l in across the bay
from Chatham."

Eben had been the listener, a role into which he usually fell when
conversation became general, but now he assumed a more active
participation.

"Chatham is quite a distance from us, Mr. Farquaharson," he suggested,
"but it's only about two hundred yards from our terrace to the float in
the cove. However, you know that cove yourself."

Into Farquaharson's face came the light of keen remembrance. Yes, he
knew that cove. He and Conscience had often been swimming there. He
wondered if, on a clear day, one could still see the schools of tiny
fishes twelve feet below in water translucently blue.

"Yes," he acknowledged, "I haven't forgotten the cove. It opens through
a narrow channel into the lesser bay and there used to be an eel pot
near the opening. Is that eel pot still there?"

Eben Tollman smiled. His manner was frankly gracious, while it escaped
effusiveness.

"Well, now, Mr. Farquaharson," he suggested, "I can't say as to that,
but why don't you come and investigate for yourself? You can leave by
the noon train to-morrow and be with us in a little over two hours--I
wish we could wait and see your play this evening, but I'm afraid I must
get back to-day."

An instinctive sense of courtesy alone prevented Stuart's jaw from
dropping in amazement. He remembered Eben Tollman as a dour and
illiberal bigot whom the community called mean and whom no man called
gracious. Had Conscience, by the sunlight of her spontaneity and love
wrought this miracle of change? If so she was more wonderful than even
he had admitted.

"It's good of you, Mr. Tollman," he found himself murmuring, "but I'm
afraid that's hardly possible."

"Hardly possible? Nonsense!" Tollman laughed aloud this time. "Why,
you've just been telling us that you were on the verge of running away
somewhere to rest--and that the only undecided point was a choice of
destination."

Stuart glanced hurriedly toward Conscience as if for assistance, but her
averted and tranquil face told him nothing. Yet under her unruffled
composure swirled a whirlpool of agitation and apprehension, greater
than his own.

In a spirit of amazement, she had heard her husband tender his
invitation.

Now as Stuart sat across the table, she was rediscovering many little
tricks of individuality which had endeared him as a lover, or perhaps
been dear because he was her lover, and in the sum of these tremendous
trifles lay a terrific danger whic