towards the sea.

CHAPTER X.

A LETTER FROM THE FISHERMAN.

The fisherman had gone back to Providence. Rebecca, herself, returning
from the Post Office at West Wallen, brought me a letter distinguished by
its peculiar dashing chirography. As she handed it to me, the girl, whose
glance had been downcast of late, gave me a clear, straightforward,
unembarrassed look.

"Do you like him, teacher?" she said.

"Oh, I tolerate him, my dear," I answered. "We're not expected to
entertain a particular liking or dislike for everybody we know. There are
a great many people we must just simply tolerate."

Rebecca's eyes fell again. "He won't harm you, teacher," she said; "for
you was used to folks. Sometime you might remember--I wasn't used to
folks."

Occupied with my own thoughts, I passed lightly over the girl's slow,
trembling speech. She turned away, and I bent to the complacent perusal
of my letter. In my then composed and exalted frame of mind its contents
were not calculated to create in me either great emotion or surprise. And
not because the mere fact of the fisherman's absence had suddenly
rendered him more desirable in my eyes, but as the result of a recent
determination on my part to take an utterly worldly and practical view of
life, I resolved to give this letter the most careful and serious
consideration.

The fisherman was of good family, and he was rich; these statements,
artistically interwoven by him with the lighter fabric of his letter,
were confirmed by an acquaintance of mine in Providence, of whom, in
writing, I had incidentally inquired concerning the gentleman.

Respectability and wealth--items not supposed to weigh too heavily with
the romantic mind of youth--but I believed that I was no longer either
young or romantic. Moreover, I was slowly realizing the fact that
school-teaching in Wallencamp was not likely to furnish me the means for
making an excessively brilliant personal display, nor for carrying out to
any extent my subordinate plans for a world-wide philanthropy.

"Perhaps, after all then," I argued; "it is only left for me to give up
my ideas about being unique and independent and sublime, 'take up with a
good offer,' and step resolutely, without any sentimental awe, into the
great orderly ranks of the married sisterhood."

My life had been but a varied list of surprises to my family and
acquaintances, why not effect the crowning surprise of all, by doing
something they mig