This had
frightened Joan twice already, and to-day, for the first time, she took the
longer route above Paul Church-town. It brought her over fields near the
cow-byre where Barren spent much of his time and kept his picture; and when
she saw her footpath must pass the door of the little house, a flutter
quickened her pulses and she branched away over the field and proceeded to
the cliffs through a gap in the hedge some distance from the byre.
But as Joan came out upon the sward through the furzes her heart sank in
sight of loneliness. She was not early to-day, but she had come earlier
than "Mister Jan." The gray figure was invisible. There were the marks on
the turf where his easel and camp-stool stood; there was the spot his feet
were wont to press, and her own standing-point against the glimmering
gorse; but that was all. She knew of no reason for his delay. The weather
was splendid, the day was warm, and he had never been so late before within
her recollection. Joan, much wondering, sat down to wait with her eyes upon
the sea, her ears alert for the first footstep, and her mind listening
also. Time passed, and indefinite uneasiness grew into a fear; then that
expanded and multiplied as her mind approached the problem of "Mister
Jan's" non-appearance from a dozen different standpoints. Hope declared
some private concern had kept him and he would not be long in coming; fear
inquired what unforeseen incident was likely to have risen since
yesterday--asked the question and answered it a dozen ways.
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