Sacrifice of self was a part of Keziah's nature.
The pines were a deep-green blotch against the cloudy sky and the gloomywaters of the bay. She skirted the outlying clumps of bayberry and beachplum bushes and entered the grove. The pine needles made a soft carpetwhich deadened her footfalls, and the shadows beneath the boughs werethick and black. She tiptoed on until she reached the clearing by thebrink of the bluff. No one was in sight. She drew a breath of relief.Kyan might be mistaken, after all.
Then she heard low voices. As she crouched at the edge of the grove, twofigures passed slowly across the clearing, along the bush-bordered pathand into the shrubbery beyond. John Ellery was walking with GraceVan Horne. He was holding her hand in his and they were talking veryearnestly.
Keziah did not follow. What would have been the use? This was not thetime to speak. She KNEW now and she knew, also, that the responsibilitywas hers. She must go home at once, go home to be alone and to think.She tiptoed back through the grove and across the fields.
Yet, if she had waited, she might have seen something else which wouldhave been, at least, interesting. She had scarcely reached the outeredge of the grove when another figure passed stealthily along thatnarrow path by the bluff edge. A female figure treading very carefully,rising to peer over the bushes at the minister and Grace. The figure ofMiss Annabel Daniels, the "belle" of Trumet. And Annabel's face was notpleasant to look upon.
CHAPTER XI
IN WHICH CAPTAIN EBEN RECEIVES A CALLER
At the edge of the bluff, just where the pines and the bayberry busheswere thickest, where the narrow, crooked little footpath dipped over therise and down to the pasture land and the salt meadow, John Elleryand Grace had halted in their walk. It was full tide and the miniaturebreakers plashed amid the seaweed on the beach. The mist was drifting inover the bay and the gulls were calling sleepily from their perch alongthe breakwater. A night hawk swooped and circled above the tall "feathergrass" by the margin of the creek. The minister's face was pale, but setand determined, and he was speaking rapidly.
"I can't help it," he said. "I can't help it. I have made up my mind andnothing can change it, nothing but you. It rests with you. If you sayyes, then nothing else matters. Will you say it?"
He was holding both her hands now, and though she tried to withdrawthem, he would not let her.
"Will you?" he pleaded.
"I can't," she answered brokenly. "I can't. Think of your church and ofyour people. What would they say if--"
"I don't care what they say."
"Oh! yes, you do. Not now, perhaps, but later you will. You don't knowTrumet as I know it. No, it's impossible."
"I tell you there is only one impossible thing. That is that I give youup. I won't do it. I CAN'T do it! Grace, this is life and death for me.My church--"
He paused in spite of himself. His church, his first church! He hadaccepted the call with pride and a determination to do his best, thevery best that was in him, for the society and for the people whom hewas to lead. Some of those people he had learned to love; many of them,he felt sure, loved him. His success, his popularity, the growth of theorganization and the praise which had come to him because of it, allthese had meant, and still meant, very much to him. No wonder he paused,but the pause was momentary.
"My church," he went on, "is my work and I like it. I believe I've donesome good here and I hope to do more. But no church shall say whom Ishall marry. If you care for me, Grace, as I think and hope you do,we'll face the church and the town together, and they will respect usfor it."
She shook her head.
"Some of them might respect you," she said. "They would say you had beenled into this by me and were not so much to blame. But I--"
"They shall respect my wife," he interrupted, snapping his teethtogether, "or I'll know the reason why."
She smiled mournfully.
"I think they'll tell you the reason," she answered. "No, John, no!we mustn't think of it. You can see we mustn't. This has all been amistake, a dreadful mistake, and I am to blame for it."
"The only mistake has been our meeting in this way. We should have metopenly; I realize it, and have felt it for sometime. It was my fault,not yours. I was afraid, I guess. But I'll not be a coward any longer.Come, dear, let's not be afraid another day. Only say you'll marry meand I'll proclaim it openly, to-night--Yes, from the pulpit, if you sayso."
