e
window, Captain Cai very delicately withdrew, climbed back into bed, and
drew the edge of the bedclothes over his ear. Soon he was asleep; but,
even as he dropped off, the absurd phrase wove itself into the midnight
chime from the church tower and passed on to weave itself into his
dreams and vex them. "If I should survive my wife--" In his dreams he
was back in Troy, indeed, and yet among foreigners. They spoke in
English, too; but they conversed with one another, not with him, as
though he might overhear but could not be expected to understand.
One dream--merely ludicrous when he awoke and recalled it--gave him real
distress while it lasted. In it he saw half a dozen townsmen--Barber
Toy, Landlord Oke, the Quaymaster, and Mr Philp among them--gathered
around the mound of sand on the Quay, solemnly playing a child's game
with his tall hat. Mr Philp took it from the Quaymaster's head,
transferred it to his own, and, lifting it by the brim, said reverently,
"If I should survive my wife," &c., to pass it on to the barber, who
recited the same formula to the same ritual. In the middle of the
sandheap was a pit, which appeared to be somebody's grave; and somewhere
in the background, on the far side of the pit, stood Mrs Bosenna and
Tabb's girl together, the one watching with a queer smile, while the
other kept repeating, "He's going to hell. He couldn't change his
habits, and it's high time the Quay was improved."

From this dream Captain Cai awoke in a sweat, and though the rest of the
night yielded none so terrifying, his sleep was fitful and unrefreshing.
The return of day brought with it a sense of oppression, of a load on
his mind, of a task to be performed.

Ah, yes!--he must pay a call on Mrs Bosenna. She had as good as engaged
him by a promise, and, moreover, there was her cuff to be returned.
. . . Well, the visit must be paid this morning. 'Bias would be
arriving by the afternoon train; and, apart from that, when you've a
daunting job that cannot be escaped, the wise course is to play the man
and get it over.

Still, he could not well present himself at Rilla Farm before eleven
o'clock--say half-past eleven--or noon even. No, that would be too
late; might suggest a hint of staying to dinner--which God forbid!
He resolved upon eleven.

He grudged to lose the latter half of the morning; for the gardens--his
and Hunken's--had yet to be explored, and the rainwater cisterns in rear
of the houses, and