an fifteen minutes. She was
ill at ease there; it was no comfort to her to gaze upon the pallid,
wasted face of the man she loved when she realized that, by her
presence here, she was constituting herself a party to a
heart-breaking swindle, and must deny herself the joy of gazing upon
that same beloved countenance when, later, it should be glowing with
health and youth and high hopes. He was too weak to speak more than a
few words to her. The faintest imaginable pressure of his hand
answered the pressure of hers. It appeared to be a tremendous effort
for him to open his eyes and look up at her. When, however, he had
satisfied his swimming senses that she was really there in the flesh,
he murmured:

"You'll not--run away--again? Promise?"

"I promise, dear. The next time I leave Port Agnew, I'll say good-by."

"You must not--leave--again. Promise?"

She knew his life might be the reward of a kindly lie; so she told it,
bravely and without hesitation. Was she not there for that purpose?

"Good--news! If I get--well, will you--marry me, Nan?" She choked up
then; nevertheless, she nodded.

"More good--news! Wait for me--Sawdust Pile--sweetheart."

She interpreted this as a dismissal, and gratefully made her exit.
From the hospital office she telephoned orders to the butcher, the
baker, the grocer, and the milkman, forcibly separated little Don from
the nurse, and walked down through Port Agnew to the Sawdust Pile.

The old-fashioned garden welcomed her with its fragrance; her cat,
which she had been unable to give away and had not the heart to
destroy at the time of her departure, came to the little white gate to
meet her and rubbed against her, purring contentedly--apparently none
the worse for a month of vagabondage and richer by a litter of kittens
that blinked at Nan from under the kitchen stoop. From across the
Bight of Tyee, the morning breeze brought her the grateful odor of the
sea, while the white sea-gulls, prinking themselves on the pile-butts
at the outer edge of the Sawdust Pile, raised raucous cries at her
approach and hopped toward her in anticipation of the scraps she had
been wont to toss them. She resurrected the key from its hiding-place
under the eaves, and her hot tears fell so fast that it was with
difficulty she could insert it in the door. Poor derelict on the sea
of life, she had gone out with the ebb and had been swept back on the
flood, to bob around for a little while in the cross-curre