“I will go. I ought to go, of course. I'm glad you reminded me of it.” “Yes. I told her you hadn't meant to neglect her, but you'd been busy fussin' with the fair and the like of that.” “That was all. I'll go right away. Have you been there to-day?” “No. I just heard that she was ailin' from Didama Rogers. Didama said she was all but dyin', so I knew she prob'ly had a little cold, or somethin'. If she was really very bad, Di would have had her buried by this time, so's to be sure her news was ahead of anybody else's. I ain't been up there, but I met her t'other mornin'.” “Didama?” “No; Mrs. Prince. She'd come down to see Grace.” “Oh.” “Yes. The old lady's been awful kind and sympathizin' since--since this new trouble. It reminds her of the loss of her own boy, I presume likely, and so she feels for Grace. John, what do they say around town about--about HIM?” “Captain Hammond?” “Yes.” The minister hesitated. Keziah did not wait for him to answer. “I see,” she said slowly. “Do they all feel that way?” “Why, if you mean that they've all given up hope, I should hardly say that. Captain Mayo and Captain Daniels were speaking of it in my hearing the other day and they agreed that there was still a chance.” “A pretty slim one, though, they cal'lated, didn't they?” “Well, they were--were doubtful, of course. There was the possibility that he had been wrecked somewhere and hadn't been picked up. They cited several such cases. The South Pacific is full of islands where vessels seldom touch, and he and his crew may be on one of these.” “Yes. They might, but I'm afraid not. Ah, hum!” She rose and was turning away. Ellery rose also and laid his hand on her arm. “Aunt Keziah,” he said, “I'm very sorry. I respected Captain Hammond, in spite of--of--in spite of everything. I've tried to realize that he was not to blame. He was a good man and I haven't forgotten that he saved my life that morning on the flats. And I'm so sorry for YOU.” She did not look at him. “John,” she answered, with a sigh, “sometimes I think you'd better get another housekeeper.” “What? Are you going to leave me? YOU?” “Oh, 'twouldn't be because I wanted to. But it seems almost as if there was a kind of fate hangin' over me and that,” she smiled faintly, “as if 'twas sort of catchin', as you might say. Everybody I ever cared for has had somethin' happen to 'em. My brother died; my--the man I married went to the dogs; then you and Grace had to be miserable and I had to help make you so; I sent Nat away and he blamed me and--” “No, no. He didn't blame you. He sent you word that he didn't.” “Yes, but he did, all the same. He must have. I should if I'd been in his place. And now he's dead, and won't ever understand--on this earth, anyhow. I guess I'd better clear out and leave you afore I spoil your life.” “Aunt Keziah, you're my anchor to windward, as they say down here. If I lost you, goodness knows where I should drift. Don't you ever talk of leaving me again.”