Part 70 (2/2)

”George! Why, I am going away with my mother. George isn't.... Why, Cap'n Kendrick, you don't think--you can't think that George and I are--are----”

”Eh? Aren't you? I thought----”

She shook her head. ”I told you once,” she said. ”I mean it. I like George well enough--sometimes I like him better than at others. But--oh, why can't you believe me?”

He was staring at her with a gaze so intent, an expression so strange that she could not meet it. She turned away.

”Please don't say any more about it,” she begged.

”But--but George is--he has counted on it. He told me----”

”Don't. I don't know what he told you. I hope nothing foolish. He and I understand each other. Last night, when he came, I told him ... There, I must go, Cap'n Kendrick. I have left mother alone too long already.”

”Wait!” he shouted it. ”You mean ... You aren't goin' to marry George Kent--_ever_?”

”Why, no, of course not!”

”Elizabeth--oh, my soul, I--I'm crazy, I guess--but--Elizabeth, could you---- No, you couldn't, I know.... But _am_ I crazy? Could you--do you--Elizabeth, if you ... _Stop_!”

She was on her way to the door.

He sprang after her, caught her hand.

”Elizabeth,” he cried, the words tumbling over each other, ”I'm thirty-eight years old. I'm a sailor, that's all. I'm not much of a man, as men go maybe, sort of a failure so far. But--with you to work for and live for, I--I guess I could be--I feel as if I could be almost anything. Could you give me that chance? Could you?”

She did not answer; did not even look at him. He dropped her hand.

”Of course not,” he sighed. ”Just craziness was what it was. Forgive me, my girl. And--forget it, if you can.”

She did not speak. Slowly, and still without looking at him, she walked out of the kitchen. The outer door closed behind her. He put his hand to his eyes, breathed deeply, and returning to the chair by the table, sat heavily down.

”A failure,” he groaned aloud. ”Lord Almighty, _what_ a failure!”

He had not heard the door open, but he did hear her step, and felt her arms about his neck and her kiss upon his cheek.

”Don't, don't, don't!” she sobbed. ”Oh, my dear, don't say that. Don't ever say it again. Oh, you mustn't.”

And he did not. For the next half hour he said many other things, and so did she, and when at last she did go away, he stood in the doorway, looking after her, knowing himself to be not a failure, but the one real overwhelming success in all this gloriously successful world.

CHAPTER XX

It was April and one of those beautiful early spring days with which New England is sometimes favored. The first buds were showing on the trees, the first patches of new green were sprinkling the sheltered slopes of the little hills, and under the dead leaves by the edges of the woods boys had been rummaging for the first mayflowers.

It was supper time at the Fair Harbor and the ”guests”--quoting Mrs.

Susannah Brackett--or the ”inmates”--quoting Mr. Judah Cahoon--were seated about the table. There were some notable vacancies in the roster.

At the head, where Mrs. Cordelia Berry had so graciously and for so long presided, there was now an empty chair. That chair would soon be filled, however; the new matron of the Harbor was at that moment in the office discussing business matters with Mr. Bradley, the new ”outside manager.”

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