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 PILOT FORTUNE 
 
 BY 
 
 MARIAN C. L. REEVES AND EMILY READ 
 
 AUTHORS OP "OLD MARTIN BOSCAWEN S JEST," 
 " AYTOUN, AND " WEARITHORNE " 
 
 Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered 
 
 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 BOSTON 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street 
 
 (Cfte Otoer.si&e gress, <amfcri&0e 
 
 1885
 
 Copyright, 1885, 
 Br HOUGIITON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 Tlit Riverside Press, Cambridge: 
 Electrotyped and Printed by II. 0. Iloughton & Co.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " On the lip s edge of the down, 
 Here where the bent grass turns to brown 
 
 In the dry sea-wind, and the heath 
 Crawls to the cliff s side, and looks down." 
 
 " STEPHEN, why do they ever come back ? " says 
 the girl, with a half sigh of longing, clasping her 
 hands on the railing of the sea-wall, as she stands 
 and watches the fishing-boats come in. "They 
 look so free," she says. " See how they sweep in 
 over that blue strip of sea between the islands, 
 one by one, and now with a flutter of great 
 white wings all together. They are like the sea 
 gulls : they can fly where they will, away from this 
 island, away to the other side of the world. I 
 wonder why they should come back? " 
 
 " The gulls come back, Milly." 
 
 " Yes, they are gulls," she retorts, a smile at 
 the small witticism chasing the slight cloud from 
 her face, as a sunbeam chases and overtakes and 
 lights up a sweeping shadow on the gusty water 
 she is watching. 
 
 It is she whom he is watching: and somehow 
 the cloud has gotten into his eyes, that flitted 
 from her face.
 
 2 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 She has forgotten him in the swift scene below 
 her. Wind and tide are in favor of the fleet 
 now steadily sailing toward the piers, one, two, 
 twenty, thirty, fifty trim small schooners, here 
 and there a sloop or two, in through the strait 
 named by the early French settlers on the oppo 
 site shore, the Grand Passage, between this little 
 Nova Scotian Bryer Island and the deep-coved 
 shore of Long Island opposite. A hurly-burly of 
 dark rocks, where the white eddies never rest, juts 
 out into a point on this side ; beyond which, with 
 the merest belt of blue between, the tiny light 
 house island lifts its rocky pile, its green crest and 
 white harbor light. The white, trim village, almost 
 every cottage with its pier and fish-house jutting 
 from the low cliff out into the water, lines the har 
 bor on this, the whole northeastern side of Bryer 
 Island ; and behind, the hay slopes rise until they 
 meet the belt of spruce and fir against the sky. 
 A quiet scene enough upon the six evenings of the 
 week ; but on this seventh, as the fishing-boats are 
 coming in, every available inhabitant of the vil 
 lage, and that is almost literally to say of the 
 island, has crowded to the piers. 
 
 Many of the women show some token of their 
 household employment when the good news reached 
 them, and which in their haste they had forgotten 
 to drop. One has thrown over her head for cov 
 ering the towel with which she was wiping her 
 crockery ; while she stands listening to her vol 
 uble neighbor, who is gesticulating with a fish- 
 knife. A few have caught up their knitting, and
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. & 
 
 are the more loquacious, the more rapidly their un 
 conscious fingers work. As for the children, they 
 are in every one s way, under every one s feet ; 
 dancing, screaming, tumbling, not heeding in the 
 smallest degree the cuffs and threats they receive 
 without stint from their elders. For a great joy is 
 often as irritating to the nerves or temper as a sor 
 row or a pain : and the fishing-boats are coming 
 in, in the wake of stormy weather. 
 
 Soon they are near enough for shouted greetings 
 back and forth : and then come personal and 
 family news, jokes and loud laughter ; tidings of 
 vessels that are laggards, all the gay chatter and 
 excitement of return after a most anxious week of 
 absence. 
 
 It is somewhat apart from the noisy throng that 
 these two are standing : the man above the me 
 dium height, strongly, even powerfully, made ; 
 the girl looking slight and almost childlike, as she 
 leans by the side of her companion, with arms 
 folded on the wooden railing which for a score 
 of feet fences the bit of sea-wall overlooking the 
 piers. The low columnar cliff just here has been 
 helped out by man s hand, building up its fallen 
 stones, quarried by nature ; fragments lie scat 
 tered beneath, brown-green with rock-weed and 
 white with barnacles ; and here and there a reach 
 of black basaltic pavement underlies the clear wa 
 ter. The spot is a good post of observation. That 
 the two who are looking down from it, upon the 
 busy scene, are only spectators, is evident ; yet 
 there is no doubt of their interest in it.
 
 4 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " Angus has made a good haul," remarks the 
 girl, as an old brown, criss-cross-wrinkled fisher 
 man to whom they have been speaking moves 
 away. " Of course he will not acknowledge as 
 much ; but as he has not said one word of grum 
 bling, one can t help suspecting him of good luck. 
 Ah, see there, Stephen : is n t that a strange boat ? 
 The one just coming alongside the pier, I mean," 
 she adds, eagerly pointing out the alien craft her 
 quick eye has detected. 
 
 " She is a beauty ! " exclaims Stephen, in ad 
 miration. " She has n t had much of a taste of 
 salt water yet, judging from her paint ; and," he 
 adds critically, " she carries too much sail to be 
 altogether safe." 
 
 Just then, the little vessel they are commenting 
 on being made fast, a man scrambles from out 
 her, up the side of the pier, a man in the dress 
 of a sailor, but with very little of the rough appear 
 ance of a fisherman after a week s exposure to sun 
 and weather. There is too much dandyism in his 
 costume not to show it is an assumed rather than 
 habitual dress ; and though he does not refuse to 
 give a helping hand to the men when necessary, 
 still, landing the fish is by no means a matter of 
 interest to him, and he appears to prefer laughing 
 and joking with the women. 
 
 " What a prince he is ! " exclaims Milicent, 
 laughing. She has forgotten to look at the fishing- 
 smacks, in the interest or curiosity this stranger 
 awakens. "I wonder where he comes from, and 
 what has brought him here ? One would think he
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 5 
 
 intended to stay for the rest of his life, from the 
 way he seems to make himself at home." 
 
 " Whom are you talking of ? " asks Stephen. 
 He has been watching the handsome little yacht 
 so intently that he has not seen its owner on the 
 wharf. " Where is your prince ? " 
 
 " Don t you see him ? I wonder if he thinks 
 French flannel durable, or only becoming ? " 
 
 But Stephen, instead of looking in the direction 
 indicated by Milicent, is watching one of the 
 sloops, which, perhaps from carelessness in its 
 skipper, is perilously grazing a ledge of the black 
 pavement here underlying the water. Before he 
 can exclaim, the mischief is done : the fishing- 
 boat has stuck fast. Fortunately, the water be 
 neath the cliff is shallow at this time, and the tide 
 is running out, a less chance for the little vessel 
 to float off, but not so difficult a performance on 
 the fishermen s part to give a helping hand. In a 
 few minutes the men are splashing waist-deep into 
 the water. There is shouting, swearing, and giv 
 ing of directions ; and then, with a push all to 
 gether, in unison with a musical cry or chant, 
 which to the uninitiated seems an unnecessary ex 
 penditure of breath, the little craft swings slowly 
 round, safely afloat once more. 
 
 Stephen was one of the first to go to the assist 
 ance of the stranded boat. He took off his coat, 
 and threw it at Milicent s feet ; and before she 
 had time to ask even what he would do, he had 
 joined the fishermen. 
 
 The stranger is the only idle man ashore. Per-
 
 6 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 haps he thinks it an uncomfortable position to be 
 working waist-deep in water : or he may have 
 known that his assistance is unnecessary. At any 
 rate, he walks away from the pier, rather than 
 towards the end of it where are the women and 
 children. 
 
 Milicent stays where Stephen left her. She is 
 watching the boat with great interest : for even 
 after it is afloat, and the men, dripping wet, have 
 come back to land, she yet stands quite still, shad 
 ing her eyes with her hands from the glare of the 
 sun on the water. 
 
 " She is all right now, and lucky to get off the 
 ledge so easily. Were you anxious about the fish 
 or the fisher ? " 
 
 The intonation of the voice is so different from 
 that of the fishermen, that Milicent knows, before 
 she turns her head to answer, it is the owner of the 
 yacht who is speaking to her. " Why should I 
 feel any interest in him? " she asks sharply. 
 
 " I don t know why, only you seemed to," he 
 answers good-humor edly. 
 
 " It was the fish I was thinking of. I was in 
 hopes they would have to lighten the boat by 
 throwing them overboard," Milicent explains. 
 
 There is a look of surprise in the stranger s eyes 
 when she turns to answer him. Her blue cotton 
 dress and coarse straw hat, as well as her eager in 
 terest in the fate of the boat, misled him into sup 
 posing her one of the fishermen s daughters ; but 
 a glance at her face gives him a very different im 
 pression.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 7 
 
 It is a very beautiful face, and the delicately cut 
 features could scarcely have belonged to a class for 
 generations used to hardships and exposure. There 
 is no shyness nor fear in the brown eyes scanning 
 him, though there is much mirth. He thinks it is 
 his unlucky mistake which amuses her ; but in re 
 ality it is his appearance. She has a great con 
 tempt for what she terms dandyism ; and for a 
 man to think of the becoming in his dress is sheer 
 silliness, in her opinion. 
 
 As it is the blue flannel shirt she is laughing at, 
 it is just as well he misunderstands the cause of 
 her mirth. " I beg your pardon," he says, quite 
 frankly. " I really took you for one of the fisher- 
 folk. I never dreamed you were sympathizing 
 with the fish." 
 
 "I ought to have felt an interest in the boat, for 
 it was our winter s supply that came near being 
 lost," answers Milicent. "But I dislike coddies, 
 and would gladly have seen them thrown over 
 board." 
 
 " The fishermen do not share your prejudice 
 against them," he says, laughing. "They were 
 like misers in a gold-mine, and seemed to regret 
 that so many of the fish had to be wasted by be 
 ing left in the ocean ; though to my inexperienced 
 eyes they seemed to have caught enough to supply 
 the world for a year at least. I never expected," 
 he adds, " to find a lady on this rock between three 
 seas." 
 
 He uses the word " lady " without hesitation ; 
 and yet he is evidently curious as to her position,
 
 8 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 which curiosity Milicent sees and resents. " Will 
 yoii please tell Stephen I am waiting for him ? 
 The gentleman yonder without his coat," she ex 
 plains, with an imperious gesture, as if she were 
 speaking to one of the fishermen. 
 
 He laughs, but does not move. " He is coming," 
 he says. " But he is too wet to walk home with you. 
 Your friend is evidently not afraid of salt water." 
 
 He speaks advisedly, thinking she might correct 
 him, and say they are related. But she does not, 
 and only replies, " The tailor does not make the 
 gentleman here, so we don t mind spoiling our 
 clothes : " and then calls to Stephen, who is hastily 
 advancing towards her. 
 
 "If I had known you were going to help the 
 men, I would not have come. You can t walk 
 home with me in that plight." 
 
 " I did not expect to be of any use," says Stephen 
 good-humoredly. " But of course I could not have 
 stood by, and not have helped Thomas in his ex 
 tremity. I am sorry, though " 
 
 " Some people could have resisted the tempta 
 tion," interrupts Milicent, glancing at the stranger, 
 with a laugh in her eyes. 
 
 But Stephen does not understand her hint, nor 
 even see there is any one near them. 
 
 " If you will tell Miss Ursula that we have saved 
 the fish, she will be glad to hear the good news. 
 And then, if you will say that it was all my fault 
 that you came here, and that " 
 
 But Milicent stops him, with a movement of her 
 hand towards the stranger.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 9 
 
 Stephen shakes hands with him, and welcomes 
 him heartily, very much as if he were a guest of 
 his own ; a proceeding which rather amuses the re 
 cipient, who has an idea he has as much right to 
 be on the seashore as Stephen himself, but which 
 lie takes in good part. 
 
 " If I could be of any use to you, and could see 
 the young lady home " he begins, a little eagerly. 
 
 " The young lady knows her way perfectly," she 
 interrupts. 
 
 " But you did not intend to go alone ; and I will 
 be too happy if you will let me take the place of 
 your friend." 
 
 " Miss Ursula won t be able to find any fault, if 
 there is a stranger with you," suggests Stephen in 
 a whisper, as he stoops to take up his coat. 
 
 Still Milicent hesitates. Is her dignity worth 
 preserving, at the sacrifice of so good a chance of 
 escaping from the much-dreaded fault-finding? 
 Scarcely, she thinks, and therefore gives a gra 
 cious permission to the stranger to go with her ; 
 leaving Stephen to struggle into his coat as best 
 he may, in his drenched state, and then to take a 
 shorter path across the fields to his own home. 
 
 " Are you very much in a hurry ? " asks Mili- 
 cent s new acquaintance. " I have been so little 
 on terra firma of late that a race is beyond my 
 powers, I fear." 
 
 " I am not walking at all fast," asserts Milicent, 
 nevertheless slackening her pace. 
 
 They have passed, by now, the last of the strag 
 gling village houses, its gable to the street, and
 
 10 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 double bow-windows, like most of its fellows, filled 
 with rare geraniums and fuchsias. There is a 
 clump of bleeding-heart and white spirea by the 
 doorsteps ; one tall, scant-leaved balm-of-Gilead tree 
 keeping up a breezy rattle overhead, at watch, as 
 it were, upon the cottage, in the midst of its green 
 hay-field, with the " fish-flakes," or long lattices, 
 laid horizontally on props, and lining, with their 
 rows of drying cod, both sides of the garden walk 
 to the white gate upon the street. Beyond all 
 these, and past the point of rocks, and up the 
 grassy slope behind, climbs Milicent, the stranger 
 at her side. " Have you been long with the fisher 
 men ? " she asks him, with a woman s laudable de 
 sire to make conversation. 
 
 " Nearly a week. I was at Grand Manan with 
 my yacht, and fell in with the boats off the banks. 
 I was anxious to see something of the fishing, and 
 to know a little of the hardships of the life. They 
 are a brave set of fellows," he adds, willing to pro 
 pitiate her by a compliment to her fellow-townsmen. 
 
 " Do you think so ? " asks Milicent, carelessly. 
 " They are no novelty to me." 
 
 " I acknowledge the fishing is more interesting 
 than the fishermen," he answers, laughing. 
 
 " Even that I do not comprehend. The fisher 
 men look upon their work as the very hardest, and 
 complain of the great exposure ; and yet you re 
 gard it as mere pleasant pastime," the girl says, 
 really puzzled by the difference of opinion. 
 
 " That is only because the men grow accustomed 
 to it. Most things are disagreeable that we are
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 11 
 
 obliged to do day after day. Still, I have no 
 doubt every fisherman here can remember the 
 delight he felt on his first fishing voyage." 
 
 "Perhaps so," she assents, doubtfully. "But 
 I must confess I can t see how work can ever be 
 looked upon with delight : and fishing is decidedly 
 work." 
 
 " I can understand how enforced idleness can be 
 an awful bore." 
 
 " One need n t be idle because one is doing noth 
 ing," asserts Milicent. 
 
 " I don t see well how you can help being so. 
 If you are really doing nothing, you are not em 
 ployed." 
 
 " You talk as well on the subject as Aunt Ur 
 sula ! The girl shrugs her shoulders skeptically. 
 " I was not idle when I was yonder in Westport 
 watching the boats. Aunt Ursula would have said 
 I had better be darning the house-linen; but I 
 think I was much better occupied." 
 
 " The most tyrannical of aunts could scarcely ex 
 pect you to sit in-doors on such a day as this," he 
 begins sympathetically. 
 
 "Oh, I need not sit in-doors. I can take my 
 work where I please. It is the constant stitching, 
 whether I wish to or not, that I detest. And there 
 is no end to it. I suppose most people buy new 
 house-linen every now and then ; but we never do. 
 Aunt Ursula says she cannot afford to." 
 
 This is said with such a weary, aggrieved tone, 
 that the ci-devant fisherman can with difficulty 
 keep from laughing, which fact Milicent detects
 
 12 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 at once. Half angry, half ashamed, she turns 
 sharply round to him : but checks herself in time, 
 wisely thinking it better not to resent his mirth, 
 much as she dislikes it. 
 
 " See, there is our house," she says abruptly. 
 " Did you ever see anything so old and hideous ? " 
 
 A difficult question to answer, unless one could 
 be quite frank, and agree with the questioner. 
 
 The house is certainly old, with an uncanny look 
 about its weather-beaten, gray-brown face, which 
 in men and houses hints of haunted rooms and 
 skeletons. Its builders, unlike the wiser cottagers, 
 were not thrifty of their windows, in this windy 
 climate : there is a great number of them, all 
 stuck into the wrong end of the house : for they 
 stare out from the gable to the open sea, at watch 
 for the prevailing southeast storms. 
 
 Not a shrub nor a tree grows near, except that 
 on one side there is a wind-bared skeleton with a 
 few breezy leaves atop ; which, however, only seems 
 to make the building more noticeable, as it does 
 not shade it in the least. The situation is too 
 bleak and exposed for anything but the closest- 
 woven turf pressing to the ground. A garden 
 might have been made behind ; hardy creepers 
 might possibly have been induced to cover up 
 some of the dismal ugliness of the staring walls 
 full of shutterless windows. But there is evidently 
 no loving hand to do the work. 
 
 " It is a large house," Milicent s new acquaint 
 ance says at last, not knowing what remark to 
 make but this self-evident one.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 13 
 
 " And has a great many windows," adds Mill- 
 cent. " I never heard any other observation made 
 at the first look at our mansion." But we have a 
 tree, and that is something that not every house 
 in the village can boast," she asserts, with doubt 
 ful pride in it. 
 
 " What do you call it ? " 
 
 " A tree," she says, half suspecting him of 
 laughing at it ; "a balm-of-Gilead." 
 
 " There does not seem to be much balm in 
 Gilead," he says, looking up into the scant foliage, 
 which makes up in sound what it lacks in shade. 
 " Well, home is home, though ever so homely. It 
 is certainly an old homestead." 
 
 " But not ours, for Aunt Ursula rents it. Not 
 that I can remember any other home," she adds 
 quickly, as if she would do away with the im 
 pression she might have made that she is new to 
 the place. 
 
 She pushes aside, as she speaks, a gate in the 
 gray-brown pitch-pole fence ; and for a moment 
 she seems to hesitate whether to dismiss the stran 
 ger or ask him in. But he does not or will not 
 notice her indecision. His meeting Milicent is 
 something of an adventure, and he is inclined to 
 make the most of it. 
 
 Perhaps the sight of the tall, gaunt figure of a 
 woman standing in the doorway decides Milicent 
 to be hospitable ; for she lets him follow her 
 across the yard, as if it were an act on his part 
 that she expects. 
 
 " Aunt Ursula, this is " Milicent breaks down
 
 14 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 there, in confusion at not knowing the name of her 
 companion : but recovers herself in a moment, and 
 adds "a gentleman Stephen asked to walk home 
 with me, as he could not come himself." 
 
 " I did not know you were out. I had your prom 
 ise to do some work which ought to have kept you 
 occupied all day," Miss Ursula answers shortly. 
 Neither Stephen s name nor the presence of a 
 stranger has had the effect Milicent hoped for. 
 
 " Stephen came to take me to see the fishing- 
 boats come in," replies Milicent, carelessly ; and 
 then, turning to her visitor, she says, " Perhaps if 
 you would tell me your name, so that I could intro 
 duce you properly, my aunt might notice you." 
 
 " My name is Urquhart," he answers, not think 
 ing it at all worth while to give any more informa 
 tion about himself. 
 
 " You have a Scottish name." says Miss Ursula, 
 for the first time turning to look at him. " If you 
 have come here for pleasure you will not tarry very 
 long. We fisher-folk have nothing about us to in 
 terest strangers. And we are far too poor to be 
 idle ; so you will pardon me if I tell you we do not 
 receive visitors." 
 
 Though it is Miss Ursula s evident intention to 
 put herself on a footing with the fishing-people in 
 the village, Urquhart is very sure she has nothing 
 in common with them save poverty. Her scant, 
 black dress, almost nun-like in its fashion, seems to 
 him more a masquerade than her usual attire. 
 Neither are her hands, roughened by toil, tokens of 
 a life which is hard and painful any real evi-
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 15 
 
 dence that she belongs to the class she has claimed. 
 Rude as her words were, Urquhart does not feel 
 altogether repelled. However, he would not have 
 presumed to cross her threshold after such a dis 
 missal, though Milicent seems rather anxious he 
 should. Her aunt s want of civility has the effect 
 of- making the girl much more gracious ; and she 
 bids him good-by cordially, as if she were sure 
 they would meet again. When he turns to latch 
 the gate he sees her standing watching him. 
 
 " Milicent, are you mad, that you bring a stranger 
 here ? " asks Miss Ursula, angrily, as soon as Ur 
 quhart is out of hearing. " Cannot your girlish 
 vanity withstand a fool s look of admiration ? At 
 least you need not have asked him to the house." 
 
 " I told you Stephen sent him," answers Mili 
 cent, raising her hand, as she speaks, to shade her 
 eyes, so that she may see Urquhart s retreating fig 
 ure the better. 
 
 " Stephen ! What does Stephen care ? He would 
 bring the sea into the house if he thought it would 
 give you any pleasure." 
 
 " That would be rather an injudicious kindness. 
 But Mr. Usher, or whatever his name is, will be 
 much more easily gotten rid of. I doubt if he will 
 ever come again, after your reception of him." 
 
 " Did you wish me to ask him to dinner ? or 
 perhaps you would have preferred my pressing him 
 to stay here ? There are rooms enough in the house 
 for guests," returns Miss Ursula, ironically. 
 
 " It does not make the slightest difference to 
 me," answers Milicent coolly, "whether he stays
 
 16 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 here, or I never see him again ; for I don t feel the 
 slightest interest in him. But he seems to feel a 
 great deal in us. He is standing at the gate, star 
 ing at the house as if it were one of the curiosities 
 of the place." 
 
 " It is much more likely that he is looking at 
 you. Do come in and shut the door, or he will be 
 making an excuse to come back again." 
 
 Milicent laughs an odd, mocking laugh, but does 
 as she is bidden. Nevertheless, she watches Ur- 
 quhart furtively from the window until he is out 
 of sight. 
 
 It may have been that she only wished to be 
 sure he is not lurking near ; for as soon as he is 
 gone, she takes her work-basket, and goes out-of- 
 doors, turning her back on the old house, that truly 
 looks sadly buffeted and ill-used by wind and 
 weather, as it keeps its post, a beacon to the 
 sailors. 
 
 On a fogless day like this, the high ground 
 where it stands overlooks well-nigh the whole of 
 the three-mile island ; a rock between three seas, 
 as its visitor has called it. Yonder, Westport Har 
 bor, or Grand Passage, links with silver band the 
 shoreless, boisterous Bay of Fundy with Grand 
 Manan a mere cloud on its bosom to calm Bay 
 St. Mary, bordered by the Nova Scotian mainland, 
 the " French Shore," where more than a century 
 ago some stragglers from Evangeline s part of 
 Acadie wandered down to these more hospitable 
 coasts, and have since dwelt there, a people half 
 apart. Even now, as Milicent looks, she can see
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 17 
 
 where old Denis the pilot s boat comes fluttering 
 into Westport, with the French flag flying from 
 the mast-head. 
 
 Far more pleasant than in-doors is it to be out 
 in the soft air, even under the sunny balm-of-Gil- 
 ead. But Milicent only glances askance at that 
 familiar seat; then, with her work-basket on her 
 arm, she wanders away to where the slope seems 
 to break off with a rolling grassy edge against the 
 sea. 
 
 But only seems ; for as she nears the edge, with 
 just a fringe of spruce and fir dwarfs bearing off 
 from it, she looks down from the dizzy height upon 
 a strange chaotic world of rock and water. It has 
 been Milicent s dream-world ever since she could 
 remember. Torn out of the side of the island by 
 some convulsive throe of nature, the dark basaltic 
 rocks rise up in pinnacles and broken turrets, as of 
 a huge fortress in ruins, at the girl s feet ; and 
 strewn on the wide pavement reaching out beneath 
 into the water lie great octagons, columnar bases, 
 unfinished pillars, all the scattered fragmentary 
 blocks left over by the Master-Builder. Billows 
 come in raging here at every turn of tide, however 
 calmly they may swell beyond, and spring to climb 
 these battlements, and fall back, broken, on the 
 rocks below. The wild, strong music of their on 
 rush reaches Milicent ; inspiriting as a trumpet 
 blast, but hardly for the sort of work she takes 
 into her hands, as she drops down on a knoll that 
 overhangs the cliffs. 
 
 With the low green boughs screening her from 
 2
 
 18 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 the westering sun, she works on diligently, never 
 raising her eyes from the intricacy of her darning. 
 Nearly an hour passes ; but she is still there at 
 her monotonous task. One would suppose she is 
 trying to make up for the time spent in watching 
 the arrival of the fishing-boats, and is determined 
 her aunt shall have no occasion to complain of her 
 broken promise. 
 
 On into the late sunset she sits with her work. 
 Even when she sees a shadow drawing near, across 
 the patch from which the firs stand back, and 
 from which she is herself in full view, she does not 
 look up, though no doubt she knows very well it is 
 Stephen s shadow. But she affects to be uncon 
 scious of his presence ; and he has to approach 
 near enough to speak to her before she even 
 glances at him. 
 
 " How did you get home, Milly ? " Stephen asks. 
 " Did you like your new acquaintance ? " 
 
 "He did well enough," she answers, without 
 looking up. " But I can t say the same for Aunt 
 Ursula. 1 knew she d be cross ; but I did not ex 
 pect her to be quite as rude as she was. Of course 
 I could only be as polite as possible, to cover Aunt 
 Ursula s brusqueness ; and now I have not a doubt 
 he will think I want him to come again. It is too 
 stupid ! I wish I had not let him walk home with 
 me ; or, better still, I wish I had not gone to the 
 village with you." 
 
 " Perhaps he 11 take the hint, if Miss Ursula was 
 not cordial, and think it best to stay away. At 
 any rate, the fellow seems daft about fishing, and
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 19 
 
 I can manage to keep him busy ; for of course he 
 will not be here very long," says Stephen, hope- 
 fully. 
 
 " If he proves troublesome, you can easily drown 
 him," Milicent replies, dropping her work, and 
 looking up at him with a smile. 
 
 Stephen laughs ; not so much at the prospect of 
 making away with Urquhart as at the smile he 
 has won. 
 
 " Let us go up to the High Knoll," he proposes. 
 " The sun has nearly set, and you like to see him 
 die royally." 
 
 She has let her work slip out of her fingers ; but 
 now she takes it up again, and begins to stitch dili 
 gently. 
 
 " I have no time for sunsets : Aunt Ursula has 
 brought me up with a round turn. And besides," 
 she says, a sly little dimple lurking about her 
 pretty mouth, " you would leave me to come 
 home alone, or coolly turn me over to Mr. Ur 
 quhart." 
 
 " And if I do, you ought not to complain," says 
 Stephen, laughing. " You have completely turned 
 his head. I met him in the village, and he did 
 nothing but talk of you. I found some difficulty 
 in getting him to speak rationally." 
 
 " Thanks," says Milicent ; and the monosyllable, 
 shorn of all amenities, sounds like a small stone 
 flung at him. 
 
 " Is there any harm in my telling you ? I am 
 sure I did n t mean any," he says humbly. 
 
 " I know you did n t. But if you had asked if
 
 20 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 Mr. Urquliart had meant to be impertinent, your 
 question might have a different answer." 
 
 " Impertinent ? " repeats Stephen, in an uncer 
 tain way, as if doubtful whether he has really heard 
 aright. 
 
 "Everybody," says Milicent, with a mock air 
 of resignation, " cannot be exactly like that fa 
 mous 
 
 Noll 
 Who wrote like an angel, and talked like Poor Poll 
 
 but at least you manage a half resemblance, when 
 you repeat my words like a parrot. Yes, imperti 
 nent was what I said. This Mr. Urquhart, after 
 first taking me for a fish-woman, goes to the trouble 
 to rave about me " 
 
 " But he did not say anything that was not per 
 fectly true. It was only that you are pretty" 
 
 " Oh, I have no doubt his speeches were. Only 
 I don t care for them at second hand" 
 
 Her face is like an April sky, half cloudy and 
 half laughing, as she flashes up a sidelong glance 
 at him, with those last words. 
 
 But the clouds have it. Suddenly, as at some 
 overwhelming thought in the silence, a rush of 
 color floods fair throat and blue-veined temples. 
 She turns sharply aside, plucking with restless fin 
 gers at such of the buttercups and the pink sheep s- 
 laurel as grow within her reach. Presently she 
 flings them from her with an impatient gesture, 
 and takes up her sewing again. " Why don t you 
 go and look at the sunset? I can work much 
 faster alone."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 21 
 
 Stephen rises at once. There is a look of pain 
 in his face, but not the slightest trace of anger. 
 
 " Good-by, Milly," he says. " I did n t mean 
 to be in your way. I am sorry I got you into any 
 trouble. You may be sure I never meant it." 
 
 He is looking at her wistfully, but she never 
 raises her eyes from her work. 
 
 " There is no quarreling with you comfortably," 
 she says, with a shrug. " One is so apt to get one s 
 ears boxed with a text of Scripture." 
 
 " A text of Scripture, Milly ? " 
 
 " If you did n t quote it, you implied it : A 
 soft answer turneth away wrath. Good-by." 
 
 In and out goes her needle, with all the regu 
 larity of a neat darn. So low the long brown 
 lashes sweep on the flushed cheek, Stephen mar 
 vels how she can be looking at the stitches. 
 Milly s lashes are like no one else s, he is think 
 ing ; the silken fringe upon the lower lid is so long 
 and thick and soft, as it curves downward. 
 
