"But somehow, Lizette, I feel like you may be disappointed. I don't believe she has ever come home from Europe yet," Jack said to her, as they sat together on deck that twilight hour of the tenth of June, as they were nearing the familiar shores of New Jersey. "Tell you what, old girl, suppose we don't land at home unless she is up at Gray Gables. We'll drop anchor near the beach and I'll go over to mom and see if the folks are back. If they are not we can go on up to New York and have a lark. You said there was some one there you wanted to see, didn't you?" "Yes, if they're not dead, for I've written and written and got no answer," returned Lizette, with an anxious look in her soft-blue eyes. So it happened that Jack's bark came to anchor near the shore, and Jack rowed over alone in the twilight to seek his mother. Lizette waited a while on deck, but as the wind freshened and the waves began to put on white-caps, she grew nervous and went into the tiny cabin to talk to the woman who did the cooking and mending for the very small crew. Presently the woman went off to attend to some small duty, and then the maid sat down by the light with a book and began to read to pass the time away. She had just reached a very thrilling point in her novel when a stumbling step made her look up, and--Jack Dineheart was by her side. "Oh, Jack, what is it?" cried the young woman, in dismay, for as he sank into a seat by her side she saw that his face was ashy white, his eyes wild, his frame trembling. "It is nothing, you foolish girl, nothing. Go get me a drink of whisky," he answered hoarsely, and put up his hand to shield his face from her inquisitive gaze. Then, indeed, a shudder ran through all her frame, and she cried in sickening terror: "Oh, Jack, what have you been doing? There is blood on your hand--wet blood--and blood on your sleeve!" With a frightened oath the man looked, and found her words were true. His hand was red with blood, and so was his light coat-sleeve. For a minute they gazed at each other in startled silence. His eyes were wolfish--hers frightened, questioning. A moment, and he broke through the spell that held him, with an uneasy laugh. "Good Lud! don't look so scared," he cried roughly. "I'll tell you the truth, Lizette. My arm's hurt--a shark bit at me in the little boat, and I had a tussle to get away. I didn't mean to tell, only you saw the blood. Now don't tell any one, will you? See here, Lizette, I won't allow any tattling"--roughly. "I'll go wash the blood off and get a drink; and you'll hold your tongue, you hear?" "Very well, Jack," Lizette answered, with dignity, offended by his rough, menacing manner; then she caught at his coat as he was turning to go, and asked eagerly: "But, Miss Nita, Jack? Is she up there at Gray Gables, or not?"