about me. Not
you," she repeated, her voice falling. "Not you, Dannie--dear. You'll
be off, now," she urged, "for 'tis long past time for tea. And you'll
tell un all, will you not, that I talked o' spendin' the night with
Mrs. Moses Shoos at Whisper Cove?"

"An you wish it, Judith."

"Good-night!"

I pressed away....

* * * * *

When I came to our house on the neck of land by the Lost Soul, I
turned at the threshold to survey the weather. I might have saved
myself the pains and puzzle of that regard. The print of sea and sky
was foreign: I could make nothing of it. 'Twas a quiet sea, breaking,
in crooning lullaby, upon the rocks below my bedroom window. It
portended no disturbance: I might sleep, thinks I, with the soft
whispering to lull me, being willing for the magic shoes of sleep to
take me far away from this agony as never man was before. The wind
was blowing from the west: but not in gusts--a sailing breeze for the
timid. I was glad that there was no venomous intention in the wind:
'twas a mild and dependable wind, grateful to such as fared easterly
in the night. I wished that all men might fare that way, in the
favoring breeze, but knew well enough that the purposes of men are
contrary, the one to the other, making fair winds of foul, and foul of
fair, so that there was no telling, of any event, whatever the
apparent nature of it, whether sinister or benign, the preponderance
of woe or happiness issuing from it. Over all a tender sky, spread
with soft stretches of cloud, and set, in its uttermost depths, with
stars. 'Twas dark enough now for the stars to shine, making the most
of the moon's absence, which soon would rise. Star upon star: a
multitude of serenely companionable lights, so twinkling and knowing,
so slyly sure of the ultimate resolution of all the doubts and pains
and perplexities of the sons of men! But still there was abroad an
oppression: a forewarning, in untimely heat and strain, of disastrous
weather. 'Twas that I felt when I turned from the contemplation of the
stars to go within, that I might without improper delay inform our
maid-servant of Judith's intention.

Then I joined my uncle....

XXIV

JOHN CATHER'S FATE

'Twas with a start that I realized the lateness of the hour. Time for
liquor! 'Twas hard to believe. My uncle sat with his bottle and glass
and little brown jug. The glass was empty and innocent of dregs; the
stopper