"Oh!"—she sprang to her feet and faced him,—"now, you have made it impossible for me to help you, where before I might have done something!"

"Only if you say so."

"I did so want to help you! You seem so alone in this trouble! I thought you were going to give me an opportunity. I thought you would tell me how!" Her mobile lips puckered as the shadow of pain flitted across the light of her eyes.

"Elizabeth!" he called, holding out his hand.

"Why did you say that to me?" she cried, her youthful face deeply furrowed as though she had grown suddenly very tired.

"Because I could not help it. I've known so little of love in my life that since this has come to me it hurts like the turning of a knife. I've never been accustomed to human care like other men. Had I been, I should have been able to hide my feelings behind the screen of pretense. You asked me a while ago why I do not love and hate like other men. I do love, and I hate! I have been schooled all my life to hide my hates, but experience neglected me with the other. Elizabeth——"

She drew farther from him.

"I don't think I understand you," she said, her eyes widening in the light of the moon till they appeared like two shining orbs. "Have I given you any reason to think of me like that?"

"No. But I thought——"

She drew into the shadows that he might not see the rapid rise and fall of her bosom. "Forgive me, if I have!"

"I'm the one to be forgiven. I've never had much instruction concerning social custom. I was reared where they were little known. In school I was too busy to bother about them. I'm crude. But, Elizabeth, I love you. I see now that I've no right to tell you, but I couldn't help it. I've been driven to desperation. I have been like a caged animal for weeks past. I've been wild for just a little love and understanding in the midst of all I've gone through. But you don't love me!" His breath was coming hard. He trembled as he rose. "You will love me some day! God will not let a man love as I do and give nothing in return!"

Stirred with pity, Elizabeth came to him from out the darkness.

"Forgive me," he said as she came nearer. "I had no idea it would be like this."

She did not take the hand he extended, but folding her arms behind her, she stood quite still and stared. "I'm so sorry! But I don't understand you at all."

"You need not try. I don't understand myself. I have never been through anything like this in all my life. I thought instinct would lead you right to me. I never questioned but that you would understand. But don't try, for I can't explain. This afternoon I had just one thought: to tell you how I love you. I thought it would make me happy. Happy!" He laughed bitterly. "I didn't stop to reason. It seems I have no reason."

"Mr. McGowan, please stop! You frighten me," cried the girl, drawing away again as he limped a step in her direction.

"Hate!" That one word was like the sharp sudden sting of a whip. "I hate this age of social position, where money stands above the man. I hate the shell of so-called good families, as if lineage made the man, instead of man making the lineage. I hate——"

"You must stop! Love that gives such torment as you have been describing to me is apt to turn out as nothing more than infatuation. I care for you, but in no such way as you have indicated to me. I want you for a friend. Don't spoil that!"

He hobbled off down the beach as rapidly as his limping foot could travel. The girl came to his side and slipped her arm through his. "Lean on me just as heavily as you like," she urged. "I know you think me unkind and cruel, but I do so want to help you." Her voice broke unsteadily.

"I don't think you unkind, Miss Fox," replied the minister as he accepted her proffered assistance. "The cruel thing is this that has been burning within like fire. If you only knew——"

"Mr. McGowan,"—she interrupted kindly,—"I cannot tell you as to the height of esteem in which I hold you. Nothing can ever harm that. But even if I cared for you as you ask of me, don't you see how impossible it would be for me to go back on Father? I can't help but think there must be some real reason for the attitude he has taken against you."

"Do you honestly believe what you have just said?"

"Is there any reason why I should not believe it?"

"I suppose not," he replied, heavy fatigue in his voice.

She saw from his averted face that her question had pained him. She wanted to speak, to soften her question, but no words came to her dry lips.

The way home was traveled in silence. They reached the pile of stones below her father's place, and Elizabeth released her aching arm. In silence they watched the strangely mottled effect where the moonlight fell in patches across the water as the clouds flitted past. A patter of rain, accompanied by a sharp whistle of wind, warned them of coming storm.

"I'll go up the path with you, and go home by the road," volunteered the minister.

"No, indeed. It will be much easier walking for you along the beach, and you'll not need to climb any hill. I'll call to you from the back gate, and you'll know I'm safe." She turned toward him once more. "Harold came home to-day, and Father has been worse since that. Harold found out something about the man he went over to Australia to look up. He must have told Father about it to-day. Since then he has been in a terrible state of mind. It seems that Harold found out something about you, too."

Mr. McGowan was too surprised to reply.

"Against you, Father says. I was not going to tell you this, but you have compelled me to do it by what you said to me. I know nothing of your past life."

"Miss Fox, will you be kind enough to explain?"

"I have nothing to explain. All I know is that from the way Father acted it must not be to your credit."

He looked his amazement.

"Good night," she said, extending her hand. "You will not forget what you said about the way one should do in boxing, will you?"

He smiled faintly.

"Mr. McGowan, you are not going to disappoint me, are you?"

"Would it make much difference? You seem to have already formed your opinion from the things you have heard."

"If you are going to give up like that it will make no difference what you do. I thought you were more of a man than that."

She turned and ran up the path. At the top of the pile of stones she stopped, her slim outline silhouetted in clear-cut lines against a patch of moonlight, and her loosened hair giving the suggestion of a halo as the mellow light played through. She lifted her hand as she declared, "And you are more of a man. I do not believe that whatever Father thinks he has found out can harm you in the least. That is what we really quarreled about to-day. Does that tell you how much I care? 'Now is the time when you need to summon every ounce of self-control you possess. When other men are seeking to land the knock-out blow you should keep your head the coolest, for unless you do you cannot make your best calculations.' You see, I have not forgotten, and neither must you. And in everything, Mack," she finished, hurriedly.

The rear gate clicked, and she sent him a light trill.

The minister went to his study as soon as he reached home. For hours he sat, his mind a blank. He was roused at last by the opening of his study door. He looked up into the face of his old friend. The blue eyes, usually clear and steady, had a faded look as though the fire in them had suddenly gone out.



CHAPTER XI

"I've been shut up with the most onreasonable feller I ever see in all my life," said the Captain to the unasked question in the minister's eyes. "I cal'late I'll keep my thoughts to myself to-night, Mack, and sleep on them. The way I feel wouldn't be conducive to prayer-meeting language. Good night, son."

It was scarcely daylight when Miss Pipkin began work in the kitchen on the following morning. Shortly afterward the Captain descended.

"Morning, Clemmie." He held the kitchen door ajar, and his voice wavered as he spoke.

Miss Pipkin did not reply. The Captain, to reinforce his courage, stepped back into the dining-room. Miss Pipkin walked over and closed the door. This spurred the seaman to action. He cautiously pushed the door open again, and peeped through a narrow crack.

"Clemmie, be you in there?"

"Where else do you think I'd be, down the well?"

"Can't I talk to you, Clemmie?"

"No. I don't want you to come sneaking into my kitchen at this hour in the morning. You ought to be in bed."

A note of friendliness in her voice led him to open the door a little wider.

"You're up too early, Clemmie."

"I've got a lot of work to do."

"If you ain't too busy, I'd like awful well to speak to you about something."

"Well, I am busy, leastwise too busy to be bothered with your nonsense."

"It ain't foolishness this time."

Something in his tone made her look up into the face framed in the crack of the door.

"Josiah!" she cried at sight of the drawn features.

He threw open the door and entered.

"Mr. McGowan ain't sick this morning, is he?" she asked.

"No. Leastwise he wa'n't when I passed the time of night or early morning with him on my way to bed."

"Are you sick, Josiah?"

"What I got might be called that, Clemmie. I'm sick of the hull damn round of life," he said, despondently.

"Josiah Pott! How you do talk! What do you mean by it, anyhow?"

"Purty much as I say. I'm always bungling things of late. I—well——"

"Now, you set down in that chair, and stop staring at me for all the world like an old wood-owl, 'most scaring the wits out of me. One would think you'd gone clean out of your head. I never heard you talk so in all my born days. If you ain't sick, you're in a heap of trouble. Now, do as I tell you and set down. Tell me what's wrong, that is if that's what you come down for."

"That's why I come down, Clemmie," he said, slouching into one of the kitchen chairs. "I heerd you come down-stairs, and I just had to follow. Fust of all, I want to tell you how bad I feel about them things I said yesterday morning that hurt your feelings so."

"For the lan' sakes! Be that what's ailing you? I thought it was something that amounted to something," she declared, the color rising into her faded cheeks.

"That does amount to something. It means a lot to me. That ain't all, but I wanted to get it off my chest fust. I was never intending less to hurt nobody than when I said that to you. I thought 'twould cheer you and Mack up a little; you was both looking a mite blue. You're a good woman, Clemmie, and any man that'd insult you would have me to settle with purty tolerable quick. You know how much I think of you."

"Be you beginning to propose again?" she asked, her arms akimbo. "If that's what's ailing you, and you're asking my pardon just to get ready to ask me——"

"Don't get mad, Clemmie. No, I ain't going to get down on my old prayer-bones, they're a mite too squeaky, though I'd be willing enough to do it if I thought it would do any good. I ain't going to pester you any more about that. You know your mind, and it ain't right for me to be disturbing it at my time of life."