 He watches her a moment longer ; then, as she 
 never moves, but for the small swift hands, he 
 turns away, and walks off slowly. 
 
 Still Milicent works on, with praiseworthy stead 
 iness. But when Stephen is too far away to see, 
 she buries her face in the well-worn damask she is 
 mending, a token of better days, and cries 
 bitterly. 
 
 Are they tears of contrition, or mere silly ones 
 of mortification ? It is hard to tell, and no one 
 comes near her to ask. 
 
 Perhaps she is not sorry for the neglect. For
 
 22 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 after a while she gathers up her work, and goes in 
 doors and up to her own room, where she bathes 
 her eyes, and takes some time and trouble to re 
 move all traces of tears from her face before she 
 goes down-stairs again.
 
 II. 
 
 " Oh, to be 
 
 By the sea, the sea, 
 While a brave nor wester s blowing, 
 
 With a swirl on the lea, 
 
 Of cloud-foam free, 
 And a spring-tide deeply flowing ! 
 
 With the low moon red and large 
 
 O er the flushed horizon s marge, 
 And a little pink hand in mine, 
 On the sands in the long moonshine ! " 
 
 THAT the seventh day of the week, when the 
 fishing-boats come in, should be followed by the 
 first, when the boats neither come in nor go out 
 (and when, moreover, in this particular case, a furi 
 ous southeaster was sweeping from the Atlantic to 
 the Bay of Fundy, blotting out this little island in 
 its low-hung clouds and fog), Urquhart regarded as 
 a mistake. But perhaps if this one Saturday could 
 have been followed by a sunshiny Monday, " and 
 fortune s favor filled the swelling sails " of the 
 gay Undine, he would have sped away with just 
 a half-curious memory of the sea-girt islet and its 
 sea-maid, and Milicent would be of those fortunate 
 ones who have no story. 
 
 As it was, from lack of other thoughts, he 
 thought of her, and even went as far as the door 
 of the Baptist meeting, the only assemblage of 
 the saints this day upon the island, the English 
 church having long been closed, and the Meth-
 
 24 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 odists suffering from the great Baptist revival of 
 last winter, when a pause in the deep-sea fishing 
 gave space for the fishers of men. 
 
 Was her voice in the melancholy hymn he heard 
 from the choir in the gallery, as he held the door 
 in the white tower ajar ? It was all of the storms 
 of life, and of the billows going over our head ; 
 and through it swelled the undertone breaking on 
 the distant cliffs, " The floods are risen, O Lord, 
 the floods have lift up their voice ; the floods lift 
 up their waves." The young yachtsman, peering 
 in on the weather-beaten, earnest upturned faces 
 of the fishermen, as they sat presently listening to 
 the preacher, telling them of the haven of safety 
 they were steering for, had it borne in upon him 
 that his voyaging through life, in the Undine or 
 otherwise, was a mere summer-sea sail, and that 
 it is these men who occupy their business in great 
 waters who see His wonders in the deep. 
 
 But as it was not these men Urquhart had come 
 to look at, he went away rather piqued that among 
 the few women who had ventured to breast the 
 storm, Milicent should not have been there to 
 amuse him. 
 
 He might have ventured up the wind-swept 
 slope where the big gray house loomed through the 
 fog, but that neither was Aunt Ursula among the 
 congregation. So there was nothing for it but to 
 struggle back to his lodgings, where he had already 
 mastered the leading facts in the History of Aca- 
 die, interviewed the Prince of Wales in the full 
 trappings of Grand Master of the Masons, and
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 25 
 
 made a study of the tomb of the late Captain 
 Featherstone, depicted on the opposite wall under 
 a much-weeping willow, where, behind a handker 
 chief rather bigger than the tombstone, drooped a 
 willowy figure of quite different proportions from 
 the comfortable Widow Featherstone. There was 
 nothing left for TJrquhart to do but to wonder 
 what the pretty girl was doing what she could do, 
 would do on this rock between three seas. 
 
 Fortunately, Mondays will come in due course ; 
 storms will go, suns will burn up fogs, or so at 
 least, declares Mrs. Featherstone. 
 
 But the sails of the Undine are drenched, as if 
 her spiteful uncle Kuhleborn had been aboard ; 
 her decks are over-wet ; and the sea s broad bosom 
 is still heaving in troubled remembrance of the 
 storm : so that there is nothing to tempt a fair- 
 weather sailor outside the harbor. Urquhart may 
 as well see something of the island, and, by the 
 way, of a certain islander. 
 
 The balm-of-Gilead is lifting its crown of quiv 
 ering gray-green leaves above her empty seat ; 
 even the close-woven, springy turf, that dries so 
 soon, is too wet still for the girl to be sitting out- 
 of-doors. Instead, she has been stitching away at 
 her window all the morning ; having evidently set 
 herself a task she is making all speed to get to the 
 end of. 
 
 Milicent, as she sits there, is like the day, like 
 the sea, at which now and then she glances as she 
 works on. In truth, the child s face is not unlike 
 the sea in its changes : every cloud reflected there,
 
 26 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 as well as every sunbeam ; storm and calm ; and 
 again days when it is turbid and dull -looking, 
 and outer circumstances and surroundings seem to 
 make no impression. These variations of mood 
 and expression are Milicent s chief charm. The 
 other day she was captious and perverse ; to-day 
 she is sunshiny, yet withal, like the sea, a little sad. 
 
 It is not until some time after the primitive din 
 ner-hour that she has finished the last piece of 
 work in her basket, a coarse red fisherman s-shirt 
 that needed buttons, and takes all, a great pile 
 her arms can scarcely carry, down to Miss Ursula. 
 Then she comes out-of-doors, with her hat on. 
 She stands on the step where she can see over the 
 village below, as if she were looking for some one. 
 But there is nothing to be seen, except a woman 
 turning the fish on the flakes ; a wavering line of 
 children coming from school, along the winding 
 street ; and one or two laggards of the fishing-fleet 
 going out even now. 
 
 After lingering a while, Milicent crosses the 
 yard to the gate. Outside of it, she turns her back 
 upon the sea, and goes up a somewhat steep road, 
 which stretches before her, towards the middle of 
 the island, until lost in the belt of low woods. 
 Presently she comes in sight of a low white cot 
 tage, the porch of which is covered in with clem 
 atis and green matrimony-vines. There are two 
 Norwegian firs before the porch, their dark green 
 branches sweeping the ground. Willow-bushes 
 and lilacs are planted through the grass, giving the 
 small lawn such a bowery effect that one scarcely
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 27 
 
 remembers the absence of trees. There are rustic 
 seats placed where the view of the sea is finest, 
 a more distant view than Milicent has from her 
 own windows, yet near enough in a storm, or on a 
 calm, still night, for the roll of the waves on the 
 rocks to be loud. 
 
 Milicent opens the gate in the white picket fence. 
 
 There could not have been a greater contrast 
 than the pretty cottage, perfect in its neatness, and 
 set cosily in the soft, bowery green, and the great 
 staring, many-windowed, unpainted barn which 
 Milicent calls home. No doubt the difference is 
 very plain to her ; for she stands at the gate for 
 some time, looking at the cottage. Yet there is 
 no discontent in her face, but a tender, grateful 
 look, as for some kindness shown her. 
 
 Milicent does not go towards the cottage, but to 
 a seat half hidden by the lilac-bush. She takes off 
 her hat, and lays it down on the bench beside her, 
 letting the sea-wind blow her hair about at its will. 
 It is evident she is waiting for some one, and is 
 not at all impatient. 
 
 If she is waiting, she is not watching ; for her 
 back is turned to the house, and before her is a 
 stretch of fields which runs down to the Green 
 Head cliffs, a way it is not likely any one would 
 come. 
 
 Though Millicent is sitting with her eyes fixed 
 dreamily upon the sea, and her back to the cot 
 tage, she sees it very plainly. When she was a 
 child, and first came to live on the island, this was 
 as unsightly as her own home. The boards were
 
 28 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 unpainted and weather-stained, not a tree would 
 grow, and the rough salt wind in the winter killed 
 out the grass. It was not until Stephen had come 
 of age, and had taken the property into his own 
 hands, that the metamorphosis began. It took un 
 told trouble, as well as a long time, to discover 
 what would grow in such a sterile and exposed 
 spot ; for even the grass had to be coaxed into 
 luxuriance, as if it were an exotic. But it was a 
 labor of love with Stephen, a tender, generous 
 love, which would fain have even the surroundings 
 of the loved one beautiful, and this is his success. 
 
 Milicent has been sitting there fully half an 
 hour, when Stephen returns from one of his dis 
 tant fields. His quick eye detects some one under 
 the great lilac before he is near enough to recog 
 nize who it is. He goes forward slowly, as if not 
 caring to welcome a visitor, but soon quickens his 
 step. The grass deadens his foot-fall, so that he is 
 at Milicent s side before she knows he is coming. 
 
 " See, Stephen, I have come to you to ask you 
 to pardon me. I was horribly cross and unreason 
 able on Saturday : but if you only knew " 
 
 Milicent does not finish her sentence : indeed, it 
 is a bad habit of hers to break off with a word or 
 two lacking. 
 
 But Stephen is not exacting ; he does not desire 
 an apology. It is very sweet in Milicent to come 
 to him ; and though he had felt hurt, now he is 
 heartily ashamed of himself, and is sure he should 
 have gone over as he usually does to Miss Ursula s 
 every morning. Feeling this, no wonder Stephen
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 29 
 
 kisses the hand Milicent has stretched out to him, 
 as a loyal subject might kiss his queen s who has 
 just pardoned him. 
 
 Milicent has taken up her hat, making room for 
 Stephen on the bench ; and the two sit there side 
 by side, not caring to talk. The red light in the 
 west is reflected in the clouds in the east, until they 
 are rose-colored. Even the water has caught the 
 tint, and the sail of the little fishing-boat flying be 
 fore the wind is pink. 
 
 One of the strongest links which bind Milicent 
 to Stephen is his always quick perception of her 
 moods. As she seems inclined to be silent, he 
 does not care to talk, but is content to have her by 
 his side ; doubly content in that she for the first 
 time in her life has sought him herself. 
 
 " It must be very easy for you to be so good 
 and kind as you are, when everything is beautiful 
 around you," Milicent says abruptly. 
 
 " It is not always as beautiful as it is this even 
 ing. In our cold, bleak winter, you know, the 
 cottage does not look much better than the ugliest 
 fishing-hut." 
 
 But Milicent does not seem to hear him. 
 
 " Perhaps I too may feel the influence of this 
 peace and quiet, in time," she goes on. " When I 
 leave Aunt Ursula and and the other trials, 
 and come here to live, I may grow quite different 
 from myself now." 
 
 " If you would only come at once ! You know, 
 Milly, it is my great longing and desire to bring 
 you here," says Stephen, eagerly.
 
 30 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " I can t just now, but soon, perhaps. Ah, 
 Stephen, you do not know how I long to call this 
 my home." 
 
 She speaks softly, almost tenderly. There can 
 be no doubt that she means just what she says. 
 
 " It won t be long before you will fix a time ? 
 If I can look forward to something definite, say 
 next winter, or even the spring, Milly " 
 
 " I can t tell you this evening. I know it 
 seems hard and ungrateful to put you off ; but in 
 deed I can t help myself. If you will wait until 
 to-morrow ; or next month will be better. It will 
 be just as soon as I can," she adds, laying her 
 hand on his arm. For she has left off looking at 
 the sea : instead, her eyes are on his face, and she 
 sees there a wistful, questioning glance, as if 
 Stephen were not altogether satisfied. 
 
 " Tell me when you can," he says, gently. " I 
 am all ready for you, and have been so for a year 
 and more. But, Milly, you speak of trials that I 
 do not know of, and as if you had n t everything 
 in your own guiding." 
 
 " You forget Aunt Ursula. Or don t you con 
 sider her a trial ? You are not a girl, and can t 
 tell how it vexes me to have her carping at every 
 thing I say or do. Certainly I consider Aunt Ur 
 sula one of my trials." 
 
 " Then you admit that you have others " 
 Stephen asserts, gravely. 
 
 " Oh, any number of them," she answers almost 
 gayly. " Is it not a trial to be as poor as we are ? 
 Why, I have n t had a new dress for a whole year
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 31 
 
 now ! Only think of it, Stephen, not a single dress 
 for a year, and the last one was a cotton one ! Yon 11 
 do better for me than that, when you marry me ? 
 See, I shall make a bargain. You must give me 
 two dresses a year, unless the hay is bad or the 
 fishing fails. Then I 11 be content with one." 
 
 She is looking up at him with saucy, laughing 
 eyes ; all the soft, tender light has gone out of 
 them. 
 
 For the first time, Stephen does not respond to 
 her change of mood. For some reason, he feels 
 baffled rather than amused, and not at all inclined 
 to give up questioning her as to what she means by 
 her trials. 
 
 If Milicent does not care to answer, she must be 
 relieved by seeing a man coming slowly up the road 
 to the cottage. She points him out to Stephen, 
 and rises to go. " Some one on business, no doubt. 
 He need not see me if I go at once. I am sorry, 
 for I hoped you would walk home with me. But 
 you will be over soon." 
 
 She leaves him abruptly, before he has quite de 
 termined whether he will not elude the man, and 
 go home with her. But he has made the appoint 
 ment himself ; so he must let Milicent go without 
 him, though he longs inexpressibly to talk to her. 
 
 Milicent does not return by the road, but by the 
 fields to the cliffs. She skirts the big potato-field ; 
 the patch of wheat covering a space about as large 
 as a good-sized pocket handkerchief ; another, well- 
 nigh as big, of barley ; and then she crosses the 
 crumpled swell of the ridge against the sky, to
 
 32 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 where Green Cove offers its tiny square-cut shingle 
 beach, a doubtful shelter for a hard-pressed boat. 
 Beyond the hill, upon the farther side, stands Mil- 
 icent s old gray unhome-like home. But the girl 
 chooses rather to reach it by the roundabout way 
 of the sea. So she clambers down as fast as she 
 can, not stopping to take breath until she stands on 
 the lower level of rocks, a- Giant s Causeway which 
 the tide, halfway out now, has left bare. 
 
 Once on the rocks, Milicent walks more slowly. 
 She is in no haste to reach home. She can think 
 of Stephen, and of the future, where she has no 
 doubt much happiness awaits her. It would be 
 heaven, that future at the cottage, compared to her 
 present. The poor child has not yet learned that 
 at least one half of the misery in our lives is but 
 the crop of our own sowing. 
 
 As she goes on, still towards the harbor and the 
 jutting point where it begins, she turns a rocky 
 parapet, and sees, upon a ledge almost at her feet, 
 a man in a red flannel shirt, such as she was mend 
 ing this morning. His slouched hat with its broad 
 brim shades his face effectually. A basket of fish 
 and his fishing-tackle are on the rocks by his side, 
 the former showing he has had good luck to-day. 
 
 The fisherman s back is turned to Milicent, who 
 no sooner recognizes him than she walks softly, as 
 if anxious to pass him without his seeing her, 
 a feat not difficult for her to have accomplished 
 if fate had not been against her, making him 
 chance to look round just as she comes where he is 
 seated.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 33 
 
 His face is bronzed by exposure, the lower part 
 entirely covered with a heavy black beard. His 
 eyes are of that peculiar shade of gray which can 
 look cold as steel, or can flash black with passion. 
 Certainly his eyes are the most noticeable feature 
 in the face he turns on her. 
 
 " Where have you been ? " he asks abruptly, as 
 Milicent, finding she cannot avoid speaking to him, 
 walks quietly on. 
 
 " To the cottage." 
 
 " To the cottage ! " he repeats, mimicking her 
 tone. " One would suppose you were some fisher- 
 girl looking after her man that is to be. Girls in 
 your position receive visits instead of making them. 
 They like to be sought " 
 
 " Girls in my position are seldom sought," re 
 plies Milicent, stopping and facing him. " Any 
 man of common sense would rather marry the 
 roughest girl in the village than such as I am." 
 
 " And I for one would not blame him for his 
 taste," is the cool answer. " I never saw a more 
 devilish temper than yours. One cannot even give 
 you a caution without putting you into a passion. 
 If you wish Stephen to hold you cheap, go call on 
 him, by all means." 
 
 " He 11 hold me cheap enough some day," she 
 answers bitterly. 
 
 " And if you go courting him and paying him 
 visits, he 11 bring it up to you. Men are not gen 
 erous," he goes on, not heeding her last remark. 
 
 " Some men seem to have all that other men 
 lack " 
 
 3
 
 34 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " Of course Stephen is one who has much more 
 than his share. But take care not to tax him too 
 heavily. After all, Stephen is a man ; and when 
 he finds you marry him only to get your own head 
 above water " 
 
 " You know that is false " interrupts Mill- 
 cent, her eyes flashing. 
 
 " False ! Have a care how you select your words. 
 However I may choose not to interfere with your 
 plans, you will scarcely deny my right to do so, I 
 suppose." 
 
 Milicent makes no reply. An intolerable blush 
 overspreads her face. " Tell Miss Ursula I will 
 bring some fish for supper," Thomas says, all at 
 once assuming the monotonous drawl of the fisher 
 man. 
 
 It is meant for the benefit of Urquhart, who has 
 come upon them suddenly. 
 
 Urquhart had seen Milicent standing there ; but, 
 like her, he had not seen the fisherman until he had 
 come down the rocks. 
 
 The blush has not died out of Milicent s face, nor 
 the angry ring from her voice, when she must an 
 swer Mr. Urquhart s good-evening. Thomas takes 
 not the smallest notice of him. 
 
 But Urquhart cares very little for the good-will 
 of Thomas, though he evidently intends to join 
 Milicent, who seems uncertain whether to let him 
 or not. She glances down in a puzzled way at 
 Thomas ; but he is busy in gathering up his fishing- 
 lines, and does not look at her. So she walks on 
 with Urquhart,
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 35 
 
 She does not know that when both backs are 
 turned the fisherman has lifted his head, and is 
 following her with his eyes. There is a strange 
 look in them, a dark look of pain, of anger. 
 
 But the first is the stronger : the flash dies out 
 of them ; there deepens a yearning in them, as he 
 stands watching the light figure flitting from rock 
 to rock. Her hat sways at her side ; the sunset is 
 in her burnished hair. 
 
 The fisherman turns sharply away as if there 
 were something in the pretty picture just then de 
 fined against the sky which he cannot bear. 
 
 It strikes Urquhart in a different light; but 
 Milicent does not give him much time to observe 
 it, for she has sprung down from the rock before 
 he can offer his aid. So he can only ask her, 
 
 " Have you been walking far ? " by way of 
 opening the conversation. 
 
 " Not very," she answers curtly. 
 
 " Are you fond of the exercise ? " he goes on 
 questioning. 
 
 " I have never tried any other." 
 
 " Certainly you have tried driving." 
 
 " I certainly never have. You have not made 
 good use of your time on the island if you have not 
 discovered that there are no carriages on it, unless 
 you except the one at the light-house across on 
 the Fundy side. I might go in an ox-cart, as the 
 fishermen s children do sometimes." 
 
 "But you might try riding," persists Urquhart. 
 
 " We have no horses, except that at the afore 
 said light-house. But I am wrong to say I know
 
 36 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 no other exercise, " she adds, " for I can pull an 
 oar as well as any one." 
 
 " I am sorry I have n t my horses here. I am 
 sure there could be nothing finer to drive on than 
 a sandy beach ; and I know you would like it." 
 
 " There is not a yard of sand-beach on the island ; 
 and I am glad they are not here. There is no use 
 in learning to enjoy pleasures one will never per 
 haps have again in one s life," philosophizes the 
 girl. " Besides," she adds, " if the horses were 
 here, perhaps I would not drive with you." 
 
 " Why not ? " asks Urquhart, amused by her 
 heat. 
 
 " Because I am not at all sure that it is custom 
 ary in your world " 
 
 " But it is, I assure you. I would ask any lady 
 of my acquaintance to drive with me. Perhaps, 
 however, your customs here are different ? " 
 
 He does not know that she has just been re 
 buked for a lack of coyness, and that she is de 
 termined not to offend where a stranger is con 
 cerned. Perhaps, if he had known, he would not 
 have stooped for that tuft of bluebells waving 
 from a crevice of the rocks, which she does not 
 refuse, but draws indifferently through her hands, 
 while she goes on speaking. 
 
 " We have no customs at all," she answers him. 
 " It is only when a stranger comes that we bother 
 ourselves about such trifles." 
 
 " Don t bother yourself about them on my ac 
 count," says Urquhart, laughing. " I 11 promise 
 not to presume on your sensible, primitive ways."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 37 
 
 " That is wise. You know there are no people 
 so easily aggrieved as those who are not quite sure 
 of their rights." And then she adds, with the 
 evident intention of turning the conversation, 
 " Stephen tells me you have taken lodgings in the 
 village." 
 
 "Stephen?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Ferguson." 
 
 " Is it one of your customs to call people by 
 their Christian names? " 
 
 " If we have known each other since we were 
 children, and have been constant companions." 
 
 "You make me wish I had always lived here," 
 begins Urquhart ; but catching a glimpse of an 
 angry flush on her face, he hastens to add, " Your 
 friend has been very kind, and has procured me far 
 more comfortable lodgings than I thought I could 
 possibly get here." 
 
 " Where are you lodging?" asks Milicent, with 
 sudden interest, as knowing every one in the vil 
 lage. 
 
 " Let me see if you can tell me. A trim little 
 body, rather fat, very fair in complexion I mean 
 and rosy, and emphatically jolly, unless her face 
 belies her." 
 
 " Which it does not. Altogether a taut-looking 
 craft, as Mrs. Featherstone herself would say." 
 
 " I observed she was nautical in her mode of ex 
 pressing herself. Is it " 
 
 " The island dialect," he was about to say, but 
 fortunately stops, while Milicent goes on with a 
 laugh :
 
 38 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Perhaps she never signed articles, 
 but for all that she is as good a sailor as ever 
 passed a weather earing. She has even been 
 wrecked, and carried off chief honors in the news 
 paper account of the disaster. Captain Feather- 
 stone has been dead only a year or two, and she 
 thought nothing of shipping two or three children 
 and going off with him to the States or to the 
 West Indies, to England or South America, in 
 whatever trade he happened to be at the time. 
 Captain Richard, she will tell you, though he d a 
 fine figure-head of his own, was n t altogether to be 
 trusted for straight sailing ; and she liked to take 
 her trick at the helm. But since she will have no 
 particular desire to steer you, you are lucky to fall 
 into her hands, if she takes a kindness to you." 
 
 " I believe I may flatter myself that she has," 
 says Urquhart, smiling, " since she assures me she 
 does n t care the drawing of a rope-yarn how long 
 I stay on the island, as I m not a whitewashed 
 Yankee. I wonder how she knows ? " 
 
 " Oh," apologizes Milicent, " she means one of 
 those American traders who sail in here with a 
 cargo of goods, and open shop for the three sum 
 mer months, with their counters full of what they 
 call lawns and mosquito-nets, things that we 
 don t know the use of ! But they rather interfere 
 with Mrs. Featherstone s own shop. They are 
 about the only summer visitors the island has." 
 
 " So that explains why I find the neighbors a lit 
 tle suspicious of me. It is difficult to make them 
 believe I am staying for the pleasure of fishing."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 39 
 
 " But are you ? " asks Milicent, turning round, 
 and looking at him with evident curiosity. 
 
 " Certainly. What else can possibly keep me ? " 
 
 " I can t say ; only I think, with the fishermen, 
 you might be better employed." 
 
 " But unfortunately I am among the drones in 
 the world s busy hive, so have no employment but 
 that most tiresome one, the search for amusement." 
 
 " Don t your friends object to such employment 
 on your part ? " 
 
 Urquhart s attention is rather more given to the 
 wondering brown eyes that question, than to the 
 question itself. 
 
 " I don t see what business it is of theirs," he 
 says, half absently. 
 
 " I should think they might reasonably object, if 
 they have to take care of you." 
 
 " Take care of me ! Well, thank Heaven ! I 
 have not got so low in the scale of humanity," says 
 Urquhart, with very evident satisfaction. 
 
 " I thought you called yourself a drone, and 
 I in sure the drones live on the honey made by the 
 other bees," is Milicent s conclusive argument. 
 
 " Then I am not literally a drone, for I assure 
 you I buy my own honey," replies Urquhart, laugh 
 ing. 
 
 This bit of information seems of very little in 
 terest to Milicent, for she begins to talk of some 
 thing less personal. At the gate, she bids him 
 good-evening; and Urquhart, remembering Miss 
 Ursula s reception on Saturday, supposes Mili 
 cent will not care to risk another of the same sort
 
 40 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 for him. Milicent has frankly said they are tena 
 cious of their rights in all mooted points of eti 
 quette ; so the safest way would be to ask Stephen 
 to introduce him. If he were once received at the 
 house, he could depend upon himself for all further 
 steps toward an intimacy. 
 
 Milicent disappears round the side of the house, 
 ignoring the front door, and going by the kitchen. 
 There she finds Miss Ursula preparing a kind of 
 nondescript tea. 
 
 She looks red and warm from the heat of the 
 stove ; but Milicent knows better than to offer to 
 help her. 
 
 " I should think you would find it fatiguing to 
 walk so much. Such a fine lady as you should set 
 up her carriage," Miss Ursula says sharply, when 
 Milicent appears at the door. 
 
 " Perhaps I shall some day," answers the girl, 
 lightly. 
 
 " Pray, will it be soon ? " 
 
 " I can t tell ; but the future is so uncertain, 
 one can t help thinking there must be some luck 
 ahead." 
 
 " Bad luck, then. The future will be no kinder 
 than the past, unless you do something yourself to 
 mend it. That is the way with young people. 
 They sit still, their hands in their laps, expecting 
 the good things of life to fall into them. Where 
 one is fortunate enough to catch anything, a dozen 
 miss." 
 
 " Did you ever catch anything that was pleasant, 
 Aunt Ursula ? " the girl asks, wistfully.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 41 
 
 " If I did, I have shaken my skirts free of them. 
 What is the matter with Stephen, that he has not 
 been near the house for two days ? " 
 
 " There is nothing the matter with him. Only 
 I have been to see him instead." 
 
 " And picked up another man on your way home. 
 I suppose you think it a fine thing to be noticed by 
 a stranger no one knows anything about." 
 
 " I am sure I don t care whether he notices me 
 or not. The road is open to more than me, and I 
 can t help who walks over it. We are to have fish 
 for tea," Milicent adds, as she turns to leave the 
 kitchen. 
 
 " Are we ? " asks Miss Ursula, ironically. " I 
 should like to know what else there is to "eat in 
 this God-forsaken place." 
 
 " The place is good enough. There was n t a 
 blot upon the earth until man was made, and even 
 he can t spoil the sea. But it was n t the herrings 
 I meant. I knew they were for tea when I 
 reached the gate." 
 
 " So you were ashamed of the herrings," says 
 Miss Ursula, as if she rather enjoys any feeling 
 of annoyance Milicent might have at the fumes of 
 the fish. 
 
 " If you mean that was the reason I did n t ask 
 Mr. Urquhart to the house, you are mistaken. 
 There are other things I am much more ashamed 
 of, than the herrings. Aunt Ursula," cries Mil 
 icent, passionately, " I won t be stopped and found 
 fault with, as I have been this afternoon. And 
 I 11 not marry Stephen unless I tell him every-
 
 42 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 thing about myself. I know you want me to marry 
 him ; but I 11 not do it with an untruth upon my 
 conscience." 
 
 She does not give Miss Ursula time to answer 
 her, but goes swiftly up-stairs to her own room ; so 
 she has not the mortification of seeing that this 
 outbreak of hers has not discomposed Miss Ursula 
 in the least. 
 
 " She is her mother s own child in more than 
 appearance," Miss Ursula thinks, as she returns 
 to her labors, for an instant suspended. " She is 
 proud and passionate, and such girls never make 
 smooth paths for themselves through life. A little 
 stumbling may be good for her, and make her 
 more humble and gentle. Stephen will be better 
 without her than with her ; yet I 11 do nothing to 
 help nor to hinder him." 
 
 This compromise seems to satisfy Miss Ursula. 
 Milicent should manage her own affairs, she 
 would wash her hands of them. Alas for Miss 
 Ursula ! She had formed plans of her own in life, 
 and had longed for them as eagerly as Milicent is 
 longing, and with far greater chances of success : 
 and they had all failed. That spare, gaunt figure 
 in black, bending over the fire, half stifled with the 
 fumes of the herring, is a far more eloquent ser 
 mon 011 the vanity of human hopes and desires 
 than any ever preached by a golden-mouthed Saint 
 Chrysostom. 
 
 Yet it is being preached in vain to Milicent, who 
 is impatiently trying to get rid of evils which Miss 
 Ursula has learned to bear without a murmur.
 
 III. 
 
 " ! T is a haunted place, 
 And spell-beset." 
 
 " WHO is the fisherman with such a splendid 
 growth of beard?" Urquhart asks Stephen, the 
 next morning, in the "village. 
 
 " I suppose you mean Thomas. He certainly 
 has an uncommonly handsome one." 
 
 " This Thomas seems to be an insolent fellow " 
 begins Urquhart. 
 
 " He is a dangerous one, so you had better not 
 call him insolent to his face. Those cold eyes of 
 his can show the devil in them if he is roused ; 
 though usually he is good-natured enough." 
 
