Only the coaster brought that bit of beam
away, with the 'Fleur d'Epine' writ clear upon it. But you see I never
_know_ my man is dead. Any day--who can say?--any one of those ships may
bring him aboard of her, and he may leap out on the wharf there, and come
running up the stairs as he used to do, and cry, in his merry voice,
'Annemie, Annemie, here is more flax to spin, here is more hose to
weave!' For that was always his homeward word; no matter whether he had
had fair weather or foul, he always knotted the flax to his masthead. So
you see, dear, I could not leave here. For what if he came and found me
away? He would say it was an odd fashion of mourning for him. And I could
not do without the window, you know. I can watch all the brigs come in;
and I can smell the shipping smell that I have loved all the days of my
life; and I can see the lads heaving, and climbing, and furling, and
mending their bits of canvas, and hauling their flags up and down. And
then who can say?--the sea never took him, I think--I think I shall hear
his voice before I die. For they do say that God is good.
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