ere; he was an alien, and she
wished to go back to it for the first time alone.

At the boathouse Davy launched the small sailboat and Nora took the
tiller. She knew every inch of the harbour. As the sail filled before
the wind and the boat sprang across the upcurling waves, her brief
sullenness fell away from her. She no longer resented Clark Bryant's
presence--she forgot it. He was no more to her than the mast by which
he stood. The spell of the sea and the wind surged into her heart and
filled it with wild happiness and measureless content. Over yonder,
where the lights gleamed on the darkening shore under the high-sprung
arch of pale golden sky, was home. How the wind whistled to welcome
her back! The lash of it against her face--the flick of salt spray on
her lips--the swing of the boat as it cut through the racing
crests--how glorious it all was!

Clark Bryant watched her, understanding all at once that he was
nothing to her, that he had no part or lot in her heart. He was as one
forgotten and left behind. And how lovely, how desirable she was! He
had never seen her look so beautiful. The shawl had slipped down to
her shoulders and her head rose out of it like some magnificent flower
out of a crimson calyx. The masses of her black hair lifted from her
face in the rush of the wind and swayed back again like rich shadows.
Her lips were stung scarlet with the sea's sharp caresses, and her
eyes, large and splendid, looked past him unseeing to the harbour
lights of Racicot.

When they swung in by the wharf Nora sprang from the boat before
Bryant had time to moor it. Pausing for an instant, she called down to
him, carelessly, "Don't wait for me. I shall not go back tonight."

Then she caught her shawl around her head and almost ran up the wharf
and along the shore. No one was abroad, for it was supper hour in
Racicot. In the Shelley kitchen the family was gathered around the
table, when the door was flung open and Nora stood on the threshold.
For a moment they gazed at her as at an apparition. They had not known
the precise day of her coming and were not aware of the Camerons'
arrival at Dalveigh.

"It's the girl herself. It's Nora," said old Nathan, rising from his
bench.

"Mother!" cried Nora. She ran across the room and buried her face in
her mother's breast, sobbing.

When the news spread, the Racicot people crowded in to see Nora until
the house was full. They spent a noisy, merry, whole-hearted evening
o