 " I never was much afraid of the devil," Ur 
 quhart says, quietly. " It was your pretty little 
 friend, Miss Milicent, I was anxious about. I saw 
 her on the rocks to-day, talking to this Thomas, 
 and I am very sure he was impertinent, for she 
 stamped her little foot as if in a rage. I thought 
 the best thing I could do was to hasten to her res 
 cue. But when I got up to them, I found he was 
 only telling her about some fish I think he wanted 
 her aunt to take ; and the young lady walked home 
 with me as if she had not been scolding this same 
 Thomas." 
 
 " Well, the whole of that story is easily ex-
 
 44 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 plained," says Stephen, laughing. " Thomas lives 
 at Miss Ursula s, and is her fisherman." 
 
 " Her fisherman ? What an odd servitude." 
 
 " It is a very necessary service, where fish is so 
 important an item in housekeeping as it is here." 
 
 " Yet I should think Miss Ursula might buy all 
 the fish her household needs from the fishermen in 
 the village, and not take into her family so danger 
 ous a man as you represent this Thomas to be." 
 
 " But the fishermen will not always sell ; and 
 besides, money is not so very abundant with us. 
 It is surely convenient, as there is no man in the 
 family, to keep a fisherman, who for his board and 
 lodging catches fish for them. I suppose every 
 community has its peculiar customs or ways of 
 management. Certainly this has been Miss Ur 
 sula s for a very long time," Stephen adds, a little 
 coldly, as one is apt to do when what one has al 
 ways been accustomed to is criticised by a stranger. 
 
 " Then I am afraid Miss Milicent is a little ter 
 magant, if she can fly into such a rage with her 
 aunt s fisherman. I don t mean anything derog 
 atory by the word," Urquhart hastens to explain, 
 as he sees Stephen begin to look grave. " There 
 could be nothing handsomer than her eyes, when 
 the devil peeped out of them. I admire a woman 
 under a flash of temper ; for the truth is, I have 
 seen more of their smiles than of their frowns, and 
 a perpetual smile is apt to be a little insipid." 
 
 The perfect egotism of this speech does not seem 
 to strike Stephen. No doubt he is thinking of 
 Milicent rather than of what Urquhart is saying,
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 45 
 
 for he returns, " She can be very meek and gen 
 tle, if she is a little fiery on occasion." 
 
 " Can she ? " asks Urquhart, laughing. " The 
 change must be delicious, though I confess it is 
 past my belief. By the way, I want you to take 
 me to the house. I have met the young lady twice 
 now, and it is but civil in me to call on her." 
 
 " I don t know," begins Stephen, with evident 
 hesitation. 
 
 " Of course you must ask her permission ; if she 
 refuses, I shall be obliged to acquiesce. But if you 
 choose to manage it for me, I am sure she will let 
 me call." 
 
 But the better acquaintance Urquhart desires 
 comes about easily and naturally this same morn 
 ing ; though he could not have expected it, in turn 
 ing off from Stephen to find his way to Green- 
 head cliffs. 
 
 It is not hard to find, as Stephen has directed 
 him. The springy turf makes the curvings of the 
 upland seem short enough ; and Urquhart is soon 
 clambering down from the green headland, by what 
 is most like a flight of huge stone stairs flung out 
 of place by some upheaval of nature. 
 
 At the bottom of this flight, one stands fronting 
 the first of the five strange little beaches, with the 
 cliffs towering up a hundred feet above them. 
 These cliffs are every one a massy pinnacled 
 tower, jutting out to meet the sea-lashed ledges, 
 and every two with a tiny cove between, a court 
 paved with oval gray stones as big as a man s 
 hand, yet smooth and flat as wave-washed pebbles.
 
 46 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 The high tide covers them, and lashes against these 
 inaccessible fortress towers of the island, submerg 
 ing the stairs that lead away from them. But as 
 yet, one may pass round their foot from court to 
 court ; and even, in one place, behind the but 
 tresses, which leave a passage-way from chamber 
 into chamber. 
 
 Urquhart has paused upon a ledge which juts 
 out, facing them, a barrier between them and the 
 sea. The barnacled rocks show the reach of every 
 tide. The same white fret-work is on the base of 
 the columns, and covers one broken, jagged shaft ; 
 which was once perhaps the portal of the widest 
 chamber of the five. They are all unroofed now ; 
 the splintered summits tipped with a fir or a wild 
 rose, a scant handful of grass, or some close-cling 
 ing, crimson-leafed weed that reappears like a vine 
 here and there along the joints of the masonry. 
 
 The tide is still withdrawing reluctantly, and 
 with now and then a backward rush of some loiter 
 ing wave. So Urquhart knows that he has time 
 to loiter, too, and he stands looking up at the 
 massive pile and listening to the gurgle. 
 
 But is that the gurgle of the waves? True, 
 they might very well be chanting, in that long- 
 drawn rhythm, 
 
 " We are passing away, 
 
 Like a long summer day." 
 
 But when it breaks off suddenly into a lively 
 Scotch reel, 
 
 " Sailing awa to Germany, 
 Laddie, laddie,
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 47 
 
 What is it ye 11 bring back to me, 
 
 Bonny, bonny laddie ? 
 I 11 bring back a broom to ye, 
 
 Bonny lassie, bonny lassie," 
 
 Urquhart is seized with a sudden desire to ex 
 plore these cliffs. Is it possible that there may be 
 a cave among them, with some canny housewife 
 of a Nova Scotian mermaid ? 
 
 He says as much to Milicent, when he comes 
 upon her, seated on the shelving shingle, in the in 
 most curve of one of the beaches, just out of sight 
 from where he was standing on the ledge. She has 
 a little heap, not of white sea-foam, round her, but 
 of coarse white towels held together by their fringed 
 borders ; and with her red and white Indian bas 
 ket by her side, she is busily hemming and hum 
 ming away. The near grating of the shingle under 
 Urquhart s tread makes her look up with startled 
 eyes across that pile of white. 
 
 Then Urquhart makes his little speech anent the 
 housewifely mermaid. 
 
 " If it were in auld Scotland, now," he says, " it 
 would be quite in rule to look for one. But in this 
 New Scotland of yours " 
 
 She lets her hand fall, with the needle in it. 
 
 " You do not know, then, that we too have them ? 
 that the Indians believe in mermaids ? At least 
 our Micmacs do. There used to be an old Indian 
 on the other side of the island, a very old Indian, 
 Piel Jack by name, who I suppose was baptized 
 Pierre, as the Micmacs don t pronounce the letter 
 r. The cove where he lived and died is named 
 for him, though you will hear people call it Pea
 
 48 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 Jack. He used to tell Stephen and me about the 
 mermaid he saw, and the migumoowesoo that haunt 
 the woods and shores, and sing a man s heart out 
 of his breast with their sweet voices." 
 
 "I can well believe it." 
 
 The girl is glancing up quite earnestly at the 
 young man, who leans on a ledge of the dark but 
 tress before her, looking down at the wonderfully 
 pretty, speaking face, and the idle little hands 
 clasped over her forgotten work. Perhaps it is 
 some prick of the needle lying there which pres 
 ently pricks her conscience ; for she starts up, 
 gathering the crumpled white folds together. 
 
 " Ah, how lazy I am ! Aunt Ursula is not so 
 far wrong when she says one hour at work with 
 one s back to the sunshine accomplishes more than 
 a whole out-of-doors morning. But then, could 
 one turn one s back on such sunshine as this ? The 
 Fundy does not give it to us every day. And 
 when the fog rolls in not one of our warm 
 fogs, with the sun making a pretense of being a 
 moon, and peering down at us out of a drifting 
 veil but a gray, close, damp, dismal blotting-out 
 of the whole world " 
 
 " That is the sort of day to gather round the 
 fireside," says Urquhart. " You with your work- 
 basket " picking it up from the shingle for her 
 as he speaks " ensconced at one angle of the 
 blazing hearth ; and at the other " 
 
 He sees her give a shiver, as she averts her eyes. 
 Then she turns to him, saying lightly, 
 
 " All very pretty, if, instead of a blazing hearth,
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 49 
 
 we did not, as the Irishman says, in this country 
 keep our fire in a big iron pot. But listen ! there 
 is something which the Fundy gives us, besides 
 fog. The tide is coming up ; and though I might 
 6 suffer a sea-change into a mermaid, yet you " 
 
 " I would be merman bold; 
 
 I would sit and sing the whole of the day, 
 I would fill the sea-halls with a voice of power: 
 But at night I would roam abroad and play 
 With the mermaids in and out of the rocks, 
 Dressing their hair with the white sea-flower, " 
 
 quotes Urquhart, a little afraid of his own audacity 
 as he remembers the lines following, of how, 
 
 " holding them back by their flowing locks, 
 I would kiss them often under the sea, 
 And kiss them again till they kissed me: " 
 
 but reassured when he meets Milicent s unconscious 
 eyes. 
 
 " Who wrote that, Mr. Urquhart ? I don t like 
 it in the least. It would n t do at all. It is all 
 very well for mermaids to be sitting on rocks, 
 combing their sea-green locks ; but a merman, 
 what could he do ? " 
 
 " Might n t it be rather lonely for the mer 
 maid ? " suggests Urquhart, carefully abstaining 
 from quotation to this girl, who apparently knows 
 more of Shakespeare than of Tennyson. 
 
 She shakes her head ; her pretty, smiling lips 
 are moving, but what they say is drowned in the 
 heavy thud of an advancing wave on the low-lying 
 wall of rocks, the outpost, as it were, of this 
 stronghold. It is quite time to beat a retreat; 
 and, laughing, and gathering her needlework in
 
 50 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 her arm, one end blown out over her shoulder like 
 a white flag of distress, while a flying scud dashes 
 in her face, the girl suffers Urquhart to help her 
 up the rocks to a higher ledge. There they stand 
 in safety, watching the great waves flinging them 
 selves about the broken pinnacles, in a very snow 
 storm of spray, tossed wildly here, there, every 
 where, on every airt at once.
 
 IV. 
 
 " Like a cloud upon the sea, 
 
 That darkens till you find no shore, 
 So was the face of life to me." 
 
 THE breeze has begun to freshen, and to brush 
 out the soft, bright rings of hair about her tem 
 ples ; but Milicent is far too absorbed to notice it. 
 Leaning idly, with hands folded on the gate, as she 
 appears, she is in reality hard at work. She is 
 trying the nice task of balancing ; and the scale 
 that holds her own desires will weigh down heav 
 ily, for all her striving to pile up the contrary one. 
 
 As she stands there, her back turned on the old 
 gray house, the harbor lies spread out in a silver- 
 blue cross under Milicent s eyes. From just this 
 point, the light-house island in the harbor seems 
 to be joined to the opposite Long Island shore, 
 with Westport curving round one arm of the cross, 
 and round the other the white cove of Freeport on 
 Long Island. If she had moved a little to the 
 right or to the left, Milicent would have lost the 
 impression. But as it is, that cross lies before 
 her : and somehow watching it vaguely seems to 
 steady her in the task which she has set herself. 
 
 There is a little pucker of thought on her usually 
 smooth brow, and she is too absorbed to see that 
 Thomas is coming towards her, his fishing-pole
 
 52 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 over his shoulder, and the inevitable basket of fish, 
 in his hand. He is returning to tea, and he ap 
 proaches so noiselessly over the close-woven turf 
 that Milicent is unconscious of his presence, until : 
 
 " Who is it you are watching for ? " he asks, 
 stopping before her. 
 
 " I am not watching for any one," she answers ; 
 at the same time moving in order to make way for 
 him to pass through the gate, an implied per 
 mission he avails himself of, but goes no farther. 
 
 " Bah ! tell me a girl can stand quiet for a full 
 half hour, unless she is waiting for some one, or 
 knows she is looked at," he stops to say. 
 
 " Notwithstanding that you do not believe me, 
 I still tell you I am not looking for any one," an 
 swers Milicent, coldly. 
 
 " Not for that fellow Urquhart ? " 
 
 " Not even for him." 
 
 " May I ask " Thomas changes his tone to a 
 polite one " what are your intentions in regard 
 to this stranger ? " 
 
 " I have none " 
 
 " I acknowledge there is enough to turn your 
 head," he interrupts. " If he finds fishing good 
 sport, flirting also is pleasant pastime for these 
 summer weeks, before the fellow s acquaintances 
 will return to the city, and life there be at all 
 worth living. Permit me to give you a word of 
 warning. Urquhart s kind don t think much of 
 marrying. A little love-making, to pass the time 
 with a pretty girl seemingly a few degrees better 
 than a fisherman s daughter "
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 53 
 
 " Many degrees worse," interrupts Milicent. 
 "You, at least, need not try to blind me as to my 
 position." 
 
 " It might be a much harder one." 
 
 " Harder ! It is unendurable ! " cries Milicent, 
 impetuously. 
 
 " Is your little body aweary of this great 
 world ? " he quotes, as if amused by her vehe 
 mence. 
 
 " Weary to death ! If I could only get rid of it 
 all ! " cries Milicent, throwing up her hands with 
 a passionate gesture. 
 
 " Not rid of the world ! You do not wish to 
 die ? Bah, child ! " he adds, coolly ; " it is not 
 that your life is so hard, but you are so impatient 
 of it. If you would take things quietly, you would 
 find everything easier to you." 
 
 " Would poverty be pleasanter if I took it more 
 quietly, as you advise, or Aunt Ursula kinder if 
 I wer"e meek and patient ? Would your panacea 
 save me from an hour s work, or make us warmer 
 or more comfortable when the winter comes ? " 
 asks Milicent, bitterly. 
 
 " I bear all these, and do not fret under them," 
 he answers, smiling. 
 
 " You do ; but you have made your life, and so 
 you must abide by it : while mine has been the work 
 of others." 
 
 There is a sudden flash in the fisherman s eyes 
 when Milicent speaks, which she does not see, for 
 she is not looking at him. But fortunately it has 
 died out before she adds, with a little shrug of her
 
 54 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 shoulders, meant to show disdain for her last re 
 mark : 
 
 " After all, if I had only a chance to see some 
 of those pomps and vanities Aunt Ursula has such 
 a great contempt for, I have n t the slightest doubt 
 that I should find there is something pleasant in 
 life, in spite of drawbacks." 
 
 "You little fool," Thomas says, half good-hu- 
 moredly, half pityingly. " Do you think you 
 would find it such an easy game ? You who can t 
 bear a rough word from your aunt, how would you 
 bear it if, while you were playing the queen, some 
 one made an ill-natured remark about you ? You 
 would break your silly heart with mere rage and 
 vexation. Every part of God s earth is made for 
 some use ; and just such rough, out-of-the-way spots 
 as this are as cities of refuge to some poor hunted 
 mortals." 
 
 " It is not the place I complain of." 
 
 " Well, there is a way out of your difficulties, if 
 you will marry Stephen. He will not starve you, 
 literally nor metaphorically ; and so you will be 
 comfortably rid of all the evils you complain of." 
 
 Milicent droops her head, her face in a flame. 
 
 " I will tell you what I was doing when you 
 came up," she says, hurriedly. " I was thinking 
 that it is a month ago this very evening since I 
 asked Stephen to give me a month to decide when 
 I would marry him. And now I will tell him I 
 will marry him, on one condition." 
 
 " Milicent, are you mad ! " exclaims Thomas, 
 his eyes flashing threateningly.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 55 
 
 " You need not be personally implicated," she 
 continues, not heeding his anger, and lifting her 
 head resolutely. "But I am determined not to 
 marry Stephen with a lie in my hand." 
 
 " Pray when did you come to this virtuous decis 
 ion ?" 
 
 " Only this moment, since your own words have 
 shown me the utter selfishness of my conduct, if I 
 marry him to escape from my present life. Not 
 that I have not had many misgivings and doubts 
 before now," she adds, hastily. " There are some 
 persons so true themselves that one dares not be 
 false to them : and Stephen is one of these." 
 
 " I thought you loved him. I did not know you 
 were only overcome by his virtues," says Thomas, 
 contemptuously. " Of course you need not marry 
 him if you do not wish to do so. No one is bent 
 on forcing you. Only, as you have a chance to 
 better your life, and you do not choose to take it, 
 you need not hereafter make a moan over the in 
 evitable." 
 
 " You should not complain," says Milicent. " I 
 was perfectly silent until you chose to stop and 
 question me." 
 
 " Softly, softly ! One would suppose I had 
 taken an unwarranted liberty in giving you advice. 
 I don t know that Stephen will not find it a bit of 
 good fortune to lose you, since you have no self- 
 control." 
 
 " Then you must think me right in refusing to 
 make his life miserable," replies Milicent. 
 
 " I am not bound to look out for Stephen s in-
 
 56 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 terests. I fancy he could manage you in some way, 
 if he married you. It is only your side of the mat 
 ter that I have been considering ; and I still hold 
 to the opinion that you are silly to keep to poverty, 
 when you could get a fair competency. Besides, 
 the truth and honesty you seem to set such store 
 on are not altogether current in this world, and 
 many might suspect them to be counterfeits." 
 
 " But," says Milicent, throwing back her head, 
 and looking boldly into his eyes, " I have a great 
 desire to obtain those baubles, honesty and truth, 
 and unfortunately they are not heirlooms." 
 
 Did Milicent intend to rouse that sudden flash 
 of anger ? Certainly she quails under it, and 
 shrinks back when Thomas comes menacingly to 
 wards her. Yet she could no more have curbed 
 her words than she could have stayed the tide 
 which is fast covering the rocks. 
 
 Poor little Milicent ! Helpless and weak, and 
 yet fighting against the inevitable, as the strong 
 would not dare to do. If she would only bend her 
 shoulders to the burden, she might in time grow 
 used to the strain upon her strength, and so walk 
 firmly and without pain. But, instead, she is re 
 belling, and saying she will have none of it. 
 
 What Thomas might have done in his ungov 
 ernable rage Milicent never knows ; for there is 
 Stephen calling her name. She was never so un 
 utterably glad to hear his voice before ; never felt 
 as now, what it would be to give him the right to 
 protect and care for her. She pushes through the 
 gate, and without a word slips her hand into his
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 57 
 
 arm, and walks away with him, never glancing be 
 hind her at Thomas, who has taken up his basket, 
 and is turning towards the house. 
 
 "What was it, Milly ? Did Thomas frighten 
 you ? " asks Stephen, wrathfully. 
 
 " I was frightened for a moment. It was my 
 own fault. I had no right to say to him what I 
 did," confesses Milicent ; and Stephen does not 
 question her as to what she regrets having said to 
 her aunt s fisherman. 
 
 They walk on together, over the brow of the hill 
 looking down on Green Cove. When they reach 
 the cliffs, Milicent stops, and seats herself on one 
 of the detached stones. Stephen throws himself 
 on the rocks at her feet. 
 
 There falls a silence, broken only by the eddies 
 of the withdrawing tide, that gurgle round the 
 rocks with a soft, lapping music, certainly the 
 sweetest Nature gives us. It soothes the girl, and 
 takes away from her that sense of something hap 
 pening which had disturbed her. Is not every 
 thing the same as before she made her resolution ? 
 How many times she has been here with Stephen, 
 as now, upon this long breakwater of the Cove, 
 and looked across these bastions to the sweep of 
 Greenhead cliffs, as they stand in the white surf, 
 the shades of evening mingling with the yellow 
 light that flecks the grass, and tips their black- 
 green crest of fir and spruce. How many times ! 
 Why should there come any change ? 
 
 " Yonder is Urquhart s boat," says Stephen, who 
 is looking seaward. " How fond he is of being on 
 the water ! "
 
 58 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " It is only because the sea is a novelty to him," 
 answers Milicent, carelessly. " He would grow 
 weary of his boat if he stayed here very long." 
 
 " I do not think so. He is genuinely in love 
 with the sea. No doubt, if he had not more money 
 than he well knows what to do with, he would have 
 been a sailor. By the way, Milly, I have asked 
 him to spend part of next summer with me. You 
 don t object ? " 
 
 He says this a little anxiously. These weeks 
 have thrown the three together intimately. Mili 
 cent has been constantly on the water with the two 
 men ; Miss Ursula having for so long looked upon 
 Stephen as the girl s best protector, that she never 
 questions how the holiday hours are passed, if only 
 the allotted amount of needlework and knitting be 
 accomplished. At her gate, Milicent would dis 
 miss her cavaliers : Urquhart, for one, having no 
 desire to go farther. But there is not a day he 
 does not manage to meet her out-of-doors ; and 
 Stephen has some shrewd doubts as to whether it 
 is really the fishing which is the inducement to 
 so long a tarrying. If Urquhart, however, is be 
 ginning to be lover-like in his attentions to Mili 
 cent, the girl laughs at the slightest show of sen 
 timent, and is much inclined to rally him on his 
 fastidiousness, her ideas of manliness having 
 been formed on an experience of a hard, exposed 
 life, which would kill most men not inured to hard 
 ship from childhood. Urquhart, on his part, is 
 amused by Milicent s hostility, and takes delight 
 in rousing her disdain. Perhaps, as he told
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 59 
 
 Stephen, he has found too many smiles during his 
 not very long life, and a frown is a new sensation. 
 Be that as it may, Stephen would prefer that the 
 two should be better friends ; or rather, it may 
 be, that the yacht and its owner should sail away 
 to fish in other waters. But next summer it will 
 be different ; and if Milieent does not object 
 
 "I object! Certainly not. Why should I?" 
 she is asking. 
 
 " Because next summer Urquhart will be your 
 guest, if he is mine," replies Stephen, looking up 
 at her and smiling. 
 
 "You have not told him so?" asks Milieent, 
 hastily. 
 
 "No, but I shall soon. Milly, our month is 
 out to-day. I have passed weeks of expectancy, 
 which would have been intolerable if I had not 
 been quite sure you wished me to wait." 
 
 Milieent is not looking at him, but out on the 
 sea where Urquhart s boat is sailing. "Some 
 words are so difficult to say," she begins, in a slow, 
 measured tone. 
 
 " These ought not to be difficult, Milly, when 
 you remember how long I have loved you, and how 
 happy they will make me." 
 
 " But it is something quite different from our 
 marriage that I wish to speak to you about. 
 Stephen, if I had made a great mistake in my 
 life, would you advise me to confess it, or to live 
 on as if I had not made it ? " 
 
 " That depends very much upon whether you 
 would like to speak of it or not."
 
 60 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " But if some one else were involved, some 
 one else s happiness, have I a right to keep si 
 lent?" 
 
 The whole current of her thoughts and desires 
 has been violently changed in the last hour ; and 
 it is difficult for her to judge whether her decision 
 would be a wise one. She forgets that it is hardly 
 generous to make Stephen the judge. 
 
 "I cannot imagine your keeping silence. I have 
 never found you in the least reticent," he says, not 
 catching the tone of anxiety in her voice. 
 
 " Thanks," she says, a little hurt, but unwilling 
 to show it ; " but frequently I fancy our best friends 
 do not quite understand us. I think it would kill 
 me, Stephen, to know you trusted me implicitly, 
 and that I deceived you, even if I did so from a 
 mistaken idea of making you happy." 
 
 " I do not see how you could deceive me, Milly. 
 I have known you so well and so long : ever since 
 you were a small child," is his confident rejoinder. 
 
 " And you have known everything about me, 
 Stephen ? " 
 
 " Everything. Much more than you think." 
 
 " Tell me some of the things, something more 
 of my life than I suppose you know," she says, 
 with eagerness. 
 
 " I know that often you weary of your work, 
 and long to be out in the sunshine when Miss Ur 
 sula wishes you to be employed in-doors. I know, 
 too, that she is not always kind, though I think she 
 does not mean to hurt you. And," here he lowers 
 his voice, and looks away from her, " in the winter,
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 61 
 
 when the weather is rough, I fear the house is cold, 
 and the coarse diet you are forced to put up with 
 is neither plentiful nor proper for you." 
 
 " But that is never for very long," says Milicent, 
 smiling. " For a load of wood is sure to come 
 from the cottage, as well as something nice to eat. 
 Is this really all you know of my life ? " she adds, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Is it not enough ? Cannot you think what I 
 suffer when I am sure you need so much, and I 
 could rid you of all your troubles if you would only 
 let me ? " 
 
 " Could you rid me of all, Stephen ? I know 
 you are generous enough to do so at any personal 
 cost ; therefore I must be the more careful for you,, 
 But how long have you known so much about us ? 
 Poor Aunt Ursula ! She has been trying to look 
 as if she were used to all hardships, and did not 
 mind half starving. It is foolish to think to have 
 secrets from one s neighbors. But when did you 
 discover so much about us ? " 
 
 " When I first loved you, Milly." 
 
 " And that has been more than a year ; two 
 years this autumn," she says, thoughtfully. 
 
 " It has been much longer than that. I have 
 loved you ever since we were children, and made 
 sand-houses on the Pea-Jack beach together. I 
 used to be in a fury with Miss Ursula when she 
 sent you into solitary confinement for wetting your 
 dress, when we waded for dulse; and I often 
 thought if I were a man I would punish her for 
 her cruelty."
 
 62 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " But I was only doomed to imprisonment until 
 my dress dried ; for my wardrobe was not so full 
 as good Queen Bess s. I was an ungrateful little 
 wretch, and used to trample down your sand-houses 
 if they were at all more perfect than mine. Ah, 
 Stephen ! with all the hardships and trials of those 
 days, how I wish we were both children again, 
 building in the sand ! " 
 
 " I hope both of us have a better foundation to 
 build on now," answers Stephen, trying to speak 
 lightly. 
 
 " No ; no better. It is still shifting sand we are 
 building on, that any tide of fate or storm of cir 
 cumstance may trample down ; and it is best you 
 should know it." 
 
 " Know what, Milly ? I am sure I do not un 
 derstand you." 
 
 She does not answer him, and he turns to look 
 at her. She is gazing intently at him, as if watch 
 ing the effect of her words upon him. " Stephen, 
 would you care so very much if I told you I must 
 not marry you ? " 
 
 It is the subtlest change which comes over Ste 
 phen s face, a change like the slowly deepening 
 shadow of a cloud that sweeps just then across 
 the sea. There is the briefest pause, and then : 
 " Would I care, Milly ? That does not seem to me 
 half so important a question as why you must 
 not." 
 
 " There is something which holds me back, some 
 thing so that I dare not promise " she begins, 
 in a slow, measured voice, as if she were compel 
 ling herself to speak.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 63 
 
 " Some person, Milly ? " 
 
 She does not answer at once; and then says 
 evasively, " It cannot matter very much what it is, 
 if it separates us." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that. It would make a 
 great deal of difference to me why I had to part 
 from you," says Stephen, firmly. 
 
 " Would it make it any easier to you to know 
 that I am unworthy to be your wife ? " 
 
 " That would be small comfort indeed," he an 
 swers, smiling, as if relieved from a great fear. 
 
 " What would make a difference to you? " 
 
 " Nothing, unless some one stood between us, 
 and " 
 
 " Some one does stand between us," answers 
 Milicent, quickly, " some one does stand between 
 us." 
 
 That cloudy shadow deepens on the sea, and 
 Stephen s face, turned towards Urquhart s white- 
 winged boat skimming just beyond it, changes, as 
 if the light were suddenly shut out. 
 
 Milicent, watching him, and seeing the change, 
 but not the cause, says very low : 
 
 " It seems so very hard that we have so little 
 control over ourselves that we can never be free 
 from the consequences of a wrong act. And the 
 worst of it is, that the innocent are punished. He 
 had nearly the whole world to choose from, when 
 he came here ; and that he should have blindly 
 chanced on this one spot, and so worked harm to 
 you, through me " 
 
 She breaks off suddenly, startled to find how
 
 64 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 much easier it is to confess the whole truth to him, 
 than to keep it back. 
 
 " If I could only tell you all," she says, " if I. 
 were free to tell you, you might find excuse for me. 
 I never wished to deceive you, and living at the 
 cottage seemed like going to heaven, to me. And 
 it looked like stabbing you in your sleep, just to 
 break with you, and give no reason. But," she 
 adds, looking down and twisting her fingers ner 
 vously, as her hands lie clasped in her lap, while a 
 faint blush mounts slowly up into her face, " it was 
 only to-day that he said anything which made me 
 sure how wickedly and deceitfully I have behaved 
 to you." 
 
 " No one else would I permit to say such things 
 about you, Milly," says Stephen. His voice is low 
 and quiet: apparently he does not mean to press 
 her with questions such as she has been bracing 
 herself to resist. 
 
 Milicent s eyes grow dim, as she gazes out be 
 fore her where a gauzy veil drawn over the dis 
 tance has hidden Urquhart s boat. The far moan 
 of the fog-horn at the light-house shows the fog is 
 lurking in the Fundy, though it keeps off here. 
 To Milicent s present mood there is something in 
 expressibly dreary in that sound, the three slow 
 moans echoed by rock and water. And how will 
 it be when she will have to hear it through the 
 long, long stormy evenings in the old home, with 
 no vista of the cottage beyond ? 
 
 If Stephen had her horror of those lonely even 
 ings, could he give her up so easily ?
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 65 
 
 Yet when she glances askance at him, she sees, 
 calm and firm as he is, that this thing is not easy 
 to him. If she could tell him everything, if she 
 were not hampered by a promise, would he ever 
 give her up ? 
 
 But she is hampered. She can do no more than 
 put her hand out timidly and touch his sleeve, as 
 he leans heavily forward on the rock which forms 
 the arm of his chair at her feet. 
 
 He does not turn to her quite at once ; and she 
 falters : 
 
 " I can see now how wicked it was. It is easy 
 to say I would rather have died than have to tell 
 you this ; but indeed it is the truth." 
 
 " I would rather have you on earth, Milly, with 
 ever so small a chance of hearing of or seeing you 
 sometimes," Stephen says, wishing to soothe her 
 evident distress and bitter self-reproach. "You 
 must not think I find it difficult to forgive you. 
 You are much harder on yourself than I shall ever 
 be on you. But, Milly, you must promise me not 
 to talk so wildly to any one else. Having known 
 you from a child, I know how impetuous you are, 
 and that you were never inclined to make self-ex 
 cuses. But any one else might misunderstand 
 you. So you must promise me to be more care 
 ful." 
 
