Winn felt more ashamed than ever.

When he returned to his room late that evening, the moon, now a few days
past its full, was just rising over Norse Hill and silvering the dark
and silent houses along the way. No one was up, and so still was the
village that his footsteps on the plank walk seemed to echo across the
island. When he came to where Rock Lane joined the street, he paused.
Just beyond he could see the little church and back of it the silent
village of the dead, each stone distinct and ghostly in the moonlight,
to the left the motionless harbor, a glittering field of silver, and
beyond the old tide mill, spectral and solemn. And faintly whispered in
the stilly night the ocean voice.

Many times afterward that picture returned to his memory.

CHAPTER XXVII

SEVERING THE TIES

The next day seemed to Winn almost like preparing for a funeral.

"I wish you would go over to the gorge with me this afternoon," he said
to Mona that morning, "I must leave here to-morrow, and I want to bid
the spot good-by."

And she, busy among the sweet williams, pinks, and marigolds that were
her daily care, felt her heart sink.

And Winn, believing it his last day on the island, went his way, first
to the quarry that had been his everyday duty for almost three months.
Only four men were retained, and those were to be kept at work until he
returned, or until Jess ordered otherwise. To no one could he say his
departure was final. Then he wandered about among the wharves that had
so interested him the first day on the island, and spoke with the few
fishermen busy there. All knew him, and each had a pleasant word and
nod. He watched them at their work, salting the fish they had split and
were packing, one upon another, in a large tank, or spreading cured ones
on racks to dry, and packing up in bundles those that were dried. He
sniffed the pungent odor and looked out seaward, where the fishing
craft, with all sail set, were departing. Then he strolled inward to
where the little steamer made landing. She had left for that day and her
wharf was deserted. Winn thought that on her next trip he would be a
passenger leaving the island for good. Strange to say, as he passed on
he noticed with peculiar interest the sign, "Coffins and Caskets" on a
small shop just back of a house. Then he followed the sandy shore of the
inner harbor past an old, dismantled fishing smack, beached high and
dry, on the stern of which the name "N