Quick she had her hat, and glancing at her mother sleeping tranquilly in the great chair, she ran out, without shawl or wrapping, and started down the hill. Once at the bottom she slackened her pace a little to gain breath. A fine drizzle already blew through the air, and the waters running in upon the smooth beach did not rumble with a great noise as at the foot of the cliff, but washed, washed, keeping up endlessly a weary lamentation. The damp settled on her hair in minute globules, and enveloped all her clothing in its clammy embrace, but she did not heed the weather. She never looked out once at the desolate, rainy sea, she hardly heard its solemn moan. Hurrying, hurrying, she went on swiftly with the one idea absorbing every power. Rapidly, half-running, half-walking, she never paused until she reached the slippery wharf. A group of sailors parted to let her pass. So eager was she that she did not hear the sudden exclamations, or see the look of pity that had come upon more than one rough sunburnt face when she made her appearance; for living all her life in the same quiet village many of the sailors knew Hannah by sight, many by her gentle manner and kind words, and many a sailor’s wife had to thank her as a guardian angel when sickness and poverty had come upon them unawares. She, flurried, her heart throbbing with expectation, saw only it was the good ship Bonibird that had come to port. Stephen, old Steve, belonged to it now! She remembered him well. Often when she was a child had he given her curious shells, and once he had brought her, in a little bowl filled with seawater, a tiny, live fish that glittered all over with beautiful colors. Oh yes, she remembered him well! Surprised and pleased she turned to look for him among the groups of sailors, but the old man was already at her side. Stained and weather-beaten old Steve stood there with his cap off, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, and when with an exclamation of joy Hannah held out her hand, he took it eagerly between his rough palms. “God bless you! God bless you!” broke from his lips in a thick utterance; then he dropped her hand nervously, and drawing his breath hard passed his sleeve hurriedly across his face. “I’m glad to see you back, Stephen,” she said. “You’ve been gone a long time.” “Yes, you beant so tall then.” “Is there any news from the Nereid?” she asked eagerly, hardly noticing his last reply. The old man seemed fairly to break out in a violent perspiration. He moved again uneasily on his feet and, turning his head from her, mopped his face once more hurriedly with his sleeve. “I’m——I’m feared thar be a storm comin’ up, Miss. Those clouds over the water do look ugly, and the gulls be all flyin’ land’ard.” “Never mind, I’m not afraid of the storm!” she said, impatiently. “Why you be all wet now, standin’ out in this nasty drizzle.”