Her might have marched off to Penzance to
larn 'bout the manner o' gwaine to Lunnon an' bin stopped in home-comin';
or her might have slept in Penzance to catch a early train away."
"Iss, or her might a got in the water, poor lamb," said Thomasin, who never
left the dark side of a position unconsidered. Mary's face showed that the
same idea had struck her.
"God grant 'tedn' nothin' like that, though maybe 'twould be better than
t'other. Us caan't say she've run away, but I thot I'd tell 'e how things
is so's you could spread it abroad that she'm lost. Maybe us'll hear
somethin' 'fore the day's much aulder. I be gwaine to Penzance now an' I'll
let 'e knaw if theer's anything to tell. Good-by, an' I be right glad all's
well wi' your husband, though I don't hold wi' his 'pinions."
But Mrs. Tregenza did not answer. Her eyes were fixed on the lugger which
had now got to its anchorage and looked strange and unnatural shorn of its
lesser mast. She saw the moorings dragged up; and a few minutes later the
boat, which had rolled and tumbled at them all night, was baled. Thereupon
men took their seats in her and began to row toward the harbor. It seemed
that Gray Michael was steering, and his crew clearly pulled very weak and
short, for their strength was spent.
Then, as they came between the arms of the harbor, as they shipped oars and
glided to the steps, Tregenza's hybrid yellow dog, who accompanied the
fisherman in all his goings, jumped ashore barking and galloped up the
slippery steps with joy; while, at the same moment, a woman's sharp cry cut
the air like a knife and two wild eyes looked down into the boat.
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