"Then, Josiah, if you ain't love-sick, what is it?"

"Maybe that's a part of what's ailing me. But what I want you to say this morning is that you ain't got nothing against me for what I said yesterday about you taking to sea in my dory."

"Josiah, that was awful foolish in me. You'd best forgive me, too, for the way I acted."

"Thanks, Clemmie. You've sartinly done me many a good turn, and it would be a wonder if I wa'n't in love with you. You've always been mighty good and kind to me. But, there, don't you get excited again, I ain't going to say nothing more about it."

"Tell me about your trouble, Josiah."

The old seaman pulled hard at the ends of his ragged moustache, and his voice grew husky. "I felt just like I had to tell somebody. I was going to tell Mack last night when I see a light in his study, but when I went in I see he had all he could tote, so I just went on up to my room without telling him.... You know I've been out of a job for quite a spell."

"It has been long for you," nodded Miss Pipkin as she drew another chair opposite. "But you've got the church to look after."

"That ain't my trade, and it comes hard. I feel all the time like I'd clumb onto the wrong deck. I'd hoped to get a ship afore now. Jim promised me one, and——"

"Do you mean you've been expecting to get a ship through Jim Fox? Why, Josiah Pott! He'd not give you a splinter to hang on if you was drowning. Depending on him! Pooh! I thought you had more sense than that."

"But I ain't. I'm just what I've told you afore, an old fool. I cal'late I know how you feel about Jim. I'd always felt that way, too, till he come honeying round me this spring. You called me once an old fool with good intentions. I cal'late you ain't far off in your soundings."

"I never said that!" she rejoined. "Anyhow, I didn't mean it like that."

"You don't need to excuse what you said. It's God's truth. That's exactly what I be."

"You ain't, neither, and I don't see why you want to talk that way. What I don't see, neither, is why you want to go hanging round, waiting for that man to give you a ship. There's plenty of others that would be glad to get you."

"I ain't sartin 'bout that last p'int. You see, I ain't so young no more. I'm getting up in years, and ship-owners ain't hiring none but young men."

"Nonsense! There you go again. As long as you think and talk like Methuselah there ain't no owner going to take a chance on you for fear you'd forget the name of the port he'd ordered you to. You get that idea out of your head along with the notion that Jim Fox is going to help you, and you'll get a ship. The very best there is afloat, too."

"It's mighty kind of you to say that, Clemmie. I cal'late the notion about Jim is purty well shook out. That's one thing I wanted to talk to you about. You know the old place here had been sort of run down for a good many year. I'd always held to the idea that some day I'd come back here after I'd got rich, remodel the home, and get the best woman in all the world to ship side by side with me as best mate. I've told you all that afore, many the time, Clemmie."

Miss Pipkin barely nodded. The suggestion of moisture gathered in her eyes as she gazed at the tragic face before her.

"Well, I'm back, and it looks like it was for good and all, but I ain't got no money, and I don't see no way to get any unless I rob somebody. And the law won't let me do that. The trouble is that I'm up to my gunwales in debt."

"In debt!" To Miss Pipkin's mind there was no greater calamity in the world than to be in debt. She, too, had suffered a like fate many years ago.

"Yes. In bad, too. Jim come up to my house last spring just afore the minister took up his new quarters here, and he says to me: 'Here's some money to repair your place with. There'll be no interest on it. It's because of my civic pride in the affairs of Little River that I make you this liberal offer.' Well, it did look too good to be true, but I couldn't see nothing wrong, and he promised me on his word to see that I got a ship, the very next one his company was to send out. I ain't much up on them legal papers. I ain't had nothing to do with any kind of papers for years 'cepting owners' orders. I took his word for 'em being straight. I wouldn't have took a cent of the money if them papers had been straight as the Bible, but he promised me so fair and square to place me that I fell for him hard. You know he's one of the owners of the Atlantic Coastwise Trading Company. Well, I went right down to the city next day, and for several days I hung round. Then, they told me another feller got in ahead of me. When I was going out I see Jim in one of them little glass rooms talking earnest-like to some of his partners, and I heerd him speak my name. I knew right off that there was something up the mizzenmast. I come home, and waited. It was then I found Mack in the house. Mrs. Beaver put him in here while I was away. I also found the painters all over the place. I knew right off that Jim had me on the hip, but I couldn't make out what his game was. Yesterday the thing come tumbling down on my head; a lawyer brought it. Them papers I signed up has turned out to be a mortgage on my old home."

Miss Pipkin gasped. "A mortgage and a lawyer was here to see you yesterday?"

"They sure was. One of 'em brung the other, and I had to meet 'em both alone. They seemed real glad to see me, but I wa'n't none too friendly with either of 'em."

"Josiah, stop your joking. You say there was a lawyer here to see you, and he brought a mortgage on your place?"

The old man looked away and cleared his throat. "The feller come from the city. He showed me how them papers called for a settlement afore the fust of November. I ain't got a chance in the hull world to get hold of any money afore then. He said something about a foreclosure, too, and he said that meant I was to lose my place. He see how hard I took it, and was real kind. He said he'd come all the way from the city just to let me know."

"Kind! Pooh! You'd better have showed him the door like you told me you did Harry Beaver."

"It wa'n't his fault, Clemmie. He was real sorry. He was just doing his duty. He offered to buy the place after I'd showed him about. What he said he'd give wa'n't what it's wuth by a heap, but it would pay Jim off and leave me a mite."

"Offered to buy it, did he? Well, you didn't tell him you'd sell, did you?"

"Not for sartin, I didn't. I told him I'd think it over a spell and let him know."

"Let him know! Pooh! I should say you will think it over, and for a purty long spell, too. You ain't going to sell a foot of it! That feller wasn't here for himself. He was playing one of Jim Fox's tricks on you."

"But, Clemmie,——"

"Josiah, you mark my word, that lawyer feller was here to buy this place for Jim Fox. It's as plain as the nose on your face, and I don't need to look twice to see that. Don't you dare to sell one inch of this place."

The Captain rubbed the organ to which Miss Pipkin referred, and thought for some time. "Suppose your guess is right, and he did come for Jim, there ain't nothing left for me but to sell. That's better than losing everything." He tried to clear his husky voice. "It's kind of hard. I've got you and the minister here now, and I'm sort of obligated to you both. It's kind of hard."

"Obligated, fiddlesticks! I ain't so young that I can't take care of myself, nor so old, neither. I'll get on all right, and the minister, too, for that matter." Her voice dropped with an unsteady quality. "But what you're going to do, I can't see."

He shook his head wearily. "I've been trying to see some way all night long, but I can't, 'cepting to sell."

"Josiah,"—she crossed over and laid her hand on his shoulder,—"there's a picture in the setting-room that says beneath it something like this: 'Don't Give Up the Ship.' I was looking at it yesterday after I'd been so silly about what you said to me. I must have been sent to the picture for a purpose in this hour of our trial. We ain't going to give up the ship, not till we have to."

"But he's got the law on his side, and I ain't got nothing on mine."

"You've got a clear conscience, and that's more than all the law with which he's clothing his guilty mind. And, then,"—she eyed him closely,—"you've got me. Does that help? We ain't going to run up the white flag till we have to, and I don't care if he's got the whole creation on his side."

He rose and laid his rough palm over the bony fingers on his shoulder. "Do you mean that you're going to stick by me, Clemmie?"

She nodded.

"I cal'late that'll help a heap, even if things go dead against me. It's purty nigh three weeks afore he can close up on me," he faltered, as though he dared not hope even in the presence of this unexpected aid that had come to him. "What are we going to do?"

"The fust thing you're going to do is to see Jim Fox himself, and you're going to tell him that you're going to see a good lawyer, the best you can find. If them papers ain't straight he'll show plain that he's worried." She drew her hand from his. "Josiah, I'm going to show you something I ain't ever showed to a living soul. It ain't much, but it might start you along the right way of finding something out."

She went to her room, and soon returned with a piece of paper. It was yellow with age, and had to be handled with care to keep it from falling apart at the creases. She handed it to the Captain, indicating a section for him to read. He nearly tumbled from his chair as the truth it conveyed concerning the past life of Jim Fox flashed into his mind.

"Holy mackerel!"

The entrance of the minister prevented further comment, except for the Captain to whisper:

"Thanks, Clemmie. 'Twill help, I cal'late. You're a good woman," he finished, taking her hand between both of his. "You're smart, too. You've helped me more than you know, and God bless you!"



CHAPTER XII

That evening the Captain dropped the brass knocker to the Elder's front door with a heavy thud. A servant opened the door.

"I want to see Mr. Fox."

"He's not in, sir. Will you leave any——"

"Who is it, Debbs?" called a voice from the top of the stair.

"Captain Pott, sir. I thought you was to see no one to-night, sir."

"That's all right. Send him right up to my room."

The Elder's den was across the hall from his daughter's room, in the most quiet part of the house.

"Right in here, Josiah. We shall be more private here than down-stairs."

The Captain entered, and took the chair indicated by the Elder.

"I was very busy, and told Debbs I was not to be disturbed, but I recognized your voice, and—er—wanted to see you. It has been quite a long while since we have had a friendly chat, Josiah. I wish you would come more often. I get very lonesome in this big place. Have a cigar? No? I shall, if you don't mind."

