acreage of blue water and a perfect sky; and out there was Noirmont
Point, round which her husband's ship would go, and be lost to her vision
thereafter. 

The day wore on.  She got her grandfather's dinner, saw him bestowed in
the great arm-chair for his afternoon sleep, and, when her household work
was done, settled herself at the spinning wheel. 

The old man loved to have her spin and sing as he drowsed.  To-day his
eyes had followed her everywhere.  He could not have told why it was, but
somehow all at once he seemed to deeply realise her--her beauty, the joy
of this innocent living intelligence moving through his home.  She had
always been necessary to him, but he had taken her presence as a matter
of course.  She had always been to him the most wonderful child ever
given to comfort an old man's life, but now as he abstractedly took a
pinch of snuff from the silver box and then forgot to put it to his nose,
he seemed suddenly to get that clearness of sight, that perspective, from
which he could see her as she really was.  He took another pinch of
snuff, and again forgot to put it to his nose, but brushed imaginary dust
from his coat, as was his wont, and whispered to himself: