"Shall I go blind? I dare say you know as much as those infernal doctors, eh?" "No; your eyes, and pretty eyes they are, and many a soul they've lost, they'll last your time, my lord! I see a journey to England; it lies before you, and no return. Seven times the moon will rise, and the Romanies go to the South, but the bird--" "Get to blazes out of this! Help me in, ducky; oh, damn it, be quick! Get me some brandy, quick, quick! not all brandy, a little milk in it!" * * * * * The moon is high in the heavens, and the sea is running into the creek with a silver sheen on its back; the blinds are drawn up in the four windows of the bedroom, and the northern night is like unto day disguised in a domino of silver-gray crape. He is sleeping. She is standing motionless at the window. The red of her dressing-gown and the moonlight make her face look more ghostlike, as she leans her head wearily against the window-frame. She is gazing sea-ward; a steamer has just passed, and the beacon in the lighthouse on Jomfru-land gleams like a great bright eye. In how many dreary vigils has it not greeted her and seemed to say: "Courage! I too am watching; you are not alone!" At the end of the wood two tents are pitched, and she can see two figures outlined against the white palings,--the Romany girl and the youth with the gold ear-rings. He is holding her in his arms. The dog-chains rattle now and then; something brown and stealthy creeps about the duck-house; the white mists in the marshy bit of meadow lying next the creek dance like spirits, and beckon to her with shadowy arms, and a faint yellow streak appears in the east. How many more nights must she stand alone, and watch the morning herald a new day of bondage?