Doctor Dennis, who had waited purposely, came out now on the stoop. Miss Defourchet looked up. The darkness had gathered while they stood there; the pine woods, close at the right, began to lower distant and shapeless; now and then the wind flapped a raw dash of rain in their faces, and then was suddenly still. Behind them, two or three tallow candles, just lighted in the store, sputtered dismal circles of dingy glare in the damp fog; in front, a vague slope of wet night, in which she knew lay the road and the salt marshes; and far beyond, distinct, the sea-line next the sky, a great yellow phosphorescent belt, apparently higher than their heads. Nearer, unseen, the night-tide was sent in: it came with a regular muffled throb that shook the ground. Doctor Dennis went down, and groped about his horse, adjusting the harness. "The poor beast is soaked to the marrow: it's a dull night: d'ye hear how full the air is of noises?" "It be the sea makin' ready," said Joe, in a whisper, as if it were a sentient thing and could hear. He touched the old woman on the arm and beckoned her inside to one of the candles. "There be a scrap of a letter come for you; but keep quiet. Ben Van Note's scrawl of a handwrite, think." The letters were large enough,--printed, in fact: she read it but once. "Your Dirk come Aboord the Chief at New York. I knowed him by a mark on his wrist--the time jim hallet cut him' you mind. he is aged and Differentt name. I kep close. we sail to-day and Ill Breng him Ashor tomorrer nite plese God. be on Handd." She folded the letter, crease by crease, and put it quietly in her pocket. Joe watched her curiously. "D' Ben say when the Chief ud run in?" "To-night." "Bah-h! there be n't a vessel within miles of this coast,--without a gale drives 'm in." She did not seem to hear him: was feeling her wet petticoats and sleeves. She would shame Derrick, after all, with this patched, muddy frock! She had worked so long to buy the black silk, gown and white neckercher that was folded in the bureau-drawer to wear the day he'd come back! "When he come back!" Then, for the first time, she realized what she was thinking about. _Coming to-night!_ Presently Miss Defourchet went to her where she was sitting on a box in the dark and rain. "Are you sick?" said she, putting her hand out. "Oh, no, dear!" softly, putting the fingers in her own, close to her breast, crying and sobbing quietly. "Thee hand be a'most as soft as a baby's foot," after a while, fancying the little chap was creeping into her bosom again, thumping with his fat feet and fists as he used to do. Her very blood used to grow wild and hot when he did that, she loved him so. And her heart to-night was just as warm and light as then. He was coming back, her boy: maybe he was poor and sick, a worn-out man; but in a few hours he would be here, and lay his tired head on her breast, and be a baby again. Joe went down to the Doctor with a lantern.