 " I will promise," replies Milicent, with a pa 
 thetic little smile. " But I hope never in my life 
 to have to feel again such self-condemnation." 
 
 " You do not wish us to be as strangers to each 
 other, Milly. I could not bear to give up seeing
 
 66 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 you altogether, at least as long as we are neigh 
 bors." 
 
 " We shall always be neighbors, unless you 
 weary of the life here, and go away from us. If 
 anything unforeseen should happen, and I should 
 have to leave, I will be sure to tell you. There is 
 nothing to prevent us from going back to the dear 
 old time before you told me you wished to marry 
 me. Stephen, if you could go back so far, I would 
 be so glad ! " 
 
 " A man cannot walk backwards, Milly." 
 
 "And the future is so difficult and uncertain. 
 May I come to you if I lose my way and am sore 
 perplexed? For, Stephen, I have no other friend 
 but you to counsel or to help me." 
 
 " I will always help you to the best of my ability, 
 Milly," he says. 
 
 He looks up at her as he speaks, and sees her 
 eyes fixed upon a skiff which is impelled by the 
 vigorous strokes of a pair of oars. 
 
 A great jealousy overcomes Stephen. What is 
 there about this Urquhart that has in a few short 
 weeks accomplished what he in almost a lifetime 
 has failed in? Certainly he, Stephen, has been 
 more in earnest, and has striven harder. Yet some 
 gain what they wish for so easily that they seem 
 born conquerors ; and others, braver, truer-hearted, 
 with a far better reason for success, fail miserably. 
 
 " You will not mind my leaving you, Milly ? " 
 asks Stephen, beseechingly. 
 
 He desires to be generous and not pain her, and 
 yet he cannot meet Urquhart just now.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 67 
 
 " No," she says, holding out her hand to him. 
 " I will not keep you any longer. I should have 
 remembered how late it is. If I were only sure 
 you can forgive me ! " 
 
 " Be very sure I do. You must not torment 
 yourself with a fear that I do not. The next time 
 we meet, it must be in the old, old way." 
 
 He cannot say more to reassure her, for Ur- 
 quhart is within calling distance, and is shout 
 ing to him to come and help him beach the skiff. 
 But Stephen pretends not to hear, and walks away 
 over the cliffs, and through the fields to the cot 
 tage ; the same way Milicent returned that after 
 noon in June, when they sat together under the 
 lilac-bush, looking out upon the sea, and upon a 
 future brighter than Stephen can hope to look for 
 ward to again. 
 
 Urquhart s voice calling to Stephen first draws 
 Milicent s attention to him. She had been gazing 
 so far before her that she had failed to recognize 
 what was quite near. If she had seen that it was 
 Urquhart rowing towards them, she would have 
 kept Stephen. Certainly, she had given him the 
 impression that she was watching Urquhart, and 
 so added another pang to the wound she had al 
 ready made. 
 
 Before Urquhart can beach the skiff and spring 
 on shore, Milicent has walked away. She can 
 hear Urquhart s footsteps behind her, evidently try 
 ing to overtake her : but she will not look round 
 nor slacken her speed, which she could not have 
 quickened unless she actually ran away.
 
 68 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " Please, Miss Milicent, wait a moment," calls 
 Urquhart : and she has to make a most unwilling 
 halt until he comes to her. 
 
 " What is the matter with you and Stephen ? " 
 is Urquhart s unlucky question. " You both seem 
 bent upon putting the greatest possible distance 
 between you, in the shortest possible time. I 
 feared you had both grown deaf, for I have been 
 shouting to you for the last ten minutes, without 
 gaining the least degree of attention ; but now I 
 am convinced that there has been a small quarrel, 
 and with the luck that good, innocent people usually 
 meet with, I am in consequence to be the sufferer." 
 
 Milicent turns slowly and reluctantly to answer 
 Urquhart ; and as she does so, Stephen also turns 
 to look at her. He is a good way off, crossing one 
 of his own fields, so that he cannot hear her cold 
 reply to Urquhart s greeting, nor can he see from 
 her face, as Urquhart does, that he is not welcome. 
 The rest of Stephen s walk home is far more pain 
 ful, after his hasty glance, than it would be if he 
 were a close observer. 
 
 As for Urquhart, Milicent is so preoccupied 
 that he is sure she has had a quarrel with Stephen. 
 Scarcely a serious one, for Milicent shows noth 
 ing of a woman s sure signal of distress, tears. 
 Neither is there any anger in her eyes, nor spice of 
 the evil one, which Urquhart affects to admire ; but 
 a far-off, wistful look, as if she had seen something 
 she will never see again all the days of her life. 
 
 At the gate, Urquhart says good-by, and Mili 
 cent goes slowly to the house. She is not thinking
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 69 
 
 of Urquhart, who turns to look at her. Nor is she 
 thinking altogether of Stephen. Before her is her 
 unsightly home, the windows all ablaze with the 
 reflection of the setting sun. The burnished panes 
 do not beautify the house ; indeed, they only 
 heighten its ugliness. Milicent has just then a 
 vision of the cottage embowered in vines, the cot 
 tage she has refused to make her home, choosing 
 rather this mass of ugliness. It has been entirely 
 her own act. She has not given Stephen the decis 
 ion whether to lose or keep her. She herself has 
 rejected the sweet and taken the bitter. This 
 sacrifice on her part has not pleased any one ; and 
 she feels no great elation at simply doing right. 
 
 When Milicent goes into the kitchen, Thomas is 
 sitting there smoking his pipe, and Miss Ursula is 
 busied in preparing tea. The girl lingers a few 
 minutes, idly gazing into the fire ; then turns to go 
 into the hall on her way up-stairs. 
 
 " Tea is nearly ready," announces Miss Ur 
 sula. 
 
 " I do not care for any. I am going to bed," 
 answers Milicent, in a weary tone. 
 
 " Fine acquaintances give dainty appetites. There 
 is nothing here to pamper one," says Miss Ursula, 
 who has seen Urquhart at the gate, a sight of 
 whom, for some reason she does not explain, al 
 ways makes her temper sharper. " I only hope 
 you will not lose your loaf and keep your hunger. 
 Stephen seems to me to be failing in patience of 
 late." 
 
 " I wish he would fail utterly. One never feels
 
 70 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 half so sorry for impatient people as for the pa 
 tient ones," returns Milicent. 
 
 " Then you ought never to complain of any lack 
 of sympathy," remarks Miss Ursula, dryly. 
 
 " Let the child alone," says Thomas, knocking 
 the ashes from his pipe. " Such a thing as pity 
 we might afford to give her ; but then it is jewels 
 she craves. Did you keep the two costly ones you 
 were so anxious about an hour or two ago?" he 
 adds, addressing Milicent. 
 
 " Yes," she answers slowly, " I kept them." 
 
 He is watching her from under the shade of his 
 hand, as he rests his elbow on the arm of his chair. 
 The girl has laid her hand on the table, as she 
 pauses to answer him ; and the lamp flares into 
 her face, a little pale and very weary, as of one 
 who has fought her battle and been worsted by the 
 victory. 
 
 The gloom in his own face deepens as he looks ; 
 and then he shrugs his shoulders in a sort of bitter 
 skepticism. 
 
 " At a great sacrifice," he says. " One has only 
 to look at you, to know that. I hope your jewels 
 may repay you, and also that you may manage al 
 ways to retain them, since you value them so much. 
 But do not parade them too ostentatiously." 
 
 " Rest easy," says Milicent. " No one could 
 guess I have them." 
 
 Miss Ursula, who in moving about the kitchen 
 has but half heard, and not at all understood, this 
 fragment of conversation, now puts the tea-pot on 
 the table. But Milicent s appetite has not re 
 turned, and she goes up-stairs.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 71 
 
 Thomas was right when he called her jewels 
 costly. No one knows better than she, what she 
 has paid to retain them ; and the hard part of it 
 all is, she is sure she will feel the poorer, not for 
 now only, but for all her life.
 
 V. 
 
 " But I have known the lark s song half sound sad, 
 And I have seen the sea, which rippled sun, 
 Toss dimmed and purple in a sudden wind : 
 And let me laugh a moment at my heart 
 That thinks the summer-time must all be fair, 
 That thinks the good days always must be good ; 
 Yet let me laugh a moment, may be weep." 
 
 MILICENT walks over to the cottage one after 
 noon, and stands for some time looking over the 
 low picket fence ; safe from meeting any one, for 
 she knows Stephen is away. 
 
 Her quick eye detects a change in the pretty 
 lawn, an evident want of care about the whole 
 place. The vines over the porch are untrained, 
 and long branches of honeysuckle trail over the 
 grass. 
 
 The girl is sorry, and half resentful, as she might 
 be at the neglect of a loved one ; and she feels, as 
 never before, how much the expectation of one day 
 calling the cottage home has been to her. 
 
 It is the old story of the outcast peri at the 
 gate, she tries to tell herself, rally ingly. She has 
 lost her Eden. The outside life looks very dreary 
 to the poor impatient child, as she stands there 
 facing it. Year after year stretches out before 
 her, a long, dull road without a turning ; a daily 
 routine of work, of trial, of penury. 
 
 She stands at the shut gate a long time, with a
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 73 
 
 weary look in her face, a dull pain at her heart: 
 before she turns and takes the path across the 
 fields to the shore. She walks away slowly, - so 
 slowly that the sun has set when she at last clam 
 bers down from the cliffs, and reaches the lower 
 range of rocks forming the irregular plateau nearer 
 the level of the sea. The rosy glow of the sunset 
 is still lingering, and the long northern twilight 
 makes it very far from night. 
 
 Suddenly, as she for a moment leaves the rocks 
 for that foothold of a path which curves out behind 
 Green Cove, Milicent comes upon Urquhart, who, 
 with the oars of his skiff upon his shoulder, is in 
 the act of descending to the Cove, where his boat 
 is beached. lie conies forward eagerly when he 
 sees her, and begs that she will let him take her 
 out. 
 
 Though the girl does not care very much for his 
 or any one else s society just now, she has a decided 
 longing to be afloat on the water ; so she consents 
 to go with him. 
 
 Urquhart has had the yacht s small boat rigged 
 up for sailing when he does not care to take the Un 
 dine, that requires at least two men to handle her. 
 But to-day there is no breeze, and he un steps the 
 mast, intending to row out some distance, and 
 when the tide is running in, to let the boat drift 
 back with it : as the sea-birds nesting on the island 
 fly against the wind when outward-bound, to have 
 a fair wind on their weary homeward flight. 
 
 When they are all out together, Milicent gener 
 ally prefers taking an oar and letting one of the
 
 74 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 men steer; but this evening she seats herself in 
 the stern, evidently intending that Urquhart shall 
 do the rowing. He pulls out vigorously, scarcely 
 aware himself of how much energy he is putting 
 into the work. He is seated facing Milicent, 
 where he cannot avoid looking at her ; and the 
 stroke of his oar is keeping time with his thoughts, 
 which are surging up in almost painful rapidity. 
 
 Urquhart s position is a dangerous one for any 
 man ; but the more so for him, because Milicent 
 is so unconscious of his admiration. 
 
 If she had ever shown coquetry, or even a desire 
 to make him attentive to her, Urquhart would 
 have been on his guard, and so would have es 
 caped. But it is her entire indifference to any 
 thing he says or does that piques, while her 
 beauty and even her fitfulness impress him. Ab 
 sorbed with her own trials and perplexities as she 
 has been of late, her woman s quick vision has 
 failed to detect what Stephen s slower sight did 
 not miss, that Urquhart is in love with her. 
 It is just as well she has not seen it, or her self- 
 love might have been wounded by also seeing that 
 he loves her unwillingly. 
 
 Urquhart has been a wonderfully successful 
 man, so far in life : money, a handsome face, an 
 easy, cheerful temper, and a happy regard of con 
 sequences, which is of itself a preventive of much 
 disaster. Heretofore, he has had much of the 
 honey of life, without a drop of the wormwood and 
 the gall ; and with the perversity of human nature, 
 has complained that so much sweetness is cloying.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 75 
 
 He came to the little fishing-village to learn, as 
 ho thought, something of the rougher paths of 
 life ; but in reality he was in search of a new sen 
 sation. And he found one, in this out-of-the-way 
 spot, when he found this girl, who at every meet 
 ing is a fresh surprise. 
 
 All Milicent s out-door plans include Stephen : 
 and by the help of his presence (for every one 
 knows there is safety in the mystical number 
 three, except in the matter of a secret) Urquhart 
 has generally managed to keep on his guard with 
 her, until this evening. So altogether, it is rash 
 in Urquhart to go out thus with her in the sum 
 mer sunset. 
 
 He is sure he has never seen her so beautiful as 
 now. She has thrown off her hat, and is sitting 
 upright, with the ropes of the tiller in either hand, 
 yet looking with far more interest to the horizon 
 where the clouds are piled pale lilac, edged with 
 a faint rose than to the course of the boat as it 
 pushes farther out to sea. " The western waves 
 of ebbing day " are flowing with the peaceful 
 ripple far beyond the island : and the girl has 
 tui ned her back upon its foaming fringe of eddies, 
 its ruined walls and pinnacles of rock, its sombre 
 crest of wind-swept firs, and the gaunt gray house 
 she knows is staring down upon her. What if she 
 were leaving all behind, floating away and away, 
 out on this sea whose shores are rosy cloudland ? 
 
 The discontent that sometimes dims her young 
 face is gone ; in its place there is a soft, dreamy 
 look, as if she sees something in the skies. But in
 
 76 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 truth the child is only thinking how pleasant it 
 is to row away from all that troubles her ; wishing 
 there was no land, no home for her, but only an 
 eternal sea. 
 
 She is not thinking in the least of Urquhart : 
 the end of whose vigorous rowing is that he fights 
 his way out of all the difficulties which have kept 
 him silent for nearly a month. Having conquered, 
 he quietly lays down the oars ; and, stepping over 
 the bench which is now the only barrier between 
 them, he is sure he comes and takes a seat be 
 side Milicent. 
 
 The boat is trimmed to float in with the tide 
 towards the island. Steering is as useless as row 
 ing just now : there is nothing to be done, but 
 just what Urquhart has at last decided to do. 
 
 If Milicent had blushed, or had appeared at all 
 conscious, if she had even turned her head to 
 look at him, it would have been easier for Ur 
 quhart to speak. But she is sitting quite still, gaz 
 ing straight before her, and evidently suspecting 
 nothing of the tumult within him. 
 
 " Milicent, look at me. I have something to say 
 to you," says Urquhart, laying his hand on hers, 
 which are clasped together over the tiller-ropes. 
 
 She does as he bids her : quickly, with a startled 
 movement, as if surprised by his words, his use of 
 her name, or by his touch. " What is it ? " she 
 asks, drawing away her hands. " Why can I not 
 listen without looking at you ? " 
 
 But nevertheless she looks, and there is some 
 thing in his face that puzzles her.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 77 
 
 Suddenly she drops her eyelids, with a shy lit 
 tle motioii of withdrawing herself as much as pos 
 sible from him ; and begins to play nervously with 
 the ropes. 
 
 TJrquhart smiles. " You have guessed before 
 now that I love you ? " he says. " You have known 
 what has kept me here so long ? " 
 
 " You said it was the fishing, and I believed you. 
 You gave many reasons for your staying," answers 
 Milicent, confining herself to the last question. 
 
 " A good many excuses. I have had really but 
 the one reason for lingering. You are not angry 
 with me for loving you ? " he asks. 
 
 " Not angry ; but it is very silly," she answers, 
 with a vexed movement of her shoulders. " We 
 were getting on so much better together, and I had 
 really begun to like you." 
 
 " That is exactly what I do not wish you to do," 
 says TJrquhart, coolly. " I have no desire that you 
 should get into the way of thinking of me as you 
 do of Stephen. It may please him, but it would 
 never satisfy me." 
 
 " You don t suppose I shall ever think of any 
 one as I do of Stephen ? " asks Milicent, flushing 
 with anger at Urquhart s audacity. 
 
 " Do you mean to hint that there is anything be 
 tween you, that you are engaged to him ? " asks 
 Urquhart, quickly. 
 
 " There is not a thing between us," she answers 
 very decidedly, yet at the same time looking away 
 from him. 
 
 " I know very well that the poor fellow is in
 
 78 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 love," Urquhart goes on to say. " I could guess 
 it, if it were only from his jealousy of me. I don t 
 mention it from vanity, so you need not be indig 
 nant"- for Milicent has made an impatient mo 
 tion with her hands, as if to stop him. " If he is 
 not jealous, why does he always go away when I 
 come near you : or, if he can t get off, grow so si 
 lent and reserved ? " 
 
 " I never notice that he does," answers Mili 
 cent, slowly drawing the rope through her fingers. 
 
 " He does, nevertheless. Poor Stephen ! it does 
 seem hard that all his sudden changes of manner, 
 all his heats and cold, should not even be noticed. 
 Verily, you women are cruel ! " 
 
 "Not intentionally so, if you are thinking of 
 Stephen. I would put my eyes out with my own 
 hands, rather than see him hurt or offended by any 
 act of mine," the girl says quickly. 
 
 " I am glad you have not noticed him, then : and 
 I shall certainly not enlighten you any more on the 
 subject, for your eyes are rather an important fea 
 ture in your face, as they are very apt to tell more 
 than your lips. Will you not look at me, then, and 
 tell me it is not impossible for you to love me? 
 I will promise to do my best to make you happy." 
 
 "That would not be so very difficult," answers 
 Milicent, not by any means intending to be hum 
 ble, but only honest. " I have had so few good 
 things in life, a very little would suffice to make 
 me happy." 
 
 " If you would only let me hold your future in 
 my hands, Milicent, I would make it a perfect
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 79 
 
 holiday for you. My poor child, do you think I 
 have loved you all these weeks, and have not dis 
 covered what tries and teases you ? You need not 
 be frightened ; there is nothing that is not natural 
 in your discontent," Urquhart adds, laughing ; for 
 Miliceiit has turned to him with surprise in her 
 face. 
 
 "What could you make out of my future?" 
 she asks, with girlish curiosity. 
 
 " First, you must promise to marry me ; I must 
 have you for my very own, before I can bring you 
 all I would. After that, we should take a longer 
 sail than you have ever had in your life, for we 
 should cross the Atlantic." 
 
 " Sail away," she says, under her breath, " sail 
 away, out of the past into the future ! Leave every 
 thing behind us ! " 
 
 Her tone is wistful, not regretful : so wistful, 
 that Urquhart says eagerly, her words being the 
 echo of his own wishes, 
 
 " Sail away, out of the past into the future ; for 
 what will anything that lies behind matter to us ? 
 We will begin a new life in the Old World which 
 is the new." 
 
 Her questioning eyes are on his, for all the 
 blushing color in her face. 
 
 "You should see Paris, the good American s 
 paradise," he goes on, coming down to details as he 
 fills in the sketch in his own mind, " and London, 
 if you cared to go home, as you province people 
 say. But my chief delight would be to have you to 
 myself in some of those quaint old southern towns
 
 80 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 on the seashore, where we could live unmolested 
 by acquaintances, and could be as much on the 
 water as we chose." 
 
 Urquhart is waxing eloquent, for he is building 
 up in words some of his castles projected in the 
 air, which have heretofore seemed rather vague, 
 but to which speech gives substance. In a dreamy 
 way, Milicent is listening ; the thought that here 
 is her escape comes bewilderingly. Just here is 
 a turn in the dreary road which only an hour ago 
 appeared to stretch out before her inimitably. 
 Once beyond that turn, and what can the past be 
 to her or to Urquhart ? With Stephen, it would 
 have been different, of course ; his life lies here 
 upon this island : and here there could be no gulf 
 fixed between the past and the future, if she were 
 his wife. But with her and Urquhart, what lay 
 behind them on the island could be nothing, noth 
 ing at all to either of them. Having come to the 
 turn, she has but to take it, to find the past break 
 ing sheer off, like those frowning cliffs she is now 
 watching ; and the wide ocean stretching out be 
 tween it and the future. And what a future Ur 
 quhart is painting for her admiration and approval ! 
 An eternal holiday ! Whole years spent in travel 
 ing and sight-seeing ! An easy, free life, leaving 
 behind all cares, all anxieties ! A fairy-tale, where, 
 by a little talisman of a ring, everything necessary 
 would be at once provided ! 
 
 Suddenly Urquhart stops speaking, in evident 
 chagrin. As no response has reached him, he 
 naturally supposes he has been talking to deaf ears.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 81 
 
 Then comes the thought that perhaps he has 
 taken her too much by surprise ; or that she is too 
 shy to give him an answer. 
 
 But Milicent seems neither shy nor frightened : 
 only lifts to him eyes like a child s opening in the 
 midst of a dream. 
 
 " Do you know," she says, " that what you tell 
 me sounds like a fairy-tale to me? You offer me 
 much wonderful happiness, and I have nothing 
 to give you in return," she adds wistfully, looking 
 at him as the enchanted maiden out of the fairy 
 tale might have looked at the prince who came to 
 set her free. 
 
 And in truth he is as handsome as the prince 
 in the fairy-tale ; with some new glamour in his 
 eyes, as they hold her own. Or is it that the 
 golden haze from off the sea is blinding hers? 
 They fall before his, and he is saying eagerly, 
 
 "You can give me yourself, Milicent. That 
 would be untold riches to me." 
 
 Milicent laughs saucily, coming back to^ierself. 
 "Then I will be liberal, and give you untold 
 riches. For I suppose I must give you myself, if 
 you marry me." 
 
 Urquhart is perplexed. What is this the girl is 
 bestowing so carelessly? 
 
 He almost shrinks from accepting a gift she 
 grants so easily. 
 
 " I warn you, it is everything I have, however," 
 goes on Milicent, without a pause. " I have n t 
 even a mat of my own hooking, or a net of my own 
 making, a fisher-maiden s proper dower."
 
 82 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " I will take you as you are, and not quarrel 
 with my bargain," says Urquhart, eagerly. 
 
 " But I must add one thing to it, a promise. 
 Will you make it ? " 
 
 " A dozen, if you please." 
 
 " No, I wish for only one ; and that I cannot 
 think will be a difficult one. It is that after you 
 take me away from here, you will never bring me 
 back again." 
 
 " Do you mean you would not be sorry to know 
 that you would never return here? " asks Urquhart, 
 in surprise. " I confess I should be loath to say 
 good-by to the island forever." 
 
 "I should not, in the least," replies Milicent, 
 with much decision in her voice. " Perhaps some 
 day, when I am quite old, I should not mind re 
 turning ; for then I fancy one ceases to care for 
 anything very much." 
 
 " If I must wait until you are old, I too shall 
 have lost all desire to return," says Urquhart, 
 laughing. " That will be an immense time, unless 
 you take to gray hairs prematurely : which I warn 
 you I do not intend to do." 
 
 " I fancy no one takes kindly to old age. Why 
 should any one be prematurely old ? " 
 
 "A great sorrow might make one so, or" 
 stagnant, uneventful life, Urquhart is going to 
 add : but he remembers how very monotonous Mil- 
 icent s must have been, and she has certainly pre 
 served her juvenility. 
 
 " Do you know," she says, not noticing his 
 broken-off sentence, " I have never been away
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 83 
 
 from here since I was a very small child. I do not 
 remember any other place. You cannot imagine 
 how much I long for a glimpse of some other kind 
 of life. But," she adds anxiously, " can you really 
 afford to travel ? Aunt Ursula says it takes a very 
 great deal of money." 
 
 " I think I may manage it, if you 11 promise 
 not to be too extravagant, and want all the fine 
 things you see," replies Urquhart, striving to look 
 grave. 
 
 He remembers how he has seen her count over 
 the few pennies received as change when Miss 
 Ursula has sent her to the village shop for a neces 
 sary purchase. He is about lifting her above such 
 sordid cares, and she will thoroughly enjoy the 
 luxury. He looks at her in her blue cotton dress 
 and the coarse hat plaited by herself from the 
 wheat-straw she has gathered in Stephen s field ; 
 and he thinks, pretty as she now is, how much she 
 will be improved by the accessories of dress that 
 girls delight in. But Urquhart does not care to tell 
 these thoughts of his. He would have Milicent 
 marry him for himself, not for his money. He 
 would no more have confessed the state of his 
 finances, than he would have told her how often 
 he had determined it was better for him to go away 
 silently, never telling her he cared for her : until 
 a half hour ago this brilliant scheme of taking 
 her abroad flashed upon him. He is a sensitive 
 man, and shrinks from the thought of having Mil 
 icent talked of, and watched, and wondered at, by 
 his " set." He is willing to give up country and
 
 84 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 friends for his young love ; he is not willing to 
 take her, in all her ignorance and girlish down- 
 rightness, into what he calls his world. But now 
 he has hit upon a plan which will leave her un- 
 trammeled for a time, and unconsciously to herself 
 break her into the ways of the world. 
 
 Having to capture his bird warily, Urquhart s 
 love-making must be rather cool. It seems almost 
 a bargain between them : though this is very far 
 from his thoughts. That she should be willing to 
 leave everything she is used to, and go where he 
 chooses to take her, has, it must be confessed, the 
 appearance of great devotion on the child s part. 
 Thus he never thinks that if he had offered to 
 marry her, and take her some few miles away to 
 live, she would certainly have refused him. 
 
 " Milicent," he says suddenly, looking into her 
 dreamy face, "do you know you have not once 
 said that you loved me ? " 
 
 " I would never have promised to marry you if 
 I disliked you," she answers, with an expressive 
 little shrug. 
 
 " But I want more than an assurance that you 
 do not dislike me." 
 
 " Very well, I will give you more ; I like you." 
 
 " Like is not love," says Urquhart, sententiously, 
 at the same time not looking well pleased. 
 
 Milicent opens her eyes very wide as she lifts 
 them to him. She never told Stephen that she 
 more than liked him ; and yet he had been con 
 tent to marry her on such an admission. Why 
 should Urquhart wish for more than satisfied
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 85 
 
 Stephen ? Is it something so very much to be de 
 sired, this love ? 
 
 " What is it to love ? " she asks, gently. " I will 
 do my best to learn, if you will only teach me." 
 
 And Urquhart is charmed with the ingenuous 
 promise. It seems just now the sweetest pastime 
 in the world, to teach this fresh young heart to 
 love. 
 
 Love can certainly grow from as small a seed as 
 faith : the germ is there, Urquhart is very sure, 
 and there would need but a little cultivation to root 
 it well and strongly. The sweet flowers and fruit 
 would be for his own gathering, in that fool s par 
 adise he has now fairly entered. 
 
 They can feel the keel grating softly on the 
 strand. The tide has been more watchful than 
 they, and has floated them into Green Cove, safe 
 past the rocks on either hand. They have reached 
 the land sooner than Urquhart expected ; and twi 
 light has so nearly faded into night, that he can 
 not very well propose pushing out again on the 
 water. 
 
 After all, he is very well content with his even 
 ing row. He has gotten rid of the constant strug 
 gle with himself to keep silent : which, whenever he 
 was alone with Milicent, he was not at all inclined 
 to do ; so that now that he has committed himself 
 without recall, it is a great relief. And Milicent 
 has promised to marry him. 
 
 When the boat is beached, Milicent would have 
 sprung out on the shingle without assistance, as is 
 her wont. But Urquhart takes her in his arms
 
 86 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 and lifts her, leaving a light kiss on her cheek as 
 he does so. She is frightened and angry. " How 
 dare you ! " she exclaims, blushing furiously, and 
 struggling to free herself. 
 
 Urquhart is half amused, and a little angry. 
 
 " I thought I had won as much right as that, 
 when you promised to marry me," he says coolly, 
 as he releases her. 
 
 " You ought to have asked a fisher-girl in your 
 own country to marry you," answers Milicent, 
 scornfully. " It may be a fashion with them." 
 
 " I thought it was the fashion with all lovers," 
 Urquhart says, not able to restrain a laugh at her 
 vehemence, u but I promise not to offend again. 
 The next time I will wait to be asked." 
 
 Milicent makes no answer, but turns and walks 
 away. Urquhart cannot follow her at once, as the 
 boat is not fastened, and he must not let the tide 
 float it away. He is sure Milicent will be at the 
 house before he can secure it properly ; but he is 
 determined not to call out to her to wait for him, 
 and also determined not to hasten his movements. 
 
 He regrets this loitering, however, when he finds 
 her waiting for him where the path to the house 
 turns off from the cliff. Perhaps her ire has had 
 time to cool, and she thinks it just as well not to 
 quarrel outright, the very first hour of their en 
 gagement. If she does, Urquhart agrees with her ; 
 the rather, as he looks at her shy, blushing face. 
 
 " I wonder if Miss Ursula will see me this even 
 ing?" he asks, thinking it would be wise to have 
 all preliminary ceremonies over.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 87 
 
 "No, certainly not," answers Milicent, hastily. 
 " It is far too late. Aunt Ursula never will see 
 any one after dark, and especially a stranger." 
 
 " But that is just what I wish to tell her I am 
 not," says Urquhart, laughing. " Hereafter she 
 will have to consider me a part of her family. 
 You don t think she will make any objection to 
 our engagement ? " he asks a little anxiously. 
 
 " Objection ! Of course not. Why should she ? " 
 
 " I am rejoiced you have no father to be peti 
 tioned ; I begin to feel a little nervous at my ex 
 pected interview with your aunt. It is somewhat 
 presumptuous to ask a man for his daughter. 
 Aunts, I fancy, do not see it in the same light ; all 
 women being tender towards a love-affair." 
 