"We ain't been none too neighborly, as you might say."

"Why don't you come up once in a while?"

"Cal'late for the same reason you don't get over to the other end of the road. For one thing, I'm too busy paying off debts."

The Elder looked questioningly at the seaman as he touched the lighted end of a match to his cigar. "That is true. We—er—are busy, too busy for our own good. We ought to be more sociable here in Little River. We need something to stir us up."

"We're too damn selfish, if you ask me. As far as stirring goes, I cal'late we've got as much of that as any town along this coast. About all a feller can do is to set his teeth against the hurricane and grin."

The Elder laughed without restraint, and his visitor began to show signs of uneasiness.

"You'd best be careful with them delicate blood-vessels," mildly suggested the Captain.

"True, Josiah. But that was a good joke, a very good joke. One can take it in two ways."

"Not the way I mean it. There's enough gossip——"

"Yes, we are too selfish," broke in the Elder, "and it is too bad. I often think of the time we were kids together. We had our little scraps, made up, and were ready to fight for each other."

The Captain could recall no occasion when he had fought for Jim Fox.

"How long ago that all seems! Yet how—er—happy were those days. No cares. No sorrows. No troubles. No misunderstandings. Excuse me, Josiah. I don't know why it is that I hark back like this when we get together. But it does me a world of good."

"Maybe you've got another fish to fry," suggested the Captain, wholly untouched by the Elder's memory picture. "That was the way you done when you wanted us boys to do something for you, and you ain't got over it with age."

"I was quite a diplomat in those days, wasn't I? But we can't bring them back. No, sir, we can't. They are—er—gone forever."

"I ain't sartin I want to fetch 'em back. Leastwise, that wa'n't my purpose in coming here to-night. I come over to see you about that mortgage you slipped over on me."

"Mortgage?"

"Yes, mortgage."

"Oh! You refer to that little loan I made you some time ago? That was—er—real humor calling it a mortgage."

"It may be funny to you, but it ain't to me."

"I hope that little matter isn't bothering you."

"It ain't, but a feller from the city is. He told me you was intending to take my place."

"I'm sorry he told you that. I do not know what I should do with it if I had it."

"I don't know what I'd do without it, Jim."

"I think it can be arranged without difficulty. It is such a small matter."

"It may look small to you, but it looks a heap sight different to me."

"I know, Josiah. It is very opportune that you have come to me to-night. Not more than an hour ago I was thinking of you, and wishing I might—er—see you. I have been thinking, too, of others, some who stood by me in time of peril and poverty. I feel greatly indebted to them, and since they were members of your family, I must now show my appreciation for their kindness."

"I cal'late you're referring to them you served a dirty trick over in Australia."

"Why, Josiah! I have told you a hundred times that I was never in Australia," declared the other, paling slightly.

"That's so, you have, Jim. Excuse me."

"As I was saying," he continued, showing great relief, "I feel indebted to them, and I want to pay back——"

"Look here, Jim, you needn't offer none of your blood money. It don't look good to me."

It was a bold stroke, but it went home. The color crept slowly from the Elder's sanguine face.

"I have no intention of offering you charity."

"You know damn well you dasn't. I'm not speaking of charity, and you know that, too, Jim. I'm speaking of blood money, and I mean just what I say."

"You are still the same doubting Thomas, I see. Do you recall how you were always the last one—er—to be won over to a new enterprise?" The Elder tried to smile.

"I had good reason to go slow. A mite of caution is a purty fair endowment of nature where some people's schemes is concerned. If I'd used a little of it last spring I'd not be in the fix I am to-day."

"But that bump of caution on your head is pretty hard on your friends."

"I cal'late it won't hurt my friends none. We wa'n't speaking of them just then. Anyhow, it's kept me with a clean conscience to sleep with, and I'd a heap sight rather ship with clear rigging than be ballasted with some people's money and have to make bedfellows with their conscience."

"Yes,—er—ahem—quite true," was the hasty reply. "What can I do for you, Josiah? If I can be of the least service,—er—I shall be only too glad."

"It depends on what you've got to offer me. The fust thing I'd like to suggest is that you stop that there er-ing and hem-ing. There ain't no one here but me, and it don't make no impression. Being that you're so infernal anxious to get back to boyhood days we might just as well go all-hog on it. You didn't try none of that foolishness then."

"What you say is quite true." The Elder stroked his chops thoughtfully.

"You didn't have them things to pet, neither. You might just as well stop that. It makes me nervous."

Elder Fox eyed him narrowly. He had a mind to tell this man to leave his house at once. He even entertained the thought that it might be a good thing to call Debbs and have him put out. But a certain fear, which had for years haunted the Elder, laid a cold restraining hand on his inclinations.

"Yes, Josiah, those are habits that I have formed in business. Dealing with so many different kinds of men makes us do odd things at times, and if repeated often enough they become habits. I have always tried to be courteous even to men that bore me, and I presume I took on those senseless little syllables to temper my natural brusqueness."

"Well, you don't need 'em to-night, and you can be as brusque as you like."

"Before we speak of that little matter between us, I have something else I want to say. When we have finished, I trust there will be no need to mention the other."

"If it's advice you're wanting to give, I'll tell you right off that I've had enough of it. What I need is time on that mortgage you and your crooked lawyer put over on me."

"There may be lots of money in what I have to propose. In fact, there is, if you do as I say. How badly do you want a ship to man and command?"

"See here, Jim, I ain't in no frame of mind to be fooled with to-night. If you don't mean just what you're going to say, you'd best not say it."

"I mean every word of it, but I shall expect more consideration and respect from you before I open my mouth again."

"If you're in dead earnest, Jim, I beg your pardon. This damn mortgage has got on my nerves purty bad. Heave over your proposition, and get it off your chest."

"I shall have to exact one promise from you."

The Captain took one step toward the Elder's chair, his swarthy old face alight with anticipation and hope. One promise! He would give a hundred, and keep them all. The Captain was fine-looking at all times, every span of him a man and a seaman. But when his face was bright with eagerness, and his muscular body tense with anticipation, he was superb. To those less steeled against human magnetism than Mr. Fox, he was irresistible at such times. The Elder merely waved him back to the vacated chair.

"That one promise will bind us both," he said coldly. "In fact, it is to your interest as well as to mine to make it. You will not see it at first, but time will prove that I am right in asking it."

"I'll promise anything that's reasonable if you'll only swing me the job of skipper."

"Very well." The Elder began to shuffle some papers with deft fingers.

"But that there mortgage, Jim, is soon due, and——"

"We shall not speak of that for the present. There are other ways of disposing of mortgages than by paying them," he remarked, striking a match and holding it significantly beneath a piece of paper which the Captain recognized as the one displayed by the lawyer yesterday.

Captain Pott did not take his eyes from the face of the man across the table. A suspicion was forcing its way into his mind, and it was as unpleasant as it was unwelcome.

"How do I know that you'll keep your end of the promise, Jim?"

"You have my word."

"I had that afore, at the time you give me that money, but it didn't get me nothing."

"I do not remember that I gave any definite promise. I said I would do my best for you, and I did."

"Maybe you done your best, but——"

"We'll not quarrel about that. There is nothing indefinite about the position I have to offer you this time. I have the papers here on my table, and the command is yours in less than five minutes after you make the promise. At the same time the note for my loan to you goes into the fire."

"Well, is there any special reason why you should take so long to get this thing off your chest?"

"I want you to realize the importance of the request I have to make." The Elder threw aside what little mask he had been wearing. An imperious note crept into his voice, giving it a hard metallic ring. "It is time for you to recognize, Josiah, that I have you about where I want you. I can make or ruin you in five minutes, and it all depends on how you reply now. Think hard before you answer."

"That's right, Jim, you've got me with a purty tight hip-hold," admitted the Captain. "But I'm waiting just now for them orders to see if I'm going to sign up."

"You'll sign up, I'm not afraid of that. That is, if you really wish to keep your place. The promise that you are to make to me is concerning the man staying in your house."

Captain Pott stiffened, and threw up his guard. He carefully concealed his rising anger, however. He must be more certain of his ground before he made any leap that might prove dangerous.

"What in tarnation has he got to do with this affair?"

"He has everything to do with it, so far as you are concerned at this particular moment. We must get that man out of this town. You must believe me when I tell you that such action is as much to your interest as mine. If he is permitted to stay here——"

"Heave to, there, Jim!" exploded the seaman. He leaned across the table and glared at the man on the other side.

"There, now, sit down and compose yourself," soothed the Elder. "I was prepared for you to take it this way at first. I don't mean anything against the man, so far as his personal character is concerned, but his presence here is a decided menace both to you and me. If I dared to tell you the whole truth, you, too, would see the sense of my request. It is best that he go for his own good, too. Some physical violence will certainly be done him if he remains. You must see with me that it is best on that one point that we remove him quietly from the town. Sim Hicks has sworn to do him harm. Now, you are the logical man to go to Mr. McGowan, and show him the sense of his leaving Little River. You seem to be the only one who can influence him in any degree."

