midnight
Half an hour afterwards they were making their way along the one little street of which Trewithen boasted to their homes ; for a storm -- the roughest they had known for years -- had burst overhead , and a man 's life is a frail thing in the teeth of a gale . * * * * * At the top of the cliff and beyond Trewithen churchyard by the length of a field there stood a tiny cottage , in which lived Jacob Tresidder , fisherman , and his daughter Bess . `` Daft Bess '' the children called her as they played with her on the sands , though she was a woman grown , and had hair that was streaked with white . She was sitting now by the dying fire in the little kitchen listening to the storm without ; the hands of the grandfather clock were nearing the midnight hour , and Jacob Tresidder lay in a sound sleep upstairs hearing nought . She was of the type of fisher-maid common to the depths of Cornwall . The soft rich colouring of her skin reminded one more of the sunny south , and her big brown eyes had always a glow in them . To-night they were more luminous than ever as she sat by the fire watching the sparks flicker and die , as if the dawn of some hidden knowledge were being borne to them on the breath of the storm .