a low
monotonous tone from which all feeling of any sort seemed to have
utterly faded.

"Three years ago Mother was very ill--so ill that any shock would kill
her, so the doctor Father brought from the lake told us. A man--a
young sea captain--came here to see Father. His name was Frank Harmon
and he had known Father well in the past. They had sailed together.
Father seemed to be afraid of him--I had never seen him afraid of
anybody before. I could not think much about anybody except Mother
then, but I knew I did not quite like Captain Harmon, although he was
very polite to me and I suppose might have been called handsome. One
day Father came to me and told me I must marry Captain Harmon. I
laughed at the idea at first but when I looked at Father's face I did
not laugh. It was all white and drawn. He implored me to marry Captain
Harmon. He said if I did not it would mean shame and disgrace for us
all--that Captain Harmon had some hold on him and would tell what he
knew if I did not marry him. I don't know what it was but it must have
been something dreadful. And he said it would kill Mother. I knew it
would, and that was what drove me to consent at last. Oh, I can't tell
you what I suffered. I was only seventeen and there was nobody to
advise me. One day Father and Captain Harmon and I went down the lake
to Crosse Harbour and we were married there. As soon as the ceremony
was over, Captain Harmon had to sail in his vessel. He was going to
China. Father and I came back home. Nobody knew--not even Emily. He
said we must not tell Mother until she was better. But she was never
better. She only lived three months more--she lived them happily and
at rest. When I think of that, I am not sorry for what I did. Captain
Harmon said he would be back in the fall to claim me. I waited, sick
at heart. But he did not come--he has never come. We have never heard
a word of or about him since. Sometimes I feel sure he cannot be still
living. But never a day dawns that I don't say to myself, 'Perhaps he
will come today'--and, oh--"

She broke down again, sobbing bitterly. Amid all the daze of his own
pain Alan realized that, at any cost, he must not make it harder for
her by showing his suffering. He tried to speak calmly, wisely, as a
disinterested friend.

"Could it not be discovered whether your--this man--is or is not
living? Surely your father could find out."

Lynde shook her head.

"No, he says he has no way of doing so. We