'" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. I hear the splash in the water—I see the white object floating like a sea-bird on the tide—it will not sink!" "'Sblood!" exclaimed Jonathan, in a tone of ill-disguised contempt; "it won't do to indulge those fancies now. "Your ladyship is far too unwell to travel," remarked the female attendant, assisting her to rise; "you'll never be able to reach Manchester. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion.
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