muttered, turning with a gray face. "They've eat him
up!"

Then--forgetting the old vow--he laughed.

* * * * *

... And this was true. They had eaten him up. The snow was all trampled
and gory. They had eaten him up. Among the tatters of his garments, I
found a hand; and I knew that hand for the hand of Jagger of Wayfarer's
Tickle.... They had turned wolves--they had eaten him up. From far
off--the crest of a desolate hill--there came a long howl. I looked
towards that place. A great dog appeared--and fled. I wondered if the
dog I knew had had his day. I wondered if the first grip had been upon
the throat....

* * * * *

When we came again to our harbour--came close again to the grief we had
in rage and swift action forgot--when, from the inland hills, we caught
sight of the basin of black water, and the cottages, snuggled by the
white water-side--we were amazed to discover a schooner lying at anchor
off my father's wharf: the wreck of a craft, her topmast hanging, her
cabin stove in, her jib-boom broke off short. But this amazement--this
vast astonishment--was poor surprise as compared with the shock I got
when I entered my father's house. For, there--new groomed and
placid--sat the doctor; and my dear sister was close to him--oh, so
joyfully close to him--her hand in his, her sweet face upturned to him
and smiling, glowing with such faith and love as men cannot deserve: a
radiant, holy thing, come straight from the Heart of the dear God, who
is the source of Love.

"Oh!" I ejaculated, stopping dead on the threshold.

"Hello, Davy!" the doctor cried.

I fell into the handiest chair. "You got home," I observed, in a gasp.
"Didn't you?"

He laughed.

"Sure," I began, vacantly, "an', ecod!" I exclaimed, with heat, "what
craft picked _you_ up?"

"The _Happy Sally_."

"Oh!" said I. 'Twas a queer situation. There seemed so little to say.
"Was you drove far?" I asked, politely seeking to fill an awkward gap.

"South o' Belle Isle."

"Ah!"

The doctor was much amused--my sister hardly less so. They watched me
with laughing eyes. And they heartlessly abandoned me to my own
conversational devices: which turned me desperate.

"Is you goin' t' get married?" I demanded.

My sister blushed--and gave me an arch glance from behind her long, dark
lashes. But--

"We are not without hope," the doctor answered, calmly, "that the Bishop
will be on our