At length, wearied out with watching and anxiety, and her candle having
nearly burnt to the socket, she lay down on the bed in her clothes, and
was just falling into an unquiet slumber, when she was waked by a
knocking at the door. She hurried down stairs, and let in her husband,
who was accompanied by a short stout-built ill-looking man, in a rough
seaman's jacket, from one of the pockets of which peeped forth the butt
end of a pistol. Both were wet and tired, and both seemed sullen, and
out of temper. At their first entrance, Mary eagerly cried out, "Oh!
James, I am so glad to have you home again. I have passed a sad
wearisome time since you went." But Waldron received his wife's greeting
coldly, and almost in silence. He walked up to the fire place, and,
stooping over the embers, began drawing them together, at the same time
telling his wife to get a bit or two of wood, and then to warm a little
beer. His companion had under his arm a large bundle, tied round with a
piece of sail-cloth. "At least we've got that safe," said James, placing
it in one of the chairs: and he then ordered his wife to put it under
the bed for the night, and to carry it early in the morning, before it
was quite light, to Mrs. Hawker's shop, near the church. "I," added he,
"shall be glad to lie in bed a bit, after being up three nights
running." When they had finished their beer, the stranger withdrew; and
Mary, after uttering a fervent prayer for all who are in peril by land
or by water, and for the bringing back to the right way of those who
have strayed from it, retired to rest.
Early the next morning, Mary, in compliance with her husband's
directions, carried the sail-cloth bundle to Mrs. Hawker, who received
it with one of her most gracious smiles, while her little black eyes
sparkled with satisfaction. She immediately took it into a back parlour,
and then returning to the shop, pressed Mary Waldron to take a glass of
something comfortable. This Mary declined, and immediately hastened
home, carrying with her a loaf for her husband's breakfast.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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