'You do not belong to it by birth.'
'No. I belong nowhere. I have no home.'
'But are you not afraid your bits of furniture will be stolen?'
'What if they be? If there be no shelter for Winefred and me, what care I for housing a poor bedstead and a rotten chair? The great grey sea has torn away the rock on which I stood. The wall has fallen, and my house is thrown open to all. Whither shall I go? Where shall I shelter my child? We have no place.'
The man shrugged his shoulders. He was a red-faced man with white hair; in the failing light of winter the red looked dull purple and the white a soiled grey.
'Come now!' said the woman, starting up, 'my affairs are none of yours. They touch you in no way. The tide flows.'
She did not notice a peculiar expression that came up into his face and creamed it as she said the words, but Winefred, who was looking wistfully at him, was struck by it.
Without another word, he went to the ferryboat, unfastened the chain, and held out his hand to assist Jane in.
She thrust his hand aside with a gesture of impatience, and stepped in with firm foot, then turned and helped her daughter.
Nothing was said as the man rowed across. The woman was immersed in thought of the most gloomy complexion; the daughter was too wretched to speak. The tears that flowed from her eyes were mingled with the rain that beat on her face.