"By the Almighty, Jim Fox! If it wa'n't for your darter, I'd swipe up this floor with your dirty carcass!"

"It will be best if you take this calmly, Josiah, and stop your foolish raving. Just listen to reason for once in your life. There is a past in that man's life known to a very select few. I came across it accidentally. If it became known it would create no end of scandal and ruin our little church. That man had no good intention in putting in his request for the Little River pulpit. What is more, he is not a real minister of the gospel. He is using it merely as a pretext."

The Captain caught his breath. "He ain't a minister? What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing more than what it conveys to your mind. I cannot tell you more, just now."

"Jim, you're lying to me!"

"Be careful, Josiah. You are making a very serious charge, and I may decide to make you prove it in court."

The seaman reached into his coat-pocket for the yellow bit of paper which Miss Pipkin had given him that morning. But he quickly withdrew his hand without the paper. The thought flashed through his mind that he could not prove with certainty the truth of the message written thereon.

"I've got something here in my pocket that'd interest you a heap, Jim. But I ain't able to prove it all, so it can wait for a spell. But if it leads in the direction I think it does, the Lord pity you!"

"I'd advise you to hold your tongue, as it might get you into trouble. If you will drop all that foolishness about getting even with me for imaginary wrongs, we shall be able to talk business. Here are the receipts for the full amount I loaned you, and here are papers waiting your signature and mine that will put you in command of the best vessel put out by our company in many years. It all depends now on your willingness to help me get Mr. McGowan out of our town."

Mr. Fox shoved the papers temptingly across the table, keeping one hand on the corner of them. The Captain appeared to waver. Of course, he acknowledged, it did seem easy. But he did not touch the papers. He rather drew back as though they were deadly poison. He eyed the Elder narrowly.

"Well, what do you say?"

"Jim Fox,"—began the seaman slowly, his voice lowering with the rise of his anger,—"you're a white-livered coward! You've always been getting others to do your dirty work for you, and I'm sartin now that you're offering me a bribe to help stack your damn cards against Mack. There ain't money enough in the world to make me do that. I see your game just as plain as though you'd written it out like you done them papers. You mean to wreck Mack's life, and you're asking me to sit in with you and the devil while you do it. You mean to throw him out of a job, and you mean to keep him from getting another by working through that Means hypocrite. Yes, I can see through you, as plain as a slit canvas. There's something infernal back of all this, and that something is your goat. You're skeered that the minister is going to get it, and that's what is ailing you. By God! I'll be on deck to help him, whether he's a preacher or a detective from Australia looking for crooks. You've been lying all these years about where you made your money. You've been telling that you got it in Africa, trading in diamonds. I've got a piece of paper in my pocket that blows up your lies like dynamite. You was in Australia all them years. By the Almighty! I'm going to sign up with the preacher, and I don't care a tinker's dam if you get the last cent I have, and send me up Riverhead way to the Poor Farm to eat off the county. Foreclose on my property! That ain't no more than you've been doing to others all your miserable life. It ain't no more than you done to Clemmie Pipkin years ago, leaving her nothing to live on. But mine will be the last you'll foreclose on, and I'm going to see one or two of the best lawyers in the city afore you do that!"



The Captain strode from the room and down the stair. Mr. Fox called feebly, begging him to return. But the seaman was deaf with rage, and he left the house without hearing the mumbled petition of an apparently penitent Elder.

Captain Pott half ran, half stumbled, down to the wharf. He hurriedly untied his dory, and rowed out to the Jennie P. A little later he anchored his power-boat in the harbor of Little River where the railroad station was located. He rowed ashore, secured his dory, and ran to the depot. He climbed aboard the city-bound train just as it began to move.



CHAPTER XIII

Daylight was beginning to peep through the morning darkness when the Captain threaded his way along the crooked path to the rear of his house. He drew off his boots outside the kitchen door, and tiptoed to his room. Without removing his clothing he threw himself on the bed. The sunlight was streaming through the eastern windows when he awoke. He stretched himself off the bed, and threw back the covers so that Miss Pipkin would think he had slept there the night through. He went down to the kitchen.

"Anything special to tell me this morning, Josiah?" whispered the housekeeper as he entered. "How pale you look! Ain't been seeing ghosts, have you? You look like one yourself."

"Maybe 'twas ghosts I see, but they looked purty tolerable real to me. Yes, Clemmie, I've sartin been looking on things what ain't good for a healthy man to see. One of 'em is that I'm a ruined man, and there ain't no help for it."

"Don't talk such nonsense! Get out and fill your lungs with fresh air. That cures the blues quicker than anything I know."

"It won't cure this fit. If it would, I'd had it cured long ago, 'cause that's all I've been doing for a good many weeks. If I'd talked less and done more I'd been a heap sight better off."

"I thought from the way you was staying up there last night that you was doing something. I never heerd you come in at all."

"Maybe I wa'n't up there all that time. The fact is, Clemmie, I went into the city last night."

"You went into New York last night? What did you do that for?"

"I went in and pulled a lawyer friend of mine out of bed for a little confab. I don't mind telling you who it was. It was Harold Fox.... Clemmie, that feller that was here to see me about that mortgage lied to me about the date it was due. Harold says the time is up on it next Saturday."

"Josiah!"

"I also talked with another friend of mine who knew Jim purty well in his palmy days, and he says what that letter of yours says is so. He told me a lot more stuff, too."

"What? About Jim or Adoniah?"

"Both. What would you do if there wa'n't no way to save my place excepting by ruination of the other feller?"

"You'd see him stop for you, wouldn't you? I'd not give it a second thought, I'd just——"

"That ain't it, Clemmie. There's his darter, the sweetest little thing that God ever made. It would kill her, and I ain't got no right to hurt her just to save my own skin."

"You're right, Josiah."

"But what I'm to do, I don't know."

Mr. McGowan entered with an armful of wood, and as he stooped to drop it into the box Miss Pipkin looked sorrowfully at the Captain and shook her head.

"I've done my best," said the seaman, slowly.

"You'd think he was making his last will and testament from the way he's talking," remarked Miss Pipkin, trying hard to appear as though she was without the least concern.

"Maybe I be, Clemmie. Maybe I be."

"What's the cause for all this dejection?" asked the minister.

"Cause enough, Mack.... I'll be going back to the city to-morrow. I hate to leave you to the wiles of the menagerie, for if I ain't terrible mistook they're out for your blood, and they think they've got a whiff of it. But I cal'late they've got their ropes crossed. They've got the idea they're h'isting the mains'l, but it ain't nothing but the spanker. If I was going to stay aboard I'd give 'em a few lessons the next few days that they'd not forget all the rest of their lives."

"You're certainly mixing your figures in great shape this morning," commented the minister good-naturedly.

"Well, if mixing figures is like mixing drinks, making 'em more elevating to the thoughts, I cal'late I'd best do a little more mixing. There's going to be a squall right soon that'll test the ribs of the old salvation ark to the cracking p'int. If I was you I'd furl my sails a mite, and stand by, Mack."

"We're so accustomed to trouble now that——"

"Trouble? This is going to be hell, that is, unless luck or Providence takes a hand and steers her through. Your Elder thinks he's on the home stretch to winning his laurels, but if I was going to hang round here he'd wake up right sudden one of these fine mornings to find his wreath missing."

"Josiah, you're as wicked as you can be this morning. What on earth has come over you?" exclaimed Miss Pipkin with deep concern.

"You'd feel wicked, too, if you was dealing with that kind. But that there Elder puts me in mind of a tramp printer that come to work for Adoniah one time. Adoniah was a brother of mine," he explained in answer to a quizzing look from the minister. "Adoniah was managing a country paper down the line then, and being short on help he took this tramp printer on. He gave him something to set up that the editor had writ,—you couldn't tell one of the letters of that editor from t'other, hardly,—and that feller had a time with it. The piece was about some chap that was running for office, and it closed up with something like this: 'Dennis, my boy, look well to your laurels.' When that tramp got through with it, it come back to the editor like this: 'Dammit, my boy, bark well at your barrels.'"

Mr. McGowan laughed heartily, and Miss Pipkin struggled against a like inclination, doing her best to appear shocked.

"Josiah Pott!" she said at last. "I'd think you'd be ashamed telling such things!"

"It ain't nothing more than what Adoniah told, and it happened just as I spun it. You used to think what Adoniah said was all right."

The minister sobered instantly.

"But it ain't right defaming the dead like that."

"I ain't defaming no one. Don't get mad, Clemmie. Adoniah told the yarn himself."

"Well, it ain't to his credit, and I ain't so sure he told it with that bad word in it."

"He sartin did. That's what makes it funny."

"If you wasn't so anxious to use them words you'd not be telling such stories, and, of all people, to the minister."

"He's heerd me say lots worse ones than that. I was telling it for illustration. You see, Jim has got the idea that he's looking to his laurels, and he ain't doing nothing but barking at his barrels, and empty ones at that."

"You'd best not try to illustrate if you can't use words decent enough to listen to," answered Miss Pipkin as she left the room.

Late that evening Mr. McGowan drew the Captain into his study. A cheery fire was crackling in the fire-back. The minister placed a chair before the grate and slid another near. For some time the two men sat looking into the fire. As Mr. McGowan tossed in another stick of wood, he turned toward the seaman.

