was the character of
mountain she wished to cast. If she crushed them, her reputation as a
forgiving soul might suffer: she could not pardon without seeing them
abased. Thus shaken at starting, she found herself writing: "I know that
your father has been hearing tales told of me, or he would have written,
and he has not; so you shall never see me, not if you cried to me from
the next world--the hot part."

Perusing this, it was too tremendous. "Oh, that's awful!" she said,
getting her body a little away from the manuscript. "Ye couldn't curse
much louder."

A fresh trial found her again rounding the fact that Mr. Pole had not
written to her, and again flying into consequent angers. She had some
dim conception of the sculpture of an offended Goddess. "I look so,"
she said before the glass "I'm above ye, and ye can't hurt me, and
don't come anigh me: but here's a cheque--and may ye be haunted in your
dreams!--but here's a cheque."

There was pain in her heart, for she had felt faith in Mr. Pole's
affection for her. "And he said," she cried out in her lonely room--"he
said, 'Martha, ye've onnly to come and be known to 'm, and then they'll
take to the ideea.' And wasn't I a patient creature! And it's Pole
that's turned--Pole!"

Varied with the frequent 'Oh!' and 'Augh!' these dramatic monologues
occupied her time while the yacht was sailing for her Devon bay.

At last the thought struck her that she would send for
Braintop--telegraphing that expenses would be paid, and that he must
come with a good quill. "It goes faster," she whispered, suggesting the
pent-up torrent, as it were, of blackest ink in her breast that there
was to pour forth. A very cunning postscript to the telegram brought
Braintop almost as quick to her as a return message. It was merely
'Little Belloni.'

She had forgotten this piece of artifice: but when she saw him start
at the opening of the door, keeping a sheepish watch in that direction,
"By'n-by," she said, with a nod; and shortly afterward unfolded her
object in summoning him from his London labours: "A widde-woman ought
to get marrud, Mr. Braintop, if onnly to have a husband to write letters
for 'rr. Now, that's a task! But sup to-night, and mind ye say yer
prayers before gettin' into bed; and no tryin' to flatter your Maker
with your knees cuddled up to your chin under the counterpane. I do 't
myself sometimes, and I know one prayer out of bed's worrth ten of 'm
in. Then I'll pray too; a