But it became more than purgation soon, and her mood approached despair.

Months had passed since the brig had been due, but it had not returned.
Joanna was always hearing or seeing evidences of their arrival.

When on the hill behind the port, whence a view of the open Channel could be obtained, she felt sure that a little speck on the horizon, breaking the eternally level waste of waters southward, was the truck of the _Joana's_ mainmast.

Or when indoors, a shout or excitement of any kind at the corner of the Town Cellar, where the High Street joined the Quay, caused her to spring to her feet and cry: ''Tis they!' But it was not.

The visionary forms knelt every Sunday afternoon on the chancel-step, but not the real.