when he recalled the sloop old Caleb
had built for him with so much pride and pleaure, the long-forgotten
fishing trips and races in the bight, the wondrous tales the old
sailor had poured into his boyish ears, together with the affection
and profound respect, as for a superior being, which the old man had
always held for him, the young laird of Tyee mingled a tear or two
with those of the orphaned Nan.

"I've told Sam Carew to come for him," he informed Nan, when they had
returned to the living-room. "I shall attend to all of the funeral
arrangements. Funeral the day after to-morrow, say in the morning. Are
there any relatives to notify?"

"None that would be interested, Donald."

"Do you wish a religious service?"

"Certainly not by the Reverend Tingley."

"Then I'll get somebody else. Anything else? Money, clothes?"

She glanced at him with all the sweetness and tenderness of her great
love lambent in her wistful sea-blue eyes.

"What a poor thing is pride in the face of circumstances," she replied
drearily. "I haven't sufficient strength of character to send you
away. I ought to, for your own sake, but since you're the only one
that cares, I suppose you'll have to pay the price. You might lend me
a hundred dollars, dear. Perhaps some-day I'll repay it."

He laid the money in her hand and retained the hand in his; thus they
sat gazing into the blue flames of the driftwood fire--she hopelessly,
he with masculine helplessness. Neither spoke, for each was busy with
personal problems.

The arrival of Mr. Carew interrupted their sad thoughts. When he had
departed with the harvest of his grim profession, the thought that had
been uppermost in Donald's mind found expression.

"It's going to be mighty hard on you living here alone."

"It's going to be hard on me wherever I live--alone," she replied
resignedly.

"Wish I could get some woman to come and live with you until we can
adjust your affairs, Nan. Tingley's wife's a good sort. Perhaps--"

She shook her head.

"I prefer my own company--when I cannot have yours."

A wave of bitterness, of humiliation swept over him in the knowledge
that he could not ask one of his own sisters to help her. Truly he
dwelt in an unlovely world.

He glanced at Nan again, and suddenly there came over him a great
yearning to share her lot, even at the price of sharing her shame. He
was not ashamed of her, and she knew it; yet both were fearful of
revealing that fact to th