"Janet,"--a mildness stole into the peevish, whining voice,--"Janet, times is, when I see that Billy warn't all wrong in his bringin' of you up. He's sort o' left the softness like a baby in you." The hidden eyes did not see the glare, but the thin form quivered as the girl's firm hands were pressed over the sensitive ears. "It's kinder muffled-like," panted the woman. "In between, Janet, can you say any of it?" "Your chapter, Susan?" "Yes. David knows the most of it, an' nights, bad nights, he says it when he ain't so plumb sleepy he can't." "I'll say what I can, Susan Jane." The gray head nestled close to the strong young shoulder. The nagging woman rested, breathing deep. The fierce storm was rolling away; darkness was giving place, outside, to the sunset glow which, during all the terror and gloom, had lain waiting. "'And I saw a new heaven, and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away and there was no more sea.'" Janet's voice repeated the words slowly, tenderly. Their beauty held her fancy. "Davy explains that"--Susan's muffled words came dully--"this way. He says the old happy time, when William Henry an' me was young an' lovin', you know about that?" "Yes, Susan Jane." "Well, that was the first heaven an' earth fur us, an' it's passed away!" The woman was sobbing as a frightened child sobs when fear and danger have passed and relief has opened the flood gates. "I don't know how William Henry is goin' t' bide a new heaven without any sea, Janet; he sot a lot by the sea! Always a-goin' out when it was the wildest an' trickiest! He use t' say, he'd like t' go to glory by water, an' he did, he did! I wasn't none older than you be, Janet, when he went down, an' the cruel waves kept him, kept him forever!" "There, there, Susan Jane, you know they did not keep the part you loved. That part is safe where there is no more sea!" Solemnly the girl spoke as she smoothed the throbbing head. "Yes! Like as not you're right, Janet. An' he'll find other comfort in that heaven. He was the patientest, cheerfulest body; an' never a quick word fur me. Janet, don't you ever tell, but I'm afraid t' see the ocean! I'm afraid, because I'm always a-thinkin' his dead white face might come up t' me--on a wave!" "Poor Susan Jane! It will never come to harm you. I would not fear. I love the sea. If it had been my William Henry, I should have watched for his face shining in the beautiful curly waves, and had I seen it, I would have stretched out my arms to him, and we would have gone away--to glory together!" "Not if the face was a--dead face, Janet!" A horror rang in the words. "Somehow," the girl replied, "I could never think it dead, if it came that way. 'And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.'"