I kept in the house for a time; mother was worse.--and I thought the less Dan saw of me the better; I kind of hoped he'd forget, and find his happiness where it ought to be. But the first time I saw him, when Faith had been his wife all the spring, there was the look in his eyes that told of the ache in his heart. Faith wasn't very happy herself, of course, though she was careless; and she gave him trouble,--keeping company with the young men just as before; and she got into a way of flying straight to me, if Dan ventured to reprove her ever so lightly; and stormy nights, when he was gone, and in his long trips, she always locked up her doors and came over and got into my bed; and she was one of those that never listened to reason, and it was none so easy for me, you may suppose. Things had gone on now for some three years, and I'd about lived in my books,--I'd tried to teach Faith some, but she wouldn't go any farther than newspaper stories,--when one day Dan took her and me to sail, and we were to have had a clam-chowder on the Point, if the squall hadn't come. As it was, we'd got to put up with chicken-broth, and it couldn't have been better, considering who made it. It was getting on toward the cool of the May evening, the sunset was round on the other side of the house, but all the east looked as if the sky had been stirred up with currant-juice, till it grew purple and dark, and then the two light-houses flared out and showed us the lip of froth lapping the shadowy shore beyond, and I--heard father's voice, and he came in. There was nothing but the fire-light in the room, and it threw about great shadows, so that at first entering all was indistinct; but I heard a foot behind father's, and then a form appeared, and something, I never could tell what, made a great shiver rush down my back, just as when a creature is frightened in the dark at what you don't see, and so, though my soul was unconscious, my body felt that there was danger in the air. Dan had risen and lighted the lamp that swings in the chimney, and father first of all had gone up and kissed mother, and left the stranger standing; then he turned round, saying,-- "A tough day,--it's been a tough day; and here's some un to prove it. Georgie, hope that pot's steam don't belie it, for Mr. Gabriel Verelay and I want a good supper and a good bed." At this, the stranger, still standing, bowed. "Here's the one, father," said I. "But about the bed,--Faith'll have to stay here,--and I don't see--unless Dan takes him over"---- "That I'll do," said Dan.