“So at first William Hull spoke for the sea and the yawl, but when he learned that she would no longer live in the house that watched the harbor there being no reason why she should continue to search the faces of returning sailors, looking among them for the one she loved—but would go onto a plantation and live among her trees and flowers, he elected to live near her and to be her servant. To the end, he served her, and she guarded him, he for the sake of a man who, though bereft of his senses, was still an affectionate friend, she for the sake of the bridegroom who had never forgotten his love, and who had been snatched from the sunlight to wither in a dungeon all his days.” That is the tale my grandmother told. And all the while, Carin, I let my hand stay in Keefe’s. The fire fell low, the wind grew higher, and the story, you might have thought, would have made us sad. But it did not do so. Grandmother walked up the stairs to her room with her head lifted; I saw Uncle David and Aunt Lorena going down the corridor hand in hand. As for me, I could have danced. I do not know what Keefe thought, but I heard him singing “Annie Laurie” when he reached his room. I saw then that the story had risen above sorrow into joy, and when I went to bed I was very, very happy—happier than ever before in my life. It is wonderful to know there is really such a thing as true love in the world, isn’t it? _Azalea_. CHAPTER X “THE WATERS OF QUIET” Mallowbanks, January 21st. _My own Carin_: I no longer have a grandmother. She has gone. She is dead; but we are trying not to grieve. We are thinking of her as sailing on “the waters of quiet” to where her husband and her beloved son await her. It was her love for that dead son, my father, that brought about her death. Soon after I wrote you last, we could see that a cloud was settling over her spirit. She was very restless and could not sleep, but would go wandering about the house if she were not prevented. “I reckon ole Miss has got to studyin’ about Mars Jack again,” said Semmy to me. Indeed, all of us in the house could see that this was so. She became suspicious of us and thought we were watching her to prevent her from going out to her boy. She thought he was living again, young and wayward, with no friend but herself, and though she seemed to be reasonable enough upon other subjects, in regard to that she was quite insane. Martha was set to watch her early and late, and when she was weary Semmy or I took her place. She was sweet and gay at moments. One afternoon she showed me her painted fans and her jewels, and told me they would be mine, some day, and I was naughty enough to say: “But madam grandmother, what shall little Azalea do with all those? Don’t you think her little string of ‘Job’s tears’ and a peacock fan made by herself become her better?”