e again, except about the shifting of the
sails, in our passage across. A pretty stiff breeze was blowing, and we
found plenty of occupation.

"I cannot leave you like this, Martin, my boy," said Captain Carey, when
we went ashore at St. Sampson's; and he put his arm through mine
affectionately.

"You will keep my secret?" I said--my voice a key or two lower than
usual.

"Martin," answered the good-hearted, clear-sighted old bachelor, "you
must not do Julia the wrong of keeping this secret from her."

"I must," I urged. "Olivia knows nothing of it; nobody guesses it but
you. I must conquer it. Things have gone too far with poor Julia, for me
to back out of our marriage now. You know that as well as I do. Think of
it, Captain Carey!"

"But shall you conquer it?" asked Captain Carey, seriously.

I could not answer yes frankly and freely. It seemed a sheer
impossibility for me to root out this new love, which I found in my
heart below all the old loves and friendships of my whole life. Mad as I
was with myself at the thought of my folly, the folly was so sweet to
me, that I would as soon have parted with life itself. Nothing in the
least resembling this feeling had been a matter of experience with me
before. I had read of it in poetry and novels, and laughed a little at
it; but now it had come upon me like a strong man armed. I quailed and
flinched before the painful conflict necessary to cast out the precious
guest.

"Martin," urged Captain Carey, "come up to Johanna, and tell her all
about it."

Johanna Carey was one of the powers in the island. Everybody knew her;
and everybody went to her for comfort and counsel. She was, of course,
related to us all; and knew the exact degree of relationship among us,
having the genealogy of each family at her fingers' ends. But, besides
these family histories, which were common property, she was also
intrusted with the inmost secrets of every household--those secrets
which were the most carefully and jealously guarded. I had always been a
favorite with her, and nothing could be more natural than this proposal
of her brother's, that I should go and tell her all my dilemma.

The house stood on the border of L'Ancresse Common, with no view of the
sea, but with the soft, undulating brows and hollows of the common lying
before it, and a broken battlement of rocks rising beyond them.

There was always a low, solemn murmur of the invisible sea, singing like
a lullaby about the