, they were gaining shore. Mary
Defourchet was there. If he came to her as the clam-digger's bastard
son, owning the lie he had practised half his life,--what then? He had
fought hard for his place in the world, for the ease and culture of his
life,--most of all, for the society of thorough-bred and refined men,
his own kindred. What would they say to Derrick Trull, and the mother he
had kept smothered up so long? All this with his eyes fixed on hers. The
cost was counted. It was to give up wife and place and fame,--all he had
earned. It had not been cheaply earned. All Doctor Birkenshead's habits
and intellect, the million nervous whims of a sensitive man, rebelled
against the sacrifice. Nothing to battle them down but--what?

"Be ye hurt, Mother Phebe? What d'yer hold yer breath for?"

She evaded him with a sickly smile.

"We're gamin', Bowlegs. It's but a few minutes till we make shore. He'll
be there, if--if he be ever to come."

"Yes, Gran," with a look of pity.

The wind stood still; it held its breath, as though with her it waited.
The man strained against the tide till the veins in his brawny neck
stood out purple. On the bald shore, the dim figures gathered in a
cluster, eagerly watching. Old Phebe leaned forward, shading her eyes
with her hand, peering from misty headland to headland with bated
breath. A faint cheer reached them from land.

"Does thee know the voices, Bowlegs?"--in a dry whisper.

"It be the wreckers."

"Oh!--Derrick," after a pause, "would be too weak to cheer; he'd be worn
with the swimmin'. Thee must listen sharp. Did they cry my name out? as
if there was some 'ut for me?"

"No, Mother," gruffly. "But don't ye lose heart after twenty years'
waitin'."

"I'll not."

As he pulled, the boatman looked over at her steadily.

"I never knowed what this was for ye, till now I've loss Ben," he said,
gently. "It's as if you'd been lossin' him every day these twenty
years."

She did not hear him; her eyes, straining, scanned the shore; she seemed
to grow blind as they came nearer; passed her wet sleeve over them again
and again.

"Thee look for me, Bowlegs," she said, weakly.

The yawl grated on the shallow waters of the bar; the crowd rushed down
to the edge of the shore, the black figures coming out distinct now,
half a dozen of the wreckers going into the surf and dragging the boat
up on the beach. She turned her head out to sea, catching his arm with
both hands.

"Be there any