Yes," he drawled; "but----"

"But what?"

"She'll not have me."

"Not have you!" I cried.

"No," said he.

At that moment I learned much wisdom concerning the mysterious ways of
women.

XXIV

The BEGINNING of The END

From this sad tangle we were next morning extricated by news from the
south ports of our coast--news so ill that sentimental tears and wishes
were of a sudden forgot; being this: that the smallpox had come to Poor
Luck Harbour and was there virulently raging. By noon of that day the
doctor's sloop was underway with a fair wind, bound south in desperate
haste: a man's heart beating glad aboard, that there might come a tragic
solution of his life's entanglement. My sister and I, sitting together
on the heads of Good Promise, high in the sunlight, with the sea spread
blue and rippling below--we two, alone, with hands clasped--watched the
little patch of sail flutter on its way--silently watched until it
vanished in the mist.

"I'm not knowin'," my sister sighed, still staring out to sea, "what's
beyond the mist."

"Nor I."

'Twas like a curtain, veiling some dread mystery, as an ancient
tragedy--but new to us, who sat waiting: and far past our guessing.

"I wonder what we'll see, dear," she whispered, "when the mist lifts."

"'Tis some woeful thing."

She leaned forward, staring, breathing deep, seeking with the strange
gift of women to foresee the event; but she sighed, at last, and gave it
up.

"I'm not knowin'," she said.

We turned homeward; and thereafter--through the months of that
summer--we were diligent in business: but with small success, for Jagger
of Wayfarer's Tickle, seizing the poor advantage with great glee, now
foully slandered and oppressed us.

* * * * *

Near midsummer our coast was mightily outraged by the sailings of the
_Sink or Swim_, Jim Tall, master--Jagger's new schooner, trading our
ports and the harbours of the Newfoundland French Shore, with a case of
smallpox in the forecastle. We were all agog over it, bitterly angered,
every one of us; and by day we kept watch from the heads to warn her
off, and by night we saw to our guns, that we might instantly deal with
her, should she so much as poke her prow into the waters of our harbour.
Once, being on the Watchman with my father's glass, I fancied I sighted
her, far off shore, beating up to Wayfarer's Tickle in the dusk: but
could not make sure, for there was a haze abro