ld, no doubt, be Josephine's desire.
Caius had not seen Josephine or spoken to O'Shea; it mattered nothing to
him what arrangement they would or would not make for him.

As he still stood watching to see if the breeze would round and fill the
sails which the Gaspe schooner had set, O'Shea came back and called from
the foot of the knoll. Caius turned; he bore the man no ill will.
Josephine's horse had not been injured by the accident of yesterday, and
his own fall was a matter of complete indifference.

"I'm thinking, as ye packed yer bags, ye'll be going for the steamer."

O'Shea spoke with that indefinable insult in his tone which had always
characterized it in the days of their first intercourse, but, apart from
that, his manner was crisp and cool as the morning air; not a shade of
discouragement was visible.

"I am going for the steamer," said Caius, and waited to hear what offer
of conveyance was to be made him.

"Well, I'm thinking," said O'Shea, "that I'll just take the boat across
the bay, and bring back the captain from Harbour Island; but as his
honour might prefer the cart, I'll send the cart round by the dune.
There's no saying but, having been in tropical parts, he may be a bit
scared of the ice. Howsomever, knowing that he's in that haste to meet
his bride, and would, no doubt, grudge so much as a day spent between
here and there on the sand, I'll jist give him his chice; being who he
is, and a foine gintleman, he has his right to it. As for you"--the tone
instantly slipped into insolent indifference--"ye can go by one or the
other with yer bags."

It was not clear to Caius that O'Shea had any intention of himself
escorting Le Maitre if he chose to go by the sand. This inclined him to
suppose that he had no fixed plan to injure him. What right had he to
suppose such plan had been formed? The man before him wore no look of
desperate passion. In the pleasant weather even the dune was not an
unfrequented place, and the bay was overlooked on all sides. Caius could
not decide whether his suspicion of O'Shea had been just or a monstrous
injustice. He felt such suspicion to be morbid, and he said nothing. The
futility of asking a question that would not be answered, the difficulty
of interference, and his extreme dislike of incurring from O'Shea
farther insult, were enough to produce his silence. Behind that lay the
fact that he would be almost glad if the murder was done. Josephine's
faith had inspired in h