"You can find what passengers sailed in the Gabriel," answered Clarice, eager to remove every difficulty, and ready to contend with any that could possibly arise. "The vessel was a merchantman. Such vessels don't take out many passengers.--Besides, you will see the world.--It is for everybody's sake! Not for mine only,--no, truly,--no, indeed! May-be if another person around here had found Gabriel, they would never have thought of trying to find out who he belonged to." "I guess so," replied Bondo, with a queer look. "Only now be honest, Clarice; it's to get rid of me, isn't it? But you needn't take that trouble. If you had only told me right out about Luke Merlyn"-- While Bondo Emmins spoke thus, his face had unconsciously the very expression one sees on the face of the boy whose foot hovers a moment above the worm he means to crush. The boy does not expect to see the worm change to a butterfly just then and there, and mount up before his very eyes toward the empyrean. Neither did Bondo Emmins anticipate her quiet-- "You knew about it all the while." "Not the whole," said he,--"that you were married to Luke, as you say"; and the fisherman looked hastily around him, as if he had expected to see the veritable Luke. "It isn't to get rid of you, then, Bondo," Clarice explained; "but I read in the Book you don't think much of, but it's everything to me, _If ye have not been faithful in that which is another man's, who shall give you that which is your own?_ So you see, I am a little selfish in it all; for I want peace of mind, and I never shall have peace till it is settled about Gabriel; if I must give him up, I can." Bondo Emmins looked at Clarice with a strange look, as she spoke these words,--so faltering in speech, so resolute in soul. "And if I'm faithful over another man's," said he, "better the chance of getting my own, eh? But I wonder what my own is." "Everything that you can earn and enjoy honestly," replied Clarice. Emmins rose up quickly at these words. He walked off a few paces without speaking. His face was gloomy and sullen as a sky full of tornadoes when he turned his back on Clarice,--hardly less so when he again approached her. "I am no fool," said he, as he drew near.--From his tone one could hardly have guessed that his last impulse was to strike the woman to whom he spoke.--"I know what you mean. You haven't sent me on a fool's errand. Good bye. You won't see me again, Clarice--till I come back from France. Time enough to talk about it then." He did not offer to take her hand when he had so spoken, but was off before Clarice could make any reply.