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It was a wicked wish--an unnatural
wish to find room in a woman's breast; but the wish was there. Would to
God he had died before the ship touched an English port.
But he was living, and would have to face his accusers--and she, his
wife, must give him all the help she could.
She sat long by the waning fire. She took nothing but a cup of tea,
although the landlady had sent in substantial accompaniments to the
tea-tray in the shape of broiled ham, new-laid eggs, and hot cakes,
arguing that a traveller on such a night must be hungry, albeit
disinclined for a ceremonious dinner. She had been sitting for nearly
an hour in almost the same attitude, when there came a knock at the
door, and, on being bidden to enter, the landlady came in, with some
logs in her apron, under pretence of replenishing the fire.
'I was afraid your fire must be getting low, and that you'd be amost
starved, my lady,' she said, as she put on the logs, and swept up the
ashes on the hearth. 'Such a dreadful night. So early in the year, too.
I'm thinking we shall have a gay hard winter.


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