She was still looking northward; to-morrow was Dick's eleventh day. “I can't,” she said slowly; “I have an engagement for to-morrow evening.” “Not--not with him?” She nodded. “Break it, Annie, break it. Or no, wait--I won't say that. We 'll just leave it. I'm willing to let it work itself out. I think, maybe, when to-morrow comes, you won't want to see him any more than I want you to. I won't tell you he's a rascal; I'd rather let you find it out for yourself. I want you to know why I've spoken out this way, and how hard I have tried to save you from doing something you would regret all your life.” She was bewildered. “Tell me this, Annie,--haven't you an aunt or anything here in town?” “Yes,”--her voice was hardly audible,--“Aunt Lizzie lives up by the waterworks.” “Do you go up there much?” “Sometimes.” “Won't you go to-day, and stay over till to-morrow about this time?” “Why?” “It may save you annoyance. I think some disagreeable things are going to happen here--I'd rather not have you at home. It's only on your own account.” “I don't see what can happen to me at home.” “Nothing will happen to _you_, but don't ask me to tell you now. To-morrow evening I 'll come up for you and bring you down, and then I 'll tell everything. You see, I must have your answer to-morrow. I shall probably have to go right away, and I couldn't go thinking I had left this--the one thing of all that I care about--unsettled. I want you to know that everything in the world I have to offer you is yours forever. I want you to know this, and then, when you've thought it over and realized what it means for both of us, I want you to come to me and give me your hand and tell me that--that it's all right--that you give me everything, too.” A long silence. “Let's sail up toward the waterworks now, Annie. I can drop you off there at the pier, and bring the Captain down alone.” She looked again toward the Merry Anne. He read her thoughts. “We needn't pass near her. We 'll run in close to the shore.” She shook her head. “I'm going to turn back.” And back they turned. In vain he urged her, reproached her, pleaded with her; hardly a word could he get during all the run back to the beach. He pulled up the boat for her, and walked by her side to the steps. There, with an odd pressure of the lips, she shook her head at him, as if afraid to trust her voice, and mounted the steps. “Annie, you haven't told me. Will you go?” She shook her head again, and entered the house. Beveridge, motionless, looked after her. Finally he turned, and glanced with a troubled air at the approaching schooner, then at the sleepy pier, where he could see Wilson stretched out flat holding out a bamboo fishpole over the water. Behind the house Captain Fargo was mending his nets. Beveridge heard him humming a song as he worked, and after hesitating a moment longer walked around and greeted him. “How do you do, Captain.”