"Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. ‘I am not a person, Marthe. ‘You have said you do not wish to hurt me. He recognised this object at once. And now her mind was so full of the thought that she was in love—in love!—that marvellous state! that I really believe she had some dim idea of talking to him about it.
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