Jem Joyce, the drunken, reprobate husband, was serving a six weeks sentence for his old crime, drunken disorderliness in the streets, and assaulting the police. His time would soon be up. The fearsome wife had recalled the fact, that very day, though she could not be sure of the actual date.
As she worked now her voice whispered low in song:—
“It may be in the evening,
When the work of the day is done,
And you have time to sit in the twilight
And watch the sinking sun,
When the long, bright day dies slowly
Over the sea,
And the hour grows quiet and holy
With thoughts of Me;