 " I do not see what concern it is to a father any 
 more than to an aunt, if the girl herself wishes it," 
 answers Milicent, shortly. 
 
 " Unfortunately, the father is not also in love ; 
 and men are more apt to go into particulars than 
 women. I have not much fear of satisfying Miss 
 Ursula." 
 
 "You need give yourself no trouble on that 
 score," says Milicent, with decision. " I shall tell 
 Aunt Ursula we are engaged, and that will be all 
 that is necessary. I am not going to ask you in 
 to-night," she adds ; for they have reached the 
 gate. " To-morrow you may come." 
 
 Though thus dismissed, Urquhart still lingers, 
 leave-taking being always a pleasant pain to a 
 lover. When at last he is gone, Milicent, as usual, 
 passes round to the door of the kitchen (the hall
 
 88 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 in front of the house is never lighted artificially), 
 where she finds Miss Ursula. 
 
 A small oil lamp does the whole duty of illumi 
 nating the great bare room, for the summer fire 
 of small wood barely succeeds in cooking the pan 
 of fish upon it. A table near the centre of the 
 room holds a dish, on which Miss Ursula is piling 
 some baked potatoes ; and a pitcher of buttermilk, 
 flanking it, adds to the suggestion that there is a 
 meal to be partaken of. 
 
 " Have you had tea yet ? " asks Milicent s clear 
 young voice, as she enters the room. 
 
 " What is the use in having tea when there is 
 no one to eat it ? I do not know at what hour you 
 will be coming in, after a while," answers Miss 
 Ursula, feeling the just irritation which irregu 
 larity causes the housekeeper. 
 
 " Let me turn the fish for you," proposes Mili- 
 cent, seeing Miss Ursula moving towards the fire 
 for the purpose. " I have been out on the water, 
 and did not know how late it was." 
 
 "It is no hour for you to be on the water," re 
 turns Miss Ursula, not offering to relinquish the 
 cooking of the fish. 
 
 o 
 
 " It is darker in here than it is out-of-doors, so 
 it seems later than it really is," says Milicent, with 
 one of her impatient shrugs. " Aunt Ursida, I 
 have something to tell you that perhaps you will 
 be glad to hear. Mr. Urquhart wishes to marry 
 me, and I have promised" 
 
 She stops : it is not easy to go on, with Miss Ursu 
 la s back to her, and no sign that she is listened to.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 89 
 
 There is a pause, until her aunt breaks it as 
 coolly as if the subject in hand were quite a matter 
 in the abstract : 
 
 " How many neat drawings we make of the lives 
 of others, only to have the pencil taken out of our 
 hands, for them to make such scrawls for them 
 selves as any child might be ashamed of ! " 
 
 " Yes, but wait until you hear the end. We are 
 to go abroad, and not return until I wish to." 
 
 Miss Ursula was in the act of turning the fish : 
 but instead, she turns herself to look at Milicent, 
 who certainly appears very well satisfied with the 
 news she has given. 
 
 " Was it anything you told him that made him 
 offer to take you abroad ? " asks Miss Ursula, 
 sharply. 
 
 " Certainly not," answers Milicent, coldly. " It 
 was his own proposition. I had nothing to do 
 with it." 
 
 " Oh, I see ! He wishes to hide you, until he 
 is not ashamed of you. A Parisian modiste and 
 traveling : both will be vastly improving to you, no 
 doubt." 
 
 " Do you blame him for his desire to make me 
 presentable ? I do not, if it will spare me dis 
 comfort or humiliation," replies Milicent, quite 
 calmly. 
 
 " Or save himself," suggests Miss Ursula. " Men 
 are much more apt to think of their own sensations 
 than of others ." 
 
 And then she adds, as if to dismiss the subject 
 altogether, "Stephen was here this evening. He
 
 90 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 seemed sorry to miss seeing you. What fools we 
 are to set our hearts upon anything in this fickle 
 world ! " 
 
 Milicent turns to Miss Ursula, with a troubled 
 look in her eyes ; but just then there comes the 
 sound of a man s footstep outside the door. " I do 
 not want anything for tea but this," says Milicent, 
 helping herself from the dish of potatoes. " And 
 Aunt Ursula, if you will tell him " 
 
 There is a marked sound of entreaty in Mili- 
 cent s voice ; and she leaves the kitchen hastily. 
 
 Urquhart s love-making has not robbed her of 
 her appetite ; for she gropes her way to the front 
 door, as the most unfrequented spot, and, taking a 
 seat on the steps, eats her unsavory supper, and 
 seems to enjoy it, though she has not brought a 
 grain of salt to season it. Then she rests her head 
 on her lap, as a sleepy, tired child might do, and 
 falls into cogitation. 
 
 Her first thought is of regret : Stephen was 
 looking for her while she was listening to the love- 
 making of another man. 
 
 This comes as an actual pain to her, and she 
 torments herself with questions. Will he care 
 veiy much when he hears she is going to marry 
 Urquhart ? Would it not be far better for him, 
 in the end, if she went away ? He would be sure 
 to forget her the sooner, if he could not see her 
 every day ; and she could not possibly leave, un 
 less she married Urquhart. This is rather wild 
 reasoning on Milicent s part. Certainly she has 
 lost sight of her own dread, that Stephen, for-
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 91 
 
 getting her, might one day bring a wife to the 
 home which was to have been her own. 
 
 For some time Milicent sits on the doorstep, 
 with bowed head, not thinking of Urquhart, but 
 of Stephen. What will Stephen say ? 
 
 She is so in the habit of going to him to have 
 all doubts and difficulties solved, that it never oc 
 curs to her that some decisions must necessarily 
 be terrible tests of honesty and unselfish love, and 
 therefore burdens never to be shifted from our own 
 shoulders. 
 
 When she rises at last, and goes up-stairs to 
 bed, she has come to a strange conclusion : she 
 will tell Stephen of this new phase of her life, of 
 what Urquhart has offered her : and if he desires 
 she will break her engagement. So much she 
 owes her old friend and playmate : if she does not 
 marry him, she will not marry any one else against 
 his will. He might never know half the sacrifice 
 she makes : her wish is to spare him all the pain 
 she can ; her determination, that he shall decide 
 how she can best do it. 
 
 Having come to this childish conclusion, she 
 goes to her room, and presently falls into a dream 
 less slumber, with no visions of either lover. 
 
 Youth and old age are said to touch each other, 
 and in nothing is their contiguity so plainly shown, 
 as in the ability they share, of falling into an un 
 troubled sleep over their perplexities and griefs. 
 An old man shuts his eyes on an intrusive thought, 
 and forgets it ; a child and Milicent is hardly 
 more will cry itself into a smiling slumber.
 
 VI. 
 
 Let us make no claim, 
 On life s incognizable sea, 
 To too exact a steering of our way, 
 If some fair coast has lured us to make stay." 
 
 WHILE Milicent, on the doorstep of the old 
 gray house, with her face hidden from the starlight, 
 turned her thoughts away from the bright future 
 Urquhart had pictured to her, and took her resolu 
 tion that Stephen should be the arbiter of her 
 fate, Stephen, seated on his porch, smoked his 
 evening pipe, trying to enjoy the beauty of the 
 scene ; and then he went over his work for the 
 morrow, planning what he should set his laborers 
 to do. But all the while, Milicent s face was be 
 fore him. She would never sit beside him on the 
 porch, listening to plans and hopes for their future, 
 as she so long led him to believe she would. 
 
 Stephen had gone over to the old house that 
 afternoon, as soon as he returned home. He had 
 been called away suddenly upon business ; and as 
 he had had no opportunity to see her before he 
 left, he thought she might be curious to know the 
 reason of his absence. It was a hard task he had 
 set himself, that of an attentive friend, where he 
 had been the ardent lover. 
 
 Not finding Milicent outside the house, he had
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 93 
 
 gone to the kitchen in search of Miss Ursula. 
 As usual, she was busy in some menial employ 
 ment. She seemed to have a knack of discovering 
 disagreeable drudgery, which, if she had been a 
 believer in the sacrament of penance, one might 
 suppose she was using to help her heavenward. 
 
 "Is Milly at home, Miss Ursula?" he asked, 
 after bidding her good-evening. He did not apol 
 ogize for interrupting her : which in point of fact 
 he did not, for she went on with her homely work. 
 
 "No, I have not seen her since dinner. I 
 thought she had gone to the cottage." 
 
 " She did not leave any message, if she did. 
 I hope she was not disappointed by not finding 
 me." 
 
 " I cannot say. It is difficult to know what 
 pleases her. She needs looking after ; but she 
 will not bear it from me, and there is no one else 
 who will interfere with her. The young must al 
 ways go their own gait, and think they see the 
 road to its ending ; and when they stumble, they 
 blame the road, and not their recklessness. There 
 is no use in my crying a warning. But I did hope 
 you might smooth the path for her treading, poor 
 child, and not give her up so easily." 
 
 " I, Miss Ursula ? I never gave Milly up. She 
 is the best judge of what she wishes. I could 
 never have forced her to care for me, by keeping 
 her to her promise to marry me. I do not see 
 why we should fear evils for Milly : she is young, 
 and life may have many good things in store for 
 her," he added, hopefully.
 
 94 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " If she would only be contented, and not strive 
 to grasp more than she can hold. A safe home at 
 the cottage is what I have long wished for her." 
 
 It was so seldom that Miss Ursula expressed in 
 terest in Milicent that Stephen was surprised, as 
 well as touched. He might have asked why she 
 felt unusually anxious for her niece s welfare, not 
 being at all assured how far she was in the girl s 
 confidence : when he caught sight of Thomas com 
 ing to the house. 
 
 "Is it Milicent you are looking for?" asked 
 Thomas, with primitive unceremoniousness, which 
 would have shocked Urquhart, but from custom 
 had no such effect upon Stephen. " She is rowing 
 on the bay with Urquhart. She ought to know it 
 is too late to be out with a stranger." 
 
 Stephen made no answer, though the remark was 
 addressed to him, Miss Ursula having returned to 
 her labor inside the kitchen as soon as she saw 
 Thomas approaching. Stephen did not care to dis 
 cuss Milicent with her aunt s fisherman : who was 
 right, however ; for as Stephen walked home by 
 the cliff, he saw Urquhart s boat making great 
 headway, being propelled by vigorous strokes from 
 its owner s oars. Stephen could even make out, 
 though the distance was great, Milicent sitting in 
 the stern. He would not watch them, but passed 
 on quickly. But just as he reached the path which 
 led into his own field, he turned, and was rewarded 
 by seeing Urquhart lay down his oars, and striding 
 over the bench, take his seat by Milicent. 
 
 It was a little hard on Stephen to have their
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 95 
 
 love-making going on under his eyes. Bitter 
 enough to be forced to give up the hope of ever 
 having Milicent as his own ; but to give it up to a 
 stranger, who had not known her as many weeks as 
 he had years, was adding both wormwood and gall. 
 Miss Ursula s fear for Milicent s future suddenly 
 took possession of Stephen. How were they to 
 know that Urquhart was what he represented him 
 self ? a gentleman somewhat daft about fish 
 ing. 
 
 But when Stephen had turned his back upon 
 the bay, and could no longer see Milicent and 
 Urquhart sitting together, he knew he had done 
 Urquhart an injustice. There was nothing in the 
 least suspicious about him. He was refined and 
 frank, very liberal, and, Stephen believed, honor 
 able. If Milicent loved the man, Stephen could 
 not honestly see that there was any objection to 
 the match. 
 
 And that she did love him, Stephen had no 
 doubt. It was the only barrier she could possibly 
 have found to her marriage with himself, this 
 newly awakened love she had discovered in her 
 heart for the handsome stranger. 
 
 The face of much in life looks brighter to us for 
 leaving the night behind, and letting the morning 
 sunshine in. It may throw light upon some clew 
 for which we have been groping in the dark, to un 
 ravel a perplexity ; or it may show us there are 
 some smooth and easy reaches in the steep road we 
 have been fearing over-night. But to Stephen, 
 who has no perplexity left to unravel, and who
 
 96 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 knows how hard and unlovely the lonely road 
 must stretch up to the very end, the new day 
 means merely sunny skies that seem to have no 
 sense of anything going wrong just under them. 
 
 The sun, who is always in haste to run his 
 course on a summer morning in the north, is 
 pushing level beams across the ripened grass in the 
 field behind the cottage, till it looks a golden-ruddy 
 sunset sea, as the wind tosses and ruffles it into 
 mimic waves ; and all the swaying blades that have 
 caught and still hold a jewel of the dew flash out, 
 as sown with gold and diamonds. Scheherezade 
 need not have looked over the sultan s palace-gar 
 den wall to find Aladdin s jeweled garden, Mili- 
 cent is thinking, as she stands in the road close to 
 the fence. Stephen, who is in the field giving di 
 rections to the mowers, chances to turn, and sees 
 her standing there. 
 
 " Is anything the matter ? " he asks, going to 
 wards her, and showing his anxiety by his abrupt 
 ness. " It is an early hour for you to be out." 
 
 " No, there is nothing the matter, at least, 
 nothing in the way you mean," she replies quietly. 
 " I have come to ask you what to do. I have no 
 one else in the world to go to. Besides, you prom 
 ised." 
 
 " I will help you all I can, Milly ; you may be 
 sure of that, answers Stephen, cheerfully ; though 
 he has strong previsions as to the matter to be ad 
 vised upon. She would never have come to him 
 if what she had to say had not been of all impor 
 tance to her. He is sure Urquhart has asked
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 97 
 
 her to marry him, and she is a little fearful, per 
 haps, of saying yes, unless some one sanctioned it. 
 It does not even seem strange or out of the way that 
 she has come to him. Miss Ursula is scarcely 
 one to whom a girl would care to go with a love- 
 tale : and Milicent has no one else save him. There 
 fore he is bound to put aside all thoughts of him 
 self, and think only of her happiness. He never 
 suspects for a moment what her errand really is, 
 however. 
 
 " Aunt Ursula said you were over at the house 
 last night," begins Milicent, finding it a little diffi 
 cult to broach her errand as abruptly as she had 
 intended. 
 
 " I was sorry not to see you, for Miss Ursula 
 seemed to think you started to come here," answers 
 Stephen, never hinting that he had seen her in the 
 boat with Urquhart. She should tell her story in 
 her own way. 
 
 " Yes, I did come over : but not to see you. I 
 knew you were away. I met Mr. Urquhart as I 
 went home by the beach, and he asked me to row 
 with him." 
 
 It is so quietly said, that Stephen begins to ac 
 cuse himself of unreasonable jealousy : when Mil 
 icent adds, in her downright way, coming at once 
 to the point, " He Mr. Urquhart, I mean has 
 asked me to marry him." 
 
 "And you have promised you would?" asks 
 Stephen, a little sharply. 
 
 " Yes. And he has also promised to take me 
 abroad to live, and not to bring me back unless I
 
 98 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 wish to come. That is just what I want most," 
 Milicent adds, still keeping to facts. 
 
 " I am sorry your old home is so disagreeable to 
 you, Milly," says Stephen, reproachfully ; and yet 
 he half fears he has helped to make it uncomfort 
 able. 
 
 " It is not on your account that I wish to go," 
 says Milicent, quickly divining his thoughts. 
 "There are some things at home" She stops, 
 looking away from him. 
 
 " Were these things your only reasons for prom 
 ising to marry Urquhart, Milly ? " 
 
 " They were some of my reasons," slowly. 
 
 " But not aU. You love him, Milly ? " 
 
 She does not answer him at once, though her 
 eyes fall under his gaze, and a blush comes into 
 her face. " I like him," she says at last, finding 
 Stephen waiting for a reply. 
 
 "Like him, Milly?" 
 
 "I did not come here to answer such questions, 
 but to tell you " begins Milicent, throwing back 
 her head with an impatient gesture, and blushing 
 hotly. But a look into Stephen s pale, set face 
 stops her. 
 
 " Yes, I remember," he says quietly. " You prom 
 ised to tell me if you were going away. Is it to be 
 so soon ? Are you in such haste to go ? " he adds 
 bitterly, though he is trying not to show he feels it. 
 
 " I did not come over to tell you what you might 
 hear soon enough. What I came to say was that, 
 though I what do they call it when a girl prom 
 ises to marry ? Engaged ? I engaged myself to
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 99 
 
 Mr. Urquhart last evening, I am ready to take 
 back my word if you wish. I haven t forgotten 
 all you have been to me, nor all I owe you. And 
 though I cannot marry you, I 11 not marry any 
 other, if you do not wish me to." 
 
 " I cannot be happy if I know you are not," she 
 goes on hastily, finding she gets no answer. " I am 
 not altogether selfish, though Aunt Ursula says I 
 am ; so if you will only say what you would rather 
 I d do, I will abide by it." 
 
 " Is Urquhart s love so little to you, Milly, that 
 you could give him up for a wish of mine ? " asks 
 Stephen, hurriedly. 
 
 " Stephen," she says, looking up at him, her 
 eyes glistening with unshed tears, " I cannot bear 
 to do anything that displeases you, or makes your 
 life a bit more lonely. I would rather you should 
 decide what I shall do." 
 
 Miliceiit must have understood very little of the 
 love Stephen feels for her. She may have thought 
 it made up of the same stuff as her own : a mixture 
 of a child s trusting affection and a girl s friend 
 ship. She could not have dreamed how he has 
 longed for her, how he has suffered when forced to 
 give her up. If she had, she might have shrunk 
 from putting her fate so completely in his power. 
 
 And yet her instinct is not at fault. She stands 
 awaiting his decision as she has a dozen times be 
 fore in her life : though never, perhaps, with the 
 same anxiety. 
 
 There could be nothing quieter nor calmer than 
 the two appear. A passer-by might have imagined
 
 100 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 they were discussing the veriest trifle, that is, if 
 he thought of anything but the pretty picture Mil- 
 icent makes as she stands there on the road, her 
 arms resting carelessly on the top-rail of the fence, 
 her voice lowered to a subdued tone, not to be over 
 heard by the laborer mowing the small hay-field 
 but a few feet from them ; while Stephen, on the 
 other side of the fence, is seemingly intent on dig 
 ging a hole with the end of his stout walking-stick. 
 Alas for Stephen ! He is digging much more than 
 that useless hole ; for is he not burying out of sight 
 his last hope of making Milicent his wife ? 
 
 She has not asked him to decide which is best 
 for her, but for himself ; not for her happiness and 
 content, but for his own. He cannot guess what 
 her sacrifice might be, though he knows very well 
 what is his own. And so he puts into one grave 
 his hope and his temptation. 
 
 " I must not decide this for you, Milly," he says, 
 at last. " You can tell much better than I, what 
 would be for your happiness. It ought not to be 
 any harder on me to see you Urquhart s wife than 
 to know you can t be mine. So if it is only of me 
 you are thinking, be very sure that whatever will 
 make you happy I 11 like best. Only, Milly," he 
 adds, seeing she has taken her arms from the fence, 
 making a slight movement as if she had received 
 her answer and was preparing to go, " don t marry 
 Urquhart unless you are very sure you love him. 
 It is hard lines for a girl to be married, unless she 
 has the sort of love that makes her feel all burdens 
 light, in comparison with the chance only of losing 
 her lover."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 101 
 
 " I 11 mind, Stephen," Milicent promises. " I 
 suppose all lives have their troubles ; only some 
 are harder to bear than others. I shall always 
 have one," she adds, sorrowfully, "go where I will, 
 and live as happily as I may : and that is, that I 
 seem to have hurt your life. There may come a 
 day when you may see it all differently, and know 
 I did you a kindness in not coming here to live." 
 
 " I doubt if that day ever comes," answers 
 Stephen, quickly ; then gently, " Milly, you must 
 look upon me as a brother now ; and if you need 
 help, you must promise to come to me as you have 
 to-day." 
 
 " I have promised that once before," replies Mili 
 cent, without hesitation. " I shall never depend on 
 any one as I do on you ; so if ever I have need of 
 help, I will be sure to come to you." 
 
 " You will depend on Urquhart. I did not mean 
 to put myself before him. But brothers, you know, 
 can often do what lovers would like, but cannot." 
 
 " I understand you," says Milicent, reaching out 
 her hand over the fence to bid him good-by. 
 
 " Shall I not walk home with you ? " asks Ste 
 phen. 
 
 " No, I had better go alone. Your breakfast 
 must be ready by this time. I did not come to be 
 unnecessarily troublesome." 
 
 Stephen is about to tell her she could never be 
 troublesome to him ; when he remembers she is TJr- 
 quhart s betrothed, and it would be better for him 
 not to show her even those small attentions she has 
 long been accustomed to, from him. She might
 
 102 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 meet Urquhart on her way home, and neither 
 would care for a third party. He must learn to 
 think of her as belonging to another man ; and of 
 himself as no longer necessary to her. 
 
 So Milicent sets out for home alone, carrying 
 with her a much lighter heart than she brought. 
 She is glad Stephen has not asked her to give up 
 Urquhart. It is much better for Stephen that she 
 should be away : and it is ten times better for her 
 self. To spend the rest of her life as a holiday, 
 going where she pleases, that is something, cer 
 tainly, to look forward to. Oh, yes, she is very 
 glad Stephen has not asked her to stay in the old 
 house, that looks more like a great prison than 
 ever, in this morning sunshine. 
 
 She turns her back upon it, when she has passed 
 within her own gate, leaning on the topmost bar, 
 and thinking all these thoughts. Miss Ursula s 
 voice soon brings her out of them ; but later in 
 the day, when all that tiresome stitching, stitching 
 is over, she is there again, in the same attitude. 
 Thinking, or perhaps she is dreaming so ; for she 
 starts as one suddenly awakened, when Urquhart 
 finds her there. 
 
 She says nothing to him of her early walk ; so 
 he has not the mortification of knowing that 
 Stephen has been the arbiter of his fate, Stephen, 
 who, he is sure, knows much more of the raising of 
 potatoes, or the market value of cod-fish, than of 
 the nice questions of love or honor. 
 
 It is a question of the latter, Urquhart is now 
 come upon. Though Milicent has told him that
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 103 
 
 Miss Ursula feels very little interest in their en 
 gagement, and does not pretend to exercise the 
 slightest authority over her actions, yet he is de 
 termined to ask her permission for their marriage. 
 Milicent is not only very young, but she is also 
 ignorant of the world s ways ; and it seems scarcely 
 honest to take her promise, and have so little ex 
 acted from him on her part. Such, at least, are 
 Urquhart s views; but when he tells Milicent he 
 wishes to see Miss Ursula, she laughs at him, and 
 it is not until he insists upon her calling her aunt, 
 and looks grave and decidedly hurt, that she 
 shrugs her shoulders most uncivilly, saying, " Aunt 
 Ursula won t thank you for the trouble you will 
 give her." 
 
 It is in the room called by courtesy the parlor, 
 that Urquhart waits for his interview with Miss 
 Ursula, a great bare room, almost blinding with 
 the glare from the many shutterless windows. It 
 is scrupulously clean ; not a spot to be seen, 
 though the searching light reveals even the cor 
 ners. As to furniture, it is scant indeed ; only a 
 table, and barely chairs enough to seat half a 
 dozen people. There is nothing to give the room 
 a home-like look, or even the air of ever being 
 used. A book or two, or a few flowers, even a 
 woman s work-basket, or a trifling ornament, 
 anything to hint of a feminine love of decoration, 
 would have taken away from the appearance of 
 great poverty. 
 
 There being nothing to see, except a fine view 
 of the sea from the windows, and nothing to do to
 
 104 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 wile away the time, Urquhart s patience is very 
 soon exhausted. It seems to him an interminable 
 while before he hears steps in the hall ; and then 
 Milicent comes in, followed by Miss Ursula. 
 
 Urquhart is struck with the extreme dissimilar 
 ity between aunt and niece : Milicent so slight, 
 almost childlike beside Miss Ursula, whose stature 
 is increased by the severe style of her dress, so 
 scant that there is not an unnecessary plait or fold 
 in it. She looks as if she belonged to that most 
 peculiar order of religionists, the lay-sisters of a 
 convent, who, though often reared delicately, volun 
 tarily take the hard, disagreeable life of a menial, 
 either to gain a painful admittance into heaven, or 
 to fulfill an earthly vow that of itself is bitter and 
 humiliating. 
 
 " Milicent tells me you wish to speak to me," 
 says Miss Ursula, as soon as she comes into the 
 room, vouchsafing Urquhart no other salutation, 
 though she does motion him to a chair. 
 
 He is far too wise to submit to being seated on 
 one of these, stiffly set back against the wall, where 
 he would feel like a school-boy in disgrace. So 
 he draws the indicated chair up to the table, by 
 which Miss Ursula has taken her place. After 
 that one act of self-assertion, Urquhart scarcely 
 knows how to proceed ; for he is embarrassed by 
 the consciousness that Miss Ursula is watching him 
 keenly, and at the same time does not intend to 
 help him out in the least, by a judicious remark 
 or even a question. 
 
 Fortunately, Milicent comes to the rescue in her
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 105 
 
 downright, imperative way. It is absurd, in her 
 eyes, for two people to sit looking at each other, if 
 either of them has anything of importance to say. 
 So she remarks to Miss Ursula, by way of giving 
 a bit of information which might be of service, 
 
 " Mr. Urquhart has only come to repeat what I 
 told you last night, Aunt Ursula. I told him it 
 was quite unnecessary to trouble you ; but I fancy 
 it is customary and civil in him to ask your per 
 mission, or he would not take so much pains to 
 do so." 
 
 " You have told him that I have nothing to say 
 about your marrying, that I have neither the 
 power nor the wish to interfere with you?" Miss 
 Ursula asks Milicent, very much as if the young 
 girl were sponsor to Urquhart, and were making 
 the promises for him. 
 
 " Yes, I have told him, though perhaps not in 
 those precise words," answers Milicent, as coldly 
 and measuredly as Miss Ursula herself. 
 
 " Then I suppose you have also told him that 
 there has been no objection made to your marriage 
 by any one," says Miss Ursula, still speaking to 
 Milicent, and ignoring Urquhart. 
 
 " But that is not what I came to speak of," Ur 
 quhart interposes. It is decidedly awkward to be 
 left out of the conversation ; and besides, he has 
 come there with an intention, and is fully deter 
 mined to carry it out. 
 
 Miss Ursula looks at him when he speaks, but 
 makes no remark ; so he goes on : 
 
 " That your niece should take me on trust is not
 
 106 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 surprising. But it is only natural and proper that 
 you should wish to know something of me, be 
 fore you willingly trust me with Milicent s future 
 happiness. Unfortunately, I have nothing else to 
 bring you but a few letters from men whom, if you 
 have never known, at least you may have heard 
 of; and also some vouchers which will show you 
 that if Milicent outlives me there will be a suffi 
 cient provision for her comfort." 
 
 Urquhart has taken some half dozen letters from 
 his pocket, as he makes this speech ; and lays them 
 in a pile before Miss Ursula. But she brushes 
 them away with her hand, as she says, 
 
 " It is not at all worth while for me to take the 
 trouble to read these. How could I know any 
 thing of your correspondence ? " 
 
 " They are from prominent men in the States ; 
 those who are well known by many who have no 
 personal acquaintance with them," Urquhart be 
 gins. 
 
 " Fame travels slowly to these parts, and I never 
 read the papers," Miss Ursula says, bluntly. " As 
 for any future provision for Milicent, it is as well 
 to tell you that there is no form of poverty, except 
 absolute beggary, which she has not felt ; so that 
 she will not be hard to satisfy, and she can be 
 safely left to your own notions of justice, even if 
 they be ever so limited. I beg your pardon if I 
 seem uncivil," for Urquhart is scarlet with sup 
 pressed wrath, " but we set very little store on 
 social standing, in such a primitive place as this." 
 
 " But you can t object to reading my letters, for
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 107 
 
 Milicent s sake. I shall feel utterly uncomfort 
 able, if you know nothing whatever about me, and 
 take me entirely on trust." 
 
 " You will have to be taken on trust, after all," 
 replies Miss Ursula. " I have no doubt your let 
 ters are most satisfactory, especially as far as your 
 character goes. If not, you would not be so eager 
 to show them. But you are a young man yet, and 
 such certificates are to be believed only when we 
 are in ripe old age, or after we are dead. Many a 
 proud ship has a weak plank that is never discov 
 ered in a calm sea, nor until the storm comes and 
 it founders, to the surprise of many. If Milicent 
 is bent on marrying you, she must run her risk, as 
 every other woman does." 
 
 Urquhart begins to gather up his rejected corre 
 spondence, silently. He wishes he had taken Mil 
 icent s advice, and not insisted upon seeing Miss 
 Ursula. Yet how could he have foreseen that cer 
 tificates of respectability and wealth would be ut 
 terly scorned? 
 
 " Have you a mother ? " asks Miss Ursula ab 
 ruptly, as soon as Urquhart has put the unfortu 
 nate letters into his pocket again. 
 
 " No. I was so unhappy as to lose my mother 
 before I could remember her." 
 
 "Nor father?" 
 
 " He died the year after my mother." 
 
 " Have you no sisters nor brothers ? " 
 
 Urquhart shakes his head. 
 
 " No relatives who have a right to feel an inter 
 est in your marriage ? " she questions.
 
 108 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " I have no near relations. Some distant cous 
 ins, perhaps, who would be glad to claim the same 
 blood if I should die intestate," answers Urquhart, 
 shortly. 
 
 " Then no doubt you have some friend you 
 ought to consult." 
 
 " No. I had a guardian, but I have outgrown, 
 some years ago, all right of interference on his 
 part." 
 
