n he had yet
maintained, he laid down his knife and fork on either side his plate,
drank a long draught from a tankard beside him (still keeping his eyes
on Joe), and leaning backward in his chair and fetching a long breath,
said, as he looked all round the board:

'It's been took off!'

'By George!' said the Black Lion, striking the table with his hand,
'he's got it!'

'Yes, sir,' said Mr Willet, with the look of a man who felt that he had
earned a compliment, and deserved it. 'That's where it is. It's been
took off.'

'Tell him where it was done,' said the Black Lion to Joe.

'At the defence of the Savannah, father.'

'At the defence of the Salwanners,' repeated Mr Willet, softly; again
looking round the table.

'In America, where the war is,' said Joe.

'In America, where the war is,' repeated Mr Willet. 'It was took off in
the defence of the Salwanners in America where the war is.' Continuing
to repeat these words to himself in a low tone of voice (the same
information had been conveyed to him in the same terms, at least fifty
times before), Mr Willet arose from table, walked round to Joe, felt his
empty sleeve all the way up, from the cuff, to where the stump of his
arm remained; shook his hand; lighted his pipe at the fire, took a long
whiff, walked to the door, turned round once when he had reached it,
wiped his left eye with the back of his forefinger, and said, in
a faltering voice: 'My son's arm--was took off--at the defence of
the--Salwanners--in America--where the war is'--with which words he
withdrew, and returned no more that night.

Indeed, on various pretences, they all withdrew one after another, save
Dolly, who was left sitting there alone. It was a great relief to be
alone, and she was crying to her heart's content, when she heard Joe's
voice at the end of the passage, bidding somebody good night.

Good night! Then he was going elsewhere--to some distance, perhaps. To
what kind of home COULD he be going, now that it was so late!

She heard him walk along the passage, and pass the door. But there was a
hesitation in his footsteps. He turned back--Dolly's heart beat high--he
looked in.

'Good night!'--he didn't say Dolly, but there was comfort in his not
saying Miss Varden.

'Good night!' sobbed Dolly.

'I am sorry you take on so much, for what is past and gone,' said Joe
kindly. 'Don't. I can't bear to see you do it. Think of it no longer.
You are safe and happy now.'

Dolly cried