"Make haste, Mr. Benn," said the widow, turning to the window again;
"I've got a lot to do when you've finished."

The boatswain groaned and fell to digging again, and Mrs. Waters, after
watching a little while longer, gave Mr. Travers some pointed
instructions about the window and went down to the garden again.

"That will do, I think," she said, stepping into the hole and regarding
it critically. "Now you'd better go straight off home, and, mind, not a
word to a soul about this."

She put her hand on his shoulder, and noticing with pleasure that he
shuddered at her touch led the way to the gate. The boat-swain paused
for a moment, as though about to speak, and then, apparently thinking
better of it, bade her good-bye in a hoarse voice and walked feebly up
the road. Mrs. Waters stood watching until his steps died away in the
distance, and then, returning to the garden, took up the spade and stood
regarding with some dismay the mountainous result of his industry. Mr.
Travers, who was standing just inside the back door, joined her.

"Let me," he said, gallantly.

The day was breaking as he finished his task. The clean, sweet air and
the exercise had given him an appetite to which the smell of cooking
bacon and hot coffee that proceeded from the house had set a sharper
edge. He took his coat from a bush and put it on. Mrs. Waters appeared
at the door.

"You had better come in and have some breakfast before you go," she said,
brusquely; "there's no more sleep for me now."