"Hush! hush! He hasn't said anything. But--but he and uncle have quarreled, just a little. I didn't tell you, but they have. And I think I know the reason. Nat is Uncle Eben's idol. If the quarrel should grow more serious, I believe it would break his heart. I couldn't bear to be the cause of that; I should never forgive myself."

"You the cause? How could you be the cause of a quarrel between those two? Grace, think of me."

Here was the selfishness of man and the unselfishness of woman answered.

"John," she said, "it is of you I am thinking. Everything else could--might be overcome, perhaps. But I must think of your future and your life. I MUST. That is why--"

He did not wait to hear more. He seized her in his arms and kissed her.

"Then you DO care!" he cried joyfully. "You will marry me?"

For an instant she lay quiet in his embrace, receiving, if not responding to his caresses. Then she gently but firmly freed herself. He saw that there were tears in her eyes.

"Grace," he urged, "don't--don't hesitate any longer. You were meant to be my wife. We were brought together for just that. I know it. Come."

She was crying softly.

"Won't you?" he begged.

"I don't know," she sobbed. "Oh, I don't know! I must think--I MUST!

Wait, please wait, John. Perhaps by to-morrow I can answer. I'll try--I'll try. Don't ask me again, now. Let me think. Oh, do!"

Doubtless he would have asked her again. He looked as if he meant to.

But just then, drifting through the twilight and the mist, came the sound of a bell, the bell of the Regular church, ringing for the Sunday evening meeting. They both heard it.

"Oh!" exclaimed Grace, "that is your bell. You will be late. You must go, and so must I. Good night."

She started down the path. He hesitated, then ran after her.

"To-morrow?" he questioned eagerly. "Tomorrow, then, you'll say that you will?"

"Oh, perhaps, perhaps! I mustn't promise. Good night."

It was after seven when Grace reached the old tavern. The housekeeper, Mrs. Poundberry, was anxiously awaiting her. She wore her bonnet and Sunday gown and was evidently ready to go out.

"Land sakes alive!" she sputtered. "Where in the name of goodness have you been to? I was gettin' scairt. Didn't know but you'd run off and got married, or sunthin' dreadful."

Grace was thankful that the cloudy twilight made it impossible to see her face distinctly. The housekeeper rattled on without waiting for an answer.

"Supper's on the table and the kittle's abilin'. You better eat in a hurry, 'cause it's meetin' time now. Your uncle, he started ten minutes ago. I'm agoin' right along, too, but I ain't goin' to meetin'; I'm agoin' up to Betsy E.'s to stay all night. She's got a spine in her back, as the feller said, and ain't feelin' good, so I told her I'd come and stay a little spell. S'pose you can get along to-morrow without me?"

"Betsy E." was Mrs. Poundberry's second cousin, an elderly spinster living alone in a little house near the salt works. Grace a.s.sured her questioner that she could attend to the house and the meals during the following day, longer if the troublesome "spine" needed company. Mrs.

Poundberry sighed, groaned, and shook her head.

"I shan't stay no longer," she affirmed; "not if Betsy's all over spines, like one of them Mexican cactus plants. No, marm, my place is right here and I know it. Your Uncle Eben's mighty feeble and peaked lately. He ain't long for this world, I'm afraid. You'd ought to be awful good to him, Gracie."

"I know it," was the hurried reply. "Where's Nat?"

"I don't know. Can't keep track of HIM. Might's well try to put your finger on a flea. He's here to-day and gone yesterday, as the Scriptur'

says. He ate a little mite of supper, but not much, and then off he puts. Says he's goin' to walk the fog out'n his head. I told him, s' I, 'You'll walk a plaguey sight more in than you do out, THIS night,'

but he went just the same. He was dreadful kind of dumpy and blue this evenin'. Seemed to be sort of soggy in his mind. And why he never went to meetin' with his dad and why his dad never asked him TO go is more'n I can tell. Land of livin', how I do gabble! My grandmarm used to say my tongue was loose at both ends and hung in the middle, and I guess she wa'n't fur off the course. Good-by. Take care of yourself. You can put what's left of that mock mince pie on the top shelf in the b.u.t.t'ry and you'd better heave a dish towel or sunthin' over it to keep the ants out. There's more ants in this house than there is dollars, a good sight. Betsy B., she's got a plan for keepin' of 'em out by puttin'

sa.s.sers of brimstone round the shelves, but I told her, s' I, 'THEM ants don't care for no brimstone. They're used to it. Sometimes I b'lieve they're sent by the everlastin' father of brimstone,' and she--"

