completed
its furniture. Indeed, it had room for no more, and its narrow dimensions
were dwarfed just now by an enormous black-bearded seaman seated in the
chair by the window, which stood open to the darkness. Although the month
was December, the wind blew softly from the southwest, and night had
closed in with a fine warm drizzle of rain. Beyond the window the
riding-lights of the vessels at anchor shone across the gently heaving
tide.

The black-bearded seaman made a motion to rise, but realising that this
would seriously displace the furniture, contented himself with a
'Good-evening, miss,' and dropped back in his seat.

"Good-evening," answered Hester. "Mr. Benny here has asked me to take his
place. I hope you don't mind?"

"Lord bless you, I like it."

"But I shall make a poor hand of it, I'm afraid."

The man eyed her solemnly for five or six seconds, slowly turned the quid
of tobacco in his cheek, and spat out of window. "We'll get along
famous," he said.

"He likes the window open," explained Mr. Benny, "because--"

"I see." Hester nodded.

"But I'll run and fetch a cloak for you." Without waiting for an answer,
Mr. Benny hurried from the office.

To be deserted thus was more than Hester had bargained for, and for a
moment she felt helplessly dismayed. A sheet of paper, half-covered with
writing, lay on the desk, and she put out a hand for it.

"Is this your letter? Perhaps you'll allow me to read it and see how far
you and Mr. Benny have gone."

"That's the way. Only you mustn' give me no credit for it: I sits and
looks on. 'Never take a hand in a business you don't know'--that's my
motto."

Hester wished devoutly that it had also been hers. She picked up the
paper and read--

"Dear Wife,--This comes hoping to find you in health as it leaves me
at present, and the children hearty. We made a good passage, and
arrived at Troy on the 14th inst., a romantic little harbour
picturesquely situated on the south coast of Cornwall.
Once a flourishing port, second only to London and Bristol, and still
retaining in its ivy-clad fort some vestiges of its former glories,
it requires the eye of imagination to summon back the days when
(as Hals tells us) it manned and sent forth more than forty ships to
the siege of Calais, A.D. 1347--"

Hester glanced at her client dubiously.

"That's all right, ain't it?" he asked.

"Ye--es."

"Far as I remem