Janet was impatient. She wanted to get away over to the dunes, to peace and Billy. "When Maud gets ready, she'll come home. Doesn't her mother know?" "Janet, you've got t' stay an' listen!" "Mark, I'm tired. I cannot help any; I want to go home." "You've got t' listen!" Mark repeated doggedly; and as the girl took a step forward, he caught her skirt in his trembling fingers. "First I took an interest 'cause--'cause I thought I loved you, an' I didn't want you smirched!" The words were flung out desperately, and they had the desired effect. Janet started and then stood rigidly intent. "Smirched?" she repeated slowly, "what do you mean?" And yet as she asked the question, light was borne in upon her,--light that had had its origin in the awakened womanhood. "I kind o' guess you know what I mean, Janet; an' I wish t' the Lord I had let you help frum the start. There ain't another soul as I kin go t' here until it's too late t' do fur Maud Grace--not a soul but you! An' God knows, I don't understand how it is I kin hope from you; but I kin! I jest kin! You won't be hard, fur all you don't love Maud Grace much. I know true as heaven, you'll be gentle t' her now, when you wasn't before!" The poor fellow's face was distorted and quivering, but he had no need to hold Janet. She had come close and was resting her hand upon his bowed shoulder. "Mark!" she whispered, "you mean--you mean?" The man nodded dumbly. "And, of course, they would all turn upon her! They do not seem to know any reason for showing mercy. Oh! I do understand." The dark eyes blazed; then softened under a mist as memory recalled the pitiful story of that other Quinton girl; and Mrs. Jo G.'s kindness that black night when she, Janet, was born. But now there was no Cap'n Billy to pilot this sad little wreck. "I don't know what t' do!" moaned Mark, covering his face with his thin, rough hands. "I can't bear t' think of her driftin' off, Lord knows where; an' I don't b'lieve she's got a cent, an' even if she walked t' the city, she can't never git him." "No!" Janet was thinking quick and hard. "When did she go?" "She went 'fore breakfast, an' she told her little sister t' tell her mother she'd gone t' you!" "To me?" "Yes. An' course that was just t' spar fur time." "Of course! Well, Mark, we must find her, and then--she may stay with me!" Janet drew herself up very straight and there was defiance in her action and expression. "Are any of the boats gone?" "Lord knows!" shivered Mark, "but she wouldn't try a boat. She can't sail fit fur anythin'. She's got the fear so many down here has--fur the water. Don't you remember?" But the suggestion brought a new agony to the poor fellow. "Whatever made you think of a boat?" he said.