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Joan, The Curate.

jugs on the walls, the metal utensils on the dresser, made a charming picture. So did the tabby cat, curled up in one corner; so, above all, did that particularly neat figure in the gray homespun frock, with the graceful arms and the clever hands, and with that delicious profile above it all.

"I tell you, sir, you are no better than a traitor to the king if you do not help his officers."

"I tell you, sir, you don't know what you are talking about!"

Thus the gentlemen jangled on; but their bickering had become an unimportant incident to Tregenna.

He made rather a nice picture himself in his smart uniform, with his well-powdered wig surmounting a handsome, clean-cut face, his gray hawks' eyes, now filled with the light of the young and ardent, his mouth softened by the suspicion of a smile. He held his sword with one hand, that its clanking should not startle her; and his smart three-cornered hat was cocked jauntily under his arm.

Suddenly she turned; and by this time he was half inside the kitchen door. Joan ut-