I mean, that she's been of use with the lines
and the nets and so on."

"Do you mean," said Peter, "that you can't support her?"

"Well, you see, I worked my passage from New Zealand as cook--that's
what I waited so long for. If she could pay her passage, the same
captain would take us again, when he starts to go back next week. And if
she had a little in hand, when we got there, we could set up a store,
may-be, and make shift to get on. I only thought, may-be, she having
been of use--"

"I'll sell the cottage and the bits of things," said Peter, "and there's
a trifle put by to add to it. But tell me this; when you're out there,
can you support her, or can't you?"

"Well, there's Mr. Boucher, that took me on as house-servant at first in
New Zealand, he being in the sailing ship when I was picked up. And when
the paralytics came on, resulting from the injury I got in the wreck, he
never let me want for nothing, the four years that I lay helpless. He's
got money to spare, you see"--with a wink--"he's well off, and he's what
I call easy-going; and if we could manage to get the right side of
him"--with another wink--"I reckon he'd help us a bit."

"Man," said Peter, letting his hand fall heavily on Fauchon's shoulder,
"tell me plain that you've got honest work as'll feed and clothe her out
there, else, by God, you shan't have her!" and his grip on Fauchon's
shoulder tightened, so that a flash of terror passed over the man's
face, and he tried to edge away, saying deprecatingly, "I've no wish,
Mr. Girard, you understand--I've no wish to offend. In fact, my whole
intention was not to cause any trouble. On my honour, I was going to
leave the island to-morrow, when I found how things were--'tis the truth
I speak."

"You are her husband," said Peter, "and she loves you, and she shall go
with you. But if you let her want, God do so unto you, and more also!"

And he let go of him, and strode away again.

When he got back it was dark, and he stood at his cottage door and
looked in. Louise was sitting by the hearth, with her back to him, and
her hands in her lap, rocking herself gently on her stool, and gazing
into the glowing ash on the hearthstone. Opposite, on the other side of
the hearth, Peter's own stool stood empty, and on the shelf beside it
were the two yellow porringers, out of which he and Louise used always
to sup together. His jersey, the one she had knitted for him when they
were married, hung in the corner, w