little cove where he knew of old a boat would be,--and as darkness
came on, the plashing of a couple of oars sounded near the little
cove where the boat had been.

"Mind, comrade, I have paid my debt! You may be taken, and you run
your chance; though if you get to your ship, you know, one gun,
_as you promised your wife_, fired eastward."

"All right, Daniel. You will like me as well as ever, Daniel, in a
few days."

"No, comrade, there's a woman between us."

So the French officer went on his venturesome pull of a couple of
miles to the French fleet, and the sailor returned to the little
cottage, where were sitting Bertha and Doome. The latter, for his
cleverness and perhaps good looks, had begun to consider the sailor
as worth far more than those sixty youths who had caused her to laugh
when he referred to only one of them. But it is a deplorable fact,
that, while Doome welcomed Daniel back with a great deal of heartiness,
Fraeulein Bertha rather looked upon him as cruel; for what need was
there that her husband should have gone? He could have hidden till the
French took the place, and then he would have been free. For love
conflicts with patriotism woefully, and, though nobody could be more
grateful than Bertha for the good service Daniel had done her, yet
somehow she could not be over-pleased with him. She thanked him,
however, very warmly; but it was Doome who set the chair for him,
and Doome who got the beer for him, and Doome who proposed the sailor's
solace of a pipe. As the pipe was lit by that young woman, Bertha got
up to leave the room.

"Where are you going, Bertha?"

"Into the garden. My head aches."

And she went out.

"I think, Doome,--they call you Doome, don't they? and a tidy name,
too,--I think, Doome, Bertha doesn't like pipes."

"_I_ think the smell of a pipe delicious."

"And what do you think of this pipe?"

"Oh! _I_ think it a beautiful pipe!"

"Hum,--so you've lots of lovers?"

"Well,--I have a few."

"Ah!--do _they_ smoke?"

"Yes,--some of them."

"You queer little Doome!--Are any of them rich?"

"Oh, I don't care a bit for money!"

"And what are they?--farmers?"

"I shouldn't like to marry a farmer."

"I suppose Bertha has sat down. I don't hear her step."

"No,--I shouldn't like to marry a farmer,--farmers are such quiet
people."

"Don't you marry a sailor!"

"Law, sailor-friend, (_I_ don't know your name,) why?"

"Why? Because, if he went away for six yea