to-night," said the old woman devoutly, as a
stronger gust than usual shook the house.

She put her knitting in her lap and clasped her hands, and at that
moment the cottage door opened. The lamp flared and smoked up the
chimney with the draught, and then went out. As the old woman rose from
her seat the door closed.

"Who's there?" she cried nervously.

Her eyes were dim and the darkness sudden, but she fancied she
saw something standing by the door, and snatching a spill from the
mantelpiece she thrust it into the fire, and relit the lamp.

A man stood on the threshold, a man of middle age, with white drawn face
and scrubby beard. His clothes were in rags, his hair unkempt, and his
light grey eyes sunken and tired.

The old woman looked at him, and waited for him to speak. When he did so
he took a step towards her, and said--

"Mother!"

With a great cry she threw herself upon his neck and strained him to
her withered bosom, and kissed him. She could not believe her eyes,
her senses, but clasped him convulsively, and bade him speak again, and
wept, and thanked God, and laughed all in a breath.

Then she remembered herself, and led him tottering to the old Windsor
chair, thrust him in it, and quivering with excitement took food and
drink from the cupboard and placed them before him. He ate hungrily,
the old woman watching him, and standing by his side to keep his glass
filled with the home-brewed beer. At times he would have spoken, but she
motioned him to silence and bade him eat, the tears coursing down her
aged cheeks as she looked at his white famished face.

At length he laid down his knife and fork, and drinking off the ale,
intimated that he had finished.

"My boy, my boy," said the old woman in a broken voice, "I thought you
had gone down with _Tetby's Pride_ long years ago."

He shook his head heavily.

"The captain and crew, and the good ship," asked his mother. "Where are
they?"

"Captain--and--crew," said the son, in a strange hesitating fashion; "it
is a long story--the ale has made me heavy. They are--"

He left off abruptly and closed his eyes.

"Where are they?" asked his mother. "What happened?"

He opened his eyes slowly.

"I--am--tired--dead tired. I have not--slept. I'll tell--you--morning."

He nodded again, and the old woman shook him gently.

"Go to bed then. Your old bed, Jem. It's as you left it, and it's made
and the sheets aired. It's been ready for you ever since."