“I'm forsook somehow,” he said--“aye, I'm forsook. I'm not th' soart o' chap to tak' up wi' th' world. She wur all th' world I cared fur, an' she'll ne'er forgie me, for she's a hard un--she is. Aye! but I wur fond o' her! I wonder what she'll do--I do wonder i' my soul what she's gettin' her mind on!” It did not occur to him to call to her or go and see what she was doing. He had always stood in some dull awe of her, even when she had been kindest, and now it seemed that they were too far apart for any possibility of approach at reconciliation. So he sat and pondered heavily, the sea air blowing upon him fresh and sweet, the sun shining soft and warm upon the house, and the few common flowers in the strip of garden whose narrow shell walks and borders he had laid out for her himself with much clumsy planning and slow labor. Then he got up and took his rough working-jacket over his arm. “I mun go down to th' Mary Anne,” he said, “an' work a bit, or we'll ne'er get her turned o'er afore th' tide comes in. That boat's a moit o' trouble.” And he sighed heavily. Half-way to the gate he stopped before a cluster of ground honeysuckle, and perhaps for the first time in his life was conscious of a sudden curious admiration for them. “She's powerful fond o' such loike bits o' things--posies an' such loike,” he said. “Thems some as I planted to please her on th' very day as we were wed. I'll tak' one or two. She's main fond on 'em--fur such a hard un.” And when he went out he held in his hand two or three slender stems hung with the tiny pretty humble bells. He had these very bits of simple blossoms in his hand when he went down to where the Mary Anne lay on the beach for repairs. So his fellow-workmen said when they told the story afterwards, remembering even this trivial incident. He was in a strange frame of mind, too, they noticed, silent and heavy and absent. He did not work well, but lagged over his labor, stopping every now and then to pass the back of his hand over his brow as if to rouse himself. “Yo' look as if yo' an' th' missus had had a fallin' out an' yo'n getten th' worst o' th' bargain,” one of his comrades said by way of rough jest. They were fond of joking with him about his love for his handsome, taciturn wife. But he did not laugh this time as he usually did. “Mind thy own tackle, lad,” he said dully, “an I'll mind mine.” From that time he worked steadily among them until it was nearly time for the tide to rise. The boat they were repairing had been a difficult job to manage, as they could only work between tides, and now being hurried they lingered longer than usual. At the last minute they found it must be moved, and so were detained. “Better leave her until th' tide ebbs,” said one, but the rest were not of the same mind. “Nay,” they argued, “it'll be all to do o'er agen if we do that. Theer's plenty o' time if we look sharp enow. Heave again, lads.”