'To-night, James?'
'To-night, Mary; and a fine wind we shall have for it, I reckon. But you're all out at sea yourself, and look as melancholy as if you were going to a funeral. The note, which I thought would raise your spirits, has put a damper on them, sure enough.'
'And no wonder,' she replied, with tears in her eyes. 'I've had a weight on my mind all day, and a presentiment that something unfortunate would happen. I dreamt about you last night, James; and, though our sleep-thoughts may be nothing but airy fancies most times, we cannot always dismiss them as such. They hang about our minds like living realities, and there's no reason why they shouldn't now and then be true warnings. I have no wish to make too much of my dream, but it haunts me whether I will or not. I saw you, as plain as could be, walking among the sandhills, and soon the sky grew suddenly dark—so dark that I lost sight of your form, until, by the glare of a vivid flash of lightning, I beheld you sinking in a quicksand. A wild shriek sounded above the roaring wind, drowned only by the pealing thunder, and when the cloud passed away, and the sun shone out brightly again as before, you were gone—lost to me, I thought, for ever. As soon, therefore, as you showed me the note, it flashed across my mind in a moment—that's the quicksand: old Phillipson will make us sup sorrow yet.'
'I hope not, Mary,' the captain replied, with as cheerful and easy a manner as he could assume in the face of an upbraiding conscience; 'things are brighter than you think for. Get my traps together, and all will be right, you'll see.' And when the church clock tolled out the hour of eleven, the captain, who had talked himself into a comfortable state again, rose to depart.
'James,' said his wife, who was still struggling with her misgivings, 'you haven't told me where you're bound, and when I may expect you again.'
'You know, my love,' he answered, 'that Phillipson always gives his orders the last thing. You shall hear from me as soon as possible; so don't be down-hearted.' And, folding her in his arms, he bade her farewell, with a warmth of true affection which did but make the pang more poignant which apprehension had inflicted.
'God bless you and keep you!' she said, sobbing; and before those strange emotions which were conflicting within could express themselves further he was on his way to Appledore.
She watched him down the street, as he walked briskly along, encountering the frosty night air; and when his footfall no longer resounded on the hard causeway she clasped her hands, and said, 'Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil!'