ween man and man, his word was as
good as another's, and he was held to be honest and just in his
dealings. It was only when he mounted the stilts of foreign travel that
his paces became so enormous. Perhaps, after all, a rude poetic and
artistic faculty possessed the man. He might have been a humbler phase
of the "mute, inglorious Milton." Perhaps his narrations required the
privileges and allowances due to the inventive arts generally. Certain
it was that, in common with other artists, he required an atmosphere of
sympathy and confidence in which to develop himself fully; and, when
left alone with children, his mind ran such riot, that the bounds
between the real and unreal became foggier than the banks of
Newfoundland.

The two women sat up, and the night wore on apace, while they kept
together that customary vigil which it was thought necessary to hold
over the lifeless casket from which an immortal jewel had recently been
withdrawn.

"I re'lly did hope," said Mrs. Kittridge, mournfully, "that this 'ere
solemn Providence would have been sent home to the Cap'n's mind; but he
seems jist as light and triflin' as ever."

"There don't nobody see these 'ere things unless they's effectually
called," said Miss Roxy, "and the Cap'n's time ain't come."

"It's gettin' to be t'ward the eleventh hour," said Mrs. Kittridge, "as
I was a-tellin' him this afternoon."

"Well," said Miss Roxy, "you know

"'While the lamp holds out to burn,
The vilest sinner may return.'"

"Yes, I know that," said Mrs. Kittridge, rising and taking up the
candle. "Don't you think, Aunt Roxy, we may as well give a look in there
at the corpse?"

It was past midnight as they went together into the keeping-room. All
was so still that the clash of the rising tide and the ticking of the
clock assumed that solemn and mournful distinctness which even tones
less impressive take on in the night-watches. Miss Roxy went
mechanically through with certain arrangements of the white drapery
around the cold sleeper, and uncovering the face and bust for a moment,
looked critically at the still, unconscious countenance.

"Not one thing to let us know who or what she is," she said; "that boy,
if he lives, would give a good deal to know, some day."

"What is it one's duty to do about this bracelet?" said Mrs. Kittridge,
taking from a drawer the article in question, which had been found on
the beach in the morning.

"Well, I s'pose it belongs to the ch