Excerpt: ...once afore she died." "She would maybe have found all sadly changed, " said Mary, though her heart echoed Will's feeling. "Ay! ay! I dare say it's best. One thing I do wish though, and I have often wished it when out alone on the deep sea, when even the most thoughtless can't choose but think on th' past and th' future, and that is, that I'd never grieved her. O Mary! many a hasty word comes sorely back on the heart when one thinks one shall never see the person whom one has grieved again!" They both stood thinking. Suddenly Mary started. "That's father's step. And his shirt's not ready!" She hurried to her irons, and tried to make up for lost time. John Barton came in. Such a haggard and wildly anxious-looking man, Will thought he had never seen. He looked at Will, but spoke no word of greeting or welcome. "I'm come to bid you good-bye, " said the sailor, and would in his sociable friendly humour have gone on speaking. But John answered abruptly- "Good-bye to ye, then." There was that in his manner which left no doubt of his desire to get rid of the visitor, and Will accordingly shook hands with Mary, and looked at John, as if doubting how far to offer to shake hands with him. But he met with no answering glance or gesture, so he went his way, stopping for an instant at the door to say- "You'll think on me on Tuesday, Mary. That's the day we shall hoist our blue Peter, Jack Harris says." Mary was heartily sorry when the door closed, it seemed like shutting out a friendly sunbeam. And her father! what could be the matter with him? He was so restless, not speaking (she wished he would), but starting up and then sitting down, and meddling with her irons, he seemed so fierce, too, to judge from his face. She wondered if he disliked Will being there, or if he were vexed to find that she had not got further on with her work. At last she could bear his nervous way no longer, it made her equally nervous and fidgety. She would speak. "When are you going, ...