of the low stone wall that marked its limits had been close at hand.  In one or two spots only did the dead lie thickly; where shipwrecked mariners—­the very names of whom were unknown to those who buried them—­were interred; and where the victims of the Plague reposed by scores.  Even Gethin had not escaped the ravages of that fell scourge; and, what was very singular, had suffered from it twice over; for, on the occasion of an ordinary burial having taken place many generations after the first calamity, in the same spot, the disease had broken forth afresh, and scattered broadcast in the little hamlet ancient death.  The particulars of the catastrophe, so characteristic of this home of antique legend and hoary ruin, were engraven on a stone above the spot, which had never since been disturbed.

In a lone corner, as though seeking in its humility to be as distant from the sacred edifice as possible, was a quaint old cross.  It was probably not so old by half a dozen centuries as the grave-mounds on the rock where the ruined castle stood, but it seemed even older, because there were words cut in its stone in a tongue that was no longer known to man.  Seated on the low wall beside it, Richard was transferring to his sketch-book this relic of the past in his usual intermittent manner—­now gazing out upon the far-stretching sea, here blue and bright, there shadowed by a passing cloud; now down into the village, which stood on a lower hill, with a ravine between.  He had seen the post-cart come and go—­for it came in and went out simultaneously at that out-of-the-way hamlet, where there was no one to write complainingly to the papers concerning the inefficiency of the mail service—­and it was almost time for Harry to come and fetch him, as she had appointed.  But presently the reason for her absence made itself apparent in the person of her father.  It was not unusual for old Trevethick, at the close of the day, to call at the cottage in the ravine, which the guide to the ruin inhabited in the summer months, and see how business was doing in that quarter.  If he had no eye for the picturesque, he had a very sharp one for the shillings which were made out of it; and Richard was not surprised to see the landlord descending the opposite hill.  “This will keep Harry at home; confound him!” muttered the young man to himself, and then resumed his occupation.  As there was now no one to watch for, he worked with more assiduity, and with such engrossment in his subject that he was first made conscious that he was not alone by the sudden presence of a shadow on his sketch-book.  He looked up, not a little startled, and there was John Trevethick standing beside him, his huge form black against the sun.

“You may well be frightened, young gentleman,” were his first ominous words; “it is only a guilty conscience that starts at a shadow.”

Richard had a guilty conscience; and yet the remark that was thus addressed to him, unconciliatory, if not directly hostile, as it was, rather reassured him than otherwise.