"Why should I give you my watch?" I asked, while something worked in my throat.
"Because I wish it; because it is gold; because you are too old, and won't want it much longer."
"Take it," I cried, pulling the watch out and thrusting it into his hand. "Take it—you who have taken all that is better! Strip me, spoil me—"
A soft laugh sounded above, and I turned. My wife was looking down on us from the window, and her eyes were both moist and glad.
"Pardon me," she said, "it is you who are spoiling the child."
STORIES OF BLEAKIRK.
I.—THE AFFAIR OF BLEAKIRK-ON-SANDS.
[The events, which took place on November 23, 186-, are narrated by Reuben Cartwright, Esq., of Bleakirk Hall, Bleakirk-on-Sands, in the North Riding of Yorkshire.]
A rough, unfrequented bridle-road rising and dipping towards the coast, with here and there a glimpse of sea beyond the sad-coloured moors: straight overhead, a red and wintry sun just struggling to assert itself: to right and left, a stretch of barren down still coated white with hoar-frost.
I had flung the reins upon my horse's neck, and was ambling homewards. Between me and Bleakirk lay seven good miles, and we had come far enough already on the chance of the sun's breaking through; but as the morning wore on, so our prospect of hunting that day faded further from us. It was now high noon, and I had left the hunt half an hour ago, turned my face towards the coast, and lit a cigar to beguile the way. When a man is twenty-seven he begins to miss the fun of shivering beside a frozen cover.