The view was a familiar one. He had seen it in all weathers, during a storm, at morning when the sun was rising, at evening when the moon came up to tip the watery ridges with frosted silver. He had liked it, tolerated it, hated it, and then, after she came, loved it. He had thought it the most beautiful scene in all the world and one never to be forgotten. The dingy old building, with its bare wooden walls, had been first a horror, then a prison, and at last a palace of contentment. With the two women, one a second mother to him, and the other dearest of all on earth, he could have lived there forever. But now the old prison feeling was coming back. He was tired of the view and of the mean little room. He felt lonely and deserted and despairing.

His nerves were still weak and it was easy, in his childish condition, to become despondent. He went over the whole situation and felt more and more sure that his hopes had been false ones and that he had builded a fool's paradise. After all, he remembered, she had given him no promise; she had found him ill and delirious and had brought him there. She had been kind and thoughtful and gracious, but that she would be to anyone, it was her nature. And he had been content, weak as he was, to have her near him, where he would see her and hear her speak. Her mere presence was so wonderful that he had been satisfied with that and had not asked for more. And now she had gone. Mrs. Higgins had said "for a day or two," but that was indefinite, and she had not said she would return when those two days had pa.s.sed. He was better now, almost well. Would she come back to him? After all, conditions in the village had not changed. He was still pastor of the Regular church and she was a Come-Outer. The man she had promised to marry was dead--yes. But the other conditions were the same. And Mrs. Higgins had refused to tell him the whole truth; he was certain of that. She had run away when he questioned her.

He rose from the chair and started toward the living room. He would not be put off again. He would be answered. His hand was on the latch of the door when that door was opened. Dr. Parker came in.

The doctor was smiling broadly. His ruddy face was actually beaming. He held out his hand, seized the minister's, and shook it.

"Good morning, Mr. Ellery," he said. "It's a glorious day. Yes, sir, a bully day. Hey? isn't it?"

Ellery's answer was a question.

"Doctor," he said, "why have Mrs. Coffin and--and Miss Van Horne gone?

Has anything happened? I know something has, and you must tell me what.

Don't try to put me off or give me evasive answers. I want to know why they have gone."

Parker looked at him keenly. "Humph!" he grunted. "I'll have to get into Mrs. Higgins's wig. I told her not to let you worry, and you have worried. You're all of a shake."

"Never mind that. I asked you a question."

"I know you did. Now, Mr. Ellery, I'm disappointed in you. I thought you were a sensible man who would take care of his health, now that he'd got the most of it back again. I've got news for you--good news--but I'm not sure that I shall tell it to you."

"Good news! Dr. Parker, if you've got news for me that is good, for Heaven's sake tell it. I've been imagining everything bad that could possibly happen. Tell me, quick. My health can stand that."

"Ye-es, yes, I guess it can. They say joy doesn't kill, and that's one of the few medical proverbs made by unmedical men that are true. You come with me and sit down in that chair. Yes, you will. Sit down."

He led his patient back to the chair by the window and forced him into it.

"There!" he said. "Now, Mr. Ellery, if you think you are a man, a sensible man, who won't go to pieces like a ten-year-old youngster, I'll--I'll let you sit here for a while."

"Doctor?"

"You sit still. No, I'm not going to tell you anything. You sit where you are and maybe the news'll come to you. If you move it won't. Going to obey orders? Good! I'll see you by and by, Mr. Ellery."

He walked out of the room. It seemed to Ellery that he sat in that chair for ten thousand years before the door again opened. And then--

--"Grace!" he cried. "O Grace! you--you've come back."

She was blushing red, her face was radiant with quiet happiness, but her eyes were moist. She crossed the room, bent over and kissed him on the forehead.

"Yes, John," she said; "I've come back. Yes, dear, I've come back to--to you."

Outside the shanty, on the side farthest from the light and its group of buildings, the doctor and Captain Nat Hammond were talking with Mrs.

Higgins. The latter was wildly excited and bubbling with joy.

"It's splendid!" she exclaimed. "It's almost too fine to believe. Now we'll keep our minister, won't we?"

"I don't see why not," observed the doctor, with quiet satisfaction.

"Zeb and I had the Daniels crowd licked to a shoestring and now they'll stay licked. The parish committee is three to one for Mr. Ellery and the congregation more than that. Keep him? You bet we'll keep him! And I'll dance at his wedding--that is, unless he's got religious scruples against it."

Mrs. Higgins turned to Captain Nat.

"It's kind of hard for you, Nat," she said. "But it's awful n.o.ble and self-sacrificin' and everybody'll say so. Of course there wouldn't be much satisfaction in havin' a wife you knew cared more for another man.

But still it's awful n.o.ble of you to give her up."

The captain looked at the doctor and laughed quietly.

"Don't let my n.o.bility weigh on your mind, Mrs. Higgins," he said. "I'd made up my mind to do this very thing afore ever I got back to Trumet.

That is, if Gracie was willin'. And when I found she was not only willin' but joyful, I--well, I decided to offer up the sacrifice right off."

"You did? You DID? Why, how you talk! I never heard of such a thing in my born days."

"Nor I neither, not exactly. But there!" with a wink at Parker, "you see I've been off amongst all them Kanaka women and how do you know but I've fell in love?"

"Nat HAMMOND!"

"Oh, well, I--What is it, Grace?"

She was standing in the doorway and beckoning to him. Her cheeks were crimson, the breeze was tossing her hair about her forehead, and she made a picture that even the practical, unromantic doctor appreciated.

"By George, Nat!" he muttered, "you've got more courage than I have. If 'twas my job to give her up to somebody else I'd think twice, I'll bet."

The captain went to meet her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nat," she whispered, "will you come in? He wants to see you."

John Ellery was still seated in the chair by the window, but he no longer looked like an invalid. There was no worry or care in his countenance now, merely a wondrous joy and serene happiness.

He held out his hands and the captain shook them heartily.

"Mr. Ellery," he said, "as they used to say at the circus, 'Here we are again.' And you and I have been doing all kinds of circus acrobatics since we shook last, hey? I'm glad you're pretty nigh out of the sick bay--and the doctor says you are."

"Captain," began Ellery. Hammond interrupted him.

"Hold on!" he said. "Belay right there. If you and I are to cruise in the same family--and that's what I hear is likely to happen--I cal'late we'll heave overboard the cap'ns and Misters. My name's 'Nathaniel'--'Nat' for short."

"All right. And mine is 'John.' Captain--Nat, I mean--how can I ever thank you?"

"Thank me? What do you want to thank me for? I only handed over somethin' that wasn't mine in the first place and belonged to you all along. I didn't know it, that was the only trouble."

"But your promise to your father. I feel--"

"You needn't. I told dad that it was just as Grace said. She says she's got a better man, or words to that effect. And--I don't know how you feel about such things, John--but I b'lieve there's a broader outlook up aloft than there is down here and that dad would want me to do just what I have done. Don't worry about me. I'm doin' the right thing and I know it. And don't pity me, neither. I made up my mind not to marry Grace--unless, of course, she was set on it--months ago. I'm tickled to death to know she's goin' to have as good a man as you are. She'll tell you so. Grace! h.e.l.lo! she's gone."

"Yes. I told her I wanted to talk with you alone, for a few minutes.

Nat, Grace tells me that Aunt Keziah was the one who--"