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172
Joan, The Curate.

beef, and long, flat home-made loaves, generous preparation for the smugglers' supper.

In front of the hearth and between the two wide oak settles there was a gaping chasm, a hole in the floor of which Tregenna was not long in guessing the meaning. The heavy wooden lid, by day artfully concealed by a piece of rough matting, apparently placed there for the comfort of the old people who sat on each side, was now thrown back; and it was by this lid that the solitary occupant of the huge apartment was now standing.

Although he was in part prepared for the discovery, Tregenna gave a slight start on finding himself face to face with this being.

For he saw before him not Ann Price the decent farmer's daughter, with her neat cap and snow-white apron, her calm face and quiet manners; but Jem Bax, the young smuggler, with the rough shock of shoulder-length hair, the seamen's breeches, and high boots, the loose shirt, open jacket, and flowing tie, with the pale set face, and fierce devil-may-care expression.

And even now that he knew them to be one and the same person, he could hardly be sur-