the opposite shore; the next morning a boat would pass
which did touch there, he must wait for that. The steamer that brought
him had also brought the United States mails from the up-river country;
the postmaster, a silent man in a 'coon-skin cap, received the bag with
dignity; Winthrop watched the distribution of its contents; one limp
yellow-enveloped letter and a coffee-pot. When he came down to the
pier's end again at sunset the 'coon-skin-crowned official had gone
home; but, in a friendly spirit, he had left the post-office
unlocked--there was a chair there which some one might like to borrow.
Winthrop borrowed it now--of the United States; he brought it outside
and sat there alone, watching the approach of the storm. The beautiful
river with its clear brown water lay before him, wide as a lake; on the
opposite shore the soft foliage of palmettoes, like great ostrich
plumes, rose against the sky. But he was not thinking of the river, he
was not even thinking of the black cloud, though his eyes were
apparently fixed upon it; he did not stir until the wind was fairly upon
him, then he retreated to the post-office, placed his chair inside, and
sat there under cover at the open door. For a moment he did think of the
storm, for it seemed as if the little house over him would be carried
off the pier, and sent floating up the stream like a miniature ark; but
after the wind had passed on, his mind returned to the old subject, the
subject which had engrossed him ever since he left East Angels fourteen
days before.

His brief letters had stated that he was hunting, fishing, and sailing,
that he had been through the Dummit orange grove. It was true that he
had been engaged in all the ways he described, and it was probable also
that his various guides and chance companions had not perceived any lack
of interest, or at least of energy, in the northerner who had
accompanied them; an active life was necessary to Winthrop, and never
more necessary than when he was perplexed or troubled; not once during
those two weeks had he sat down to brood, as he was apparently brooding
now.

But though he had thus occupied himself from daylight to bedtime, though
he had talked and listened to the talk of others, there had been always
this under-consciousness, which had not left him. At times the
consciousness had taken form, if not in actual words, then at least in
thoughts and arguments that followed each other connectedly. Generally,
howev