ght to hear me give
old Zeke Bassett Hail Columby! Gosh! I was just ahopin' HE'D come."

Mrs. Coffin closed the door and tore open the envelope. Within
was another addressed, in Grace's handwriting, to Mr. Ellery. The
housekeeper entered the study, handed it to him and turned away.

The minister, who had been pacing the floor, seized the note eagerly.
It was written in pencil and by a hand that had trembled much. Yet there
was no indecision in the written words.

"Dear John," wrote Grace. "I presume Aunt Keziah has told you of uncle's
death and of my promise to Nat. It is true. I am going to marry him. I
am sure this is right and for the best. Our friendship was a mistake and
you must not see me again. Please don't try.

"GRACE VAN HORNE."

Beneath was another paragraph.

"Don't worry about me. I shall be happy, I am sure. And I shall hope
that you may be. I shall pray for that."

The note fell to the floor with a rustle that sounded loud in the
stillness. Then Keziah heard the minister's step. She turned. He was
moving slowly across the room.

"John," she cried anxiously, "you poor boy!"

He answered without looking back.

"I'm--going--up--to--my--room," he said, a pause between each word. "I
want to be alone awhile, Mrs. Coffin."

Wearily Keziah set about preparing breakfast. Not that she expected the
meal would be eaten, but it gave her something to do and occupied her
mind. The sun had risen and the light streamed in at the parsonage
windows. The breeze blew fresh and cool from the ocean. It was a
magnificent morning.

She called to him that breakfast was ready, but he did not answer. She
could eat nothing herself, and, when the table was cleared, prepared
to do the week's washing, for Monday is always washday in Trumet. Noon
came, dinner time, but still he did not come down. At last Keziah could
stand it no longer. She determined to go to him. She climbed the steep
stairs and rapped on the door of his room.

"Yes?" she heard him say.

"It's me," was the reply. "Mr. Ellery, can I come in? I know you want
to be alone, but I don't think you'd ought to be, too much. I'd like to
talk with you a few minutes; may I?"

A moment passed before he told her to enter. He was sitting in a chair
by the window, dressed just as he had been when she returned from the
tavern. She looked sharply at his face as it was turned toward her. His
eyes were dry and in them was an expression so hopeless and dreary th