"Bad?" repeated Dent. "Yaller as a guinea,--awful, he look--but he'll be better soon. He said to me, 'Another week o' this, and I'd ha' been a dead man, Dent--bless you, Dent, old pal' said Will--'and take the gel and my blessing too. She was right, Bet wor--liberty's more nor anything else to a sailor chap. Oh, yes--I'll miss her; for she was rare and handsome; but, lord there's plenty of other good fish in the sea;' and then he writ this letter, and give it me--jest a line or two, to make it all square atween you and me, as he said. And he'll come and see us arter his next voyage, he said. Here's the letter, Bet--and obleeged you ought to be to me, sweetheart." "Thank you, Isaac," replied Bet. She took Will's letter with a hand that trembled, and thrust it unopened into the bosom of her dress. "It wor what I wanted," she muttered, half under her breath. "All the same I'm stunned like. Isaac, I ha' come here to find father and the lads. Father has made off with the two boys, and he dropped a hint about bringing 'em here." "Werry like he did," replied Dent. "He dropped a hint to me about making a tidy penny or so out of them boys round yere. Ef you stay for a day or two, Bet, you'll most likely find them. I'll help you all I can. And Warrington ain't a bad place to stop in. We might be married here--why not? I know a decent gel here what'll share her room with you--we'll go and find her now." CHAPTER XXV. Dent soon made terms with the girl who was to accommodate Bet with half her room. Her terms were half-a-crown a week, which Dent offered to provide. Bet, however, scowled at him. "None o' that," she said. "I ain't your wife yet--and I can't be, neither, thank goodness, for a fortnight. Jenny here says I may go round with her and help her to hawk her basket. I'll help Jenny with her bits of cress and vegetables-and I want no help from you." "You're a proud 'un," said Dent, "but I'll break yer in yet." He spoke more angrily than he had meant. Bets cheeks grew white; he was turning away, but she followed him.