. He listened again to her elfin laugh as she let the sloop fall
off sufficiently to take the lip of a comber over the starboard
counter and force Donald and her father to seek shelter from the spray
in the lee of the mainsail, from which sanctuary, with more laughter,
she presently routed them by causing the spray to come in over the
port counter.

The other picture was the pose in which he had seen her the morning
previous at the Sawdust Pile, when, to hide her emotion, she had half
turned from him and gazed so forlornly out across the Bight of Tyee.
It had struck him then, with peculiar force, that Nan Brent never
again would laugh that joyous elfin laugh of other days. He had seen
the pulse beating in her creamy neck again--a neck fuller, rounder,
glorious with the beauty of fully developed womanhood. And the riot of
golden hair was subdued, with the exception of little wayward wisps
that whipped her white temples. Her eyes, somewhat darker now, like
the sea near the horizon after the sun has set but while the glory of
the day still lingers, were bright with unshed tears. The sweet curves
of her mouth were drawn in pain. The northwest trade-wind blowing
across the bight had whipped her gingham dress round her, revealing
the soft curves of a body, the beauty of which motherhood had
intensified rather than diminished. Thus she had stood, the outcast of
Port Agnew, and beside her the little badge of her shame, demanding
the father he had never known and would never see.

The young laird of Tyee wondered what sort of man could have done this
thing--this monumental wickedness. His great fists were clenched as
there welled within him a black rage at the scoundrel who had so
wantonly wrecked that little home on the Sawdust Pile. He wondered,
with the arrogance of his years, assuming unconsciously the right of
special privilege, if Nan would ever reveal to him the identity of the
villain. Perhaps, some day, in a burst of confidence, she might. Even
if she did tell him, what could he do? To induce the recreant lover to
marry her openly and legally would, he knew, be the world's way of
"righting the wrong" and giving the baby a name, but the mischief had
been done too long, and could never be undone unless, indeed, a
marriage certificate, with proper dating, could be flaunted in the
face of an iconoclastic and brutal world. Even then, there would
remain that astute and highly virtuous few who would never cease to
impart in