mistrust or lingering. Presently, tired of the space and
breeze, she dawdled on in the sunshine, idling with the berries and
scrawny flowers by the way, and with the gulls, winging above the sea,
until, as with settled intention, she vanished over the cliff by the
goat-path to Old Wives' Cove, where rode the _Shining Light_, sound
asleep under a blanket of sunshine in the lee of the Lost Soul.

I followed.

* * * * *

In the cabin of the _Shining Light_, cross-legged on the table, in the
midst of the order she had accomplished, her hands neatly folded in
her lap, Judith sat serene. She had heard my clatter on the
gang-plank, my shuffle and heavy tread on the deck. 'Twas I, she knew:
there was no mistaking, God help me! the fall of my feet on road or
deck. It may be that her heart for a moment fluttered to know that
the lad that was I came at last. She has not told me: I do not know.
But faith! my own was troublesome enough with a new and irritating
uneasiness, for which was no accounting.

I feigned astonishment. "Hello!" quoth I; "what you doin' here?"

She turned away--the eager expectation all fled from her face: I saw
it vanish.

"Eh?" says I.

She sniffed: 'twas a frank sniff of contempt--pain, like a half-heard
sob, mixed with the scorn of it.

"What you doin' here?"

I stood reproached; she had achieved it in a glance--a little shaft of
light, darting upon me, departing, having dealt its wound.

"Well, maid," cries I, the smart of her glance and silence enraging
me, "is you got no tongue?"

She puckered her brows, pursed her lips; she sighed--and concerned
herself with her hair-ribbon, quite placid once more. 'Twas a trick
well known to me. 'Twas a trick aggravating to the temper. 'Twas a
maid's trick--an ensnaring, deadly trick. 'Twas a trick ominous of my
imminent confusion.

"Eh?" I demanded.

"Dannie, child," she admonished, gently, "God hates a liar!"

I might have known.

"T' make believe," cries she, "that I'd not be here! How could you!"

"'Tis not a lie."

"'Tis a white lie, child," she chided. "You've come, Dannie, poor lad!
t' be a white liar. 'Tis a woful state--an' a parlous thing. For,
child, if you keeps on--"

She had paused. 'Twas a trick to fetch the question. I asked it.

"You'll be a blue one," says she. "An' then--"

"What then?"

"Blue-black, child. An' then--"

I waited.

"Oh, Dannie, lad!" cries she, her little hands