cider trickled down his crisp yellow beard and he shook his head,
scattering the drops off. Then the keg was tilted again, and suddenly
lowered as he was on the point of drinking. His eyes had encountered
those of the woman on deck.

As they did so, the woman recovered all her boldness. Without in the
least knowing what prompted her, she bent a little further forward and
asked--

"What is your name, young man?"

"William Udy, ma'am."

"Do you mind breaking off work for a moment and stepping up here?"

"Cert'nly, ma'am." William Udy laid down his shovel at once.

A shiver of fear went through the young widow. Why had she asked him
up? Why, on a mere impulse; because she wanted to see him closer--
nothing more. What possible excuse could she give? She heard the sound
of his heavy boots on the ship's ladder: he would be before her in a
moment, expecting, of course, to be set to work on some odd job or
other. She cast about wildly and could think of no job that wanted
doing. It was appalling: she could not possibly explain--

As has happened before now to women, her very weakness saved her in
extremity. William Udy, clambering heavily over the ship's side, found
her leaning against the deck-house, with a face as white as the painted
boards against which her palm rested.