She hesitated and he took courage from her hesitation.
"Say it," he pleaded. "You WILL say it?"
"I can't! I can't! My uncle--"
"Your uncle shall hear it from me. We'll go to him together. I'll tellhim myself. He worships you."
"Yes, I know. He does worship me. That's why I am sure he had rather seeme dead than married to you, a Regular, and a Regular minister."
"I don't believe it. He can't be so unreasonable. If he is, then youshouldn't humor such bigotry."
"He has been my father for years, and a dear, kind father."
"I know. That's why I'm so certain we can make him understand. Come,dear! come! Why should you consider everyone else? Consider your ownhappiness. Consider mine."
She looked at him.
"I am considering yours," she said. "That is what I consider most ofall. And, as for uncle, I know--I KNOW he would never consent. His heartis set on something else. Nat--"
"Nat? Are you considering him, too? Is HE to stand between us? Whatright has he to say--"
"Hush! hush! He hasn't said anything. But--but he and uncle havequarreled, just a little. I didn't tell you, but they have. And I thinkI know the reason. Nat is Uncle Eben's idol. If the quarrel should growmore serious, I believe it would break his heart. I couldn't bear to bethe cause of that; I should never forgive myself."
"You the cause? How could you be the cause of a quarrel between thosetwo? Grace, think of me."
Here was the selfishness of man and the unselfishness of woman answered.
"John," she said, "it is of you I am thinking. Everything elsecould--might be overcome, perhaps. But I must think of your future andyour life. I MUST. That is why--"
He did not wait to hear more. He seized her in his arms and kissed her.
"Then you DO care!" he cried joyfully. "You will marry me?"
For an instant she lay quiet in his embrace, receiving, if notresponding to his caresses. Then she gently but firmly freed herself. Hesaw that there were tears in her eyes.
"Grace," he urged, "don't--don't hesitate any longer. You were meant tobe my wife. We were brought together for just that. I know it. Come."
She was crying softly.
"Won't you?" he begged.
"I don't know," she sobbed. "Oh, I don't know! I must think--I MUST!Wait, please wait, John. Perhaps by to-morrow I can answer. I'lltry--I'll try. Don't ask me again, now. Let me think. Oh, do!"
Doubtless he would have asked her again. He looked as if he meant to.But just then, drifting through the twilight and the mist, came thesound of a bell, the bell of the Regular church, ringing for the Sundayevening meeting. They both heard it.
"Oh!" exclaimed Grace, "that is your bell. You will be late. You mustgo, and so must I. Good night."
She started down the path. He hesitated, then ran after her.
"To-morrow?" he questioned eagerly. "Tomorrow, then, you'll say that youwill?"
"Oh, perhaps, perhaps! I mustn't promise. Good night."
It was after seven when Grace reached the old tavern. The housekeeper,Mrs. Poundberry, was anxiously awaiting her. She wore her bonnet andSunday gown and was evidently ready to go out.
"Land sakes alive!" she sputtered. "Where in the name of goodness haveyou been to? I was gettin' scairt. Didn't know but you'd run off and gotmarried, or sunthin' dreadful."
Grace was thankful that the cloudy twilight made it impossible to seeher face distinctly. The housekeeper rattled on without waiting for ananswer.
"Supper's on the table and the kittle's abilin'. You better eat in ahurry, 'cause it's meetin' time now. Your uncle, he started
ten minutesago. I'm agoin' right along, too, but I ain't goin' to meetin'; I'magoin' up to Betsy E.'s to stay all night. She's got a spine in herback, as the feller said, and ain't feelin' good, so I told her I'd comeand stay a little spell. S'pose you can get along to-morrow without me?"
"Betsy E." was Mrs. Poundberry's second cousin, an elderly spinsterliving alone in a little house near the salt works. Grace assured herquestioner that she could
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