 " Then of course, as we ask no reference on 
 your side, you will care for none on Milicent s. 
 Any of our neighbors can testify as to our being 
 poor. As the world uses the term, Milicent is well 
 born ; that is, her family was originally of good 
 standing. I have only my word to give you, how 
 ever. I have no correspondence to offer as proof 
 that what I say is true." 
 
 "I do not wish anything of the kind on Mili 
 cent s account. It is of Milicent herself only, that 
 I have thought," replies Urquhart. " I only de 
 sired to show you, through my letters, that I am not 
 a mere penniless adventurer. I am sure I ought to 
 feel flattered that you do not care to read them." 
 
 Miss Ursula has waited with undisguised impa 
 tience for him to finish. " If I might only give 
 you a caution, and were sure you would profit by 
 it, I should be glad," she says. " It is very simple, 
 only that you had better go away at once, and 
 have nothing to do with us. Milicent will get over 
 your desertion. She is young, and so must neces 
 sarily be shallow of feeling." 
 
 She does not wait to hear what answer he would
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 109 
 
 make, but leaves the room at once, without even 
 bidding him good-morning. Again Urquhart hears 
 her step on the bare floor of the hall ; then a door 
 slams, and there is a sudden cessation of all 
 sounds. 
 
 " Do you intend to follow Aunt Ursula s advice ? " 
 asks Milicent, from the window where she has 
 been standing, rather pale and very still, a mere 
 listener since she had made known to Miss Ursula 
 what was Urquhart s business with her. 
 
 " Not unless you wish to send me off," answers 
 Urquhart, smiling, and not looking at all anxious 
 nor unhappy. 
 
 " But perhaps you will go away? " 
 
 " Not until you are ready to go with me. Being 
 still somewhat young myself, I do not believe in 
 Miss Ursula s doctrine about the shallowness of 
 youthful feelings. Indeed, I flatter myself that 
 you would grieve over my going." 
 
 " I should certainly be disappointed." 
 
 " Only disappointed ? " asks Urquhart, hurt and 
 surprised by the cool admission, when he was in 
 search of something far warmer and more tender. 
 
 " What would you have more ? Does not the 
 word cover every evil in life ? Every failure must 
 be a disappointment. I can t think any other word 
 comparable to it in real sadness," says Milicent, 
 quietly. 
 
 " Then you shall never have to say it. I shall 
 take care that you have no disappointments in 
 life," Urquhart declares, more tenderly than 
 wisely.
 
 110 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 Milicent comes a step nearer. She clasps her 
 hands over the back of Miss Ursula s chair, that 
 stands between them. Her color has faded again, 
 the dimples are gone from about the rosy mouth, 
 and there is a troubled line upon her brow, as she 
 says slowly, 
 
 " Oh, are you sure ? " 
 
 " Sure, Milicent ? " 
 
 " That you want me me ? Just me ? and 
 that nothing else makes any difference ? " 
 
 Urquhart laughs ; there is a ring of triumph in 
 the sound. Is not she learning already the lesson 
 he promised yesterday to teach her ? 
 
 " Just you, Milicent. Nothing else makes any 
 difference." 
 
 He is coming to her : but she draws away, her 
 color returning again. 
 
 " One likes to be honest, and not take more than 
 one gives. I am afraid I am more of a gainer in 
 this engagement of ours, than you." 
 
 " Not if I gain your heart, Milicent." 
 
 " If either of us knew what it is worth ! " 
 
 " Its value may increase," says Urquhart, lightly. 
 " Love is said to bring out all the innate goodness 
 of the heart. Hence all lovers are for the time, at 
 least, religious." 
 
 " But I ve heard they are somewhat given to 
 idolatry. It must be pleasant to have a household 
 god, even though it is a forbidden thing," says 
 Milicent, laughing ; and then, thoughtfully, "Aunt 
 Ursula was wrong, then. She said I was making a 
 mere scrawl of my life."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. Ill 
 
 " I fancy she is not infallible. Milicent, I can 
 understand very well, now, why you were so anx 
 ious for me to promise not to bring you back here. 
 Miss Ursula, if I may be permitted to say so, must 
 be slightly uncomfortable to live with." 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Ursula is not half as bad as others," 
 returns Milicent, quickly. 
 
 " As others ? What others ? " 
 
 " Other things. I don t think you would under 
 stand, even if I told you," answers the girl, a little 
 sharply. 
 
 " Try me, and see if I cannot. Perhaps I am 
 not so stupid as you give me credit for being." 
 
 " Want of experience is not stupidity, though 
 sometimes it makes us very ignorant. I suppose 
 you know very little about poverty, which is a ter 
 rible bugbear of mine." 
 
 "I have no personal knowledge," admits Ur- 
 quhart regretfully, as if he would fain have, for 
 her sake. " I never knew the value of money be 
 fore now, when it will increase your happiness." 
 
 "Aunt Ursula says very differently," begins 
 Milicent. 
 
 " As I told you before, I don t think Miss Ur 
 sula infallible. But what does your sage aunt 
 say?" 
 
 " That money is of but little use in making one 
 happy, and sometimes even comfortable. She has 
 known a very rich person die of starvation." 
 
 " Then that very rich person must have been 
 bent on self-murder," says Urquhart, laughing. 
 
 " No, it was some disease where it was impossi-
 
 112 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 ble to swallow. Of course no one is exempt from, 
 illness." 
 
 " But, Milicent," asks Urquhart, a little anx 
 iously, "you are not altogether mercenary? You 
 like me a little for myself ? " 
 
 " A little, she answers, smiling. 
 
 " And if I were poor, you would still be willing 
 to marry me ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, certainly I would. That is," she 
 adds, still smiling, " if you would be sure to take 
 me away from here." 
 
 "You are not afraid to go with me, Milicent? " 
 
 " No, not in the least. Why should I be ? " she 
 asks in surprise. 
 
 " Because you know really so little of me. You 
 had better read these letters Miss Ursula scorned 
 so. They will tell you something, perhaps," he 
 urges. 
 
 "No, Aunt Ursula is right. The past can be 
 nothing to us, as we live in the present ; and your 
 letters can refer only to it." 
 
 " But my past is sure to color my future. To 
 tell the truth, Milicent, if I had a sister, I would 
 not permit her to marry a man she knows so little 
 of, as you of me, unless she allowed me to make 
 inquiries." 
 
 " If you had a sister, you would know by this 
 time that she would do just as she pleased," retorts 
 Milicent. 
 
 " I know you women are frightfully reckless. 
 Not that I have any intention of imposing upon 
 you," says Urquhart, smiling. " I am hugely flat-
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 113 
 
 tered by your trust in me. Nevertheless, I am 
 sure that if you had a father " 
 
 " What would my father do ? " 
 
 " He would read those letters Miss Ursula scorned 
 to touch." 
 
 " He would do nothing of the kind. We are 
 not suspicious in our small community. If a fish 
 erman has good luck, it is not polite to ask him 
 where he sets his nets." 
 
 " Because you suspect him of infringing on some 
 fishing-law, then. Be wary, Milicent. I never 
 knew a woman yet, who would not argue both sides 
 of a case, if you gave her sufficient time ; or, if 
 not, adroitly change sides," says Urquhart, laugh 
 ing. 
 
 " Therefore I 11 not argue at all, but flatly assert 
 that I intend to abide by Aunt Ursula s decision." 
 
 " The risk is on your own head, then, if you find 
 me sailing under false colors. I give you a fair 
 chance to inspect my papers, and you refuse." 
 
 " Let us go to the cliffs," proposes Milicent, 
 abruptly ending the subject. 
 
 " You should have let me propose the walk," he 
 says gravely ; and then, seeing her blush and the 
 angry flash of her eyes, he adds, laughing, "You 
 silly child ! as if the cliffs are not as much your re 
 ception-room as this parlor. If there is only wind 
 enough to sail, however, I shall like that better 
 than walking." 
 
 There is just enough to swell the leg-of-mutton 
 sail of the yacht s small boat, which to-day again is 
 beached in Green Cove. It is with a beating heart
 
 114 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 that Milicent lets Urquhart hand her to the stern, 
 and takes the tiller-ropes once more, while he 
 pushes out from shore, and springs in after her. 
 Is it a dream, that twilight hour yesterday ? Has 
 nothing at all happened only they are just sailing 
 out upon the water, and the sun is going down in 
 rose and lilac, as it did last evening ?
 
 VII. 
 
 " Glancing like a dragon-fly 
 In summer suit and silks of holiday." 
 
 THE summer is past ; September is blooming 
 about Stephen s cottage. The apples lie in rosy 
 heaps through the small orchard, the only one on 
 the island, in its sheltered nook behind the low 
 spruce-wood. In one corner, an ox is lumbering 
 through the unusual task of walking round and 
 round in a short dizzying circle, turning the cider- 
 press, which creaks with its load of fruit. The 
 earth is preparing for her long winter s rest ; and 
 Stephen, like Joseph of old, is hoarding her treas 
 ures in his barns, against the future. It gives him 
 little pleasure to know that Nature has been un- 
 woiitedly liberal in her gifts : for these are not now 
 for Milicent. Only last year she liked his cider 
 
 " Why is it that everything tastes good to a 
 boy ? " asks Urquhart, who is sitting on the gate, 
 watching the gyrations of the patient ox. He has 
 walked over to taste the new cider, which, from his 
 recollection of boyish enjoyment, he expected to be 
 delicious, and which proves to his more mature 
 taste insipid, as well as dubious as to wholesome- 
 ness. " I remember drinking quarts of just such 
 apple juice as this," he goes on, "and not only 
 thinking it fine, but I have lived to tell the tale :
 
 116 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 which in my judgment is the more surprising fact 
 of the two. If our palates were not cultivated, as 
 well as our minds, we would relapse into utter bar 
 barism." 
 
 "No doubt it was the mode of imbibing the 
 cider which made it fine," replies Stephen, amused 
 by Urquhart s disgust. " If you had a straw in 
 serted into the bung-hole of that barrel, you could 
 give the apple-juice a better test." 
 
 " Not unless it were forbidden. Stolen waters 
 are sweet. There is, a certain zest about secret 
 pleasures, if only cider through a straw." 
 
 Stephen looks annoyed, and says hastily, " That 
 is a dangerous doctrine." 
 
 " Perhaps so, unless we confine it to cider. I 
 rather think you have hit the truth, and it is the 
 quantity that makes it unpalatable. Indeed, I sus 
 pect most things are better taken through a straw. 
 It prevents a surfeit, and that has been my chief 
 evil thus far in life." 
 
 " Did you come here in an invalid state, in search 
 of an appetite ? " 
 
 " Metaphorically. But I did not expect to find 
 my cure by means so charming and delectable as 
 I have." 
 
 " You mean Milicent." 
 
 " Exactly. I had always the deepest pity for 
 Adam, as the one man in the world with only the 
 one woman for companion. Just fancy it ! At 
 least it was not my idea of paradise. But lately 
 I have come to quite a different conclusion, and 
 think his love-making must have been amply suf-
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 117 
 
 ficient for his happiness, especially if his Eve had 
 as many moods as my Eve s, which I occasionally 
 think adequate to half a dozen of her sex." 
 
 " I am not so sure you are a fit judge of the 
 peculiarities of our first father s position," says 
 Stephen, pushing aside, a little viciously, a stone he 
 has been turning over with his foot. It gives him 
 a sharp pain to hear Urquhart discuss Milicent. 
 " You like fellowship with men so much, that you 
 seek the fishermen when I am not to be found," he 
 adds. 
 
 " But Adam could always get at his Eve, as 
 there was certainly no Aunt Ursula in Eden to 
 look forbidding, and make him feel awkwardly in 
 the way. You cannot tell," continues Urquhart, 
 shifting his seat somewhat in search of comfort on 
 the rail, " you cannot tell, because you have 
 never tried it, what a different sensation it is to 
 make love on the bosom of the ocean under the 
 blue sky, or in the pauses of a whirling dance or 
 the crush of an overheated ball-room. I did not 
 know I love you could take such varied meaning 
 from varied surroundings." 
 
 " Do you mean you have ever said that before 
 before you came here ? " asks Stephen, finding 
 sudden difficulty in naming the familiar name 
 " Milicent." 
 
 " Many dozens of times. Ever since I left off 
 petticoats I have had a Dulcinea. I do not think 
 Milicent need be jealous : for such a mild type of 
 the disease was no guard against my taking it in 
 its most violent form."
 
 118 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 It is sacrilege, in Stephen s opinion, for Milicent 
 to be one of many loves. With him she was his 
 first ; and she will, he is very sure, be his last. 
 Urquhart guesses something of his thoughts, for 
 he says, 
 
 " I believe it is a well-ascertained fact that first 
 loves come to naught. I am convinced, Ferguson, 
 that one of the genuine Flora MacFlimseys would 
 fascinate you, looking at her with your honest, 
 rural eyes, as my little fisher-maiden has bewitched 
 me. It is novelty and great extremes that touch 
 the fancy." 
 
 " I could not possibly admire a woman of the 
 world," says Stephen, decidedly. 
 
 "Nor did I incline to rusticity a few months 
 ago : and now I wonder at my want of taste. De 
 pend upon it, a handsomely dressed woman, with 
 pleasant, easy manners, would make a vast impres 
 sion upon you ; and they are to be found in our 
 cities by hundreds. Whereas, such a gem as Mili 
 cent " 
 
 " I have been too long used to Nature and her 
 ways, to admire fine dress and fine manners," 
 breaks in Stephen, with a little asperity, thinking 
 of Milicent in her blue cotton dress. 
 
 " It is a fact that they are at variance, na 
 ture and millinery, I mean. But don t taste cider 
 through a straw, and compare it to manufactured 
 wine," says Urquhart, coolly ; adding somewhat 
 abruptly, " Come with me to the beach, Ferguson. 
 That ox can keep on waltzing without your watch 
 ing, and I want your opinion about something."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 119 
 
 Urquhart gets down from his perch as he speaks, 
 remarking that a sofa is a more comfortable seat 
 than a fence-rail ; another hallucination of his boy 
 hood forever disposed of. And Stephen, suppos 
 ing that the something to be the subject of consul 
 tation is the yacht lying at anchor in the harbor, 
 leaves the cider-making in charge of a hand, and 
 goes with Urquhart. 
 
 Some weeks before, Urquhart had sent to a lady 
 friend for a box of dresses and millinery, dainty 
 things for a lady s toilette. He wrote as if the 
 articles were a commission he had undertaken: 
 whether for a trousseau was not very plain. Alto 
 gether, Urquhart s was a very diplomatic note, 
 prodigiously inclined to mislead ; certainly giving 
 no hint that the pretty things were meant for a 
 gift, which he very much hoped Milicent would see 
 no impropriety in receiving. Indeed, he was not 
 nearly as uneasy upon that score, as upon the risk 
 he ran in giving such general directions where par 
 ticular ones were needed. Urquhart was very 
 proud of Milicent s beauty. He was a judge of 
 good style, he was sure, and understood something 
 of the secrets of the becoming. He had a great 
 desire to see Milicent as she would look as his 
 wife ; indeed, as his betrothed, he would have 
 liked her to dress better than the girls in the vil 
 lage. 
 
 When he knew the important box was well on 
 its way, he ventured to broach the subject to Mil 
 icent ; and, to his great relief, she only treated it 
 merely as an unnecessary bit of generosity on his
 
 120 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 part, and made no demur about accepting it. So 
 now it had arrived, and had been taken to the 
 house, and even smuggled up-stairs to Milicent s 
 room without Miss Ursula s suspecting it ; and 
 Milicent has promised Urquhart to meet him on 
 the cliffs in one of the new dresses. This is what 
 he wishes Stephen to see. 
 
 It is a pity Urquhart could not have watched 
 the child s delight as she unpacked the box, hastily 
 emptying it of its contents, the name and use of 
 much of which she could not even guess. The 
 bed, the chairs, the floor, were strewn with the 
 prettinesses which have an effect so enchanting 
 upon Eve s daughters. Milicent, whose experi 
 ence was confined to the few shelves of Mrs. 
 Feather stone s small shop, had had no idea such 
 perfect shades and colors were to be found out of 
 the sky, Nature s palette, where she is wont to 
 experiment in mixing hues. 
 
 The box was soon emptied ; though not until 
 Milicent had grown a little weary of admiring and 
 pondering the use of much of her new finery. Then 
 came the reaction : she began to feel strangely sad 
 and oppressed. A great dread overwhelmed her, 
 a dread of the big world, and of what might be re 
 quired of her in it. The thought might never have 
 occurred to her, if she had not suddenly found her 
 self in possession of so much of the world s pomps. 
 Such fine dresses must of necessity belong to a 
 fine lady ; and Milicent had never given a thought 
 to that phase of the new life before her. Certainly 
 it had no part in her conception of enjoyment.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 121 
 
 To seek new scenes and sights, with new adven 
 tures by the way; to sail in the Undine on un 
 known waters ; to row on foreign bays, instead of 
 on the only two she knew, Urquhart of course 
 bearing her company 
 
 Suddenly a low sunbeam casts itself into her lap, 
 bringing opal tints out of the silk that lies across 
 it. Milicent looks up quickly : to see through her 
 western window that the sun is setting. 
 
 Urquhart is already on the cliffs, waiting for 
 her. 
 
 She rises hastily, and begins to dress. She must 
 not be so late that he might lose patience and 
 come in search of her. She has her own reasons 
 for discouraging his visits after sunset. Perhaps 
 Miss Ursula disapproves ? or the miserable lamp 
 may be an objection ? Girls have whims and 
 false shames ; and Milicent has her full share of 
 both. 
 
 She chooses the simplest dress in her new collec 
 tion, for her trial-toilette, a silk the color of a 
 dove s wing, and pins a knot of poppy-colored 
 ribbons amongst the lace at the throat, to give 
 more effect to the quiet shade. It is of the har 
 monizing of the colors she is thinking : she does 
 not stop to look at the effect upon her face in the 
 glass. It takes her no longer to dress in the rus 
 tling silk than in her blue cotton, and she does 
 not stop to try on any of the pretty ornaments 
 strewn over the small dressing-table. Her next 
 action is peculiar. She tilts her looking-glass 
 no larger than a common-sized window - pane
 
 122 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 against the wall, setting it on the floor ; and after a 
 few trials to get at the precise angle of vision, she 
 turns her back to the glass, keeping her head well 
 turned to see behind her. It is an uncomfortable 
 as well as a disappointing effort, to catch sight 
 of her first train. Backward and forward goes 
 Milicent, striving to catch in her bit of mirror the 
 soft sweep of the silken folds. She might have 
 been taken for a child playing lady, as she passes 
 up and down the great bare room, perfectly ab 
 sorbed in the unwonted splendors of her train. 
 
 Suddenly she remembers that Urquhart is wait 
 ing for her. She softly opens the door of her 
 room, and looks out into the hall. There is no one 
 to be seen or heard on that story. She gives a 
 quick, anxious glance at the wonderful amount of 
 fine things scattered over the whole room. There 
 is no time to gather them up, and no hope in the 
 world of getting them into the small box from 
 which they were unpacked. The only hope is that 
 Miss Ursula will stay down-stairs : if she should 
 make an unwonted visit to her niece s chamber, 
 Milicent cannot help smiling at the astounding 
 effect all these pretty pomps and vanities would 
 have upon unsuspecting Miss Ursula. But she 
 must trust to luck ; so, drawing her skirts tightly 
 about her, that the silk shall make no tell-tale 
 rustle over the bare boards, Milicent runs quickly 
 down-stairs, across the hall, and lets herself out at 
 the front door. 
 
 She is fortunate also in meeting no one on her 
 way to the cliffs. Once there, she will not fear
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 123 
 
 being seen by any of the village people ; it is the 
 general tea-hour, and nothing less than a strange 
 sail in the offing would bring any one out-of-doors. 
 Urquhart is waiting for her, and yes, she is very 
 sure, and a little ashamed ; for she had not looked 
 for Stephen. 
 
 The two men are walking up and down a great 
 flat octagon of a rock, as if pacing a fisherman s 
 quarter-deck, which is said to measure two paces 
 and a turn : and their backs are toward Milicent 
 as she runs over the rocks to them, the rustle of 
 her silk lighter than the little rushing eddies round 
 the pools at their feet. 
 
 Milicent feels very much as if she were on some 
 madcap masquerade in her new finery, and won 
 ders if she will be easily recognized ? She did in 
 tend to play her part bravely, and to be received 
 as a fine lady should be. But she begins to be 
 hot and uncomfortable and awkward, and blames 
 her new dress for the unwonted sensation. So 
 when the two men turn in their walk, she is stand 
 ing just before them, blushing as red as her rib 
 bons, and yet looking at them with eyes eager to 
 read approval in theirs. 
 
 She ought to be satisfied ; for it is plainly to be 
 seen that, though both the men are taken by sur 
 prise, they like the pretty vision. 
 
 But on Stephen s face the look of wondering 
 admiration dies out as quickly as it came ; and for 
 the first time in her life Milicent feels she has lost 
 his sympathy. 
 
 The look she takes for apathy is the blank cer-
 
 124 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 tainty that he has lost his little friend as well as 
 sweetheart, in the fine lady Urquhart would fain 
 make her. 
 
 But Urquhart s eyes show neither apathy nor a 
 sense of loss : but rather the greatest satisfaction. 
 Before him stands Milicent just as she will be 
 when she is his wife. He has often painted a 
 mental picture of her arrayed as he is accustomed 
 to see fair women ; but now he has to confess his 
 brightest dreams failed utterly in doing her jus 
 tice. 
 
 In his great delight, he has caught both her 
 hands, and draws her to him. " Stephen, is she 
 not beautiful ? Will not all the world wonder 
 where I got my bonny bride, when I show her ? " 
 
 " You will have to say you fished me out of the 
 sea," she puts in, laughing. " I warn you, I do 
 not intend to admit that I came from a small fish 
 ing-village of an island not to be found on a map 
 of respectable size." 
 
 " Of course only the sea-foam could have made 
 our Venus. Stephen," continues Urquhart, eager 
 for sympathy in his rapture, " where are all your 
 theories that nature only is to be admired, when 
 you see what Paris millinery has done for Mili 
 cent?" 
 
 She turns again to Stephen, as Urquhart speaks. 
 
 " You do not like it. You may as well say so 
 in plain words, as look it," she says, with a little 
 quaver of disappointment in her voice. "You 
 would rather see me a fisher-girl, with a basket on 
 my head, than dressed like a lady."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 125 
 
 " I never saw you in silk before. It is very 
 pretty," says Stephen, gently touching the dress. 
 
 " And you will never see her in anything else 
 hereafter," adds Urquhart, curtly. "No matter, 
 Milicent ; he knows nothing about it. I do, and 
 I consider you charming." 
 
 " Of course you like me in the dress, as you 
 bought it for me," returns Milicent, with what 
 Urquhart thinks unnecessary frankness. "But 
 Stephen evidently does not admire it." 
 
 " Hang Stephen ! What is it to him ? " 
 
 " You are far too fine, Milly," says Stephen, 
 rallying a little under Urquhart s evident wrath. 
 " To my thinking, your cotton dress suits the cliffs 
 and the sea. I shall be afraid to move an oar 
 when we are boating, for fear of splashing you 
 with salt water." 
 
 " I shall not wear the dress boating," replies 
 Milicent, reassuringly. 
 
 " We will not have our Cinderella going back to 
 her ash-heap and old gowns," Urquhart interposes. 
 
 " I did not mean to be unkind, Milly," says 
 Stephen, feeling much more the girl s hurt face 
 than Urquhart s heat. " The dress no doubt is 
 very grand, and you do look pretty in it. But I 
 am used to a different Milicent, and the first 
 sight of you made me feel you had gotten far 
 away from me. You have, you know; I should 
 be used to the knowledge by this time. You are 
 not going on the water, you say ; so you will not 
 need me now, and I am wanted at home." 
 
 Stephen turns to go, and neither Milicent nor
 
 126 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 Urquhart asks him to stay. If he is hurt, he does 
 not show it, but hurries away across the fields. 
 
 " Ferguson is decidedly impertinent," says Ur 
 quhart, as soon as Stephen is out of hearing. 
 
 "Because he thinks differently from us?" asks 
 Milicent, with a slight shrug of her shoulders. 
 
 " He has a right to differ " - Urquhart is some 
 what mollified by her use of the pronoun "if 
 he honestly does so : which in this case I do not 
 believe. But I cannot see why he should criticise 
 what you wear." 
 
 " Only if people will ask questions, they natu 
 rally expect answers," suggests Milicent. 
 
 " Which is unfortunate, if the answer conveys 
 an opinion utterly worthless. Fancy Ferguson 
 an oracle of fashion ! I confess I am glad your 
 future life will be far removed from his influence, 
 or he might be using it in a more important mat 
 ter than the style of your dress. You have con 
 tracted a habit of turning to him for approval: 
 when you are separated, I have an humble hope 
 that in time you will regard my opinion as some 
 thing worth." 
 
 Urquhart speaks very coolly and decidedly, with 
 the evident intention of making an immense im 
 pression. 
 
 " That will depend on the opinions themselves," 
 answers the girl, a mischievous dimple coming and 
 going about the demure mouth. "No one can 
 judge of the best without naturally making a 
 comparison." 
 
 " Of course the comparison must be with Fergu-
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 127 
 
 son s opinion. I am greatly obliged to you for 
 giving me the opportunity to ask what might have 
 seemed an impertinence at another time : why you 
 prefer me to Stephen ? He has told me you could 
 have been mistress of the cottage if you had 
 chosen." 
 
 " Did he tell you that ? " She has dropped her 
 silken train on the rocks, forgetting the risk the 
 color runs from contact with salt water ; and 
 stands looking after Stephen as he crosses the 
 slope against the sunset. " Only an angel would 
 do for Stephen. I am not half good enough for 
 him," she says, after a moment of silence ; and 
 there are tears in the girl s eyes as she speaks. 
 
 " And I must put up with a woman ! After all, 
 I am rather glad I am not so superlatively good 
 that I must needs have an angel for my wife ; for, 
 to tell the honest truth, I should not know what to 
 do with her," says Urquhart, restored to his ac 
 customed good-humor. 
 
 " Of course not, for how could you lecture an 
 angel ? and I think you like to do that occasion 
 ally. Besides, an angel is above caring for your 
 pretty dresses and gewgaws, all of which I admire 
 so much. Only it was frightfully extravagant in 
 you to be so lavish with your pretty things," says 
 Milicent, smilingly. 
 
 " And you liked them all ? " he asks, pleased 
 with her approval. " I was afraid Ferguson had 
 set you against them. But you must not permit 
 him to, for they are vastly becoming to you." 
 
 It is later than usual when Milicent conies home
 
 128 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 this evening. Miss Ursula had complained of 
 headache, and had gone to bed early. Milicent 
 gropes her way through the dark hall to the 
 kitchen ; for though the moon is up, she needs the 
 unwonted luxury of a lamp, as her room was left 
 in confusion. Miss Ursula never makes any pro 
 vision for light when Nature gives the moon, any 
 more than when she gives the sun. 
 
 Thomas does not seem to regard the rules of the 
 house ; for he has the only lamp, and is busy doing 
 something to his fishing-rods by the light of it. 
 Fortunately, there is a candle to be found in the 
 closet, and no keys are used in Miss Ursula s 
 housekeeping; so Milicent goes softly across the 
 great kitchen, in the hope of not disturbing 
 Thomas. She forgets her dress of silk is making 
 a rustle, with her unwonted train. 
 
 " Come here, Milicent," Thomas says quite sud 
 denly. " Let me look at you." 
 
 She comes forward, slowly, reluctantly, with the 
 unlighted candle in her hand, and stands before 
 him. Thomas takes the candle, lights it, and 
 coolly surveys her with its feeble aid ; lifting it 
 above her head, or lowering its tiny flame, to throw 
 as much light as possible on her pretty figure. 
 
 Milicent stands quite still, never moving a mus 
 cle under this scrutiny of his, though the hot blood 
 that surges scarlet to her temples tells that she re 
 sents it. 
 
 " Where did my bonny bird get her fine feath 
 ers ? " asks Thomas at length. " Not from Mother 
 Featherstone s shop, I dare swear."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 129 
 
 " Mr. Urquhart has sent me a whole box of 
 them," says Milicent, in a vain attempt to answer 
 indifferently. 
 
 " So he has begun to dress you, has he ? " 
 Thomas s bronzed face is as flushed as her own, 
 and he puts the candle down on the table with an 
 unsteady hand. " Most men wait until they are 
 married, for that ; and even then they like it so 
 little, that the bride manages to have clothes 
 enough to take her through the honeymoon." 
 
 " Does she ? " asks Milicent, vainly trying to 
 keep a sob out of her voice. " I wonder where my 
 store of clothes would come from ? " 
 
 " Not from your Aunt Ursula s purse, certain 
 ly," answers Thomas, who has recovered his usual 
 coolness. " She is not in favor of this new choice 
 of yours. Women are always partisans, and she 
 is all for Stephen. But I say to her, if the bird 
 wants to fly, it is silly to cut her wings ; for she 
 will be sure to think what you call needful re 
 straint is persecution. Yet now I must warn you : 
 if you wish your aunt to keep quiet, you must 
 not turn fine lady until you really are one, and 
 get miles away from here." 
 
 "I do not see why Aunt Ursula will not let 
 me wear my pretty dresses, as I have them," says 
 Milicent, looking down on the shimmering silk. 
 " As I am a lady, why should she object to my 
 dressing as one, if it costs her nothing ? " 
 
 " Dresses ! The fellow is at least liberal. By 
 all means, wear the pretty things, for they are 
 vastly becoming. But I may as well tell you that
 
 130 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 if Urquhart had considered you his equal in the 
 social scale, he would never have presumed to give 
 you them." 
 
 An utter silence follows this remark ; not even 
 a fold of the silk dress rustles. 
 
