The lock turned; the door opened and closed. Grace, clinging to the bal.u.s.ters, heard Captain Hammond cross the room, slowly and feebly.

She heard him enter the sitting room. Then she heard nothing more, not another sound, though the minutes dragged on and on, endlessly, eternally, and each with a message, a sentence repeated over and over again in her brain. "If she really cares for him, she won't let him ruin his life."

By and by, pale, but more composed, and with her mind made up, she came down into the hall. Drawing a long breath, she turned into the sitting room to face her uncle. By the light shining through the dining-room door she saw him on his knees by the haircloth sofa. She spoke his name.

He did not answer nor look up. Alarmed, she touched him on the shoulder.

At her touch his arm slid from the couch and he fell gently over upon his side on the carpet.

CHAPTER XII

IN WHICH CAPTAIN EBEN MAKES PORT

Half past eight. In the vestry of the Regular church John Ellery was conducting his prayer meeting. The attendance was as large as usual.

Three seats, however, were vacant, and along the settees people were wondering where Captain Elkanah Daniels and his daughter might be. They had not missed a service for many a day. And where was Keziah Coffin?

At the Come-Outer chapel the testifying and singing were in full blast.

But Ezekiel Ba.s.sett was leading, for Captain Eben Hammond had not made his appearance. Neither had Grace Van Horne, for that matter, but Captain Eben's absence was the most astonishing.

"Somethin's the matter," whispered Josiah Badger to his right-hand neighbor. "Somethin's wrong d-d-d-down to the tavern, sartin' sure.

I'm goin' down there just soon's meetin's over and f-f-f-find out.

Eben wouldn't no more miss leadin' his meetin' from choice than I'd go without a meal's v-v-vi-vittles. Somethin's happened and I'm goin' to know what 'tis. You'll go along with me, won't ye, Lot?"

The answer was an affirmative. In fact, almost every worshiper in that chapel had determined to visit the Hammond tavern as soon as the service was at an end.

In the Regular parsonage Keziah sat alone by the sitting-room table.

Prayer meeting and supper she had forgotten entirely. The minister had not come home for his evening meal, and food was furthest from the housekeeper's thoughts. What should she do? What ought she to do? How could she avert the disaster so certain to overwhelm those two young people the moment their secret became known?

It was in vain that she tried to encourage herself with the hope that Kyan had exaggerated--that the meetings in the grove had not been as frequent as he said they were, or that they had been merely casual.

She knew better. She had seen the pair together and the look in John Ellery's eyes. No, the mischief was done, they loved each other; or, at least, he loved her. There was the great trouble.

Keziah, in spite of her worldly common sense, was an idealist at heart.

Love matches she believed in thoroughly. If the man had not been a Regular minister, or if he had been a minister in any other town than narrow, gossiping, squabbling Trumet, where families were divided on "religious" grounds, neighbors did not speak because their creeds were different, and even after death were buried in cemeteries three miles apart; if the girl had been other than the ward of bigoted old Eben Hammond--then, though they were poor as poverty itself, Keziah would have joined their hands and rejoiced. Even as it was, she was strongly tempted to do it. Her sense of right and her every inclination urged her toward that course. "Face the world together and fight it out," that was the advice she would like to give them. But no, the battle was too uneven. The odds were too great. They must not think of marriage, for the present, and they must cease to meet. Perhaps some day--she tried to comfort herself with the thought--perhaps some day, years afterwards and under different circ.u.mstances, they might.

--With Ellery she felt certain she could accomplish nothing by argument or persuasion. She knew him well enough by this time to realize that, if his mind was made up, all Trumet and all creation could not change it.

He would keep on his course, and, if wrecked, would go down with colors set and helm lashed. But Grace, perhaps she did not fully realize the situation. She might be made to see, to listen to reason. And, perhaps, it was possible--perhaps, on her part, matters were not as serious. The minister had not acted like a triumphant lover, a.s.sured of success; he had seemed, now that she thought of it, more like a pleader, a supplicant. Perhaps, if she could see Grace and talk plainly with the girl, it might not be too late. She determined to try that very night.

She rose and again donned her bonnet and shawl. She was about to blow out the lamp when she heard rapid footsteps, the sound of some one running along the sidewalk in front of the house. As she listened, the footsteps sounded on the path. Whoever the runner was he was coming to the parsonage. She stepped to the door and opened it.

The runner was a boy, Maria Higgins's boy Isaac, whose widowed mother lived down by the sh.o.r.e. He did the ch.o.r.es at the Hammond tavern. His freckled face was dripping with perspiration and he puffed and blew like a stranded whale.

