of the harbor, but he could not pretend that
his authority extended to the sea beyond. There he lost himself in
speculation, sometimes wondering if Deep-water Peter had found a thing
answering his quest. But Peter did not return to satisfy him on this
point.

The harbor master was content to believe that he had erred on the side
of the flesh, and that the sea, a jealous mistress, had swept him into
the hearing of the gods, who were laughing at him.

As for the child of Cad Sills, people who did not know her often said
that her eyes were speaking eyes. Well if it were so, since this voice
in the eyes was all the voice she had. She could neither speak nor hear
from birth. It was as if kind nature had sealed her ears against those
seductive whisperings which--so the gossips said--had been the ruination
of her mother.

As she grew older, they said behind their hands that blood would tell,
in spite of all. Then, when they saw the girl skipping along the shore
with kelp in her hands they said, mistrustfully, that she was "marked"
for the sea, beyond the shadow of a doubt.

"She hears well enough, when the sea speaks," Zinie Shadd averred. He
had caught her listening in a shell with an intent expression.

"She will turn out to be a chip of the old block," said Zinie Shadd's
wife, "or I shall never live to see the back of my neck."

Jethro Rackby heard nothing of such prophecy. He lived at home. Here in
his estimation was a being without guile, in whose innocence he might
rejoice. His forethought was great and pathetic. He took care that she
should learn to caress him with her finger tips alone. He remembered the
fatal touch of Cad Sills's kiss at Pull-an'-be-Damned, which had as good
as drawn the soul out of his body in a silver thread and tied it in a
knot.

Once, too, he had dreamed of waking cold in the middle of the night and
finding just a spark on the ashes of his hearth. This he nursed to
flame; the flame sprang up waist-high, hot and yellow. Fearful, he beat
it down to a spark again. But then again he was cold. He puffed at this
spark, shivering; the flame grew, and this time, with all he could do,
it shot up into the rafters of his house and devoured it.--

So it was that the passion of Cad Sills lived with him still.

He taught the child her letters with blue shells, and later to take the
motion of his lips for words. She waylaid him everywhere--on the rocks,
on the sands, in the depths of the hemlock grov