close to her side, and, without Tamzin knowing it, he had seized her wrist.

Nay, thank God you're saved - but oh, John, he must not die." And Tamzin frantically tried again to edge herself in among the men who were hoisting up another fellow-creature. It was one of the sailors, and he too was received with a shout, as he, like his captain, seemed none the worse for his immersion. At the same moment another man was literally flung on the steps leading to the beach, and Now quick as lightning he loosened his was only just rescued before a wave seized hold, drew out his clasp-knife, and openhim; but he, poor fellow, was stunned, ing it, unperceived by the crowd, he and one arm hung broken by his side. stooped down and slashed at the rope, Several volunteers at once bore him away | cutting it half through. Quickly it began

to unwind, and heavier grew the weight it | at that moment she had made up her mind had to bear.

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At these words John Kernick's strong head reeled; he slunk out of the place he had made for himself, and once more was by Tamzin's side. She was trying to see what was going on, trying to hear the shout of rescue, when suddenly her wrist was again seized by her lover.

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Listen, Tamzin!" said John in a terrible voice; "do you hear me, girl? The rope's cut, and I did it! There's no hope for him now!"

Tamzin gave a little shriek, drowned, it is true, by the noise around her, but she wrenched away her hand.

"You've killed him, John Kernick! Let me go! I must save him, or die with him!"

John held her back by main force. "Hark, girl! it's too late; the rope's snapped. Curse me if you can!"

True enough, a low groan of disappointment and despair burst from the crowd, and some one near Tamzin said, —

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Heaven help the man thus seized with the terrible demon of jealousy! Heaven help him, indeed, when, having satisfied the feeling of revenge, he finds the fearful flood of remorse let in to drown his soul! John Kernick dashed away Tamzin's hand when he had led her from the edge of the rock, and then flinging himself up the slippery path leading over the hill, disappeared from sight.

For a few seconds the girl darted after him, then paused and tried to remember where she was. At last, moaning and shivering like a child that has been hurt, she hurried along up the road to the village and to her home.

John had said so, and she knew it too - Pascho could not survive another immersion in that awful sea. What had she heard? Had John Kernick spoken rightly? Had he cut the rope that was Pascho's safety? Tamzin shuddered, but |

irrevocably nothing should ever draw the awful secret from her lips. John seemed suddenly dead to her, and who would think of accusing a dead man of murder? Was he not already before his Judge?

Her tottering steps could make but little way, and in five minutes she had accomplished but a third of the distance. Still the wind howled, and still it bore to her ears the shouts from the Port. Then she heard behind her the sound of several footsteps hurrying in the same direction as herself. Even before she looked round she knew what it was, and shrank back under the cover of a projecting rock which overshadowed the path. Then in silence four men passed her bearing between them a body decently covered with a sail.

"Tell me, is he dead?" she said hurriedly, coming out from her shelter, and touching one of the men with her hand.

The men started, for they had not seen her.

"Ay, ay, he's dead, poor fellow; there was no living any longer in that sea."

"Yes, he said so, and it is true," murmured Tamzin; but the men had passed on, walking swiftly and steadily with their burden, and Tamzin followed more slowly, and fancied she was going to the churchyard, and that she was Pascho's only mourner at his funeral.

"But I did love you, Pascho," she said to herself, "only I was vain and foolish. It was you as I cared for all along, Pascho, my dear; I know it now it's too late."

Before she reached her own home, the corpse and its bearers had disappeared, and when she knocked, and Sally Rog ers, all excitement and eagerness, opened the door, she saw a different Tamzin to the one who had gone out an hour or so before.

"Don't you ask me, Sally; I couldn't talk of it just now, but I will tell you one thing there's many a sore heart in Trevenna to-night, but none so sore as mine."

"John Kernick's dead then?" whispered Sally, awe-struck.

