And then, an old man, nodding in a chair, Beside the fire, awoke with sleepy stare; And rose in haste; and led her to a seat, Beside the cosy hearth of glowing peat; And muttered to me, as he took her hand: "It’s queer, it’s queer, that she, to-night, should stand, Who has not stood alone for fifteen year. Though I heard nothing, she was quick to hear. I must have dozed; but she has been awake, And listening for your footstep since daybreak: For she was certain you would come to-day; Aye, she was sure, for all that I could say: Talk as I might, she would not go to bed, Till you should come. Your supper has been spread This long while: you’ll be ready for your meat." With that he beckoned me to take a seat Before the table, lifting from the crook The singing kettle; while, with far-off look, As though she neither saw nor heard, His wife sat gazing at the glowing peat. So, wondering sorely, I sat down to eat; And yet she neither spoke, nor stirred; But in her high-backed chair sat bolt-upright, With still grey eyes; and tumbled hair, as white As fairy-cotton, straggling o’er her brow, And hung in wisps about her wasted cheek. But, when I’d finished, and drew near the fire, She suddenly turned round to speak, Her old eyes kindling with a tense desire. Her words came tremblingly: "You’ll tell me now What news you bring of him, my son?" Amazed, I met that searching and love-famished look: And then the old man, seeing I was dazed, Made shift to swing aside the kettle crook; And muttered in my ear: "John Netherton, his name:" and as I gazed Into the peat that broke in clear blue flame, Remembrance flashed upon me with the name; And I slipped back in memory twenty year-- Back to the fo’c’sle of a villainous boat; And once again in that hot hell I lay, Watching the smoky lantern duck and sway, As though in steamy stench it kept afloat... The fiery fangs of fever at my throat; And my poor broken arm, ill-set, A bar of white-hot iron at my side: And, as I lay, with staring eyes pricked wide, Throughout eternities of agony, I saw a big, black shadow stoop o’er me; And felt a cool hand touch my brow, and wet My cracking lips: and sank in healing sleep: And when I rose from that unfathomed deep, I saw the youngest of that rascal crew Beside my bunk; and heard his name; and knew ’Twas he who’d brought me ease: but, soon, ashore, We parted; and I never saw him more; Though, some while after, in another place, I heard he’d perished in a drunken brawl...