“‘She will never hear from Samuel Bings this side heaven,’ the sailor men fell into the way of saying. And now she was so venerable, and her sad story was so widely known, that men coming to the port for the first time would question if she was yet to be seen, and they would salute as they approached, and would wait to hear the questions that she asked. She was to them like a ballad of true love, or a chant grown dear with use. Indeed, they made songs about her, and when they argued for true love, they were able to point to her. They venerated her silver hair, which had once been golden, and it was to the glory of Norfolk that she lived there. “Then, one day as she sat in the sunshine, watching the harbor and noting the ships and the busy throng upon the wharves, and all the business that had become to her as her very life, an old, bent man, a sailor by his walk and dress, came shambling up the street. She never had seen him before, but no sooner had her eyes fallen upon him than her heart gave a great leap. “‘Come to me,’ she called to the faithful servant who had been her companion since the days when she was a bride. ‘Come to me and hold me by the arm, for I must question yonder man.’ “So the maid supported her, and Mistress Bings got to the balustrade of her balcony, and leaning over it, called to the old stranger. “‘Your pardon sir, but have you been traveling long and far?’ “The man lifted his cap, and as well as he could for his bent back, he looked up at the silver-haired lady on the balcony above him. “‘Long and far, madam,’ he answered. “‘Then I beg you of your goodness to come up here and talk with me a while.’ “The old man hesitated, perplexed at such an invitation. But she called again: “‘I beg you of your goodness.’ “So he came, and she asked him to be seated before her, and then she fixed her burning eyes on him. “‘Tell me, sir, have you in all of your travels ever met a man named Samuel Bings—a tall man with steel blue eyes, a sailor, every inch of him?’ “The old man stared at her a moment, and then started to his feet. “‘Are you,’ he cried, ‘his wife, Dorothy? Had he a horse named Pacolet?’ “‘I knew it! I knew it,’ cried Mistress Bings. ‘As soon as ever I saw you coming up the street, I knew that at last I should hear of him. Oh, tell me, sir, is he living still?’ “The old man sank into his seat again and hung his huge head over his knees. “‘No, madam, he is dead these ten years since.’ “‘Ah, dead,’ breathed Mistress Bings. ‘He is at rest, my Samuel. He is safe in his last bed. He suffers no longer. May God rest his soul!’ “For a little while she could say no more, only now and then crying to her maid: “‘He is at rest. He suffers no longer.’ “Then, when she was calmer, she turned once more to the bowed stranger. “‘For the love of God, sir, tell me all you know.’