"Doesn't want me? I know better." He laughed in supreme scorn.

"She doesn't want you, John. She wouldn't see you if you went. She would send you away again, sure, sartin sure. She would. And if you didn't go when she sent you, you wouldn't be the man I hope you are. John, you mustn't see Grace again. She ain't yours. She belongs to some one else."

"Some one else!" He repeated the words in a whisper. "Some one ELSE?

Why, Mrs. Coffin, you must be crazy! If you expect me to--"

"Hush! hush! I ain't crazy, though there's times when I wonder I ain't.

John, you and Grace have known each other for a few months, that's all. You've been attracted to her because she was pretty and educated and--and sweet; and she's liked you because you were about the only young person who could understand her and--and all that. And so you've been meetin' and have come to believe--you have, anyway--that 'twas somethin' more than likin'. But you neither of you have stopped to think that a marriage between you two was as impossible as anything could be.

And, besides, there's another man. A man she's known all her life and loved and respected--"

"Stop, Mrs. Coffin! stop this wicked nonsense. I won't hear it."

"John, Grace Van Horne is goin' to marry Cap'n Nat Hammond. There!

that's the livin' truth."

In his absolute confidence and faith he had again started for the door.

Now he wheeled and stared at her. She nodded solemnly.

"It's the truth," she repeated. "She and Nat are promised to each other.

Cap'n Eben, on his deathbed, asked Dr. Parker and me to be witnesses to the engagement. Now you see why you mustn't go nigh her again."

He did not answer. Instead, he stood silently staring. She stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Set down, John," she said. "Set down and let me tell you about it. Yes, yes, you must. If I tell you, you'll understand better. There! there!

don't you interrupt me yet and don't you look that way. Do set down."

She led him over to the rocking-chair and gently forced him into it.

He obeyed, although with no apparent realization of what he was doing.

Still with her hand on his shoulder she went on speaking. She told him of her visit to the Hammond tavern, saying nothing of Mr. Pepper's call nor of her own experience in the grove. She told of Captain Eben's seizure, of what the doctor said, and of the old Come-Outer's return to consciousness. Then she described the scene in the sick room and how Nat and Grace had plighted troth. He listened, at first stunned and stolid, then with growing impatience.

"So you see," she said. "It's settled; they're engaged, and Dr. Parker will tell everybody of the engagement this very mornin'. It wa'n't any great surprise to me. Those two have been brought up together; 'twas the natural thing that was almost bound to happen. Eben's heart was set on it for years. And she'll have a good husband, John, that I know. And she'll do her best to make him happy. He's a good man and--"

The minister sprang to his feet.

"A good man!" he cried furiously. "A good man! One who will make use of a dying father to drive a girl into--Stand aside, Mrs. Coffin!"

"John, you mustn't speak that way of Nat Hammond. He ain't the kind to drive a girl against her will. And Grace is not one to be driven."

"Are you blind? Can't you see? Why, only yesterday, she--Do you think I shall permit such a wicked crime as that to--"

"Ss-sh! No, it ain't wicked, it's right. Right and best for everybody, for her especial. Yesterday she might have forgot for a minute. But think, just think what would have happened if she cared for you."

"But she does! I know she does. Mrs. Coffin, stand away from that door."

"No, John; if you go out of that door now, to go to her, you'll have to go by main strength. You shan't wreck yourself and that girl if I can help it. Be a man."

The pair looked at each other. Keziah was determined, but so, evidently, was he. She realized, with a sinking heart, that her words had made absolutely no impression. He did not attempt to pa.s.s, but he slowly shook his head.

"Mrs. Coffin," he said, "perhaps you believe you're doing right. I hope--yes, I'll give you credit for that belief. But I KNOW I am right and I shall go to her. Such a--a BARGAIN as that you have just told me of is no more to be regarded than--"

"John, I beg you--"

"NO."

"Then go. Go this minute and break her heart and ruin her life and spoil her good name in this village where she's lived since she was eight years old. Go! be selfish. I suppose that's part of a man's make-up. Go!

Never mind her. Go!"

"I do 'mind' her, as you call it. I AM thinking of her."

"No, you're not. It's yourself."

"If it was myself--and G.o.d knows it is the only happiness on earth for me--if it was only myself, and I really thought she wished me to stay away, I'd stay, I'd stay, though I'd pray to die before this hour was over."

"I know, I know. I've prayed to die myself afore now, but I'm here yet; and so will you be. We can't die so easy."

"But I know--"

"Do you suppose SHE would come to YOU if she knew it would be your ruin?"

He hesitated. The last time they met, ages before--no, only the previous afternoon--she had told him it was his happiness and his future only that she thought of. He choked and drew his hand across his eyes.

"Mrs. Coffin," he said, "you tell me it will be her ruin. YOU tell me so. You SAY she doesn't want me. I tell you that the only thing that will keep me from her is hearing that from her own lips. When she tells me to leave her I will, and not before."

"She'll tell you, John; she'll tell you. I know you must despise me, pretty nigh. I cal'late you think I'm a worldly old woman, carin'

nothin' for your feelin's. Maybe I've talked pretty hard in the last few minutes, but I haven't meant to be hard. To be honest, I didn't think you'd listen to me. I expected you'd insist on seein' her yourself.

Well, then, go and see her, if you must, though what will come of it can only be more trouble, for you run the risk of folks knowin' it and beginnin' to wonder. And I know Grace. She's made up her mind and won't change it. But I do ask you this: I ask you not to go now. Wait a little while, do. I left her asleep, worn out by what she's been through and under the effects of the doctor's sleepin' medicine. He said she must rest or he was afraid her brain would give out. For her sake, then, wait a little. Then, if you don't hear from her, maybe I can arrange a meetin' place where you can see her without anyone's knowin' it. I'll try. But do wait a little while, for her sake, won't you?"

At last he was listening and hesitating.

"Won't you?" begged Keziah.

"Yes," he answered slowly. "I'll wait. I'll wait until noon, somehow, if I can. I'll try. But not a minute later. Not one. You don't know what you're asking, Mrs. Coffin."

"Yes, I do. I know well. And I thank you for her sake."

But he did not have to wait until noon. At six o'clock, through the dew-soaked gra.s.s of the yard, came the Higgins boy. For the first time in his short life he had been awake all night and he moved slowly.

The housekeeper opened the door. Ike held up an envelope, clutched in a grimy hand.

"It's for you, Mrs. Keziah," he said. "Gracie, she sent it. There ain't no answer."

Keziah took the letter. "How is she? And how's Nat?" she asked.

"They're doin' pretty well, so ma says. Ma's there now and they've sent for Hannah Poundberry. Gee!" he added, yawning, "I ain't slept a wink.

Been on the jump, now I tell ye. Didn't none of them Come-Outers git in, not one. I sent 'em on the home tack abilin'. You ought to hear me give old Zeke Ba.s.sett Hail Columby! Gosh! I was just ahopin' HE'D come."

Mrs. Coffin closed the door and tore open the envelope. Within was another addressed, in Grace's handwriting, to Mr. Ellery. The housekeeper entered the study, handed it to him and turned away.