"What's the matter, Ike?" demanded Keziah. "What is it?"

"Have ye--have ye," panted Ike, "have ye seen the doctor anywheres, Mis Coffin?"

"Who? Dr. Parker? Have I seen--what in the world are you comin' HERE after the doctor for?"

"'Cause--'cause I didn't know where else to come. I been to his house and he ain't to home. n.o.body ain't to home. His wife, Mis Parker, she's gone up to Boston yes'day on the coach, and--and it's all dark and the house door's open and the shay's gone, so--"

"Who's sick? Who wants him?"

"And--and--all the rest of the houses round here was shut up 'cause everybody's to meetin'. I peeked in at the meetin' house and he ain't there, and I see your light and--"

"Who's sick? Tell me that, won't you?"

"Cap'n Eben. He's awful sick. I cal'late he's goin' to die, and Gracie, she--"

"Cap'n Eben? Eben Hammond! Dyin'? What are you talkin' about?"

"Huh! huh!" puffed the messenger impatiently. "Didn't I tell ye? Cap'n Eben's adyin'. I seen him. All white and still and--and awful. And Gracie, she's all alone and--"

"Alone? Where's Nat?"

"She don't know. He ain't to home. But I got to find Dr. Parker."

"Hold on! Stop! I'll tell you where the doctor is most likely. Up to Mrs. Prince's. She's been poorly and he's prob'ly been called there.

Run! run fast as ever you can and get him and I'll go to Grace this minute. The poor thing! Have you told anybody else?"

"No, no! ain't seen n.o.body but you to tell. They was prayin' over to meetin', and the fellers that waits outside to keep comp'ny with the girls ain't got there yet. And I never met n.o.body. And 'twas so blasted dark I fell down four times and tore my best pants and--"

"S-sh-sh! Listen to me! Don't tell anybody. Not a soul but the doctor.

Half this town'll be runnin' to find out if you do, and that poor girl must be distracted already. I'll go to her. You get Dr. Parker and tell him to hurry."

"I'll tell him; don't you fret."

He was gone, running harder than ever. A moment later Keziah followed him, running also.

It was a misty, black night, and Trumet sidewalks were uneven and hard to navigate. But she stumbled on, up the main road to the Corners, down the "Turn-off," past the chapel of the Come-Outers, from the open window of which sounded the drone of a high, nasal voice. Josiah Badger was "testifying," and Keziah caught a fragment of the testimony as she hurried by.

"I says to 'em, says I, I says to 'em, 'I don't care about your smart mum-mum-minister and what fine sermons he preaches. Let him BE smart,' I says. Says I, 'Smartness won't g-g-g-git ye into heaven.' ("Amen!") 'No, sirree! it takes more'n that. I've seen smart folks afore and they got c-c-cuk-catched up with sooner or later. Pride goes ahead of a tumble, I've heard tell, and--"

This was all that Keziah heard of Mr. Badger's testimony, for, as she ran on, a rattle of wheels and the thud of hoofs came from behind her.

Then a rocking chaise, drawn by a galloping horse, shot by. Dr. Parker's carriage, she was sure. The Higgins boy must have met the doctor and delivered his message.

The horse and chaise were standing by the front gate of the tavern as she pantingly drew near it. The side door of the house was ajar and she opened it softly and entered. The dining room was empty. There was a light on the sitting-room table and low voices came from the little bedroom adjoining. Then, from the bedroom, emerged Dr. Parker and Grace Van Horne. The girl was white and there were dark circles under her eyes. The doctor was very grave.

Keziah stepped forward and held out both hands. Grace looked, recognized her, and with a cry ran toward her. Keziah took her in her arms and soothed her as if she were a child.

"There! there! deary," she said, stroking her hair. "There! there!

deary, don't take it so hard. Poor thing! you're worn out. If I'd only known sooner."

"O Aunt Keziah!" sobbed the girl. "I'm so glad you've come. It was so good of you."

"Good! Land of mercy! If I hadn't come, I'd have been worse than the beasts that perish. Don't cry, don't. How is he now? Some better?"

She looked at the doctor as she asked it. He shook his head emphatically.

"Well, well, dear," went on Mrs. Coffin hurriedly. "He will be pretty soon, we'll hope. You mustn't give up the ship, you know. Now you go and lay down somewheres and I'll get my things off and see what there is to do. Some good strong tea might be good for all hands, I guess likely.