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Nay, nay, not John Kernick, but another," and thereupon she laid her head on the table, and seemed lost to all around her. Sally felt that Tamzin had seen something terrible; and though she longed to hear the details, she would not leave her friend or tease her with questions, but after a while got her up-stairs,

and undressed her, and spoke simple | sights and sounds were beginning to wake comforting words to her-nay, even lay up, for they were early folk in Trevenna, down by her for fear she would have despite the night's excitement. Old Rich"visions" of that dreadful scene, what-ards himself was opening his shutters, ever it might have been, till at last when or what acted as such in a place where the storm abated Tamzin Richards, worn thieves were not thought of, and looking out mentally and bodily, fell into a trou- round he perceived John Kernick standbled sleep. ing by his side.

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The Trevenna men, having completed their work of rescue, hurried to their homes again. These scenes were of too frequent occurrence to cause a great excitement, but in Pascho's house there was no going to bed that night; and John Kernick, as he walked unheedingly over the high land that skirted the coast, seemed like Cain of old to defy the elements. Terrible is man's remorse, and so awful was it to John Kernick that he could not think of the lesser evil that had come upon him, though in a way he was all the while conscious of it. He had killed his rivalay, and by his own words to Tamzin he had forever lost all chance of her love. Once he passed by the slate quarries, and had he not known every inch of the way he might have easily slipped over the black gulf which bordered the path. For one moment Kernick | thought he would end life and his remorse by throwing himself down one of the black pits, but he dared not face death and eternity with this burden on his conscience, no, even though he now and then half fancied that he himself was the Tregeagle whose story he knew so well; surely his sins would find him out, and the Devil claim his soul if he died that night, just as be had claimed Tregeagle's spirit at his death. It was morning before the wretched man came back, as it were, to his right senses. Looking around he saw that he was not so very far from Trevenna. An irresistible desire once more to see Tamzin possessed him; he would again hear from her lips her hatred of him and of his deed, and then he would leave the country and go beyond seas.

But with the daylight came humbler feelings, and the strong man, who had not prayed for years, lifted up his heart to God and asked that his punishment might be on earth, and not in the after life. If, as was certainly the case, the Devil had that night fought for the soul of John Kernick, the man's good angel had fought also and had prevailed.

Almost spent with misery and exertion, John Kernick, footsore and terribly haggard, stood before the Richards' cottage that morning just as the familiar village

"Welcome back, my son,” said the old man, nodding. "Where hast been all night? It was a bare chance for thee yester-eve, they say. I've been seeing one of your men, who told me all about it; he came here looking for you."

The ordinary tone did much towards restoring John's presence of mind. "How's Tamzin?" he said slowly, though he found it hard to speak her name.

"I heard Tamzin a-coming down just now; maybe she's in the back room. Go in, my son; my old woman's abed to-day with the rheumatiz, so I'm the stay o' the house; but Sally Rogers gave us a helping hand last night-a kind soul is Sally, but she's gone home now."

John Kernick did not hear half these little homely words; he only took in that Tamzin was in the back room alone. He would go and see her, and then fly forever from Trevenna. He walked slowly across the shop and opened the inner door, and there sat Tamzin by the window, her back to him, gazing out with a terribly sad and altered face on the tiny glimpse of the distant sea which was there visible. The raging waves had calmed themselves; they were now but "white horses " sweeping majestically in towards the land.

The girl did not look round till John Kernick said in a low voice,

"Tamzin!" He expected her to turn upon him as he knew well that an angry woman could do, and he meant to bear her reproaches patiently, but instead of this Tamzin almost wearily put her hand on his arm.

"John Kernick, I am glad you're come. I've been wanting to see you, just to say one thing. I acted wrong by you: if you sinned and that shall be between you and me forever I too sinned terribly. Forgive me, John; last night I saw my heart, as it was in reality. I have been proud and vain all my life. I gave my word to a man as touched my pride, but all the same I loved another him as had been waiting for me so long; him as"

- her voice faltered-"I shall see in heaven, John Kernick, and for whom I must wait till I die. Give me back my word, John; it has only brought evil on us both. Ah, John, I followed his corpse

last night, and my heart seemed to go straight out of me into his grave, and that's how it will be till the end."

