," he said. "There's some
one to join at the last minute, who will get into a boat waiting at
the wharf in the dark, some one you love, miss, who ought to be
stopping ashore with the rest of us. You should find some way to keep
him back."

"Oh, if I only could!" she cried.

"There's only you can do it," he answered. "Hallowell blood can only
be ruled by Hallowell blood, as we say on Hallowell ships. Well, I'll
be going on again. I had climbed the path, there, to take one more
look at the harbor, where you can see it between the hills. Maybe your
father will find a place for me when his vessels go to sea for trade
again, and I'll never forget him nor you, Miss Cicely. Do you remember
how you and your brother once hid under the wharf, and called out from
that echoing place as though you were lost souls out of the sea? There
was one honest old sailorman that nearly lost his wits for terror,
since we seafaring folk have no love for ghosts. Mark my words, there
will no good come to the _Huntress_ from setting sail of a Friday. For
that alone I would stay ashore though there's other things to hold me,
too."

He strode away down the snowy road, leaving Cicely, smiling at first
at the recollection of that game that had so frightened him when she
and her brother had played at ghosts, then grave in a moment when she
thought how soon that brother was to be gone. On Friday, the day after
to-morrow, he would sail unless she could stop him. But how could
she?

The next day she made the desperate effort of appealing to her father,
but quite in vain. Reuben Hallowell would not believe either that the
_Huntress_ would sail or that his son would go with her.

"And if Alan wishes to cut himself off from his own people forever,
let him," he said finally, unable to endure the thought that any one
should dare to defy his will. Friday came, the shadows of Friday night
stole through the big house, yet nothing had been done.

Cicely sat by the fire in her chintz-hung bedroom, leaning back
against the flowered cushion of the big armchair, gazing into the
flames. In the next room she could hear vague sounds of Alan's
preparations, feet going to and fro, a door opening and closing, a
pair of heavy boots dropped upon the floor. The night was dark
outside, with a blustering wind and occasional flurries of snow that
struck sharply against the window.

It was ten o'clock. The sounds had ceased as though Alan had finished
making ready and was