“Stella,” cried Katherine, “there may not be much sorrow in your heart, yet I don’t think you should describe your own father’s death as something your husband will like to hear.” “It is not papa’s death, bless you,” cried Stella, lightly. “Oh, look, they are getting out the ropes. We shall soon be there now--it is the money, to be sure. You have never been hard up for money, Kate, or you would know what it was. Look, there’s Charlie on the bridge with little Job; we call him Job because he’s always been such a peepy-weepy little fellow, always crying and cross for nothing at all; they say it was because I was in such a temper and misery when he was coming, about having no money, and papa’s cruelty. Charlie! That silly man has never found him, though he might have known he was on the bridge. Cha--arlie!” Stella made a tube of her two hands and shouted, and Katherine saw a tall man on the bridge over their heads turn and look down. He did not move, however, for some minutes till Stella’s gestures seemed to have awakened his curiosity. He came down then, very slowly, leading with much care an extremely small child, so small that it was curious to see him on his legs at all, who clung to his hand, and whom he lifted down the steep ladder stairs. “Well,” he said, “what’s the matter now?” when he came within speaking distance. Katherine had scarcely known her sister’s husband in the days of his courtship. She had not seen him more than three or four times, and his image had not remained in her mind. She saw now a tall man a little the worse for wear, with a drooping moustache, and lips which drooped, too, at the corners under the moustache, with a look which was slightly morose--the air of a discontented, perhaps disappointed, man. His clothes were slightly shabby, perhaps because they were old clothes worn for the voyage, his hair and moustache had that rusty dryness which comes to hair which does not grow grey, and which gives a shabby air, also as of old clothes, to those natural appendages. The only attractive point about him was the child, the very, very small child which seemed to walk between his feet--so close did it cling to him, and so very low down. “Nothing’s the matter,” said Stella. “Here is Kate come to bid us welcome home.” “O--oh,” he said, and lifted his limp hat by the crown; “it’s a long time since we have met; I don’t know that I should have recognised you.” His eyes went from her hat to her feet with a curious inspection of her dress. “Yes,” said Katherine, “you are right; it is so. My father is dead.” A sudden glimmer sprang into his eyes and a redness to his face; it was as if some light had flashed up over them; he gave his wife a keen look. But decorum seemed more present with him than with Stella. He did not put any question. He said mechanically, “I am sorry,” and stood waiting, giving once more a glance at his wife.