"I did not know that you had a brother by the name of Adoniah," he said.

"It ain't often I make mention of him. I wa'n't over fond of him. He didn't treat Clemmie fair. Then, he wa'n't nothing but a half-brother."

"Don't tell me his last name was Phillips?"

"Sartin was.... What was that you said, Mack?"

"I didn't speak. I was just thinking."

"I'd a heap sight rather you'd speak out loud than grunt like that. What in tarnation is the matter with you?"

"If you can throw any light on this man Phillips, I wish you'd do it. I've heard his name mentioned twice, by two different people, with quite different effects."

"What do you mean by me throwing light on him?"

"Tell me about him, all you know, good and bad. What does Miss Pipkin know about him? Where is he?"

"Heave to, there, Mack! One at a time. I don't know if Clemmie has any idea where he is now. She was purty thick with him once, and heerd from him once or twice after he went off to sea."

"She was in love with him?"

"That's putting it purty tame. I cal'late—Say, has she been speaking to you about him?" asked the seaman eagerly.

The minister nodded. "I'm breaking a promise to her by talking with you about it, but——"

"Breaking a promise you made to Clemmie? How's that?"

"She made me promise to say nothing to you. But I must. This thing is getting too interesting for me to keep my hands off any longer."

"You mean she made you say that you'd not tell me that she was in love with Adoniah? That's funny, ain't it? Why, I knew——" He broke off abruptly, a new light coming into his tired eyes. He leaned forward and whispered hoarsely: "Mack, it ain't likely she's in love with—well,—with any other feller, is it?"

"She didn't——"

"With me, for example," broke in the seaman. "You don't think maybe that was the reason she made you give that promise, do you?" The Captain made no effort to hide his eagerness. "I don't mind telling you that I love Clemmie. I loved her long afore Adoniah come along and sp'iled it. He was smarter than me, and went to school. He was real bright and handsome. It wa'n't that Clemmie loved him, but she didn't know the difference. And I know right well he didn't love her. He had took a spite against me because I was left the home place, and he took it out on me by stealing my girl. You don't s'pose she sees now that he didn't really care——" He slowly settled back into his chair, and shook his head. "I cal'late that ain't possible. You heerd what she said about his sacred memory this morning. Good Lord! Why won't she ever forget!"

"She may some day, Cap'n. No man can predict to-day what a woman may do to-morrow."

"The most of 'em are that way, but Clemmie's different from the common run. I know I'm an old fool for wishing it, but it ain't easy to give up the woman you love, even after long years of her saying no to you."

"You're right, Cap'n. It isn't easy to give up the woman you love."

The minister gave the fire a vigorous poke, sending a thick shower of sparks up the chimney. The seaman glanced at him.

"Have you the slightest idea where your brother is?"

"No. I ain't heerd from him for more than twenty years, and then it wa'n't direct. He left because he was 'feared Clemmie was going to make him marry her, and he knew if he took to sailing the seas she'd never foller him. Damn him! He didn't treat her square. That's why I don't have much use for him. If he'd told her out and out that he wa'n't going to marry her, I'd forgive him. But——"

"Did Mr. Fox know this half-brother?"

"About as well as he knew the rest of us about town. He always was sort of h'ity-t'ity, Jim was."

"Did he know him better after they left Little River?"

"Mack, I ain't got your tack, yet. Mind telling me where you're heading?"

"You asked me once if anything out of the ordinary took place that night I dined at the Fox home. Do you remember?"

"Yes, I rec'lect I did ask you something like that. But——"

"You may also recall that you suggested that what happened to Mr. Fox took place in his head instead of in his heart."

"Yes, I said that, too. But, Mack——"

"Just wait, and I'll tell you what this is all about. I had mentioned to Harold that I was born in Australia——"

"Mack!" The Captain was out of his chair in one bound. "You born in Australia? Why in tarnation didn't you ever tell me that afore?"

The minister looked puzzled. "My announcement had a similar effect on the Elder."

"Go on, Mack. Don't mind me. I'm a mite narvous. All unstrung, I cal'late."

"As I said I had just mentioned that fact to Harold, and the conversation naturally turned back to the days of the early traders who went to that country. Harold then told his father that the law firm, of which he has recently been made a junior member, had put him on a case which necessitated his going over to Australia. It seems that they had been trying to clear it up for a long time. The case came from Sydney, and had been referred to him because he had once spent some time over there. It was when he mentioned the name of the client that Mr. Fox nearly fainted."

Mr. McGowan gave the fire another vigorous poke before continuing. The Captain slid to the edge of his chair, holding on to the sides.

"Do you know of all the movements of Mr. Fox after he left here?" came the disappointing question from near the fireplace.

"No, I don't. But you was speaking of the case from Sydney, Mack. Who was the feller whose name hit Jim so hard?"

"Was Mr. Fox a sailor?"

"Lordie!" ejaculated the Captain. "Jim Fox a sailor? Why, he couldn't sail a tub in a flooded cellar."

"You mean he never crossed the ocean as a trader?"

"He done that, I cal'late, but as far as him being a sailor——" He sniffed a contemptuous conclusion.

"How many years ago was it that he followed the seas?"

"I ain't able to say, exactly, but it wa'n't long after Adoniah left home."

"Cap'n Pott, Mr. Fox knew your half-brother after they had both left this country."

"How do you know that?"

"Just by putting two and two together."

The seaman took the yellow bit of paper from his pocket, and in his excitement crumpled it into a wad. "But Adoniah went to Australia, and Jim says he was in Africa," he said, testing out the other's fund of information.

"I know all about that story, but I don't believe one word of it. Mr. Fox did not make his money in Africa, and he knew your half-brother."

"What's all this got to do with that there client Harold spoke of the last night you ate up there?"

"Everything. The man he mentioned was a trader in Sydney. He had married an only daughter of an older trader, and then something happened. The younger man disappeared very suddenly. The old trader searched for years, but in vain. Recently, he died, leaving a large estate. His wife has taken up the search for the lost daughter. It was the name of the old trader's son-in-law that crumpled up Mr. Fox like an autumn leaf. The young trader's name was Adoniah Phillips."

Though he had been anticipating this, the Captain fell back into his chair and stared blankly at the minister. "But why did he act like the devil toward you, Mack? That's what I want to know."

"I don't know. That is the thing that puzzles me."

"What more do you know?"

"Harold said that Mr. Phillips came over to this country."

The Captain again sprang from his chair as though hurled out by a strong spring. Mr. McGowan rose to face him.

"My brother in America? Mack, it's a lie! He'd have looked me up!"

"Perhaps he had reasons for not wishing you to know about him. He may have been an outlaw."

The minister then asked abruptly, "What connection was there between him and Mr. Fox? That is the thing we must find out."

The Captain was trembling. "Have you seen Harold since he come back?"

"Not yet. But I intend to."

"No you don't! For God's sake, boy, don't do it!"

"But I must. I want to help you and Miss Pipkin. Then, for some unknown reason, I seem to be a part of all this mystery, and I intend to ferret it out."

"Mack, please don't!"

"Is it because you fear disgrace to your family name?"

"That's it!" shouted the seaman, seizing the minister by the arms with a crushing grip. "I'll tell you the hull miserable yarn some day, when I get to the bottom of it. But keep your hands off now! Them's orders!"

"And if I break them?"

"Then, by the Lord Harry, I'll break——" The Captain stopped abruptly. "Mack, what be you doing in Little River?"

Miss Pipkin had been disturbed by the noise, and now opened the study door. She looked alarmed. The swarthy face of the Captain was a sickly green where the white reflected through the deep tan.

"Of all things!" exclaimed the housekeeper. "I s'pose I should pity the two of you if you feel the way you look. But, for the lan' sakes, Josiah, let go the minister's arms this very minute. You're crushing them."

The Captain's hands relaxed and fell limply to his sides. The tense muscles of his face eased into a silly grin.

"We was having a friendly little argument, hey, Mack?"

The minister assented.

"Then, I'd hate to see you in a real fight. Things must be going to your head, Josiah."

"That's a fact, Clemmie, they be, but they're clearing it up."

"You need some of that liniment. Your worrying has put your stomach out. I'll fix up a dose for you."

"No you won't neither. It ain't liniment I want, it's something for the outside." He started for his hat and coat.

"Josiah! You're clean off in your head, going out a night like this! It's raining pitchforks, and is past ten o'clock."

"Don't you worry, Clemmie. I ain't crazy. I've just got back what little sense I was born with. I'm sailing my Jennie P. to the city. Good-bye." Before she could enter any protest, he stooped and kissed her.

Miss Pipkin stood as one paralyzed while the Captain snatched his rubber hat from the nail behind the kitchen door, and slipped into his slicker. He was out of the house before the coat was fastened about his neck.



"Now, ain't that a caution to saints! And us a-standing here and not trying to stop him. He's gone plumb off in his head!" lamented the housekeeper, dropping limply into a chair. "What ever shall I do, Mr. McGowan? I know he's coming down with that terrible fever again. I know it! I know it!" She wept bitterly. "There ain't been no one so kind to me, and that cares for me like him! And I ain't never give him any chance!"

