ay long, and
never tire. Now, you see, a man gets tired of nursing in no time. I
never was in love but once."

"Oh, father, I've heard that story so often."

"Well, then, you shan't hear it again. Now, I'll go out and see where
Tom may be. I suppose he's looking at the wind, and thinking how it
changes like a woman. But I'll light my pipe first."

"Do, father; and while Tom looks at the wind and thinks of women, do you
just watch the smoke out of your pipe, and think of men and their
constancy."

"Well, I will, if it pleases you. Put the letter by, Bessy, for I
shouldn't like Tom to see it. What have you got for dinner?"

"I left that to Mrs. Maddox, so I can't tell. But there's cold pudding
in the larder; I'll put it out for Tom."

"Nay, Bessy, you must not jest with him."

"Am I likely, think you, father?" replied Bessy. "Can't I feel for him?"

"Come, come, dearest, I didn't mean to make you cry."

"I'm not crying, but I'm very sorry for Tom, and that's the truth. Now
go away with your pipe and leave me alone."

It was impossible for me to have returned without being perceived, and I
therefore remained during the whole of this conversation. I was annoyed
to discover that they knew my secret; and still more vexed at the
remainder of this colloquy, by which I discovered that Bramble had so
completely set his heart upon a union between me and Bessy, which I
considered as impossible. I felt, as all do at the time, as if I never
could love again. I walked away, and did not return home till
dinner-time. Bramble and Bessy were very kind, although they did not
talk much; and when I went away the next day I was moved with the
affectionate farewell of the latter.

It was a beautiful night, and we were running before the east wind, the
Portland Light upon our starboard beam; the other men in the boat had
lain down in their gregos and pilot jackets, and were fast asleep, while
Bramble was at the helm steering; and I, who was too restless in my mind
to feel any inclination to repose, was sitting on the sternsheets beside
him.

"Do you see the line of the _Race_" said Bramble; "it seems strong
to-night."

Bramble referred to what is called by the mariners the Race of Portland,
where the uneven ground over which the water runs creates a very heavy
sea even in a calm. Small smuggling vessels and boats, forced into it in
bad weather, have often foundered. The tide, however, runs so rapidly
over it that you are genera