Simon threw up his hand to her with an answering smile, a sudden sweetness changing his whole face. Even Sarah relaxed when she knew who it was, and both of them brightened for a little while. They were fond of May, a good girl who did not change, and who never made light of those whom Fate was counting out. She had always had the power to strengthen their hold on life, to blow their dying courage into a flame. There was a serene yet pulsing strength about her that had the soothing stimulus of a summer tide. Sarah had been jealous of her when she was young, and had fended her off, but May had long since found her patient way to her heart. Now she stood to both the old people as their one firm link with the past, and as such she was more precious to them than rubies and dearer than bright gold. "A good lass!" Simon observed, with the smile still present on his lips. "Ay." "I’ve always thought a deal o’ May." "Ay, an’ me." "Geordie an’ all," he added, with a faintly mischievous air. Sarah did not speak. "An’ Jim----" "Nay, then, I want nowt about Jim!" Simon drew the lash gently along the horse’s back. "I hear Fleming’s been none so well lately," he resumed, as they rumbled into Witham. "We mun think on to ax. Happen I could slip across to t’ ’Ship’ after we’ve gitten back. Tide’s about six, isn’t it? I could happen do it." "Fleming’s nobbut going the same road as t’rest on us," Sarah said. "He’ll be glad to see you, though, like enough. But it’ll be dark soon, think on, wi’ all this fog." "There’s summat queer about t’weather," Simon said broodingly, knitting his brows. "Tides is fairish big, and yet it’s terble whyet. Happen we’ll have a change o’ some sort afore so long." "I’ve noticed it’s often whyet afore a big change. Seems like as if it knew what was coming afore it was on t’road." "Ay, but it’s different, some way.... It’s more nor that. There’s a blind look about things, seems to me." "Blind weather for blind folk!" Sarah put in with a grim laugh. Simon grunted a protest but she took no notice. "I never thought as I should be blind," she went on, almost as if to herself. "I’ve always been terble sharp wi’ my eyes; likely that’s why I’ve managed to wear ’em out. And I’ve always been terble feared o’ folk as couldn’t see. There’s no telling what blind weather and a blind body’s brain may breed.... Ay, well, likely I’ll know a bit more about they sort o’ things now...." III