"There's no maid as need marry a murderer," said John slowly, not daring to look up. "I'll never wed in this life. I came but to bid thee good-bye, Tamzin. I'm going beyond the seas. You'll sometimes speak

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"Hush!" said Tamzin. "There's some one talking in the shop. Good-bye, John Kernick. I can't take your handnot now, not yet; but mayhap some day, when I'm an old woman." Neither of them noticed that the door was quietly opened behind them; neither of them for a few seconds was aware of any one entering, till suddenly there came the words, "John Kernick, I've not come to disturb ye, but only just to shake hands wi' ye. We must never have hard words again after last night's work. Shake hands, man! The Lord forbid you and I should have any bitter feeling atween us."

Tamzin stood paralyzed, for there before her was Pascho-nay, not Pascho, but his wraith, who had come to forgive John Kernick and to show her how to for. give. John also was too much surprised to take the hand that was stretched out to him.

"Pascho, is it you and not your ghost?" cried Tamzin, brave as usual, suddenly seizing his hand. "Pascho, speak to me! I thought you were dead."

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Nay, nay, Tamzin, I was saved; 'twas the poor sailor as was drowned. But had it been the Lord's will, I would fain have taken his place, save for my mother's sake. She and my sister was sore troubled when they brought me home well-nigh spent. But I'm that strong a bit of a wetting is nothing to me."

Pascho, feeling Tamzin's hands clasped round his arm, was warming up to his subject. He thought that even to see this look on her sweet face it was good he had lived. After all, she did care a bit for him, if not in that way. But he was hardly prepared for Tamzin proud Tamzinbursting into tears, and saying, "Thank God a thousand times, Pascho, that you're not dead. John Kernick, give him your hand; there'll never be any words betwixt you again."

"God helping me, never," said John Kernick, wringing the quarryman's hand as if he would wring it off. Pascho did not know, was never to know, what his life was to John, for it brought a happiness far better and higher than his death would have done.

As there was forgiveness for the re

pentant thief on the cross, so surely is there for the contrite murderer, or for the one whom God has saved from the natural result of his own wickedness.

"Ay, ay, Pascho Fuge, there'll never be any more words betwixt us. Tamzin, let me tell him, don't be afraid of me any more. Tamzin's found out as it's you as she loves, and we've agreed between us it's best so. If I have loved her, why so have you, and more truly too, and may God forgive all our mistakes! I'm going now; but just tell me, Pascho, how was you saved?"

"They were hauling up the rope, when it got cut agen the rocks, and I fell back. I give myself over then for lost, as I was well nigh spent, when just by me they flung down another rope with a loop in it. God gave me strength to slip it round me, for I should never have had power to hold on to it; and so they hauled me in much as if I had been a log. But what's this, Tamzin-it ain't true, be it?"

"Ay, man, it's true enough," said John Kernick, dashing away a tear from his eye; "and you're worthy on her, Pascho, God bless thee!"

After all, my tale ends with a wedding; but it was not the Tamzin of old that Pascho vowed to love forever: out of his suffering he had reaped something better than the handsomest bride in Trevenna. The girl was changed from the night of the shipwreck; a humbled, God-fearing woman was Tamzin Fuge, who proved to be a useful, devoted wife, though some accused her of having lost her old spirit. Pascho never saw any fault in her, and, what was more, she never saw any in him

rather an uncommon result of matrimony. Only one secret did Tamzin ever keep from her husband, and that was how the rope was cut which had so nearly cost him his life.

And John Kernick? He never left the country, but he too was an altered character. His old companions jeered him about losing his sweetheart, and told him he should have been able to cut out a man like Pascho Fuge; but he never answered any of these pleasantries, and by degrees he became what his neighbors called

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terribly religious." In time he took to preaching, and never wearied of visiting those lonely parts of the country where other men feared to go.

Years after he inherited a little fortune, and settled at Trevenna, where Tamzin's children loved no one better than "big Uncle Kernick."


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