the South Wessex coast, after a
voyage in the Newfoundland trade, then newly sprung into existence. He
returned in the ship "Primrose" with a cargo of "trayne oyle brought
home from the New Founde Lande," to quote from the town records of the
date. During his absence of two summers and a winter, which made up
the term of a Newfoundland "spell," many unlooked-for changes had
occurred within the quiet little seaport, some of which closely
affected Roger the sailor. At the time of his departure his only
sister Edith had become the bride of one Stocker, a respectable
townsman, and part owner of the brig in which Roger had sailed; and it
was to the house of this couple, his only relatives, that the young
man directed his steps. On trying the door in Quay Street he found it
locked, and then observed that the windows were boarded up. Inquiring
of a bystander, he learned for the first time of the death of his
brother-in-law, though that event had taken place nearly eighteen
months before.

"And my sister Edith?" asked Roger.

"She's married again--as they do say, and hath been so these twelve
months. I don't vouch for the truth o't, though if she isn't she ought
to be."

Roger's face grew dark. He was a man with a considerable reserve of
strong passion, and he asked his informant what he meant by speaking
thus.

The man explained that shortly after the young woman's bereavement a
stranger had come to the port. He had seen her moping on the quay, had
been attracted by her youth and loneliness, and in an extraordinarily
brief wooing had completely fascinated her--had carried her off, and,
as was reported, had married her. Though he had come by water, he was
supposed to live no very great distance off by land. They were last
heard of at Oozewood, in Upper Wessex, at the house of one Wall, a
timber-merchant, where, he believed, she still had a lodging, though
her husband, if he were lawfully that much, was but an occasional
visitor to the place.

"The stranger?" asked Roger. "Did you see him? What manner of man was
he?"

"I liked him not," said the other. "He seemed of that kind that hath
something to conceal, and as he walked with her he ever and anon
turned his head and gazed behind him, as if he much feared an
unwelcome pursuer. But, faith," continued he, "it may have been the
man's anxiety only. Yet did I not like him."

"Was he older than my sister?" Roger asked.

"Ay, much older; from a dozen to a score of years