"Brother, will you have a book?" whispered a little man in a duster, proffering one from behind. Hollis took it, and followed the words as the children sang them to the end. When the prayer began, he laid the book down carefully on the seat, and went out on tiptoe. He went down to the pier; the westward bound boat had just come in; he went on board. "Business," he explained to the judge, when he reached the camp. "Had to go." "Sold the skeleton, perhaps?" "Well, I've laid one!" responded Hollis, grimly. The judge was in gay spirits, Cicely had been talking to him; it had been about Jack, and she had said nothing of importance; but the sentences had been rational, connected. Several days passed, and the improvement continued; consciousness had returned to her eyes, they all felt hopeful. They had strolled down to the beach one evening to see the sunset, and watch the first flash of Jupiter Light out on its reef. Eve was with Hollis; she selected him each day as her companion, asking him in so many words to accompany her; Hollis went, showering out jokes and puns. Now and then he varied his efforts at entertainment by legends of what he called "old times on the frontier." They always began: "My father lived on a flat-boat. He was a bold and adventurous character." In reality, his father was a teacher of singing, who earned his living (sometimes) by getting up among school-children, who co-operated without pay, a fairy operetta called _The Queen of the Flowers_; he was an amiable man with a mild tenor voice; he finally became a colporteur for the Methodist Book Concern. To-day Hollis was talking about the flat-boat--maundering on, as he would himself have called it; Paul and the judge strolled to and fro. The water came up smoothly in long, low swells, whose edge broke at their feet with a little sound like "whisssh," followed by a retreating gurgle. "Paul Tennant, are you there?" asked a voice. Startled, they turned. On the bank above the beach, and therefore just above their heads (the bank was eight feet high), stood Cicely. "It is you I want, Paul Tennant. Everything has come back to me; I know now that Ferdie is dead. You would not let me go to him; probably he thought that it was because I did not want to go. This I owe to you, and I curse you for it. I curse you, Paul Tennant, I curse your days and nights; all the things and people you like, all your hopes and plans. If you trust any one, I hope that person will betray you; if you love any one, I hope that person will hate you; if you should have any children, I hope they will be disobedient, and, whatever they may be to others, undutiful to you." "Cicely, stop!" cried Eve. "Will no one stop her?" "God, curse Paul Tennant. He has been so cruel!" She was now kneeling down, her arms held up to heaven in appeal.