horoughly alarmed by Philip's ghastly appearance. 'What's the
matter?'

'I!' said Philip, slowly gathering his thoughts. 'Why should there
be anything the matter?'

His instinct, quicker to act than his reason, made him shrink from
his misery being noticed, much more made any subject for explanation
or sympathy.

'There may be nothing the matter wi' thee,' said Coulson, 'but
thou's the look of a corpse on thy face. I was afeared something was
wrong, for it's half-past nine, and thee so punctual!'

He almost guarded Philip into the shop, and kept furtively watching
him, and perplexing himself with Philip's odd, strange ways.

Hester, too, observed the heavy broken-down expression on Philip's
ashen face, and her heart ached for him; but after that first
glance, which told her so much, she avoided all appearance of
noticing or watching. Only a shadow brooded over her sweet, calm
face, and once or twice she sighed to herself.

It was market-day, and people came in and out, bringing their store
of gossip from the country, or the town--from the farm or the
quay-side.

Among the pieces of news, the rescue of the smack the night before
furnished a large topic; and by-and-by Philip heard a name that
startled him into attention.

The landlady of a small public-house much frequented by sailors was
talking to Coulson.

'There was a sailor aboard of her as knowed Kinraid by sight, in
Shields, years ago; and he called him by his name afore they were
well out o' t' river. And Kinraid was no ways set up, for all his
lieutenant's uniform (and eh! but they say he looks handsome in
it!); but he tells 'm all about it--how he was pressed aboard a
man-o'-war, an' for his good conduct were made a warrant officer,
boatswain, or something!'

All the people in the shop were listening now; Philip alone seemed
engrossed in folding up a piece of cloth, so as to leave no possible
chance of creases in it; yet he lost not a syllable of the good
woman's narration.

She, pleased with the enlarged audience her tale had attracted, went
on with fresh vigour.

'An' there's a gallant captain, one Sir Sidney Smith, and he'd a
notion o' goin' smack into a French port, an' carryin' off a vessel
from right under their very noses; an' says he, "Which of yo'
British sailors 'll go along with me to death or glory?" So Kinraid
stands up like a man, an' "I'll go with yo', captain," he says. So
they, an' some others as brave, went off, an' did their