ile he abode the slack, while he
battled for shore, while he mended and launched, while the cry
'Diadyomene! Diadyomene!' swept down on white wings, went before,
shifted, wheeled; while, so guided, reefs and breakers threatened close
on every hand, fell behind and left him scatheless.

Oh, safe upon the waveless blue reason fell prostrate, abashed; and the
heart of Christian, enfranchised, leapt high in exultation, so that with
laughter, and glad praise, and proud and happy calls of farewell, he set
sail for home and was carried away from the Isle Sinister.

CHAPTER IV

Though day was high, Lois, the mother adoptive of Christian the Alien,
sat in shadow, for her small lattice was nearly blinded by the spread of
vivid fig-leaves jealous for the sun. Flawless order reigned in the
simple habitation. No sign of want was there, but comforts were few, and
of touch or tint for mere pleasure there was none. Over an opened Bible
bent a face worn more by care than time. Never a page was turned; the
hands held the edges, quiet, but a little tense. For an hour deliberate
calm held.

Then the soft, quick pat of bare feet running caused a slight grip and
quiver. The door swung wide, not ungently, before Christian flushed and
breathless, and a flash of broad day framed with him. He peered within
with eager, anxious eyes, yet a diffident conscience made him falter.

'What have I done? Oh, mother!'

So frail she seemed to his large embrace. In his hand hers he felt ever
so slightly tremble. He knelt beside her, love and reverence big in his
heart.

'Why should you trouble so?' he said.

She laid her hands on his head for pardon. 'Christian,' she said, 'were
you in peril last night?'

'Yes.'

She waited for more to follow, vainly.

'What was it? Where have you been? What have you done?'

'Mother, you were praying for me!'

'Answer, Christian.'

'I gave a promise. I thought I owed it--yes, I think so,' he said,
perturbed, and looked in her eyes for exoneration. There he read
intelligence on a wrong tack that his honesty would not suffer.

'No, mother, it was not on a venture--I have come back empty-handed. I
mean not such a venture as you think,' he corrected, for among the
fishers the word had a special significance, as will show hereafter.

'Say at least,' said Lois, 'you have done nothing amiss--nothing you
would be ashamed to tell me.'

'But I have,' he confessed, reddening, 'done amiss--without being gre