he shan't be with me. THAT I won't stand! I'd rather die, and I
hope I do. Don't talk to me any more now--don't! I can't stand it."

She hurried out of the room. Later, as the minister passed through the
dining room on his way to the door, she spoke to him again.

"John," she said, "I didn't say what I meant to when I broke in on you
just now. I meant to tell you about Grace. I knew you'd like to know and
wouldn't ask. She's bearin' up well, poor girl. She thought the world of
Nat, even though she might not have loved him in the way that--"

"What's that? What are you saying, Aunt Keziah?"

"I mean--well, I mean that he'd always been like an own brother to her
and she cared a lot for him."

"But you said she didn't love him."

"Did I? That was a slip of the tongue, maybe. But she bears it well and
I don't think she gives up hope. I try not to, for her sake, and I try
not to show her how I feel."

She sewed vigorously for a few moments. Then she said:

"She's goin' away, Gracie is."

"Going away?"

"Yup. She's goin' to stay with a relation of the Hammonds over in
Connecticut for a spell. I coaxed her into it. Stayin' here at home
with all this suspense and with Hannah Poundberry's tongue droppin'
lamentations like kernels out of a corn sheller, is enough to kill a
healthy batch of kittens with nine lives apiece. She didn't want to go;
felt that she must stay here and wait for news; but I told her we'd get
news to her as soon as it come, and she's goin'."

Ellery took his hat from the peg and opened the door. His foot was on
the step when Keziah spoke again.

"She--it don't mean nothin', John, except that she ain't so hard-hearted
as maybe you might think--she's asked me about you 'most every time I've
been there. She told me to take good care of you."

The door closed. Keziah put down her sewing and listened as the
minister's step sounded on the walk. She rose, went to the window
and looked after him. She was wondering if she had made a mistake in
mentioning Grace's name. She had meant to cheer him with the thought
that he was not entirely forgotten, that he was, at least, pitied; but
perhaps it would have been better to have remained silent. Her gaze
shifted and she looked out over the bay, blue and white in the sun and
wind. When she was a girl the sea had been kind to her, it had brought
her father home safe, and those homecomings were her pleasantest
memories. But she now hated it. It was cruel and co