"Do you really care for the Captain?"

She straightened, and dabbed her apron into the corners of her eyes, attempting at the same time to marshal a legion of denials. But the legion refused to be marshaled. She gave up, and admitted that she did care for Captain Josiah, very much.

"Then, he'll come back, have no fear. A twenty-mule team couldn't keep him away."

"What good will it be if he does come back, if he ain't got his senses?"

"In my opinion he was never more sane than he is to-night. He has not taken leave of his senses; he is not a man so easily dethroned. He has merely taken a leave of absence from town, and all his five senses have gone with him."

After Miss Pipkin had gone to her room somewhat comforted, Mr. McGowan spied the yellow piece of paper which the Captain had dropped. He stooped down, picked it up, smoothed the crumpled page, and began to read. His eyes widened with each additional line.

"Jim and I are going into partnership over here in Sydney. It isn't just what I'd like, but there are certain advantages. He is a keen fellow, and I'll have to watch him pretty close. There is an older man who has taken us into his firm, so Jim can't have his own way. There is loads of money here, and I mean to get my share of it.

"Jim and I are both fighting for the same girl. She is the daughter of the old man who heads up the firm. May the best man win, providing I'm the best man. I'll give him some run for his money, anyway. I think I'm on the inside track for the present.

"I guess you'd better not say anything about Jim being over here. He isn't using his own name, and says he wants it kept a dead secret. Just what his game is, I don't know. But there are lots just like him who are hiding behind assumed names.

"I'm too harum-scarum a sailor for a quiet home-loving woman like you, so just forget me. Be good to——"

Here the page ended, and the remainder of the letter was in Miss Pipkin's trunk.

Before he had finished reading, the chug-chug from the Captain's power-boat floated in from the harbor, and the minister longed to be with him.



CHAPTER XIV

Elizabeth Fox was sitting alone in her room when the familiar chug from the exhaust of the Jennie P. fell on her ears. She raised her window-curtain, and watched the dim lights move out of the harbor in the direction of the Sound. An unreasoning fear seized her, and it steadily grew more and more acute as the exhaust from the engine exploded less and less distinctly. As the lights went out of view into the rain-soaked night, resentment replaced fear. The minister had doubtless heard of the plans that were being laid by Sim Hicks for his forceful ejection from Little River, and rather than face further trouble was slinking away like a coward under cover of night and storm.

Her better judgment soon began to form excuses for his action. The Athletic Club, thoroughly reorganized, had been placed under good leadership, and Mr. McGowan doubtless thought that the members could get on without his further aid. In all probability, he feared that his presence might interfere with the promised consummation of fellowship between the club and the church, and was leaving quietly so another man less aggressive than he might accomplish the thing he had so well begun. Had he remained, he would have been compelled to fight his way through by brute force. He had been forsaken by all those who should have stood by him. He was not a coward! He was taking the most difficult course. His going was the most heroic act of all.

Why had every man's hand been against him? Why had her father not so much as lifted a finger to stay the persecutors? She drew in her lip between her teeth, and mercilessly bit the pretty Cupid's arch. She kicked her foot against a stool till the piece of furniture lay beyond reach of her toe. Her father had not made a single effort to prevent one action of those who had set themselves against the minister. Instead, he had aided them, and in many instances had even led in the opposition against the young man.

One thought at length inhibited all others. She drew back from the window, and sinking into a deep chair, covered her face with her arm. Mack McGowan had gone out of her life! Suddenly, she knew that she loved him, loved him as passionately as he had declared his love for her. Why had she been unable to understand him that night on the beach? Had she really tried? She classed herself with all the others who had been so blind as to force this man to leave their village.

She jerked the pins from her hair, letting the fair mass fall over her shoulders. The stand she had taken had been because of the attitude of her father. He had no right to come between her and the man she loved. Why had he done it? Her fingers paused in the act of delving for a buried hairpin, and her arm fell limply over the wing of the chair. A vision of her father's face had come before her, startling her imagination. She saw him again as she had seen him that night when Harold had announced his intended trip to Australia. She recalled his ghostly features on the night of Harold's return from abroad. Could there be some unknown reason for her father's actions against the young minister? And did that reason justify his action?

Her conjectures were cut short by the sound of footfalls on the stair. The tread was heavy, as though the climber were dragging himself up by main force. On the top landing he halted, and turned toward her door.

What caprices emotion plays with judgment! One moment judgment may map out a course as clear as the noonday, and the next moment emotion may lead judgment into a blind alley. Thus did the emotions of Elizabeth suddenly halt her judgment, leaving all her reason deaf, dumb, and blind.

"Beth, are you asleep?" whispered a tired, husky voice.

"No, Father. I haven't retired yet. Come in."

She blindly felt that her father had need of her, and although she could not understand the meaning of the battle he had been called upon to general, she must give him her aid.

Mr. Fox entered and felt his way across the dark room. He found a chair and dropped into it.

"You're in the dark, dear," he observed.

"Yes, Father. I've been thinking here since twilight. Lights always interfere with my thoughts, and so I did not turn them on."

"Why, my dear, how long you have been sitting like this! It is now nearly eleven o'clock. Your thoughts must have been pretty active."

"I had no idea it was that late!" she exclaimed. "I have been thinking a great deal."

He stirred uneasily. Since the Captain's visit the Elder had been on the verge of collapse.

"Pretty bad storm," he commented, and his voice trembled.

Elizabeth reached out into the darkness and took his hand. As she pressed it to her lips she felt it shake.

"Thank you, Beth."

"Are you well, Father?"

"Not very. But it is nothing serious. At least, the doctor so assures me. I presume he ought to know."

"Why don't you go to the city and consult a specialist? These country doctors may not understand how to diagnose your case fully."

"All the specialists in Christendom couldn't help me."

"Father!"

"Don't grow alarmed," he said, with a short nervous laugh. "The only thing any doctor ever removes from his patient is what is worth the doctor's while. Present day physicians get away with a lot that is no credit to their profession. The main thing that interests them is not the disease, but the sufferer's pocketbook. If they can remove the latter, they will keep coaxing the former along."

"I suppose it is the spirit of the age to want to get all the money one can. Others, besides doctors, do that."

"Yes. Yes. There are still others who are grossly misjudged simply because they have money, too."

"Of course there are. But let's forget both those classes and talk about you. Please, tell me all about your troubles. It hurts me to see you suffering so, and I want to help you. I'll try very hard."

"I can't tell you everything, Beth."

"Oh! Yes, you can. I'll be your doctor, and I'll promise not to remove more of your money than is absolutely necessary for a new frock. Try me this once, and see how well I'll prescribe."

"Money is not troubling me, and I'll see that you get all the new frocks you wish. But I fear you would not understand if I should tell you all."

"I shall try most awfully hard, Father. You have told me lots of times that for a girl I have excellent ideas about business dealings. Please, tell me. It will at least help you to unburden your mind."

"But I have told you already that what is troubling me has nothing whatever to do with business. I tried to talk with you the other evening, and you failed to understand. We must not quarrel again. That is harder for me to bear than all else."

"I am very sorry for that, Daddy. I fear I lost my head. I am ashamed of the way I acted, and of what I said. Will you not forgive me?"

"Yes, my dear. We were both pretty severe. We are living too much on our nerves of late."

"Now, that the past is cleared up, tell me what is troubling you to-night."

"You say you have been sitting here for a long while?"

"Since twilight. It didn't seem so long, though."

"Did you see anything strange, or hear anything familiar?"

"I saw Uncle Josiah's boat leave the harbor."

"Didn't it strike you as being rather odd that he should be going out this time of night, and in such a storm? He went out last night, too."

"Yes, it did seem very strange to me."

"Beth?" The Elder's voice wavered.

"What is it, Father?"

"I know I've no right to worry you like this, but I don't stand reverses like I once did."

"Reverses! You told me it wasn't money! And, anyway, what does Uncle Josiah's action have to do with your reverses?" She switched on the light at her desk. When she saw her father's face she gave a little cry.

"I have told you the truth, Beth. It isn't money. I wish to God it were nothing more than that! There are reverses far harder to bear than financial ones."

Her father appeared older than she had ever seen him. Dejection showed through every line of his haggard face. The side-whiskers, which to his daughter's mind he had worn with great distinction, now gave to his worn features a grotesque expression.

"I feel pretty well worn out to-night, my dear,"—weariness was in every word he uttered,—"and as if I need some one to lean on. If I did not need you to help me, I should not be bothering you at this hour of the night."

The girl drew before her father's chair the footstool which earlier in the evening she had kicked into a far corner. She sat at his knee, and, taking his hand in hers, pressed it against her cheek. For some time they sat thus in silence. Her father broke in on the quietness of the room with a peculiar question.

"The Bible tells us that we should love our enemies, doesn't it, Beth?"

"But, Father, you have no enemies worth worrying about! Why should you ask such a question?"

"They may not be worth worrying about, but as I said before I don't seem able to fight off worry as I once could."

"Nonsense! When all this blows over you will see where you have been very foolish to have worried in the least bit. You are not strong, and everything appears worse than it really is."

"I don't know about that, my dear. I'm not so certain, either, that my enemies are not worth worrying about."

