He told no one,not even her,of Kyan's confidential disclosure,and,after some speculation as to whether or not there might be a sequel,put the whole ludicrous affair out of his mind.He worked hard in his study and at his pastoral duties,and was conscious of a pleasant feeling that he was gaining his people's confidence and esteem.
A week from the following Sunday he dined in state at the Daniels's table.Captain Elkanah was gracious and condescending.Annabel was more than that.She was dressed in her newest gown and was so very gushing and affable that the minister felt rather embarrassed.
When,after the meal was over,Captain Elkanah excused himself and went upstairs for his Sabbath nap,the embarrassment redoubled.
Miss Annabel spoke very confidentially of her loneliness,without congenial society,of how VERY much she did enjoy Mr.Ellery's intellectual sermons,and especially what a treat it had been to have him as a guest.
You must dine here every Sunday,she said.It will be no trouble at all,and if you say no,I shall feel that it is because you don't want to see me--FATHER and me,of course,I mean.The minister didn't accept this pressing invitation;on the other hand,he could not refuse it absolutely.He did not like Miss Daniels overmuch,but she was the daughter of his leading parishioner and she and her parent did seem to like him.So he dodged the issue and said she was very kind.
He left the big house as soon as he could without giving offense,and started back toward the parsonage.But the afternoon was so fine and the early summer air so delightful that he changed his mind and,jumping the fence at the foot of Cannon Hill,set off across the fields toward the bluffs and the bay shore.
The sun was low in the west as he entered the grove of pines on the bluff.The red light between the boughs made brilliant carpet patterns on the thick pine needles and the smell was balsamy and sweet.Between the tree trunks he caught glimpses of the flats,now partially covered,and they reminded him of his narrow escape and of Nat Hammond,his rescuer.He had met the captain twice since then,once at the store and again on the main road,and had chatted with him.He liked him immensely and wished he might count him as an intimate friend.But intimacy between a Regular clergyman and the son of the leader of the Come-Outers was out of the question.Partisans on both sides would shriek at the idea.
Thinking of the Hammond family reminded him of another member of it.Not that he needed to be reminded;he had thought of her often enough since she ran away from him in the rain that night.And the picture in the doorway was not one that he could forget--or wanted to.If she were not a Come-Outer,he could meet her occasionally and they might become friends.She was a disconcerting young person,who lacked proper respect for one of his profession and laughed when she shouldn't--but she was interesting,he admitted that.
And then he saw her.She was standing just at the outer edge of the grove,leaning against a tree and looking toward the sunset.
She wore a simple white dress and her hat hung upon her shoulders by its ribbons.The rosy light edged the white gown with pink and the fringes of her dark hair were crinkly lines of fire.Her face was grave,almost sad.
John Ellery stood still,with one foot uplifted for a step.The girl looked out over the water and he looked at her.Then a crow,one of several whirling above the pines,spied the intruder and screamed a warning.The minister was startled and stepped back.Adead limb beneath his foot cracked sharply.Grace turned and saw him.
Oh!she cried.Who is it?
Ellery emerged from the shadow.
Don't be frightened,Miss Van Horne,he said.It is--er--I.This statement was neither brilliant nor original;even as an identification it lacked considerable.
I?repeated the girl.Who?Oh!Why--
The minister came forward.
Good afternoon,Miss Van Horne,he stammered.I'm afraid Ifrightened you.
She was looking at him with a queer expression,almost as if she scarcely believed him real.
I hope--he began again.She interrupted him.
No,she said confusedly,you didn't frighten me.I was a little startled when I saw you there behind me.It seemed so odd,because I was just thinking--No,I wasn't frightened.What is there to be frightened of--in Trumet?He had extended his hand,but partially withdrew it,not sure how even such a perfunctory act of friendliness might be received.She saved him embarrassment by frankly offering her own.
Not much,that's a fact,he said,in answer to her question.He would have liked to ask what she had been thinking that made his sudden appearance seem so odd.
You came to see the sunset,I suppose?she said hurriedly,as if to head off a question.So did I.It is a beautiful evening for a walk,isn't it?She had said precisely the same thing on that other evening,when they stood in the middle of Hammond's Turn-offin the driving rain.He remembered it,and so,evidently,did she,for she colored slightly and smiled.
I mean it this time,she said.I'm glad you didn't get cold from your wetting the other day.Oh!I wasn't very wet.You wouldn't let me lend you the umbrella,so I had that to protect me on the way home.Not then;I meant the other morning when Nat--Cap'n Hammond--met you out on the flats.He said you were wading the main channel and it was over your boots.Over my boots!Is that all he said?Over my head would be the plain truth.To cross it I should have had to swim and,if what I've heard since is true,I doubt if I could swim that channel.
Captain Hammond helped me out of a bad scrape.Oh,no!I guess not.He said you were cruising without a pilot and he towed you into port;that's the way he expressed it.It was worse than that,a good deal worse.It might have been my last cruise.I'm pretty certain that I owe the captain my life.She looked at him uncomprehendingly.
Your life?she repeated.
