lose him. He was not in the village to-day, and as he was not, I thought
it safer not to inquire about him. I am glad now that I did not. But you
are in a high fever, dear child. This suspense must be brought to an
end, or it will kill you." She put her arms round Anne and kissed her
fondly--an unusual expression of feeling from Miss Lois, who had been
brought up in the old-fashioned rigidly undemonstrative New England
manner. And the girl put her head down upon her old friend's shoulder
and clung to her. But she could not weep; the relief of tears was not
yet come.

In the morning they saw the fisherman at the foot of the meadow, and
watched him through the blinds, breathlessly. He was so much and so
important to them that it seemed as if they must be the same to him. But
he was only bringing a string of fish to sell. He drew up his dug-out on
the bank, and came toward the house with a rolling step, carrying his
fish.

"There's a man here with some fish, that was ordered, he says, by
somebody from here," said a voice on the stairs. "Was it you, Mrs.
Young?"

"Yes. Come in, Mrs. Blackwell--do. My niece ordered them: you know
they're considered very good for an exhausted brain. Perhaps I'd better
go down and look at them myself. And, by-the-way, who is this man?"

"It's Sandy Croom; he lives up near the pond."

"Yes, we met him up that way. Is he a German?"

"There's Dutch blood in him, I reckon, as there is in most of the people
about here who are not Marylanders," said Mrs. Blackwell, who _was_ a
Marylander.

"He's a curious-looking creature," pursued Mrs. Young, as they descended
the stairs. "Is he quite right in his mind?"

"Some think he isn't; but others say he's sharper than we suppose. He
drinks, though."

By this time they were in the kitchen, and Mrs. Young went out to the
porch to receive and pay for the fish, her niece Ruth silently
following. Croom took off his old hat and made a backward scrape with
his foot by way of salutation; his small head was covered with a mat of
boyish-looking yellow curls, which contrasted strangely with his red
face.

"Here's yer fish," he said, holding them out toward Anne.

But she could not take them: she was gazing, fascinated, at his
hand--that broad short left hand which haunted her like a horrible
phantom day and night. She raised her handkerchief to her lips in order
to conceal, as far as possible, the horror she feared her face must
betray.

"You never _