"Of course they're not. Just think how all the people have honored you for what you have done for Little River. Your gifts will not be so quickly forgotten that a total stranger can change the feeling of respect for you among your lifelong friends."

"I'm aware of all that, and I appreciate it."

"What has all this to do about Uncle Josiah's leaving town?"

"I'm coming to that. Suppose one of those you called my lifelong friends proved to be just the opposite?"

"That can't be true about Uncle Josiah!"

"Public expressions of gratitude can never atone for the knife which a supposedly close friend drives into one's heart."

Elizabeth unconsciously drew away. The movement was slight, but her father noticed it.

"Beth, Josiah has gone to the city to-night for no good purpose."

"Do you think he went alone?" With a savage leap the question got beyond the bounds of her lips.

"I doubt it. Just what part the other will play, I don't know. But of one thing I'm certain, Josiah is bent on ill."

Elizabeth felt that her old friend was being weighed in the balances. She could not trust her words to the emotion she felt.

"Do you think you are in a position to understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

"Father," she said, speaking slowly that she might not lose control of herself, "if you were not so serious about this, I should be tempted to laugh at your little melodramatic farce. It is the most ridiculous thing in all the world for you to imagine that Uncle Josiah would play double with us! He is too good-hearted for even one evil suggestion to get into his mind."

"I did not want to tell you the fact, but I fear I must. Of late he has been openly hostile to every suggestion I have made. I presume he thinks I should have secured a boat for him. That may account for his action."

"What dreadful thing has he done? I can't imagine——"

"Crookedness comes from the most unexpected sources," cut in her father, curtly.

"But such a thing would not be unexpected from Uncle Josiah, it would be impossible."

The Elder lowered his eyes to meet those peering at him from the tangle of fair hair. "As I have already suggested, you might not understand me. It seems that you are determined not to understand. It would be very hard for me to have another falling out with my little girl. Maybe I should say nothing further."

"If you are intending to say something against Uncle Josiah, perhaps you had better not say it. I'm afraid I wouldn't understand."

She turned from her father and tried to gaze through the window. The beating storm, and the light from within, made the pane opaque. She stared against this till her eyes ached.

"Beth!" There was a note of command in his tone.

She turned to face her father.

"Come here," he ordered.

"Uncle Josiah untrue to us!" she said, without moving from her place at the window. "I cannot believe it. There must be some mistake."

"There is absolutely no mistake about it. I should like to believe it more than you. I have even tried to make myself believe that my imagination was getting the better of me. But he was up here only last night, and confirmed all my fears."

"Uncle Josiah untrue! He could not be after all you have done for him. You loaned him money, and helped him fix up his place. Why, Father,——"

"That is the thing that makes it hurt so," broke in the Elder. "He seems ungrateful for all I have done. I don't care half as much for the praises of people inspired by a crowd as I do for one kind word from an individual whom I have helped."

"Some one has influenced Uncle Josiah, if he has taken this attitude against you."

"I have had the same fear. But even that would not excuse him for cursing me and threatening me with violence under my own roof."

Elizabeth looked doubtful.

"It amounts to that, my dear. The things he said to me last night are too vulgar to repeat. He swore vengeance against me. I am compelled to take a certain action against him, and naturally he is not able to see——"

"Father!" cried the girl. "Then, it is you who are threatening to do something against him."

"So it seems to him on the face of the action I must take. But at bottom it is an act of true friendship. He does not know the particulars, and I am in no position to explain."

"What is it you are going to do?" she asked, drawing farther into the corner near the window.

"I must request that you ask me no questions. You are not familiar enough with the law to comprehend."

Her gaze was fixed on him, and the Elder hitched sidewise in his chair, vainly trying to avoid her eyes. Failing in this, he attempted to meet her look squarely. His eyes shifted unsteadily, and he looked above her head. But the eyes of his child continued to bore into his guilty soul.

"Why do you stare at me in that manner, Beth?" he questioned, motioning her to his side.

"I don't know." She gave no evidence that she saw his effort to draw her near him.

"Then, stop glaring like that. How many times have I told you that it is unladylike?"

"You're going to take his place from him because he cannot pay that loan!" she whispered. "How can you be so cruel?"

Mr. Fox was left without excuse or reply. When he spoke, his voice was harsh, and his words were sharp.

"I see, I have been unwise in telling you."

"You didn't tell me, but I could not help guessing the truth."

"I'm doing it for his good, and unless you believe me,——"

"For his good! You can't mean that! You shall not stoop——"

"Stoop!" He caught up the word with a hiss. But he soon controlled his anger, and dropped his pale face into trembling hands. "God help me! They that hurt me are even of my own household!"

"Father, I don't want to hurt you. I'm not your enemy!" she cried. "I'm only your little Beth trying so hard to see why you must do this terrible thing."

"Come to me," he begged.

She took her place on the footstool, and took his hand.

"I shall try to tell you all about it, if you will listen. I didn't intend to, but it is more than I can bear to have my own daughter question my honesty and integrity. Harold's unjust insinuations are almost more than I can bear. Now, if you——"

"Don't say it, Father! I have not doubted your word yet. I don't want to now. I won't doubt you. Tell me all, and I'll try to see this from your point of view."

"You guessed rightly about what I have to do. The mortgage on Josiah's place——"

"You can certainly extend that, if only for six months. You don't need the money."

"Don't interrupt me again, please. It's a far more serious thing than the small loan I made to Josiah to repair his place with. The old homestead was willed to Josiah's half-brother, providing he should outlive Josiah. Josiah knew nothing about that fact, and when he was so informed by his friends years ago, refused to listen to any of us. The half-brother left the country rather than quarrel with him over the estate. Later, this half-brother was in serious financial trouble, and I happened to come across him when he was in dire need of money. Knowing of the will, I loaned him all he needed, and took out a first mortgage on his property. Owing to peculiar circumstances, I put in a provision that there was to be no foreclosure so long as the interest was paid. I even went beyond the request which the man made, by including another clause which prevents me or my heirs from foreclosing before the expiration of two years after the last payment of interest. Have you followed me closely?"

She nodded.

"Well, each year the interest has been paid in full up to the last two. As long as it was forthcoming I said nothing. I have not mentioned a word of this transaction between the half-brother and me, for I knew his hot temper would get the better of him. He thinks the man was drowned at sea, and it is best that he continue to think so. I have misled him into the belief that I was foreclosing because of the small loan I made last spring, and I trusted to his usual secrecy and apparent ignorance to say nothing about it to any one. But from the arrogant manner he maintained toward me last night I fear he has said more than is good for him. And I have every reason to think that the meddler is the minister. I doubt not but that is the reason why he has gone to the city to-night, and I don't think he has gone alone."

"When must that interest be paid?"

"Before midday, Saturday. The other loan does not come due for more than two weeks, but the time was so near that I did not think of Josiah questioning it."

"Who has been paying the interest on the other loan?"

"I do not know, but it has doubtless been coming from some estate of the father-in-law of Josiah's brother."

"Why was it dropped?"

"That I cannot tell you. I should have done nothing even now had I not learned that this half-brother has come into that estate through the death of the wife's father. I have every reason to believe that he could pay not alone the interest, but the principal as well, if he so desired."

"Perhaps this half-brother does not know about the inheritance."

"That is absurd. He does know, or should. The fact is, he is an outlaw and is hiding from justice."

"But why should you make Uncle Josiah suffer for what his half-brother did?"

"That is the very thing I am trying not to do. Can't you see where it would place him if I told him the truth?"

"Yes. But I see no reason why you can't let things go on as they have, and forget the unpaid interest."

"I have no power to do that. I put the matter in the hands of my lawyers in order to force the hidden rascal to take action."

"I think it would be best to tell Uncle Josiah all about it, and let him help you find the one who should pay."

"Such action would be senseless for two reasons: it would give Josiah grief and pain, and he would be unable to meet the obligation. It was larger than what the place would cover when first made, and with the deterioration in the value of the property it now far exceeds its worth. Then, there is the interest for two years."

"Why don't you offer to buy the place, even paying more than the mortgage calls for? It would be a kindness."

"I made such an offer through my lawyer, but Josiah refused."

"Then, why not cancel it altogether?"

"That would be very unbusiness-like," he declared curtly. "But even if I so desired, it would be impossible now. I have permitted my lawyers to use the foreclosure as a threat, and I'm duty bound to see it through."

"If it is absolutely necessary to go through with this, I don't see that it would make it any more terrible if we should tell Uncle Josiah the whole story. It would, at least, save his thinking ill of us. Then, there is the chance that he might suggest something."

"Beth, I'm bound by my word to say nothing. That was the one promise I made to Adoniah."

"Adoniah!" exclaimed the girl, her eyes growing wide.

"Yes. I did not mean to speak his name, but it can do no harm."

"Why,—that was the first name——Is he the same man Harold is trying to find?"

"I'm sorry to say that he is."

"The one whose last name was Phillips?"

"Yes. But why do you take such interest in him?"

"And he is a brother of Uncle Josiah?"

"A half-brother," he replied, showing that he was becoming nettled.

