" "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. “It is nothing of any importance. “Well, you know. A slow anger burned in the man. Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright. You will survive, mark my words. In his condition the boy apparently had been as safe as in the lock-up. You shall hear from me to-morrow. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed.
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