Mara was in his room, busy, as she always had been before his departures, in cares for him. How many things had she made for him, and done and arranged for him, all his life long! things which he had taken as much as a matter of course as the shining of that moon. His thought went back to the times of his first going to sea,--he a rough, chaotic boy, sensitive and surly, and she the ever thoughtful good angel of a little girl, whose loving-kindness he had felt free to use and to abuse. He remembered that he made her cry there when he should have spoken lovingly and gratefully to her, and that the words of acknowledgment that ought to have been spoken, never had been said,--remained unsaid to that hour. He stooped low, and came quite close to the muslin curtain. All was bright in the room, and shadowy without; he could see her movements as through a thin white haze. She was packing his sea-chest; his things were lying about her, folded or rolled nicely. Now he saw her on her knees writing something with a pencil in a book, and then she enveloped it very carefully in silk paper, and tied it trimly, and hid it away at the bottom of the chest. Then she remained a moment kneeling at the chest, her head resting in her hands. A sort of strange, sacred feeling came over him as he heard a low murmur, and knew that she felt a Presence that he never felt or acknowledged. He felt somehow that he was doing her a wrong thus to be prying upon moments when she thought herself alone with God; a sort of vague remorse filled him; he felt as if she were too good for him. He turned away, and entering the front door of the house, stepped noiselessly along and lifted the latch of the door. He heard a rustle as of one rising hastily as he opened it and stood before Mara. He had made up his mind what to say; but when she stood there before him, with her surprised, inquiring eyes, he felt confused. "What, home so soon?" she said. "You did not expect me, then?" "Of course not,--not for these two hours; so," she said, looking about, "I found some mischief to do among your things. If you had waited as long as I expected, they would all have been quite right again, and you would never have known." Moses sat down and drew her toward him, as if he were going to say something, and then stopped and began confusedly playing with her work-box. "Now, please don't," said she, archly. "You know what a little old maid I am about my things!" "Mara," said Moses, "people have asked you to marry them, have they not?" "People asked me to marry them!" said Mara. "I hope not. What an odd question!" "You know what I mean," said Moses; "you have had offers of marriage--from Mr. Adams, for example." "And what if I have?" "You did not accept him, Mara?" said Moses. "No, I did not." "And yet he was a fine man, I am told, and well fitted to make you happy." "I believe he was," said Mara, quietly. "And why were you so foolish?"