with a clutching at her throat she had not known
since that fatal afternoon when Martha returned from Trenton.

"You dear, foolish sister," Lucy's letter began, "what should I tell
him for? He loves me devotedly and we are very happy together, and I am
not going to cause him any pain by bringing any disagreeable thing into
his life. People don't do those wild, old-fashioned things over here.
And then, again, there is no possibility of his finding out. Maria
agrees with me thoroughly, and says in her funny way that men nowadays
know too much already." Then followed an account of her wedding.

This letter Jane did not read to the doctor--no part of it, in fact.
She did not even mention its receipt, except to say that the wedding
had taken place in Geneva, where the Frenchman's mother lived, it being
impossible, Lucy said, for her to come home, and that Maria Collins,
who was staying with her, had been the only one of her old friends at
the ceremony. Neither did she read it all to Martha. The old nurse was
growing more feeble every year and she did not wish her blind faith in
her bairn disturbed.

For many days she kept the letter locked in her desk, not having the
courage to take it out again and read it. Then she sent for Captain
Holt, the only one, beside Martha, with whom she could discuss the
matter. She knew his strong, honest nature, and his blunt, outspoken
way of giving vent to his mind, and she hoped that his knowledge of
life might help to comfort her.

"Married to one o' them furriners, is she?" the captain blurted out;
"and goin' to keep right on livin' the lie she's lived ever since she
left ye? You'll excuse me, Miss Jane,--you've been a mother, and a
sister and everything to her, and you're nearer the angels than anybody
I know. That's what I think when I look at you and Archie. I say it
behind your back and I say it now to your face, for it's true. As to
Lucy, I may be mistaken, and I may not. I don't want to condemn nothin'
'less I'm on the survey and kin look the craft over; that's why I'm
partic'lar. Maybe Bart was right in sayin' it warn't all his fault,
whelp as he was to say it, and maybe he warn't. It ain't up before me
and I ain't passin' on it,--but one thing is certain, when a ship's
made as many voyages as Lucy has and ain't been home for repairs nigh
on to seven years--ain't it?" and he looked at Jane for
confirmation--"she gits foul and sometimes a little mite
worm-eaten--especially her bi