one moment permitted to be absent from her memory: a
chronic oppression, fixed and graven there, only to be removed by death.
She was dressed in the widow's coif of the time; but although clean and
neat, her garments were faded from long wear. She was seated upon the
small couch which we have mentioned, evidently brought down as a relief
to her, in her declining state.

On the deal table in the centre of the room sat the other person, a
stout, fair-haired, florid youth of nineteen or twenty years old. His
features were handsome and bold, and his frame powerful to excess; his
eye denoted courage and determination, and as he carelessly swung his
legs, and whistled an air in an emphatic manner, it was impossible not
to form the idea that he was a daring, adventurous, and reckless
character.

"Do not go to sea, Philip; oh, promise me _that_, my dear child," said
the female, clasping her hands.

"And why not go to sea, mother?" replied Philip; "what's the use of my
staying here to starve?--for, by Heaven! it's little better, I must do
something for myself and for you. And what else can I do? My uncle Van
Brennen has offered to take me with him, and will give me good wages.
Then I shall live happily on board, and my earnings will be sufficient
for your support at home."

"Philip--Philip, hear me. I shall die if you leave me. Whom have I in
the world but you? O my child, as you love me, and I know you _do_ love
me, Philip, don't leave me; but if you will, at all events do not go to
sea."

Philip gave no immediate reply; he whistled for a few seconds, while his
mother wept.

"Is it," said he at last, "because my father was drowned at sea that you
beg so hard, mother?"

"Oh, no--no!" exclaimed the sobbing woman. "Would to God--"

"Would to God what, mother?"

"Nothing--nothing. Be merciful--be merciful, O God!" replied the
mother, sliding from her seat on the couch, and kneeling by the side of
it, in which attitude she remained for some time in fervent prayer. At
last she resumed her seat, and her face wore an aspect of more
composure.

Philip, who during this, had remained silent and thoughtful, again
addressed his mother.

"Look ye, mother. You ask me to stay on shore with you, and starve,--
rather hard conditions:--now hear what I have to say. That room
opposite has been shut up ever since I can remember--why, you will never
tell me; but once I heard you say, when we were without bread and with
no