gun 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, Fräulein 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 years, you would forget him; and that's what Fritz says."
"No, Mr. Fritz, I should not forget him,—but I should not let him go away for six years."
"But suppose the king ordered him?"
"Then the king don't deserve to have a wife."
"And yet he has."
"So much the worse!"
"Bertha must have sat down."
"You know I don't think I care for one of my lovers. I think I could give them all up,—yes, every one,—if I met with anybody that I could love."
"Yes, and then suppose he didn't care for you?"
As Doome had never considered the probability of any such situation, its suggestion rather startled her. She held her tongue, while Daniel puffed gravely.
Soon Bertha came slowly into the room. "I think he ought to have got there by this time; don't you, Sir?"
"He's named Fritz, Bertha,—call him Fritz."
"Don't you think he ought to be there by this time, Mr. Fritz?"
"Surely, Mistress! You will soon hear the cannon;—'tis not more than two miles, and he left the shore a good hour ago."
So she went up to the window.
"I suppose, Mistress, if he did not come back for six years, you would forget him,—wouldn't you?"
She was so lost in thought, that she didn't answer; so Doome took the answer upon herself. "You are very hard upon us women, Fritz,—Mr. Fritz. No, of course she would not forget him; no wife ever forgets her husband. Why, do you think I should forget you, Fritz,—Mr. Fritz,—if you were my husband, and if you went away for six years?"
"There are women and women, Doome, Fräulein Doome,"
"Ah!—hark!"
At this moment the sound of a cannon-shot swept over the little cottage, and Daniel, running to the window, and putting his hand out to feel the
