By the time that Birtha was beginning to believe that William was on his
voyage home, her neighbours would often help her to count the days which
would probably elapse before the ship could arrive; but when they were
not in her presence, some of the experienced amongst the men used to
express a _hope_, the result of _fear_, that William would return time
enough to avoid _certain winds_, which made one part of the navigation
on that coast particularly dangerous.

Birtha herself, had, no doubt, her _fears_, as well as her _hopes_; but
there are _some_ fears which the lip of affection dares not utter, and
this was one of them.

Birtha dreaded to have her inquiries respecting that dangerous passage,
answered by "Yes, we know that it is a difficult navigation;" she also
dreaded to be told by some kind, but ill-judging friends, to "trust in
Providence;" as, by such advice, the reality of the danger would be still
more powerfully confirmed to her. This recommendation would to her have
been needless, as well as alarming; for she had, doubtless, always relied
on Him who is alone able to save, and she knew that the same "Almighty
arm was underneath" her lover still, which had hitherto preserved him
in the time of need.

Well--time went on, and we will imagine the little garden before the door
of the house which Birtha had hired, new gravelled, fresh flowers sown
and planted there; the curtains ready to be put up; the shelves bright
with polished utensils; table linen, white as the driven snow, enclosed
in the newly-purchased chest of drawers; and the neat, well chosen
wedding-clothes, ready for the approaching occasion: we will also picture
to ourselves, the trembling joy of Birtha, when her eager and sympathizing
neighbours rushed into her cottage, disturbing her early breakfast, with