lence, from
the damsel of ten to the toddler of two. Then, leaving the baby tied
down in the cradle, she pulled at the rest of them, on this side and on
that, to get them into proper trim of dresses and of hats, as if they
were going to be marched off to church. For that all the younger ones
made up their minds, and put up their ears for the tinkle of the bell;
but the elder children knew that it was worse than that, because their
mother never looked at them.

"You will go by the way of the station," she said, for the boats were
still out at sea, and no certainty could be made of them: "whatever it
is, we may thank the station for it."

The poor little things looked up at her in wonder; and then, acting up
to their discipline, set off, in lopsided pairs of a small and a big
one, to save any tumbling and cutting of knees. The elder ones walked
with discretion, and a strong sense of responsibility, hushed, moreover,
by some inkling of a great black thing to meet. But the baby ones
prattled, and skipped with their feet, and straggled away toward the
flowers by the path. The mother of them all followed slowly and heavily,
holding the youngest by the hand, because of its trouble in getting
through the stones. Her heart was nearly choking, but her eyes free and
reckless, wandering wildly over earth, and sea, and sky, in vain search
of guidance from any or from all of them.

The pinnace came nearer, with its sad, cold freight. The men took off
their hats, and rubbed their eyes, and some of them wanted to back
off again; but Mrs. Carroway calmly said, "Please to let me have my
husband."

CHAPTER XXXVI

MAIDS AND MERMAIDS

Day comes with climbing, night by falling; hence the night is so much
swifter. Happiness takes years to build; but misery swoops like an
avalanche. Such, and even more depressing, are the thoughts young folk
give way to when their first great trouble rushes and sweeps them into a
desert, trackless to the inexperienced hope.

When Mary Anerley heard, by the zealous offices of watchful friends,
that Robin Lyth had murdered Captain Carroway ferociously, and had fled
for his life across the seas, first wrath at such a lie was followed by
persistent misery. She had too much faith in his manly valor and tender
heart to accept the tale exactly as it was told to her; but still she
could not resist the fear that in the whirl of conflict, with life
against life, he had dealt the death. And she knew that e