the
Roads. A tug fussed about the quarantine wharf; the lateen
fisher-boats were slipping out towards the Sacramento. And white and
stately, between the pillars of the Gate, a full-rigged ship was
making out to sea on a favoring breeze.

Eleanor watched the sea-birds bending toward it, the mists creeping
down to cover it. The soul within her leaped toward it and seized it
as a symbol.

"O ship," she whispered, "take this too away with you! I give it to
the pure seas. Take this little love away with you!"

That rite, with its poetry and its self-pity, brought exaltation into
her resolution. The sacrifice was complete.

CHAPTER XVI

Life and spirit came back to Bertram Chester with a sudden bound. By
the fourth day, he was so much alive, so insistent for company, that
it became a medical necessity to break the conventional regulations
for invalids, and let him see people. As it happened, his father was
the first visitor. Judge Tiffany, who thought of everything, had
telegraphed on the night of the accident, and had followed this
dispatch, as Bertram improved, with reassuring messages. Bert Chester
the elder, it appeared, was off on a long drive into Modoc; two days
elapsed before his vaqueros, left on the ranch, could reach him.

He arrived with his valise on the morning of that fourth day when
Bertram roared for company. He was a tall, calm man, with a sea-lion
mustache, a weather-beaten complexion and the Chester smile in grave
duplicate. He was obviously uncomfortable in his town clothes; and,
even at the moment when they were leading him solemnly to the sick
room, he stepped in awe through the Tiffany splendors. When Mrs.
Tiffany told him that Bert was doing well, would doubtless recover and
without disability, he said "That's good!" and never changed
expression. Mrs. Tiffany, lingering at the door, saw and heard their
greeting.

"How are you, Bert?" said Chester senior.

"Pretty well, Dad," said Bertram. Then awkwardly, with embarrassed
self-consciousness of the rite which he was performing, Mr. Chester
shook his son's hand.

After their short interview, Mr. Chester, a cat--or a bear rather--in
a strange garret, roamed the Tiffany home and entertained her who
would listen. He warmed to Kate especially, and that household fairy,
in her flights between errands of mercy, played him with all the
prettiness of her coquetry. At luncheon he quite lost his
embarrassment and responded to the advances of