the moor she was ready to
leave the house. Her last duty was to put a peat or two upon the
fire, and as she was doing this she heard some one lift the sneck
and push open the door.

"It is David to carry Vala," she thought. "How good he is!"

But when she turned she saw that it was not David. It was her
husband, Nicol Sinclair. He walked straight to the fireside, and
sat down without a word. Nanna's heart sank to its lowest depths,
and a cold despair made her feet and hands heavy as lead; but she
slowly spread the cloth on the table, and bit by bit managed to
recollect the cup and saucer, the barley-cake, the smoked goose,
and the tea.

There was a terrible account between the man sitting on the hearth
and herself, and words of passionate reproach burned at her lips;
but she held her peace. Long ago she had left her cause with God;
he would plead it thoroughly. Even now, when her enemy was before
her, she had no thought of any other advocate.

Her pallor, her slow movements, her absolute dumbness, roused in
Sinclair an angry discomfort. And when Vala made a movement he lifted
her roughly, and with a brutal laugh said, "A nice plaything you
will be on board the _Sea Rover_!"

Nanna shivered at the words. She comprehended in a moment the torture
this man had probably come purposely to inflict upon her. Already
his cruel hands had crippled her child; and what neglect, what
terrors, what active barbarities, might he not impose on the little
one in the hell of his own ship! Who there could prevent him? Little
did Nicol Sinclair care for public opinion on land; but out at
sea, where Vala's tears and cries could bring her no help, what
pitiless inhumanities might he not practise?

"_Fly with the child!_"

The words were struck upon her heart like blows. But how should she
fly? and where to? Far or near, the law would find her out and would
give Vala to her father's authority. And she had no friend strong
enough to protect her. Only by death could she defy separation. Thus,
while she was pouring the boiling water on the tea-leaves, she was
revolving questions more agonizing than words have power to picture.

At length the food was on the table, and, save for those few
threatening words, the silence was unbroken. Sinclair sat down
to his meal with a bravado very near to cursing, and at that moment
the kirk bells began to ring again. To Nanna they were like a voice
from heaven. Quick as thought she lifted her child an