Nor can we speak of the young husband's anguish, and it may be self-reproach, in that awful hour. He speaks not himself of this matter in his journal, save in briefest words; nor dare we intrude upon such matters as lie between a man and his God. But this we may say, that as Jacob, wrestling with the angel and overcoming, went halting all his days from the wound of that strange conflict, so Bradford's face when he again took his place among his fellows told of years forever consumed in one terrible struggle. CHAPTER IX. ROSE. "Myles!" "Ay, sweetheart, here am I." "A little drink--nay, I want it not. I was dreaming thy cousin Barbara was making a sallet, and I was fain to taste it, it looked so cool and fresh,--and I wakened. I would well like some sallet, Myles." "As soon as the day dawns, my Rose, I will go and look for herbs. I marked some sorrel on the hill yester e'en, albeit something dry and sere." "Why doth the ship roll so sorely, Myles?" "Thou 'rt not on shipboard, child, but in our little hospital here ashore. Mindest thou not how thou didst mourn and cry to me, 'Take me ashore, Myles, take me ashore, that I may breathe sweet air and live.' So I lapped thee in blankets and brought thee, to-morrow is a se'nnight. Like you not this sweet new dwelling?" "Well enow; but sweet air will not make me live if the time hath come for me to die." And the sick girl smiled wanly, inscrutably, the smile of one who knows what he will not say. The face of the fearless soldier grew white with terror, and almost angrily he replied,-- "Hush, child! Thy time to die hath not come. Never think it, for it shall not be." "Nay, Myles, thou canst not daunten Death with thy stern voice and masterful eye, though thou canst quell a score of other foes with one glance." And Rose, moving her frail little hand toward the sinewy fist clenched upon the bed-covering, slid a finger within its grasp, and went softly on with a pathetic ring of gayety in her voice,-- "I was dreaming, too, of home, mine own old home. I was gathering cowslips in the meadow at St. Mary's, and mother stood by with little Maudlin in her arms. They smiled, both of them, ah how sweetly they smiled upon me, and I filled my pinafore with the cowslips, soft, cool, wet cowslips,--I feel them in my hand now, so cool, so wet! Myles, I fain would have those cowslips, may I not?" "Child! Child! Thou 'lt break my heart!" "Mother and Maudlin both died the year I saw thee first, dost remember, Myles?" "Try to sleep a little, my darling. I will say thee a psalm, or perhaps one of those old Manx ballads thou didst use to lilt so lightly." "Mistress White says they are ungodly, and a snare of Satan," replied Rose dreamily, and before Myles could utter the wrathful comment that quivered upon his lips she went on,-- "It was across her grave I saw thee, dear, dost mind thee of that hour?" "Thy mother's grave? ay, I mind me."