And one dark stormy night, when
the waves rose and fought till they nearly swept Trewithen out of sight,
Ben Martyn was drowned.
He had been trying to run his boat into the shelter of the cove and
failed, and in the morning his battered body lay high and dry on the
quiet beach among the wreckage.
For weeks Bess lay in a high fever; and then, when the strain was
greater than her tortured mind could bear, and she had screamed loud and
long, something snapped in her brain and gave relief. But it left her
without a memory, and with the ways and speech of a little child.
Her mind was a blank! She played with the seaweed and smiled, till the
women's hearts were like to break for her, and the words stuck in the
men's throats as they looked at her and talked.
"She be mazed, poor maid!" they said gently lest she should hear them.
"'Twould break Ben's heart ef ee knawed 'ur was so!"
That was seven long years ago. And to-night Bess seemed loth to leave
the fire, but sat hugging her knees in a restless fashion, and staring
at the blackening embers in a puzzled way. A tremendous blast struck the
cottage, and nearly shook the kitchen window out of its fastenings. The
wind came shrieking through the holes in the shutter like a revengeful
demon, and retreated again with a melancholy groan.
It pleased Bess, and she hugged her knees the tighter, and turned her
head and waited for the next loud roar.
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