The tremulous tone of the last few words made Joan turn round, and, looking at Eve, she saw that the gathered tears were ready to fall from her eyes. Joan had felt a desire to be sharp in speech, but the sight of Eve's face melted her anger at once, and with a sudden change of manner she said, "Why, bless the maid! what's there to cry about? You'm a nice one, I just say, to be a sailor's wife! Lor's! don't let 'em see that you frets to see their backs, or they'll be gettin' it into their heads next that they'm somebodys and we can't live without 'em. They'll come back soon enough, and a sight too soon for a good many here, I can tell 'ee."
Eve shook her head. "But will they come back?" she said despairingly. "I feel something different to what I ever felt before—a presentiment of evil, as if something would happen. What could happen to them, Joan?"
"Lord bless 'ee! don't ax un what could happen to 'em. Why, a hunderd things: they could be wracked and drowned, or catched and killed, or tooked and hung." Then, bursting into a laugh at Eve's face of horror, she exclaimed, "Pack o' stuff, nonsense! Don't 'ee take heed o' no fancies nor rubbish o' that sort. They'll come back safe enuf, as they've allays done afore. Nothin's ever happened to 'em yet: what should make it now? T' world ain't a-comin' to an end 'cos you'm come down fra' London town. There, get along with 'ee, do!" and she pushed her gently toward the door, adding, with a sigh, "'Twould be a poor tale if Adam was never to come back now, and it the first time he ever left behind un anything he cared to see agen."
Eve soon reached her point of observation, and under shelter of the hedge she stood looking with anxious eyes in the direction from which Adam was to come. It had been a clear bright day, and the air blew fresh and cool; the sky (except to windward, where a few white fleecy masses lay scattered about) was cloudless; the sea was of a deep-indigo blue, flecked with ridges of foam, which unfurled and spread along each wave, crested its tip and rode triumphant to the shore. Inside the Peak, over the harbor, the gulls were congregated, some fluttering over the water, some riding on its surface, some flying in circles over the heights, now green and soft with the thick fresh grass of spring. Down the spine of the cliff the tangle of brier-wood and brambles, though not leafless, still showed brown, and the long trails which were lifted and bowed down as the sudden gusts of wind swept over them, looked bare and wintry.
Eve gave an involuntary shiver, and her eyes, so quick to drink in each varied aspect of the sea, now seemed to try and shut out its beauty from before her.
What should she do if the wind blew and the waves rose as she had seen them do of late, rejoicing in the sight, with Adam by her side? But with him away, she here alone—oh, her spirit sank within her; and to drive away the thoughts which came crowding into her mind she left her shelter, and, hurrying along the little path, crossed the cress-grown brook, and was soon halfway up the craggy ascent, when Adam, who had reached the top from the other side, called out, "Hallo! I didn't think to find you here. We'd best walk back a bit, or else we shall be just in the eye of the wind, and it's coming on rather fresh."
"You won't go if it blows, Adam?" and Eve's face betrayed her anxiety.
"Oh, my dear one," he said kindly, "you mustn't think of the wind's having anything to do with me. Besides, it's all in our favor, you know: it'll rock us to sleep all the sooner."
Eve tried to smile back as she looked up at him, but it was a very feeble attempt. "I don't want to feel frightened," she said, "but I can't help it."
"Can't help what?"