"But the boy grew so like his father. The same curly rings of hair lying on his broad forehead, though many shades fairer, and the clear blue eyes, haunted her with a well-remembered look. She had need of all comfort, for she passed through many trials, sickness, loss, and at last poverty, still among strangers, though not where her husband had left her. She could not stay so far from the sea, where it would be many days after he landed before he could reach her. So she came to the little seaport from which his vessel had sailed for the far-off Indian Ocean, and there watched for the first glimpse of its white sails. Months passed on in sickening, harassing anxiety; and then came news of disaster, shipwreck, _death_; an awful certainty for the fear that had haunted her day and night. She and her child were doubly orphaned. "Midwinter, and death, and pressing poverty! She could not give up all hope at once, but, through the long autumn, paced the rocky line of coast day after day, her child cradled warmly in her arms, and looking out with straining eyes towards the horizon. She thought she must go mad, and almost prayed for it, if forgetfulness came to--but, then there was her child--there would be no one to care for him, and she could not abandon him with the new mother-love growing up in her heart. Many pitied the 'poor English lady,' as they saw the chill sea-breeze tossing her thin garments, she standing on the very verge of the bleak rocks, with the cold, black waves breaking sullenly beneath her. There was one who did more than pity. She welcomed him as a friend first, for he came with sympathizing looks and kind words, and would have relieved the pressure of her poverty. But Alice Gray was still too proud for that, and she parted one by one with the few treasures, costly toys, her husband had gathered in foreign lands, to keep away starvation. She had no idea of toiling for a subsistence, as the poor creatures around her did, and was too much wrapt up in her grief to think or plan any lighter task. _He_ saw it all, rich and prosperous as he was, and patiently waited his time. It came at last, when, with a shudder, she drew off her ring of betrothal, scarcely dearer or more sacred than the wedding-ring itself, and offered it in exchange for gold, to buy bread for herself and child. Heaven help her when that was exhausted! It was all she had. It was very late when she hurried through the narrow street, to offer it, where all her trinkets had gone before. They were celebrating Christmas night in her own land, with its blazing fires, and tables spread with plenty. She hurried as if to put aside such goading memories, past low wine-shops, and groups of fishermen, and common sailors, until she came to the house of the Israelite, who exchanged whatever was brought to him, without questions, so he could get it at half its worth. The dingy shop was closed, but she was admitted for the first time into the inner apartment, which the