The death of the small fowl clouded the pilgrim's thoughts, but only for a
moment. Sentiment and emotion had passed; now she was eager with delicious
physical hunger and longing for her breakfast. The girl had not felt so
well or so happy for a considerable time. Half her prayer, she told
herself, was answered already; and the other half, relating to "Mister
Jan," would doubtless meet with similar merciful response ere many hours
had flown.
So joyfully homeward out of dreamland into a world of facts Joan hastened.
CHAPTER FOUR
A THOUSAND POUNDS
A glad heart shortens the longest road, and Joan, whose return journey from
the holy well was for the most part downhill, soon found herself back again
in Penzance. The fire of devotion still actuated her movements, and she
walked fearlessly, doubting nothing, to the post-office. There would be a
letter to-day; she knew it; she felt it in her consciousness, as a
certainty. And when she asked for it and mentioned her name, she put her
hand out and waited until the sleepy-eyed clerk rummaged through a little
pile of letters standing together and tied with a separate string. She
watched him slowly untie them and scan the addresses, grumbling as he did
so. Then he came to the last of all and read out:
"'Miss Joan Tregenza, Post-Office, Penzance. To be left until called for.'"
"Mine, mine, sir! I knawed 'e'd have it! I knawed as the kind, good--"
Then she stopped and grew red, while the clerk looked at her curiously and
then yawned.
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