The stranger now joined in the conversation, and began talking with Moses about his experiences in foreign parts, in a manner which showed a man of sense and breeding. Moses had a jealous fear of people of breeding,--an apprehension lest they should look down on one whose life had been laid out of the course of their conventional ideas; and therefore, though he had sufficient ability and vigor of mind to acquit himself to advantage in this conversation, it gave him all the while a secret uneasiness. After a few moments, he rose up moodily, and saying that he was very much fatigued, he went into the house to retire. Mr. Adams rose to go also, and Moses might have felt in a more Christian frame of mind, had he listened to the last words of the conversation between him and Mara. "Do you remain long in Harpswell?" she asked. "That depends on circumstances," he replied. "If I do, may I be permitted to visit you?" "As a friend--yes," said Mara; "I shall always be happy to see you." "No more?" "No more," replied Mara. "I had hoped," he said, "that you would reconsider." "It is impossible," said she; and soft voices can pronounce that word, _impossible_, in a very fateful and decisive manner. "Well, God bless you, then, Miss Lincoln," he said, and was gone. Mara stood in the doorway and saw him loosen his boat from its moorings and float off in the moonlight, with a long train of silver sparkles behind. A moment after Moses was looking gloomily over her shoulder. "Who is that puppy?" he said. "He is not a puppy, but a very fine young man," said Mara. "Well, that very fine young man, then?" "I thought I told you. He is a Mr. Adams of Boston, and a distant connection of the Sewells. I met him when I was visiting at Judge Sewell's in Boston." "You seemed to be having a very pleasant time together?" "We were," said Mara, quietly. "It's a pity I came home as I did. I'm sorry I interrupted you," said Moses, with a sarcastic laugh. "You didn't interrupt us; he had been here almost two hours." Now Mara saw plainly enough that Moses was displeased and hurt, and had it been in the days of her fourteenth summer, she would have thrown her arms around his neck, and said, "Moses, I don't care a fig for that man, and I love you better than all the world." But this the young lady of eighteen would not do; so she wished him good-night very prettily, and pretended not to see anything about it.