inpoorhouse coffee, but I'll have to change my mind."
"Nat, when--that morning after your father died and after you and Gracehad agreed to--to--"
"To do somethin' neither of us wanted to do? Yes, I know. Go ahead."
"That morning Aunt Keziah came home to the parsonage and broke thenews to me. She did it as only she could do such a thing, kindly andpityingly and--"
"Of course. That's Keziah."
"Yes. Well, as you can imagine, I was almost crazy. I made a fool ofmyself, I expect; refused to believe her, behaved disgracefully, and atlast, when I had to believe it, threatened to run away and leave my workand Trumet forever, like a coward. She made me stay."
"Did, hey?"
"Yes. She showed me it was my duty to face the music. When I whimperedabout my troubles she told me her own story. Then I learned what troublewas and what pluck was, too. She told me about her marriage and--excuseme for speaking of what isn't my business; yet it is mine, in a way--shetold me about you."
Captain Hammond did not answer. His good natured face clouded and heshifted in his chair.
"She told me of you, Nat, all about you--and herself. And she told mesomething else, which explains why she felt she must send you away, whyshe thought your marriage to Grace would be a good thing."
"I know. She told you that that darn scamp Anse Coffin was alive."
The minister started violently. He gasped in surprise.
"You knew it? You KNEW it?" he stammered.
"I know it now. Have known it for over a year. My findin' it out was oneof the special Providences that's been helpin' along this last voyage ofmine. My second mate was a Hyannis man, name of Cahoon. One day, onthat pesky island, when we was eatin' dinner together, he says to me,'Cap'n,' he says, 'you're from Trumet, ain't you?' I owned up. 'Knowanybody named Coffin there?' says he. I owned up to that, too. 'Well,'he says, 'I met her husband last trip I was in the Glory of the Wave.'I stared at him. 'Met his ghost, you mean,' I says. 'He's been deadfor years, and a good thing, too. Fell overboard and, not bein' used towater, it killed him.'
"But he wouldn't have it so. 'I used to know Anse Coffin in NewBedford,' he says. 'Knew him well's I know you. And when we was in portat Havre I dropped in at a gin mill down by the water front and he comeup and touched me on the arm. I thought same as you, that he was dead,but he wa'n't. He was three sheets in the wind and a reg'lar dock rat tolook at, but 'twas him sure enough. We had a long talk. He said he wascomin' back to Trumet some day. Had a wife there, he said. I told him,sarcastic, that she'd be glad to see him. He laughed and said maybe not,but that she knew he was alive and sent him money when he was hard up.Wanted me to promise not to tell any Cape folks that I'd seen him, and Iain't till now.'
"Well, you can imagine how I felt when Cahoon spun me that yarn. FirstI wouldn't b'lieve it and then I did. It explained things, just as yousay, John. I could see now why Keziah gave me my walkin' papers. I couldsee how she'd been sacrificin' her life for that scum."
"Yes. She wouldn't divorce him. She said she had taken him for better orworse, and must stand by him. I tried to show her she was wrong, but itwas no use. She did say she would never live with him again."
"I should say not. LIVE with him! By the everlastin'! if he ever comeswithin reach of my hands then--there's times when good honest murder isjustifiable and righteous, and it'll be done. It'll be done, you hearme!"
He looked as if he meant it. Ellery asked another question.
"Did you tell her--Aunt Keziah--when you met her at the Narrows?" heasked.
"No. But I shall tell her when I see her again. She shan't spoil herlife--a woman like that! by the Lord! WHAT a woman!--for any such crazynotion. I swore it when I heard the story and I've sworn it every daysince. That's what settled my mind about Grace. Keziah Coffin belongsto me. She always has belonged to me, even though my own pig-headednesslost her in the old days."
"She cares for you, Nat. I know that. She as much as told me so."