Elizabeth rose from her stool, and crossed over to the door that led into the hall. She did not seem to sense just what she was doing till her hand touched the cold knob. With a start, as though wakened from a bad dream, she turned about and faced her father.

"Father,"—her breath came in short gasps,—"you have no right to keep your word to such a man as you say this Phillips person is. There is but one thing for us to do: go at once to Uncle Josiah. I'm certain he can get enough money to pay the interest, if that is what you want."

"But, Beth, I cannot do that. My business honor is at stake, and I must permit the law to take its course."

"You may be right about the legal part. But how about the moral side? Is there not something at stake there, too?"

"It does seem a moral injustice, but I cannot help that. It is hard, for Josiah will see only the moral side of it, and the people of the village will think it unjust. Josiah may find out the facts, that is, enough of them to prove to his mind that I can't foreclose on his property because of the little loan. What more he may discover, I cannot even guess. It will depend somewhat on the lawyer who advises him. But no matter what he discovers, my conscience will be clear in that I did not break faith with his renegade brother."

"What right have you to keep faith with him?"

"My little Beth, please do not question my action," he entreated. "It will all be clear to you some day. I'm willing to wait for my vindication, but I must know that my little girl trusts her daddy to do what is right. If you don't, it will kill me!"

There was such deep pathos in his voice that she recrossed the room. She laid her hand on the arm of her father's chair.

"After all, Father, I am only a girl, and know very little of law and business. Forgive me if I have hurt you. I don't see why you feel as you do about carrying this thing through at so great a sacrifice of lifelong friendships. But I believe that you must be doing the best you can as you see your duty."

"I can hope for no more than that, my dear."

Suddenly she shook the hair from her shining eyes.

"Father!"

"Yes?"

"I tell you what I'm going to do!" she cried. "I'm going to Uncle Josiah just as soon as he gets back, and tell him as much as I think he ought to know. May I?"

"Certainly, if you wish. I'll trust to your discretion. He will listen to you. I think you know what must not be said, from our conversation this evening."

"I'll do it!" she exclaimed eagerly, and stooped above the chair to kiss her father's forehead. "Now, you go right to bed. That is my first remedy. My second is like unto it: don't do one single bit of worrying. Remember! Good night."

The Elder rose and smiled benignly on his daughter. At the door he paused, and turned back.

"Beth, this may affect the minister."

"Affect the minister? Affect Mr. McGowan? How can it do that?"

"He has doubtless urged Josiah to take this rash step to consult a lawyer, and when all the facts come out he may be forced to leave Little River. As you know, his popularity is quite dubious as matters stand at present."

"But I hardly see——"

"We'll say nothing more about that. Good night, my dear."

Her door closed, and her father crossed the hall. She was no sooner alone than a rush of unbidden thoughts and emotions swept over her, carrying all her promises like chaff before a hurricane. While her father had been in the room she had thought herself quite determined to take the hard step of explaining to Uncle Josiah just enough to remove the blame from the one she loved to the half-brother. But now that the Elder had gone her will to explain seemed gone, too. Again he rose before her imagination, a white trembling figure. She heard Harold speak the name of Adoniah Phillips, and saw her father stagger from the table. Had these two things been a mere coincidence? Doubts began to rise. Why must the mortgage be foreclosed on Uncle Josiah's place? Why had her father acted so on the evening when Harold had spoken his client's name? Had her father told her all? Why should all this involve the minister, even though he had advised the Captain to seek the counsel of a lawyer?

Long into the night she puzzled her brain in seeking for answers to her many questions. Of one thing she felt sure, Mr. McGowan would not leave Little River. Just between waking and sleeping she at length recalled the words of love which he had spoken to her on the beach, spoken as she had never heard them before, and they carried her along dreamy paths into a happy visionary future.



CHAPTER XV

"Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho! Ships may come and ships may go, But I sail on forever!"

Certainly, no audience would be moved to tears, either by the quality of the voice, or by the ditty that was thus rendered. And yet, there was a blue-eyed, fair-haired girl, seated on the rocks below her father's place, whose eyes filled with tears as she listened. Elizabeth thought she was prepared to fulfill the promise made to her father three days ago, but, now that the opportunity was upon her, she felt her resolution slipping away. She loved her dear old friend as never in all her life.

The singer rounded a projection of sandy beach just beyond the rock-pile where the girl was sitting. He was hurrying up the shore in the direction of his home, his dejected figure revealing his utter loneliness, despite the lightness of his song. His brow was puckered, more with furrows of perplexity than with lines of anger, as he made his way with labored difficulty up the steep incline from the beach.

"Oh, Uncle Josiah!" involuntarily cried the girl as she caught a glimpse of the haggard face.

The old man stopped, turned about, and looked up.

"Now, ain't this surprising good luck to find you here!" he exclaimed. "I was just thinking about you, Beth."

"Do your thoughts of me always make you sing like that?"

"That there song ain't got much music, and I cal'late it don't improve to speak of with my voice," he answered, his swarthy face breaking into a broad smile. "It must sound funny for an old fish like me to be serenading a young lady like you. Glad you liked the entertainment, Beth."

"I didn't say I liked it. It made me feel very bad," she said, loosening a stone with the point of her shoe and sending it rolling to the water's edge.

"Well, I don't just rec'lect that you spoke favorable on that p'int. I honest didn't know you was about else I'd tried something more fitting to the occasion. Fact is, Beth, I was singing to keep my spirits up."

"You should be happier than you look, then, for your singing is better than a vaudeville show."

"You ain't none too partic'lar about classing me, be you?"

"Singing isn't in your line, and if I were you I'd not try it."

"Beth, what's wrong? You don't seem real glad to see me."

"Of course, I'm glad to see you, my dear old sailor Uncle," she said, rising and putting her arms about his neck.

"Thanks, Beth." He choked out the words, for as he looked down he saw the sign of tears in her eyes. "I've been cruising round nigh onto three days, and that's a purty long spell for the land-lubber I'm getting to be."

"Your return was as sudden as your departure, wasn't it?"

"Sudden? What do you mean by that?"

"Just what I say. I was looking for the Jennie P. to come into the harbor. Perhaps she came as she went, like the ships that pass in the night."

"You see me go out, did you, Beth?"

She nodded. "But I did not see you return."

"I did sort of sneak out. What did you think of me for doing a thing like that?"

"I didn't think very highly of you, if you want the honest truth," she declared, releasing her arms from about his neck.

"You ain't mad, are you, Beth?"

"Don't you think I have a perfect right to get angry? It was the first time you ever left home without telling me good-bye. Should I like that?"

"I never thought of that. But this here cruise was like the proposing to the old maid: unexpected-like. For that reason I wa'n't prepared for saying good-byes." His eyes clouded as he slowly continued, "It's a fact, I never went off afore without telling you good-bye. I don't——"

He stopped and looked down at the girl. She was no longer the child who had clung to him on the eve of departures for long cruises, asking, "Take me 'long, Unca Josi?" She had grown to womanhood! He wondered that the thought had not occurred to him before. And yet, as he continued to gaze, he saw the eager child staring up into his face from the big eyes.

"I cal'late I ain't got no right to expect them partings no more," he faltered.

"Why, Uncle Josiah Pott! I don't like that one little bit."

"You seem so growed up, Beth, and I cal'late you're getting too big——"

"For you to love me?"

"No!" he said vehemently.

"Then, just what do you mean?"

"I don't know." He drew awkwardly back as she approached him, and fumbled his hat till it fell from his fingers. "You're getting to be quite a woman," he observed.

"And you're getting very foolish! Now, you kiss me before I get angry."

He stooped, kissed her hastily, and wiped his lips with the back of his coat-sleeve. He picked up his hat, and began to rub it vigorously with his finger-tips.

"If ever you talk like that again I'll punish you by never giving you another kiss."

"I ain't got no right to expect it, anyway, Beth."

"Uncle Josiah, don't let me hear that again. I want to hear all about your voyage," she demanded as she settled herself on the rocks, and motioned him near her.

"There wa'n't none, that is, none to speak of."

"Oh! But there was, and it must have been the most mysterious of all. You went in the night, and you came in the night. Did you do all your trading in the night, too, slipping about through the streets in some unknown country with moccasins on your feet, like you once told me about the Chinese?"

She laughed, but the Captain did not catch the restrained note and manner.

"There, now! That's more like it!" he declared, joining in with a cracked laugh. "It seemed afore like I was talking to a young lady I'd never seen. Feel more like I'd got back home with you laughing like that."

"I haven't been indulging much since you went away."

"You ain't?"

"But tell me about your trip."

"You was right on most p'ints, excepting I didn't cruise back in the night."

"Then how did you slip into town so quietly and unseen? I've been sitting on these cold stones for two days looking for you."

"I come back by railroad, and just now was walking over from the station."

"But where did you leave the Jennie P.? Why didn't you come back with her?"

"I run her into dry-dock down to the city for repairs," he said quietly.

The girl noticed a slight catch in his voice.

"I thought you did all your own repairing."

"I do when there ain't nothing bad wrong."

"You sailed the Jennie P. all the way into the city and left it there?"

"Something went wrong with the engine, and I didn't have no time to tinker with her afore I had to come back. Them there gas engines is worse than a team of mules when they get to bucking and balking. They——"