She had reached the gate by this time, and Grace shut off the flow of conversation by closing the door. Then she took a candle from the row on the dining-room mantel, lighted it, and went up to her own room.

Standing before the old-fashioned bureau with its little oval mirror, she hastily arranged her hair. She did not wish to go to the prayer meeting at the chapel, but she felt that she must. The Come-Outer gatherings, with their noisy singing and shouting, had grown more and more repugnant to her.

And to-night, of all nights! How could she meet those people who had known her since she was a child, who boasted of her as one of their staunchest adherents, who believed in her and trusted her? How could she meet them and talk with them, knowing what she knew and realizing that they, too, would know it on the morrow? But her uncle would miss her and be worried about her if she did not come. She could not bear to trouble him now; she never loved him so dearly, was never so anxious to humor his every wish as on this, perhaps the last evening they would spend together. For, though she would not yet admit it, even to herself, her decision was made, had really been made the first time John Ellery asked her weeks before. Only the thought of what might happen to him if she consented had caused her to hesitate so long.

She blew out the candle and came out into the hall at the head of the stairs. She was about to descend when she heard voices. The door of the dining room opened and closed. She felt certain that Nat had returned and wondered who was with him. Then she heard her uncle's voice, speaking sharply and with unwonted sternness.

"I don't know what 'tis you want to see me about," said Captain Eben.

"You say it's important; well, it's got to be to keep me from my meetin'. I ought to be on the Lord's business this minute and nothin'

worldly's goin' to keep me from servin' Him. So speak quick. What is it?"

The voice that answered was one that Grace recognized, though she had never before heard in it the note of agitation and undignified excitement. There were no ponderous pauses and "Hum--ha's" now.

"Don't be a fool, Hammond!" it said. "And don't stand there preaching.

Lock that door! Get a lamp! Are you sure there's n.o.body but us in the house?"

Captain Elkanah Daniels! Captain Elkanah visiting a Come-Outer! and the leader of the Come-Outers!! Grace caught her breath. What in the world--She started to descend and then a thought flashed to her mind.

She stopped short.

"I ain't the fool, Elkanah," she heard her uncle retort sternly. "The fools are them who are deef to the call from on high. My foot was on the threshold of His house when you led me astray. It's never halted there afore. I warn you--"

"Hush! Shut up! Can't you forget that--that Come-Outer circus of yours for a minute?"

"Elkanah Daniels, I'll have no blasphemy here. Another word like that and--"

"WILL you be still and hear me? The Lord's business! I guess you'll think it's the Lord's business when you understand what I'm going to tell you! The Lord's business! The devil's business, you better say!

Will you lock that door?"

"My church is waitin' for me and--"

"Let it wait. What's a parcel of yelling Come-Outers compared to the decency of this town? Stop! Shut up! Eben Hammond, I tell you that your precious church--yes and mine, the Regular church of Trumet--will go to rack and ruin if you and me don't pull together this night."

"And I tell you, Elkanah Daniels, I'll have no blasphemy here. That little sanctuary up the road is founded on a rock and neither you nor any of your Phariseein' priest-worshipin' crew can shake it. The Almighty'll protect His own. As for the Reg'lar church, that's no concern of mine."

"But I tell you 'tis your concern. Or if the church isn't, your own family is."

"My--my family?"

"Yes, your own family. Huh! that makes you listen, don't it?"

There was an instant of silence. Grace, crouching on the stairs, noticed the change in her uncle's voice as he answered.

"My own family?" he repeated slowly. "My own--And the Reg'lar church--What do you mean? Has Nat--"

"No, he ain't. But that cussed girl of yours--"