Conboy peered in the door at Deolda. Her face looked like a yellow mask of death with her black hair hanging around her. "God!" he said, in a whisper. "_She cares!_" I don't believe it had dawned on him before that she was anything but a wild devil. All that day the _Anita_ wasn't heard from. That night I was tired out and went to bed. But I couldn't sleep; Deolda sat staring out into the dark as she had the night before. Next morning I was standing outside the house when one of Deolda's brothers came tearing along. It was Joe, the youngest of one-armed Manel's brood, a boy of sixteen who worked in the fish factory. "Deolda!" he yelled. "Deolda, Johnny's all right!" She caught him by the wrist. "Tell me what's happened!" "The other feller--he's lost." "_Lost?_" said Deolda, her breath drawn in sharply. "Lost--how?" "Washed overboard," said Joe. "See--looka here. When Johnny got ashore this is what he says." He read aloud from the newspaper he had brought, a word at a time, like a grammar-school kid: "With a lame propeller and driven out of her course, the _Anita_ made Plymouth this morning without her Captain, Mark Hammar. John Deutra, who brought her in, made the following statement: "'I was lying in my bunk unable to sleep, for we were being combed by waves again and again. Suddenly I noticed we were wallowing in the trough of the sea, and went on deck to see what was wrong. I groped my way to the wheel. It swung empty. Captain Hammar was gone, washed overboard in the storm. How I made port myself I don't know--'" Here his reading was interrupted by an awful noise--Deolda laughing, Deolda laughing and sobbing, her hands above her head, a wild thing, terrible. "Go on," my aunt told the boy. "Go home!" And she and Deolda went into the house, her laughter filling it with awful sound. After a time she quieted down. She stood staring out of the window, hands clenched. "Well?" she said, defiantly. "Well?" She looked at us, and what was in her eyes made chills go down me. Triumph was what was in her eyes. Then suddenly she flung her arms around my aunt and kissed her. "Oh," she cried, "kiss me, Auntie, kiss me! He's not dead, my Johnny--not dead!" "Go up to your room, Deolda," said my aunt, "and rest." She patted her shoulder just as though she were a little girl, for all the thoughts that were crawling around our hearts. When later in the day Conboy came, "Where's Deolda?" he asked. "I'll call her," I said. But Deolda wasn't anywhere; not a sign of her. She'd vanished. Conboy and Aunt Josephine looked at each other. "She's gone to him," said Conboy. My aunt leaned toward him and whispered, "_What do you think?_" "Hush!" said Conboy, sternly. "_Don't think_, Josephine! _Don't speak. Don't even dream!_ Don't let your mind stray. You know that crew couldn't have made port in fair weather together. The strongest man won--that's all!" "Then you believe--" my aunt began.