She saw him coming, and stopped in sudden fright. For an instant she wavered, undecided whether she would turn and run, or brave it out and pass him. If she could only get inside the garden before he reached her! As she neared the gate she heard his footsteps on the road, and could see from under the rim of her hat the rough shoes and coarse trousers cement-stained up as far as his knees. Only once since she had gone off with Lacey had she been so close to him. Gathering all her strength she sprang forward, her hand on the swinging gate. “I’ll hold it back, child,” came a low, sweet voice, and an arm was stretched out before her. “It shan’t slam to and hurt ye.” He was so close she could have touched him. She saw, even in her agony, the gray, fluffy beard and the wrinkled, weather-stained throat with the unbuttoned collar of the flannel shirt. She saw, too, the big brown hand, as it rested on the gate. She did not see his eyes. She dared not look so high. As she entered the kitchen door she gave a hurried glance behind. He was following her slowly, as if in deep thought; his hands behind his back, his eyes on the ground. Aunty Bell was bending over the stove when Betty dashed in. “It’s Caleb! He’s coming in! Oh, aunty, don’t let him see me—please—please!” The little woman turned quickly, startled at the sudden interruption. “He don’t want ye, child.” The girl’s appearance alarmed her. She is not often this way, she thought. “He does—he does. He spoke to me—Oh, where shall I go?” she moaned, wringing her hands, her whole body trembling like one with an ague. “Go nowhere,” answered Aunty Bell in decided tones. “Stay where ye be. I’ll go see him. ’T ain’t nothin’, child, only somethin’ for the cap’n.” She had long since given up all hope of Caleb’s softening. As she spoke the diver’s slow and measured step could be heard sounding along the plank walk. Aunty Bell let down her apron and stepped to the door. Betty crept behind the panels, watching him through the crack, stifling her breath lest she should miss his first word. Oh, the music of his voice at the gate! Not his words, but the way he spoke,—the gentleness, the pity, the compassion of it all! As this thought surged through her mind she grew calmer; a sudden impulse to rush out and throw herself at his feet took possession of her. He surely could not repel her when his voice carried such tenderness to her heart. A great sob rose in her throat. The measured, slow step came closer. At this instant she heard the outer gate swing to a second time with a resounding bang, and Captain Joe’s voice calling, “Git yer dress, Caleb, quick as God’ll let ye! Train through the Medford draw an’ two men drownded. I’ve been lookin’ fur ye everywhere.” “Who says so?” answered Caleb calmly without moving. “Mr. Sanford ’s sent the yacht. His nigger’s outside now. Hurry, I tell ye; we ain’t got a minute.”