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The girl clapped her hands in joy at the story. "And you let him think he had the delirium tremens! Oh, Billy, is there anything you wouldn't do, I wonder?" The fellow made a dash with his hand at a red forelock, and in his crooked gait went through the gangway and walked away up to the wharf, just as Mr Eagle rose out of the main-hatch. Billy started to move away. "I must be gettin' home," he said. "The cows'll be waitin' to be watered.".

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He glanced at her closely, struck by the odd note in her voice. "He seems a manly little chap," he said. "I must get to know him better." He knew why. She had told him. God, Destiny, Fate, had come between her and the man she loved. The man had lost more than life in playing the part of a man. He was blind! Behind him were only memories that could not be buried. Before him only darkness, bleakness, despair. And he had done an heroic thing in giving her up. Helpless, powerless to support her, what else was there for him to do? So, in his love for her, he had dug a grave and in it buried Hope and all that God in His wise ordinance had allowed him to live and feel. And they had kissed and parted, kneeling beside this grave, cold lips to cold lips, broken heart to broken heart. It was the kiss on the cross which each must carry. Old Harbour House stood about a mile from the Harbour. It confronted the town which lay about one mile and a half off, right across a wide, romantic, heavily-wooded ravine. The banks of this gap sloped softly and pleasantly into a plain of meadows and two or three farms whose dyes of roof and cattle enriched the verdure; and down there ran a river singing in measures of music as it flowed into the Harbour and mingled its bright water with the brine of the deep beyond. "The butcher does not charge at your rate, Mr Greyquill," said Mr Lawrence with a faint smile..