 Thomas must have been very sure of the effect 
 of his advice ; for he adds, " Keep to the cotton 
 dress, Milicent. There is nothing certain in this 
 life, they say, except death and taxes ; and if Ur 
 quhart chooses to jilt you, it will be awkward to 
 doff the silks and go back to cheap prints. In 
 deed, if I were you, I would keep one of my cot 
 ton dresses, as King Cophetua s beggar-maiden 
 might have kept her rags : a rod to hold over your 
 lord s head if he does not array you finely enough. 
 He would not like his so-called friends to see you 
 in the gown he wooed you in." 
 
 " He might use it as a rod over my head, unless 
 he found a more effectual one," says Milicent, 
 quickly. 
 
 " So he might ; and if he is wise, he 11 try to find 
 something to keep you humble. One might think 
 these dresses were meant for just such a lesson, if 
 he knew how proud you are. But evidently he has 
 not a suspicion." 
 
 " How could he, when I am so ignorant, I don t 
 even know when to be proud ? " says Milicent, with 
 tears in her eyes. 
 
 " He 11 not put that down to a personal defect : 
 only to your education. There, don t cry about 
 it. There is no harm done, only you 11 be wise if 
 you don t wear the things."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 131 
 
 He turns back to his fishing-rods, as if they were 
 really of more importance than Milicent ; and does 
 not speak to her again, though she lingers awhile 
 before she goes up-stairs. 
 
 She has to clear a place on the poor chest of 
 drawers for her lamp ; and then takes up the 
 dresses from the chairs and bed, not to observe and 
 admire them, but to fold and put them back into 
 the box. At first she folds them carefully; but 
 she soon grows impatient of the work, and sweeps 
 them ruthlessly, all in a mass, into the box. She 
 has some trouble in pressing the lid down, and she 
 would willingly have driven in the nails, but for 
 the noise in what is the middle of Miss Ursula s 
 night. 
 
 Not that Milicent is in the least dread of her 
 aunt ; but that the wound to her pride is too deep 
 for her to care to lay it bare.
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Sound the deep waters 
 
 Who shall sound that deep ? " 
 
 " I THOUGHT you would have worn some of your 
 pretty things, if only to please me," remonstrates 
 Urquhart, when the next day he comes over to the 
 house, and Milice*nt meets him in her usual dress. 
 
 " Why should I ? " she asks, with a shrug. 
 
 " I gave a reason. To please me." 
 
 " A man should be above such paltry pleasures," 
 she says, lightly. 
 
 " Above being pleased by seeing you look pretty ? 
 Yet I acknowledge there is something I would ad 
 mire in you, besides your beauty. May I venture 
 to tell you what it is ? " 
 
 " If you choose," she answers with a little yawn : 
 which, however, her tone belies. 
 
 " I would admire, and also be grateful for, a lit 
 tle yielding to a request of mine." 
 
 Milicent looks at him rather steadily. " Then 
 you must let me rely on your never urging me to 
 do what you would not approve in others." 
 
 " Do you think I would urge you to do what I 
 disapprove of ? " interrupts Urquhart, hotly. 
 
 " That depends upon whether you approve of yes 
 terday s gift to me, whether it is one you would 
 have offered to any other girl of your acquaintance.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 133 
 
 Yet why should we quarrel over a box of milli 
 nery ? " she adds, with a contempt for his expen 
 sive present, in which Urquhart rejoices, as in 
 many more of her small ignorances. Just now 
 he is uncomfortably in fear lest she should press 
 home the question whether he would have given 
 his heap of millinery to any of his city friends ; 
 and he is only too glad to find the very low esti 
 mate she puts upon it too small for a discussion. 
 
 " Why, indeed, should we quarrel over a trifle ? " 
 he says, with alacrity. 
 
 " I showed you last evening," Milicent goes on, 
 not heeding his cheerful interruption, " how I shall 
 look when I am dressed as girls in my position 
 usually are ; and you seemed satisfied." 
 
 " That is too feeble a word. I was charmed." 
 
 " I will keep to my poor gowns while I am on 
 the island, where I am as out of place in the others 
 as a sailor in longshore toggery," she says with a 
 smile. " Your pretty things can wait until until 
 I am married. Till then, as Stephen wisely said, 
 it would be foolish to tramp about here, decked 
 out as a fine lady, foolish and inconvenient. 
 Whereas, in this dress " 
 
 " In this dress you have no excuse to urge why 
 you shall not go out sailing with me now." 
 
 For he knows very well Milicent will find no ex 
 cuse in the southeasterly wind, which might have 
 dismayed some fair yachtswomen he had sailed away 
 from at Grand Manan ; but which only brings the 
 sea-sparkle into this girl s eyes, and the wild-rose 
 color to her cheeks.
 
 134 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 As they cruise about, outside the harbor, they 
 can see how the wind drives the breakers in, against 
 the outgoing tide, which, with its rapid rush through 
 Grand Passage, repels them in long, heaving bil 
 lows, that have not time to break until they are 
 pushed back beyond the black point of Peter s Isl 
 and : when they join again, in white and angry 
 ranks, that rush on to the narrow pass, to be again 
 repulsed. On the Long Island shore is the same 
 rush : the breakers, like huge white-maned sea- 
 things, chasing each other into the cleft point. 
 
 Then conies the pause, so brief here, a breathing- 
 space between the falling and the rising tide. The 
 steady surge of the tide-rip in its long white line 
 shows when it turns ; and Milicent immediately 
 proposes to pass into the harbor, and to sail the 
 whole length of the village, past the high knoll 
 which looks down on the white street and over the 
 Bay of Fundy. " You said you had not been up 
 there, but in a fog ; and now it is so clear, we 11 
 have the best view of the setting sun from there." 
 
 But who can count upon a sunset, even when the 
 first red tints are deepening in the west ? 
 
 Or who can count upon an hour s sentimental 
 journey with Milicent ? 
 
 " Look, there is a trawler coming in, and it not 
 yet Saturday ! " she cries, as they skim into the 
 passage. " See the two boats floating after her. 
 It is old Angus no, but some one from Freeport 
 yonder in the cove. See, she is sailing over there. 
 Very well : I don t know why old Angus should 
 have had such luck again ; it is n t long since he
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 135 
 
 came in before the week was up, with such a fare 
 of cod, a hundred and fifty thousand pounds 
 aboard his schooner ! " 
 
 " Why, what a little fisher-maiden is lost to the 
 island when the Undine carries you away ! I dare 
 say, now, you understand this trawling?" 
 
 She nods. " A hook on every yard or so of line, 
 sunk straight, and anchored at each end " 
 
 " And know the whole tribe of cold-blood rela 
 tions by sight, cod, hake, haddock, pollock ; 
 which of them was marked by her grimy finger 
 tips, when they slipped out of old Dame Nature s 
 hand?" 
 
 She nods again. " If you should have spent all 
 your substance on traveling, and should have to 
 turn fisherman in earnest, only not here," she 
 interrupts herself quickly ; "in in the Medi 
 terranean, for instance Do they have coddies 
 there ? " 
 
 She leans forward, laughing ; then with a sharp 
 cry,- 
 
 " Oh, look, look ! The child ! He is caught in 
 the tide-rip he will certainly be drowned ! " 
 
 The shifting of the sail just there shows them 
 both what it had hidden : a crazy boat with a 
 small, fair-haired boy in it ; far out in the Passage, 
 caught in the swirling eddies which look so smooth 
 and glassy, and which are so treacherous. 
 
 It is the hour when the tide is running in 
 through this strait between St. Mary s Bay and 
 Fundy. Many a stout fisherman, ignorant of the 
 currents, and entangled in them just here, might
 
 136 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 lose heart. But the child, unconscious of the per 
 ilous net spread for him in those smoothly circling 
 lines, is calmly paddling about ; and only when his 
 oar is wrenched out of his small brown hands, by 
 the invisible power, he gives a cry, more of aston 
 ishment than fear. It rings out over the water, 
 and blanches Milicent s white face yet more. 
 
 At her quick gasp, Urquhart turns to look at 
 her, for an instant removing his eyes from the 
 boat yonder. * 
 
 What is it her eyes say to him ? 
 
 It is in answer to them that Urquhart, his lips 
 set, and a half -resentful fire in his glance, seizes 
 the tiller-ropes out of her cold hands, and runs the 
 boat into a pool in the ledge. Without a word, he 
 lifts her out upon the rock ; and before she knows 
 what he would do, he has pushed off again into the 
 stream, he has crowded on all sail, and is flying 
 before the wind into that tangled net, winding now 
 closer and closer about the helpless boy. 
 
 One moment Milicent stands there, the tide glid 
 ing by her so fast that these very rocks where Ur 
 quhart has left her seem to heave. The next mo 
 ment she has sunk on her knees, unconscious of 
 movement, though her trembling limbs refuse to 
 support her ; unconscious of prayer, though her 
 hands are clasped before her ; unconscious of self, 
 and only gazing out, with all her soul in her eyes, 
 to those two boats, the one caught in the tide- 
 rip s circling sweep, the other skimming towards 
 it, with the wind in the full sail. 
 
 One moment : then she brushes her hand hastily
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 137 
 
 across her eyes. What blurs them so that she sees 
 not two boats, but only one ? 
 
 Two ? Yes ; the other upturned, drifting, its 
 white wing spread drenched and helpless in the 
 water. 
 
 There is a cry, a shout from land. The girl, 
 her whole soul in her straining eyes that never 
 move from yonder point upon the waters (though 
 she can see nothing but two boats that float keel 
 upward now), the girl hears nothing consciously: 
 knows nothing, till across that blue expanse there 
 shoots a dory, with a man bent to the oars. 
 
 Her white lips part then. " Stephen ! O Ste 
 phen !" and then it is easy to say, "O God.! 
 O God ! " 
 
 For human help makes us believe in God s. 
 
 If Stephen lifts up his head to look at her, she 
 does not know. All she knows is that he can 
 thrid that net of waters as none other can : and 
 that, a moment more, and he has lifted a limp 
 and dripping burden into his boat. 
 
 And now it plies about there to and fro, to 
 and fro. Is any one entangled in the rigging of 
 the overturned sail-boat ? 
 
 A dimness as of thick gray mist closes round 
 Milicent. 
 
 She has not swooned away; but somehow she 
 knows nothing, until there is a step upon the rock, 
 and Stephen stands before her. 
 
 She does not know she is still kneeling ; she 
 does not move, but looks up half blindly into 
 Stephen s face.
 
 138 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 It is very pale and grave, as he lifts her to her 
 feet. 
 
 " Come away, Milly. The worst is over. He 
 will live." 
 
 "He will live" - 
 
 " They have brought him to, at last. He opened 
 his eyes just as I came away." 
 
 She stands trembling, clinging to his arm with 
 both her hands ; but his tidings have brought back 
 a tinge of color to her face. Or is it the reflection 
 of the sunset s lingering glow, that reddens the 
 brown rocks where she stands, and goes rippling 
 with the treacherous currents over Grand Passage? 
 
 Stephen, looking down into her face, draws a 
 hard breath. So ! all her thought is for this Ur- 
 quhart, this stranger 
 
 " I knew you would save him," she says, softly. 
 " You would save him, if any one could. They 
 have brought him to and he has asked forme?" 
 
 " No that is I do not think he has had time 
 to understand." 
 
 " But you will take me to him," she says, clasp 
 ing her hands over his arm. And then, the light 
 coming into her eyes and the color with a rush 
 into her upturned face : " It was a brave thing 
 and a noble, Stephen to fling away his life, to 
 save the child s. You will take me to him, and let 
 me tell him so ? " 
 
 Stephen is silent an instant. Milicent, sud 
 denly looking up questioningly into his grave face, 
 remembers, with a pang. Has she hurt Stephen, 
 with her eagerness ?
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 139 
 
 But he is saying, 
 
 " Urquhart is at Mrs. Featherstone s, Milly." 
 
 " Yes. Well, that is quite near." 
 
 " And the boy was Mrs. Featherstone s." 
 
 "Dickon? Naughty little Dickon, who never 
 will keep out of mischief ! Poor little fellow, no 
 doubt he has learned a lesson now." 
 
 " A lesson he will need never more, Milly. 
 Come, dear, you had best let me take you home 
 now. Urquhart will be able to follow, after a 
 time." 
 
 But the girl is looking at him with wide, fright 
 ened eyes. 
 
 " Never more, Stephen ? He he is dead ? " 
 And then, with a piteous cry, " Oh, and I let him 
 almost throw away his life for nothing, for noth 
 ing ! Let me go to him, Stephen, let me go to 
 him ! " 
 
 Stephen hesitates. The drowned boy lies in the 
 room through which Milly must pass to reach 
 Urquhart, Milly, who has known so little of 
 death, and yet has a dread, a shrinking from it, 
 beyond words. 
 
 She seems to divine what is passing through his 
 mind. She looks up at him with a ghost of a 
 smile. " The child he would have plied to save," 
 she says softly. " Oh, Stephen, he must be so sorry, 
 so sorry ! Poor little Dickon ! You will take me 
 to see him ? " 
 
 The short walk to the cottage on the hillside 
 is in silence. Stephen feels the thrill that runs 
 through Milicent, as she rests her hand more
 
 140 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 heavily on his arm when they near the gate, and 
 see the neighbors clustered about it. Most of the 
 men are away at the fishing ; but the women are 
 out, in eager knots, that take Stephen s memory 
 back to the day when the boats came in after the 
 storm, and brought the Undine with them. Is 
 Milicent thinking of that, too ? 
 
 He cannot tell : she is hurrying along, with her 
 eyes fixed on the cottage in a straining sort of 
 way, as if seeing nothing nearer. Once or twice 
 her foot has slipped on the pebbled path between 
 the fish-flakes, as if she might have fallen if he 
 had not led her on. One woman would have 
 stopped her for a bit of whispered gossip over 
 poor Widow Featherstone s sad loss, and the brave 
 young gentleman ; but Stephen puts her quietly 
 aside, and leads the girl up the two or three low 
 front steps. 
 
 The cottage stands, like its neighbors, with its 
 gable to the street. One large bow-window is all 
 ablaze with flowering geraniums ; the other, on the 
 opposite side of the front door, is set out with lol 
 lipops to tempt the village children ; with a roll or 
 two of gay prints ; a scarlet japanned tea-chest ; a 
 slanting box of sugars ; a knot of ribbons and ar 
 tificial roses overhanging all, from some sort of an 
 erection in the midst. But it is not into this, 
 the village shop (successful rival of the Boston 
 trader s on the pier opposite), but into the cor 
 responding room across the box - passage, that 
 Stephen is now leading Milicent. He would fain 
 have taken her in some other way ; but the room
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 141 
 
 where they have laid Urquhart has no entrance 
 save through this. 
 
 At first Milicent is passing through blindly, as 
 it were, suffering Stephen to guide her, and only 
 looking down blankly on the diamond-pattern of 
 the strip of home-made carpet she is treading. 
 Then suddenly she glances up, and her shrinking 
 eyes take in the whole scene. 
 
 The ruddy afternoon glow fills the room : there 
 are no shutters to exclude it jealously from the 
 house of mourning. It creeps in at the side-win 
 dow, through the screen of gay geraniums, and 
 flits cheerily about, until it reaches a table drawn 
 out from the wall, a table where lies something, 
 long, and still, and stiff, beneath the straight white 
 folds of a sheet. 
 
 The mother is seated on the farther side of it. 
 She does not heed the tearful women round her ; 
 she does not see Milicent, who has withdrawn her 
 hand from Stephen s arm, and stops short, startled 
 and trembling. 
 
 o 
 
 The mother is not trembling. The child might 
 have been asleep, for all the sign she gives. She 
 sits there as she might have sat beside his crib, 
 not so many years ago, smoothing the sheet slowly 
 and slowly over the still form, as she might have 
 smoothed the coverlet above her slumbering little 
 one. But she is not looking at it. With stony 
 blue eyes, and round, dazed face, out of which the 
 ruddy bloom has fled, she is staring straight across 
 the dead child s body, to the opposite wall : to the 
 picture of the late Captain Feathers tone s tomb.
 
 142 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 To Milicent, that picture, with its weeping-wil 
 low and its drooping mourner, might be merely a 
 dismal thing to shiver over ; as to Urquhart, it has 
 been something quaint, for a kindly laugh. But 
 Mrs. Featherstone must find something more than 
 just a work of art to be proud of : for her lips are 
 moving, though no sound conies from them. 
 
 The ink of the lines written on the imaginary 
 tombstone of the man who lies under the sea is 
 not yet brown with time ; some one standing on 
 that side of the room, and observing the direction 
 of Mrs. Featherstone s eyes, reads them off, in a 
 high-pitched tone of exhortation : 
 
 "Death reaps the field, 
 
 And fishes the sea, 
 
 And carries from both 
 
 To the Far Countrie : 
 
 For the Lord of the sea and the land to keep. 
 Till the Trump wake the sea and the land from sleep." 
 
 But the mother gives no token that she hears ; 
 and one of the women says, in a troubled way, 
 " Pity the neighbors have taken the children off. 
 If the poor soul could turn to, and take a hearty 
 good cry, it would be the best thing for her." 
 
 " For it s just a vale of tears," one placid body 
 improves the occasion by observing, as she lifts the 
 corner of her apron to wipe away an imaginary 
 drop, " just a vale of tears, and it s not for us 
 to set store on anything in it, and to make us 
 idols " 
 
 " There, there ! " A sharp-faced woman, the hard 
 lines about her mouth grown tremulous, pushes 
 past the speaker impatiently. " When the good
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 143 
 
 God gives one of us an innocent like that to love, 
 it s if we didn t love it, He d be angry with us. 
 See here, you poor thing, I ve fetched you in a 
 cup of tea you had already set out. Just try one 
 cup." Then, putting her hand on the poor, empty 
 one that is slowly stroking down a fold of the sheet, 
 she answers Milicent s wondering look by a signif 
 icant glance down at the cup she holds : a child s 
 inug, gilt and flowered. 
 
 At her touch or perhaps the fumes of the tea 
 rousing some association which words fail to reach 
 the mother turns and looks at the mug in her 
 neighbor s hand. 
 
 "I set it out for him," she says in a low, strained 
 voice. " The lad loved tea like a sailor, bless his 
 heart, like his father and I 11 never make an 
 other cup for him " 
 
 As at that thought, she bursts into a passion of 
 tears. And indeed, descending to bathos as it may, 
 is not that the thought in every stricken mother- 
 heart, no more work for the little one, no more 
 tender cares ? 
 
 "And he loved the sea so ! " she cries between 
 her sobs, " the cruel sea that has no heart in it ! 
 The lad was never content with a firm floor and no 
 offing ; let me head him on what course I would, 
 he d have been a sailor, like his father before him. 
 And to think it s these two years we ve knocked 
 off the sea, and now to lose him by it, like his 
 father!" 
 
 As the poor woman covers her face, sobbing, 
 Milicent s cold hands turn back a corner of the
 
 144 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 sheet, and she stands and looks down into the face 
 of the child for whom her lover might have died. 
 
 Poor little Dickon ! That long, still form is 
 not like his. But this face, with the wet curls 
 about the dimpled, sunburnt cheek 
 
 Poor little, merry -hearted fellow he might be 
 lying here asleep ! 
 
 Milicent stoops, and lays her warm lips to the 
 cold, calm brow. And with that strange touch 
 thrilling through and through her, she lets Stephen 
 lead her to the inner door, and open it for her. 
 
 She hardly knows that he has not followed her 
 in, she has gone so quickly forward, and is stand 
 ing at the foot of the couch where Urquhart lies. 
 
 He does not open his eyes at once : when he 
 does, and sees who it is that has come in to him, he 
 closes them again. 
 
 Milicent waits a moment ; then she almost whis 
 pers, 
 
 " It is I. Do you not know me ? " 
 
 He opens his eyes again at that, and looks 
 across at her, where she stands blushing before 
 him, and smiling with a quiver about the lips 
 fresh from kissing the drowned boy her lover 
 nearly died to save. 
 
 " Know you ? Yes, I know you," he says bit 
 terly, at last. " Why do you come here to me, 
 Milicent? Would you have come just so, if I had 
 died the death you sent me to ? " 
 
 She stares as if she cannot understand. Then, 
 very slowly, 
 
 "I sent you to ? "
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 145 
 
 " You sent me to, without one word, one breath, 
 to hold me back from the death s-errand your eyes 
 bade me go upon. Mind you," he says, raising 
 himself on his elbow, further to emphasize his 
 words, " mind you, I should have gone, in any 
 case. God forbid that I could have stood aside, 
 and seen that child swept to its fate alone. But 
 that you you who knew the danger even better 
 than I you who should have had a woman s 
 heart in your breast for your lover, that you 
 should have sent me to my death, without one 
 word, without one sign that you would care to hold 
 me back " 
 
 " Come, Milly." It is Stephen s voice that 
 speaks to the trembling girl. " The doctor is here. 
 They sent across to the Cove for him ; he is just 
 coming in." Then quietly to Urquhart, as if he 
 had not heard what was just passing on his en 
 trance : " He is coming to see you, Urquhart : but 
 I am not sure that Milly here has not the greater 
 need of him. I found her kneeling on the rock 
 where you had left her, more dead than alive." 
 
 She does not seem to hear his words : but Ur- 
 quhart s " Milicent ! " draws her to him. 
 
 That is the doctor s voice, speaking in an under 
 tone in the outer room. 
 
 Milicent draws her hands swiftly away from 
 Urquhart, and turns her wet face round upon 
 Stephen : and they go away together. 
 
 But Stephen knows that he has given her back 
 
 to Urquhart. 
 
 10
 
 IX. 
 
 " Push off the boat, 
 
 Quit, quit the shore, 
 The stars will guide us back. 
 
 O gathering cloud, 
 O wide, wide sea, 
 
 O waves that keep no track ! " 
 
 AN undulating bank of green, against the sky ; 
 a tiny harbor deepening between jagged black 
 fangs of rock, foaming as the waves fling over 
 them ; the island edged with black where the sea 
 laves it ; and, above, the russet-brown trap-rock 
 rising in flights of steps and blocks, and here and 
 there a broken shaft, to the grassy summit. A low 
 crest of spruce and fir darkening this 
 
 " Is this your Birthday Island, Milicent ? " asks 
 Urquhart, when, after a couple of hours run before 
 the wind, Stephen makes ready to take in sail. " I 
 had no idea it was so large a bit of land as this. 
 Are you sure it is devoid of water ? " 
 
 " There is not a drop of fresh water on it, so 
 luckily it caii never be inhabited," says Milicent. 
 " There is no inch of it Stephen and I have not 
 explored ; you see, every one of my birthdays we 
 keep here, like this one, by a gypsy tea-party. But 
 you run no risk of suffering from thirst ; for I have 
 a kettle of water, and intend to make a famous 
 cup of tea, which you will remember all the rest of 
 your life."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 147 
 
 " Nevertheless, I wish I had brewed a bowl of 
 punch, or brought some claret. Tea is but poor 
 stuff," says Urquhart, with contempt for the mild 
 beverage. 
 
 " Not as I brew it," declares Milicent, good- 
 humoredly. " It makes a wonderful difference, to 
 boil the kettle out-of-doors. Wait until you taste 
 the cup of tea I will give you." 
 
 The girl is radiant with excitement and happi 
 ness. The day is perfect, the wind in the right 
 direction, the yacht in charming order, and Miss 
 Ursula s unwonted good-speed had sounded like a 
 sailor s cheerful whistling for the wind. The devo 
 tion of the two men, each inclined to vie a little 
 with the other in attentions to her, is enough to 
 turn a wiser head than Milicent s : though it has 
 its natural drawbacks, as appears when Urquhart, 
 who was skipper of the yacht, finds himself quite 
 useless on the island. Only Stephen can drive 
 three sticks in the ground in the most approved 
 way, to suspend the kettle gypsy fashion ; the water 
 being far too precious for experimental hanging. 
 Stephen can best decide where the fire should be 
 built, so that it should be sheltered from the wind, 
 yet have sufficient draught. As the hamper is his 
 own, packed by himself, he is certainly the proper 
 one to unpack it. So on the old principle that 
 every dog will have his day, Stephen is having a 
 remarkably good one. 
 
 To satisfy one person is not difficult ; two may 
 tax the wisdom of a Solomon. But Milicent is 
 young enough, and daring enough, to make the
 
 148 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 effort with a belief in her own success. She flits 
 about, seeking discoveries of something hidden 
 safely away the year before, for future use ; or mak 
 ing allusions to events of some precious expedition : 
 allusions which have to be explained to Urquhart, 
 when they sound trite, and scarcely worth the 
 trouble of repetition. 
 
 Perhaps Urquhart might have borne with equa 
 nimity the fact that there is a large part of Mili- 
 cent s life with which Stephen is very closely asso 
 ciated, if she had not declared him awkward and 
 decidedly in her way, and ended by blandly ad 
 vising him to make himself comfortable under the 
 shade of a fir-bush, until she had prepared the tea, 
 and had time to wait upon him. Urquhart could 
 not deny his awkwardness ; no doubt he was doing 
 more to retard than to help ; but while Milicent is 
 carrying her fox safely, her goose is in mischief. 
 
 Urquhart has thrown himself down on an un 
 comfortable rock, his face turned seaward, pretend 
 ing to enjoy a cigar, but in reality chafing and 
 irritating himself because he was born without 
 eyes in the back of his head. 
 
 When Milicent comes to him, and with a little 
 rustic courtesy announces tea, he does not look at 
 her, nor move in the smallest degree ; but goes on 
 smoking, and watching the gulls flying landward. 
 
 " Come and see how nice everything is," urges 
 Milicent, flushed and pleased with her rural house 
 keeping. 
 
 " Thanks," says Urquhart, still not looking at 
 her. " I am not in the least hungry."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 149 
 
 " But something might tempt you. We have 
 chicken, cluck, a fish-pie " and she runs over 
 glibly quite a list of dainties, which do sound ap 
 petizing after an early lunch followed by a long 
 sail. Urquhart is hungry, quite famished, he 
 would have said, if his ill-humor had not over 
 come his appetite ; but he sits quite still, observing 
 the perturbed flight of the gulls. 
 
 " Are you ill? " asks Milicent, anxiously. 
 
 " Not in the least." 
 
 " Has anything happened to you ? " 
 
 He shrugs his shoulders at this question, but 
 makes no reply. 
 
 " Of course, if you have no appetite, I cannot be 
 expected to offer you one," flashes out Milicent. 
 " But I should think that on my birthday, and the 
 last one here, and when I have done everything " 
 
 " You might do more than you do," says Ur 
 quhart, at last looking up at her, with some qualms 
 of conscience when she reminds him that it is her 
 birthday. 
 
 " I thought something lay astern of your loss of 
 appetite," declares Milicent, with a laugh. " Please 
 do not propound riddles. What is it I have done, 
 or left undone ? " 
 
 " I really do not mind being called awkward and 
 useless, for I have not the slightest talent for house 
 keeping, like some men I know." Of course he 
 means Stephen. " But that is scarcely sufficient 
 ground for you to leave me alone for a whole hour, 
 while you spend it in flirting with Ferguson over a 
 tea-kettle."
 
 150 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " It has not been a half hour, if the sun is cor 
 rect." Milicent glances at the luminary, and then 
 adds gravely, " How can you be so foolish ? I 
 have been trying to keep Stephen from remember 
 ing this is his last birthday feast. Hereafter I 
 must look to you for them." 
 
 " You are always doling out your attentions 
 scrupulously ; so much for my share, and then a 
 justly even measure for Ferguson. Now, Fergu 
 son has nothing in the world to do with you." 
 
 " Hush ! " she says, quickly. " He may hear 
 you." 
 
 " If he does, it will make no difference, especially 
 as I intend to tell him the same thing myself," re 
 plies Urquhart, not lowering his voice a tone. 
 
 " What will you tell him ? That you object to 
 my doling out to him a little friendship, when he 
 has been so kind ? Why should you be so miserly, 
 when I have given you " 
 
 " What have you ever given me ? Only your 
 liking, you told me once." 
 
 " But that was some time ago. Time brings 
 change sometimes," says Milicent, sententiously. 
 
 " And I have gained a little by time and its 
 changes ? " asks Urquhart, leisurely. 
 
 " You forge ahead rather fast," says Milicent, 
 laughing and blushing. " Yet this I will con 
 fess," seeing his face fall : " I think it is much 
 nicer to love than to like." 
 
 " At last you have learned it ! " exclaims Ur 
 quhart, with effusion, as he springs to his feet. 
 
 But Milicent as quickly moves away towai ds the
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 151 
 
 table-rock where tea is served, and where Stephen 
 is patiently waiting 1 for them. " That is right," she 
 says, nodding saucily as she looks over her shoulder 
 at Urquhart. " I was very sure you were hungry, 
 languishing as you seemed to be." 
 
 Urquhart thinks the tea Milicent has drawn the 
 best he ever tasted ; but Stephen detects a slight 
 flavor of smoke, a flavor not generally approved 
 by tea-lovers. The tea-room is perfect : this small 
 green island set in a waste of aqua marine ; out 
 farther, beyond soundings, the water a deep blue. 
 Behind them, the few houses straggling up the isl 
 and ridge at home show sharply cut against the 
 lilac sky ; and the sun, round and glowing like a 
 blood-red moon, is just ready to dip down into the 
 ocean, out of sight. 
 
 Urquhart has happily recovered his good-hu 
 mor, and all three are merry over the gypsy 
 meal ; until at last Milicent declares there is not a 
 drop of water in the kettle, and that they must be 
 preparing to return. 
 
 " What a dreadful waste a feast is ! " she re 
 marks as she makes ready to repack the hamper. 
 