"Thank you, John. Thank you. Well, I can wait now. I can wait, forI've got something sure to wait for. I tell you, Ellery, I ain't achurch-goin' man--not as dad was, anyway--but I truly believe that thisthing is goin' to come out right. God won't let that cussed rascal livemuch longer. He won't! I know it. But if he does, if he lives a thousandyears, I'll take her from him."
He was pacing the floor now, his face set like granite. Ellery rose, hisown face beaming. Here was his chance. At last he could pay to this manand Keziah a part of the debt he owed.
Nat stopped in his stride. "Well!" he exclaimed. "I almost forgot, afterall. Keziah sent a note to you. I've got it in my pocket. She gave it tome when she left me at Cohasset."
"Left you? Why! didn't she come back with you on the night train?"
"No. That's funny, too, and I don't understand it yet. We was togetherall the afternoon. 'I was feelin' so good at seein' her that I took herunder my wing and we cruised all over that town together. Got dinner atthe tavern and she went with me to buy myself a new hat, and all that.At first she didn't seem to want to, but then, after I'd coaxed a while,she did. She was lookin' pretty sad and worn out, when I first met her,I thought; but she seemed to get over it and we had a fine time. Itreminded me of the days when I used to get home from a voyage and wewere together. Then, when 'twas time for the night train we went down tothe depot. She gave me this note and told me to hand it to you to-day.
"'Good-by, Nat,' she says. 'We've had a nice day, haven't we?'
"'We have, for a fact,' I says. 'But what are you sayin' good-by for?'
"'Because I'm not goin' to Trumet with you,' says she. 'I'm goin' to thecity. I've got some business to see to there. Good-by.'
"I was set back, with all my canvas flappin'. I told her I'd go toBoston with her and we'd come home to Trumet together to-morrow,that's to-day. But she said no. I must come here and ease your mind andGrace's. I must do it. So at last I agreed to, sayin' I'd see her in alittle while. She went on the up train and I took the down one. Hireda team in Sandwich and another in Bayport and got to the tavern abouteleven. That's the yarn. And here's your note. Maybe it tells whereshe's gone and why."
The minister took the note and tore open the envelope. Within was asingle sheet of paper. He read a few lines, stopped, and uttered anexclamation.
"What's the matter?" asked the captain.
Ellery did not answer. He read the note through and then, without aword, handed it to his friend.
The note was as follows:
"DEAR JOHN:
"I am going away, as I told you I would if he came. He is coming.Tuesday I got a letter from him. It was written at Kingston, Jamaica,almost three months ago. I can't think why I haven't got it sooner, butsuppose it was given to some one to mail and forgotten. In it he saidhe was tired of going to sea and was coming home to me. I had money,he said, and we could get along. He had shipped aboard a brig boundfor Savannah, and from there he was going to try for a berth on aBoston-bound vessel. So I am going away and not coming back. I could notstand the disgrace and I could not see him. You and Grace won't need meany more now. Don't worry about me. I can always earn a living while Ihave my strength. Please don't worry. If he comes tell him I have goneyou do not know where. That will be true, for you don't. I hope you willbe very happy. I do hope so. Oh, John, you don't know how I hate to dothis, but I must. Don't tell Nat. He would do something terrible to himif he came, and Nat knew. Just say I have been called away and may beback some time. Perhaps I may. Love to you all. Good-by.
"Yours truly,
"KEZIAH COFFIN."
The captain stared at the note. Then he threw it to the floor andstarted for the door. The minister sprang from his chair and called tohim.
"Nat," he cried. "Nat! Stop! where are you going?"
Hammond turned.
"Goin'?" he growled. "Goin'? I'm goin' to find her, first of all. ThenI'm comin' back to wait for him."
"But you won't have to wait. He'll never come. He's dead."
"Dead? DEAD? By th
e everlastin'! this has been too much for you, I oughtto have known it. I'll send the doctor here right off. I can't staymyself. I've got to go. But--"
"Listen! listen to me! Ansel Coffin is dead, I tell you. I know it. Iknow all about it. That was what I wanted to see you about. Did
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