 " There spoke Miss Ursula s own niece," de 
 clares Stephen, laughing. " Cannot you manage 
 the remainder biscuit after the voyage ? The 
 feast is yours, you know." 
 
 " And have the soup made of the chicken-bones 
 to-morrow ? " suggests Urquhart. 
 
 " Many a true word is spoken in jest. That is 
 just what Aunt Ursula would do, if I put the 
 chicken back into the hamper ; and it would be a
 
 152 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 very good soup. But I have a desire to make an 
 end of our feast, not to have a second edition of 
 it to-morrow, just as I have heard of friends 
 breaking the glasses from which they have drunk a 
 toast. Very extravagant, no doubt ; but sentiment 
 is generally a spendthrift." 
 
 " It will be a tremendous waste," says Urquhart, 
 leaning on his elbow at her feet, and laughing up 
 at her as she stands with the heaped plate in both 
 hands, the sunset shining in her eyes and in the 
 bright, breeze-roughened hair. Afterwards, to both 
 men will come back, with added meaning in it, 
 the picture she makes there, against the glowing 
 background of the sea. 
 
 " But what shall I do with it ? Stephen, do you 
 remember Aunt Ursula used to tell you, when you 
 wasted the bread she gave you, because it w r as not 
 buttered, that some day you would wish for a piece 
 of bread? I feel horribly like Aunt Ursula at 
 this waste, and recall all kinds of ill omens to the 
 wasters." 
 
 " Let the gulls have it, Milly. They are always 
 needy beggars," suggests Stephen ; and then he 
 adds, " What a stir, they are making ! They 
 ought to be roosting, instead of keeping up such a 
 noise." 
 
 " There must be a storm coming. At any rate, 
 we ought to be off. I will have the china packed 
 by the time you have the yacht i-eady." 
 
 " A storm ! " exclaims Urquhart. " What are 
 you thinking of, Milicent ? I never saw a clearer 
 sky, nor less sign of a change in the weather."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 153 
 
 " The gulls are wiser than we. Besides, the sun 
 is setting ominously red. We can manage to get 
 up a blow at short notice in these waters. Please 
 make haste, Stephen," urges Milicent, uneasily. 
 
 " There is no use in starting until the tide turns, 
 for the little wind has almost died out, and will 
 hardly help us. Do not mind the gulls ; they are 
 foolish birds," says Stephen, cheerfully. 
 
 " Proverbially so. Will you smoke ? " Urquhart 
 proposes to him. 
 
 The two men stroll off, leaving Milicent to 
 repack the hamper. When she has finished, she 
 comes and seats herself by Urquhart, who takes 
 this his first opportunity to whisper in her ear some 
 soft words of thanks as well as approbation, for 
 her confession that it is better to love than to like. 
 
 It is a confession he would not often entrap her 
 into making. Milicent has her moods, sometimes 
 of the imperative ; but there is always the bright 
 est sunshine after a storm. Never a cold, murky 
 sky, well named sullen, depresses Urquhart s love. 
 Capricious clouds and fitful gusts, he is very sure 
 of ; an electric shock at times ; but in the end they 
 prove beneficial to his atmosphere. 
 
 As an on-looker (which Stephen has taught 
 himself is his only part now, after what he be 
 lieved to be Milicent s confession of love for Ur 
 quhart, that day she said the cottage must not be 
 her home) Stephen might very well have thought 
 Milicent cared most for him. If when what to 
 Stephen seems a lover s quarrel rises like a small 
 cloud between them, as it blows over, Milicent
 
 154 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 would be very gracious, and would meet Urquhart 
 nearly half-way towards a reconciliation, she never 
 goes meekly the whole way, and says she is sorry, 
 as she does with her old friend. Her old friend, 
 Stephen says to himself, bitterly ; convinced that 
 there is less friendliness in her feeling for Ur 
 quhart, and that the past is a sealed book he 
 dares not open, save in dreaming over it alone. 
 
 Stephen has stretched himself on the grass, a 
 little way from the two, and has his eyes shut, so 
 they think he is asleep ; that is, if they think very 
 much about him. For Milicent is absorbed in 
 listening to Urquhart s low-spoken words ; some 
 times whispering back to him, until he is per 
 suaded that the birthday festival is not at all a 
 failure, as he once decided it. 
 
 Suddenly there comes a soft " rip-rapse, rip- 
 rapse," against the rocks ; and Stephen, who is 
 very far from being asleep, and who has only 
 good-naturedly kept himself out of the way, knows 
 that the tide has turned. Presently an odd, sob 
 bing sound in the freshening wind causes him to 
 open his eyes, and spring to his feet. As the sun 
 dips down, the wind is rising, and that is a ragged 
 brown cloud which is driving before it. 
 
 "There is a squall coming, but we had better 
 catch it here," Stephen says to Urquhart, who is 
 observing nothing farther from him than Milicent. 
 
 " It seems very far off, and night is so near. 
 You remember we have no moon." 
 
 " There will only be the danger of a thorough 
 wetting, even if we remain here all night," replies 
 Stephen.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 155 
 
 "Milicent could not possibly remain here all 
 night. It is absurd to propose it," says Urquhart, 
 with heat. 
 
 " That is a very ugly cloud, Stephen ! " exclaims 
 Milicent, who has been intent on looking up some 
 small articles, and packing them, so has just re 
 joined the two men. " What had we best do ? Is 
 it safe to start? " 
 
 She naturally turns to Stephen for advice ; for 
 he is not only the better sailor, but he knows per 
 fectly the weather-signs which nature hangs out for 
 the mariner s guidance. 
 
 Her reliance upon Stephen s judgment irritates 
 Urquhart, who answers shortly, 
 
 "We will be compelled to start. A capful of 
 wind won t hurt us." 
 
 " Blow risks ! Mr. Urquhart would like to be 
 nautical enough to say," puts in the girl, slyly. 
 
 " The tide too is in our favor," he hurries on. 
 " We 11 get in before the storm breaks. We 
 must be quick, though. Come on, Milicent, don t 
 stop," he adds, authoritatively ; for she has started 
 forward to put out the smouldering fire. 
 
 "I cannot run the risk of having the trees 
 burnt," she explains. " A few minutes can make 
 no difference." 
 
 Stephen is at once at her side, and tramples out 
 the fire ; while Urquhart mutters an impatient as 
 well as an evil-sounding ejaculation, and strides off 
 to the yacht. He feels no particular sentiment for 
 the island, that he should scruple to consign the 
 trees to the flames.
 
 156 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 A moment afterwards, Stephen shoulders the 
 hamper, and Milicent follows close behind him. 
 
 " He has not the least idea of the danger we 
 are running," she is saying, as she hurries after 
 Stephen. 
 
 " It is his boat," replies Stephen ; and he might 
 have added, his sweetheart. 
 
 " What nonsense ! If we are drowned, who 
 cares who owned the boat? " 
 
 " Urquhart does not like my interference ; that 
 you can see for yourself" begins Stephen. 
 
 " How slow you are ! One would suppose you 
 had nothing more important to do than to talk," 
 says Urquhart impatiently, but to Milicent, not 
 Stephen. 
 
 " The most important matter is to save our 
 lives," replies Milicent, quite coolly, rejecting Ur 
 quhart s hand stretched out to help her into the 
 yacht. " I have no intention of going on board." 
 
 "You cannot possibly spend the night here. I 
 could not think of permitting you to do so," says 
 Urquhart, again extending a helping hand. 
 
 Still Milicent hesitates ; until Stephen says, 
 " We have a chance to get home before the squall 
 breaks. At any rate, we know it is coming, and 
 will be prepared." 
 
 Urquhart has put both hands in his pockets, in 
 great wrath ; and walks to the stern of the yacht, 
 where he stands with his back to the island. A 
 moment afterwards, Milicent joins him. 
 
 " Are you not going to help Stephen ? He needs 
 you," she says, curtly.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 157 
 
 But if Stephen needs help, Urquhart does not 
 want advice. " What is the use in taking in every 
 rag? "he asks, finding Stephen making all taut 
 and fast. " You might as well give her more help 
 from her sails. If Milicent were not on board, 
 I would crowd on everything, and show you the 
 Undine s temper." 
 
 " It is well, on your own account, that Milicent 
 is on board, then," answers Stephen, quite coolly. 
 " That cloud will bring a change of wind, and the 
 less canvas you have to show, the better. You 
 have seen nothing of our storms as yet : to-morrow 
 you will have had another experience." 
 
 " I have sailed in many seas. One can t always 
 have a ladies wind. I hardly fancy your storms 
 are unique. It appears to me our best plan would 
 be to make a dash for port, not get ready for a 
 storm miles away as yet." 
 
 "At any rate, we do not need two skippers. 
 The yacht being yours, I am under command," 
 says Stephen at once. 
 
 He is relieved to find that since Urquhart takes 
 the whole responsibility he is less inclined to be 
 foolhardy and venturesome, and that he only puts 
 out a small show of canvas. But even that flutter 
 of white makes Stephen uneasy. He would much 
 rather have the Undine meet the storm under bare 
 poles. Yet with that singular shrinking from in 
 terference with another man s rights, which men 
 show in all professions and business, Stephen leaves 
 Urquhart to his own devices, and goes to where 
 Milicent is sitting.
 
 158 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " You would be far better in the cabin, Milly," 
 he tells her. 
 
 But the girl shakes her head decidedly. 
 
 " No, Stephen, no. Alone in there ? " 
 
 " Two hands may be wanted here, Milly." 
 
 " Then you must keep me too. Ah, Stephen, 
 do you think I could bear it, to leave you here, if 
 the storm should really come ? I should be fancy 
 ing all sorts of horrors in every wave, in every 
 gust of wind." 
 
 " Since when have you turned coward, Milly ? " 
 
 But he opposes her no longer : only, before he 
 takes the tiller from her, he brings a tarpaulin, 
 and begins to wrap it round her. 
 
 " Wait until the storm comes, Stephen ; it is so 
 heavy," pleads Milicent. 
 
 " It is here already, Milly." 
 
 Stephen is right : the storm is upon them. He 
 has hardly finished speaking, when the great drops 
 are pelting down out of the gathering blackness 
 overhead. They wet the two men in an instant. 
 There is a vivid flash of lightning and a burst of 
 thunder from that overhanging cloud, which appall 
 Milicent, unused to thunderstorms : until she is 
 glad to hide her eyes under the tarpaulin s fold. 
 When she shrinkingly peers forth again, the gust 
 of rain has passed ; but the wind has increased in 
 fury, and she can just dimly see, through the low 
 ering darkness, that Urquhart has had perforce to 
 take Stephen s advice, and is furling even the 
 close-reefed foresail. 
 
 Milicent s presence has not prevented a trial of
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 159 
 
 the little yacht s temper. Buffeted by the waves, 
 and driven by the wind, which Urquhart s small 
 show of cloth made more dangerous, the Undine is 
 about as manageable as the fisherman and his wife 
 found their beautiful changeling. All that can be 
 done is to let her lie breasting the heavy seas, un 
 der bare poles. 
 
 The wind changed to the northward of east, 
 when the squall blew up ; and under the pitch- 
 black sky the great waves are bearing the yacht 
 like a toy away to the southwestward, away from 
 home, and down into the howling solitudes of the 
 Atlantic. 
 
 Pitch-black the night is, overhead, as the long 
 hours go by ; and all around, the moan and rush 
 of foaming swirls, closing about, and threatening 
 to bury the Undine. With every moment, she 
 dips and ships a flood over her bow ; and when she 
 sinks her stern, the waves that chase her leap as if 
 to spring over the rail. It is as if those great 
 waves were toying with the fragile thing : playing 
 with her as a cat plays with a mouse, before deal 
 ing the death-blow. 
 
 Once or twice, Stephen has glanced across in the 
 direction of the cabin : would not Milicent be safer 
 there ? But how would she bear, alone, the Un 
 dine s laboring, her frantic plunges, baited as she 
 is by all those clamorous waves? " No no " 
 she answers breathlessly, when Stephen, by dint of 
 shouting, conveys to her what he would have her do. 
 
 There is a moment s pause ; and then : 
 
 " Urquhart shall take care of you there, Milly,"
 
 160 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 he makes her understand, whether or not she 
 catches half the words. " One is enough to watch 
 the Undine here." 
 
 But the girl only repeats her passionate refusal ; 
 and indeed, would she be safer there? It is a 
 question none could answer ; while no doubt to be 
 shut into the cabin, with the skylight closed and 
 the companion shut, would be like lying in one s 
 grave at the day of doom, while the whole earth 
 quakes and trembles above and around. At least, 
 so it seems to Milicent s shuddering fancy. 
 
 So the three keep all together where they are. 
 It is impossible to talk ; they do not even see each 
 other ; all that they can see, and dimly, is the 
 threatening foam as it flies past them, almost over 
 head, and confounds them with the sense of their 
 own helplessness and hopelessness. It is hard 
 enough for the two men ; but for Milicent 
 
 " Milicent " - 
 
 She cannot hear him speak to her ; but she is 
 glad to feel her lover s presence in the darkness 
 which has come on with such appalling suddenness. 
 Urquhart has thrown his arm around her, and 
 holds her fast, so that they shall not be separated 
 even in death. Stephen also is close to her, as 
 far as life apart. 
 
 Stephen s hand clenches with a grip upon the 
 tiller, and steadies itself there. 
 
 In all this blackness of darkness, there is but 
 one cold ray of comfort reaches Stephen : that no 
 one could live long in such a sea as this. Death 
 must come after a very brief struggle, he is sure,
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 161 
 
 even for himself: and he is the strongest of the 
 three. And there is no marrying nor giving in 
 marriage, in that safe harbor they seem bound to. 
 He will no longer have to stand aside and make 
 way for Urquhart. There will be no more heart 
 burnings and jealousy, such as he is undergoing 
 now : for in the darkness and fury of the storm, 
 he knows Milicent and Urquhart are clinging to 
 each other, and neither is altogether wretched, 
 even with death so near. Stephen would willingly 
 die to have those arms clinging to him. 
 
 But he puts away these thoughts from him with 
 a great dread. Would not Milicent suffer an un 
 told torture, even in a short death ? Little Milly, 
 his playmate and only love ! Is this to be the end 
 of all her prettiness and charm, that have made 
 the only two men she has known love her ? 
 
 He sees her struggling in the hungry maw of 
 every wave that is turning up, livid and foaming, 
 out of the wide-reaching darkness. He hears her 
 sinking wail in every far-drawn soughing of the 
 wind, that only falls back to gather strength anew. 
 Little Milly, and he cannot save her, cannot 
 even die for her. While this Urquhart 
 
 But Stephen is a strong man ; stronger than he 
 that taketh a city : he puts that thought out of his 
 mind. Milly and Milly s God, who only can 
 deliver her. 
 
 So the moments go by, each black with the 
 
 shadow of death. But one there comes, with a 
 
 special horror of its own. It is when the Undine 
 
 quivers with a fiercer wrench and jar : when the 
 
 11
 
 162 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 tiller rests slack in Stephen s grasp, and he knows 
 that the rudder is gone. 
 
 Then he leans forward impulsively, and reaches 
 out his hand. " Milly " - he says. But the wind 
 has snatched his voice away, and the girl does not 
 hear; and it is Urquhart s wet sleeve that his out 
 stretched hand has touched. 
 
 Light dawns on the darkest hour, it is said ; and 
 after that, little by little, the wind draws off, the 
 fury of the sea begins to die away. The stars 
 struggle out through clouds that veer about ; and 
 presently these trail away, and leave the skies clear 
 for that cold shining. And though the sea still 
 works tempestuously, there is no more danger ; the 
 storm is over. 
 
 The storm is over, though the wind is still fit 
 fully violent ; for how could it lull itself at once 
 into a perfect calm, when it had been for hours 
 lashing itself into the wildest fury ? Neither can 
 the passionate, eager heart soothe itself by a mere 
 longing, into the saint s tranquillity. 
 
 Whither will the Undine now be driven ? And 
 where are they ? The great Atlantic gives them no 
 hint, as she rocks them on her broad bosom. 
 
 Urquhart is hopeful enough. They cannot have 
 been driven very far to sea, he thinks : the Un 
 dine is in good condition ; and they have the stars 
 to steer by. Stephen s hand still grasps the rud 
 derless tiller, which he keeps fixed in the grooves, 
 that the others may not guess its uselessness. Let 
 the cheerful morning sun light up their situation, 
 before Milicent must know it.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 163 
 
 " Must we drift so helplessly? The wind seems 
 to have veered, in clearing," says Urquhart, with a 
 glance at the pole-star, as the clouds clear away. 
 
 But Stephen only returns, " Wait for sunrise ; " 
 and Urquhart, who is candid enough to know the 
 other has proved himself the better sailor of the 
 two, has nothing to answer, and sits silent at Mili- 
 cent s side, while Stephen follows his lead in point 
 ing out the constellations to her. 
 
 " See, Milly, there comes out Mooin the Bear ; 
 and there are the Hunters after him, pursuing him 
 to his Den in Berenice s Hair. I was just thinking 
 of my hunting-days among the Tusket lakes, when 
 my Micmac guide and I lost the trail, and found it 
 by following the Hunters." 
 
 "The Hunters?" repeats Urquhart. 
 
 "Ay. You see, the Micmacs know that bears 
 have no tails to speak of, but are apt to have a 
 following of hunters. These all have their names ; 
 and one of them has his kettle : see, the small star 
 yonder. Milly, do you think that now the stars 
 are out, and the storm is over, you could get a 
 little sleep in the cabin ? " 
 
 It is still too dark to see the face she turns up to 
 him as he speaks ; but the gesture is eloquent 
 enough. She has confronted death too lately, to 
 bear solitude. 
 
 " Let me stay. You know I am well wrapped, 
 and and indeed, indeed, I could not stay alone." 
 
 Urquhart is of opinion that Ferguson needs rest, 
 and that he himself might as well steer awhile 
 (with Milicent s help). But Stephen does not
 
 164 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 take the hint : to the suppressed indignation of Ur- 
 quhart, who does not know what reason Stephen 
 has for declining to relinquish the tiller. 
 
 Under the circumstances, there is not much 
 speech among them. The waves have the hour to 
 themselves, while the stars flicker in their dying 
 struggles, and are put out, one by one; and the 
 morning-star is risen, and the day begun. 
 
 Milicent has many thoughts to keep her silent. 
 In her efforts to reassure Urquhart s anxiety that 
 night, she forgot much of her girlish shyness, and 
 unwittingly gave him a deeper insight into her 
 feeling for him than he would have discovered in 
 months of ordinary intercourse. Indeed, she might 
 have opened her whole heart to him, and made 
 some startling revelations, if Stephen had not been 
 there. For the future is very doubtful ; only the 
 present is theirs ; and all that she had deferred for 
 a future telling, she would have wished to speak 
 now. Only, what she would have said is meant for 
 Urquhart s ear alone a death-bed confession she 
 tells herself that she can make as well in heaven. 
 
 Stephen s grave voice, when he does speak, ir 
 ritates Urquhart with the fear that it may hint to 
 Milicent of their danger. Urquhart never dreams 
 she understands as much of it as he himself, but 
 asks no questions where she is not at all sure of 
 true answers. 
 
 But it is Stephen alone, who through these dark 
 hours faces the situation in all its horror. Where 
 will the rudderless Undine be driven ? What 
 chance is there of being found ? And how long
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 165 
 
 could they survive, with neither provisions nor 
 water ? Alas for the remnants of their feast, of 
 which they cheated frugal Miss Ursula s soup-pot, 
 to feed the gulls. Miss Ursula has proved herself 
 an oracle : and the unbuttered bread he once 
 scorned, Stephen would now have been thankful 
 for, to store away for Milicent. Death in a new 
 and more dreadful form is before them. 
 
 Stephen shudders at the thought that one of 
 them must survive the others. Not Milicent, he 
 prays. There is a fiction in law, that a woman 
 under such circumstances dies first. Stephen 
 clings to it, as if the law were gospel. Even there, 
 the great unselfishness of his love is shown ; for it 
 would be harder for him to see her die than to die 
 himself. His present foreboding is a Nemesis 
 cruelly punishing him for his almost fierce joy in 
 their first danger. His fears are for Milicent : for 
 himself, he dreads life much more than the death 
 that may be very near him. 
 
 The morning comes very unexpectedly to Mil 
 icent and Urquhart : for Urquhart s watch had 
 stopped ; and though he had frequently wondered 
 what time it could be, Stephen, who knew each 
 hour by the stars, never hinted of this knowledge, 
 as he did not wish Milicent to discover how long 
 they had been driving before the wind. 
 
 The sun rises red and angry out of the sea. It 
 points out the new anxiety, which Stephen can no 
 longer keep from Milicent : it shows her that the 
 rudder is gone, and the Undine helplessly adrift. 
 
 And yet, for all, after the first shock of that
 
 166 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 surprise, it is impossible, at least for Milicent, not 
 to catch hope from the bright face of this new 
 day, that after the long northern morning twilight 
 shines on them at last. From the first pale yellow 
 " rose of dawn " beginning to show itself out of 
 the darkness in the east, where the stars struggle 
 and struggle and die out : to the flames of the full 
 sunrise, spreading slowly, and deepening from east 
 to west and north and south, until the whole wide 
 sea takes up the radiance, wave after wave leaping 
 to catch it, and falling back with rainbow crest 
 and burnished hollow, in the level-drifting beams, 
 from first to last, as Milicent watches it, hope 
 dawns the brighter within her. 
 
 In truth, it is hard to be afraid of the sea now ; 
 that joyous, dancing, rushing sea, the sunlight 
 flashing on and through the leaping waves, that 
 bear the Undine over the green hollows and the 
 frothing crests. Stephen is making shift to use an 
 oar for rudder, thus partly to avoid the rough sport 
 those same merry-seeming waves might otherwise 
 make of the yacht : while the sun mounts higher 
 and higher, and three pairs of eyes are scanning 
 the great wilderness of water, in search of a wel 
 come sail. 
 
 After all, it is Milicent who first sights a " three- 
 masted Yankee " ; a schooner, happily bearing 
 down towards the yacht, so that there is but little 
 difficulty in hailing her. In less than an hour, the 
 three are standing on her deck, their adventure 
 well over ; the Undine made fast to the stern by 
 a rope, and looking far less battered and misused
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 167 
 
 than they who had ungratefully doubted her sea 
 worthiness. 
 
 The rough sailors are kind and hospitable, and 
 soon have tea made, which is as nectar to the cast 
 aways, though sweetened with coarse brown sugar. 
 Milicent s hard up-bringing has its advantages 
 here. She came out of the fold of the tarpaulin, 
 thanks to Stephen s forethought, perfectly dry; 
 ready, after her fast, to enjoy without squeamish- 
 ness the sailor s hard-tack and salt pork. In the 
 captain s little cabin, with the port-hole shut, and 
 the green water rushing past it as the schooner lies 
 well over, Milicent afterwards throws herself down, 
 and soon sleeps the dreamless sleep of the weary. 
 
 Stephen and Urquhart have borrowed from the 
 sailors kits while their own clothes are drying : and 
 they speedily discover that the nearest coast is 
 Maine ; that the schooner is bound for St. John ; 
 that they were a hundred miles from there when 
 they were rescued, and if this wind holds out, they 
 will be in the harbor in the afternoon. All very 
 pleasant to know, after such a night of anxiety. 
 
 Milicent s birthday will be an anniversary long to 
 be remembered by all three. Together they have 
 passed into the very shadow of death, and together 
 they have come out unscathed. For this they 
 might give a general thanksgiving : yet each one 
 has a special one. Urquhart, that he is at last 
 sure Milicent loves him ; Milicent, that she knows 
 her own heart ; and Stephen, that his wild wish 
 was not granted him, and Milicent is as far as 
 usual from being an angel or a saint.
 
 X. 
 
 " Was it something said, 
 
 Something done, 
 Vext him ? was it touch of hand, 
 
 Turn of head ? 
 Strange ! that very way 
 
 Love begun 
 I as little understand 
 
 Love s decay." 
 
 WHEN Milicent comes on deck, the harbor lies 
 before her, aglitter in the evening sunlight. The 
 round, fortress-like Partridge Island is passed. 
 The city, with its background of green highlands, 
 is rising, tier above tier, on its peninsula of rock 
 thrust forward into the Bay of Fundy : Courtenay 
 Bay to the right, and to the left the St. John River 
 sweeping snow-drifts of foam along the tide, from 
 the falling rapids in the gorge through which it 
 tears its way. 
 
 The scene is a novel one to Milicent; she is 
 pleased as a child with a new toy. The gayly 
 flagged ships ; the sturdy tugs darting here and 
 there, with shrill whistle and loud puffings ; the 
 ferry-boat crossing to the Carleton side 
 
 Milicent follows this last with her eyes, which 
 sweep up the green heights of the Carleton sub 
 urbs, to the old martello tower, which she instantly 
 pronounces (erroneously, but Stephen does not 
 care to correct her ; let the child enjoy her little
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 169 
 
 romance) to be the old French fort defended by 
 Charlotte de la Tour, under the French domina 
 tion, against her husband s rival compatriot, Char- 
 nizay. 
 
 " Look ! " the girl cries to Stephen, " it was there 
 she drove away the ships of Charnizay, besieging 
 her. And when he came again, by land, with her 
 handful of men she kept his troops at bay for 
 three long days ; until that Easter morning, a 
 traitor sentinel let them scale the walls, and forced 
 her to surrender. And then the wretch, Char 
 nizay, I mean, what must he do, the wretch, but 
 in his rage at having granted terms to a woman 
 backed by such a mere handful of a garrison, he 
 broke them ; and he made her stand, a rope about 
 her neck, to see the execution of her whole brave 
 garrison. It broke her heart, you know : she died 
 a few days after." 
 
 As he watches her shining eyes upon it, Stephen 
 is glad he did not set her right as to the fortifica 
 tion ; since, of the old French fort of nearly two 
 centuries ago, the site is all that now remains ; and 
 even that is beyond Milicent s range of vision from 
 the schooner s deck. And she would not have had 
 time to get over her disappointment, before Ur- 
 quhart, who has been talking to the skipper, comes 
 back, where she is standing with Stephen. 
 
 " Get your hat, Milicent," he says. " The cap 
 tain has offered to send us ashore in his yawl." 
 
 " I have n t any hat," she answers. " I tried to 
 save it from being crushed when Stephen wrapped 
 me in the tarpaulin ; but the wind took it out of
 
 170 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 my hands. It is the only thing lost, so don t look 
 so worried." 
 
 " I can t see what is to be done, unless you wait 
 here with Stephen until I go into the town and get 
 a hat for you," Urquhart says, in a questioning, un 
 decided way. 
 
 " We had better get away from here as soon as 
 we can, Urquhart. The captain is going to unload 
 at once, and Milicent will be in the way." 
 
 " But how can she go without a hat ? " 
 
 " Of what consequence is a hat, in comparison 
 with getting her away from here ? " Stephen says, 
 knowing from experience much more than Ur 
 quhart of coasting vessels and unloading. 
 
 " It is of a good deal of consequence to Milicent, 
 who does not wish to be stared at as a buy-a-broom 
 girl." 
 
 " Oh, I don t care in the least," declares Mili 
 cent. " One who has just faced death does not 
 mind her fellow-mortals gaze." 
 
 Still Urquhart is not satisfied. 
 
 " You don t suppose any one is going to remark 
 on Milicent s being hatless," says Stephen, laugh 
 ing at his squeamishness. " Two rough-looking 
 fishermen and a girl with them, landing from a 
 schooner, will never attract any one s attention. 
 We are n t fine people, to be stared at." 
 
 There is something in this. They would never 
 be taken as belonging to a class among whom to 
 be bonnetless, even by accident, would be an im 
 propriety. So Urquhart leads the way with Mili 
 cent, when the captain tells him the boat is ready.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 171 
 
 They must row themselves, for he has no man to 
 spare ; and they are to leave the yawl in charge of 
 a boatman until the captain can send for it. 
 
 " I could not think of steering. I should be run 
 down by one of those pert little tugs," Milicent de 
 clares, as she takes her seat. 
 
 " Nobody asked you," remarks Urquhart. "You 
 would have every rat on the wharf screaming to us 
 at the novel sight of a woman steering. Stephen 
 will have to pull two oars." 
 
 " I don t like the position of the Undine," says 
 Stephen, after at least five minutes steady but si 
 lent rowing. " Twice, since we left the schooner, 
 has she escaped being run into, as by a miracle. 
 She would be much safer in dock." 
 
 Urquhart looks around uneasily. Certainly the 
 yacht s position is a precarious one. " We can t 
 afford to lose her," he says. " She is our best 
 chance of reaching home. If Milicent would not 
 object to waiting for a few minutes on the pier, we 
 could row back and tow the Undine to the dock." 
 
 " But Milly will object," replies Stephen, 
 quickly. 
 
 " I shall do nothing of the kind. I will not 
 have the yacht run any risk, through foolish fear 
 for me." 
 
 " We will not be gone fifteen minutes," Ur 
 quhart assures her. " We will keep in sight of 
 you, and you will be perfectly safe by that pile of 
 boxes." 
 
 It proves a nook so very secure, that when Ur 
 quhart has placed her there, Milicent declares she
 
 172 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 does not object at all to being left, and they need 
 not hurry on her account. 
 
 " But we will, though. Just show a white flag 
 if you are in distress, and we will be with you at 
 once. Come on, Ferguson : the sooner we are off, 
 the sooner we will return." 
 
 But Stephen lingers to be sure Milicent is not 
 afraid of being left ; until Urquhart drags him off, 
 while she is saying : " What can happen to me ? I 
 don t intend to move from here ; and I am rather 
 too large to be taken off forcibly." 
 
 Indeed, as Milicent says, she knows nothing to 
 be afraid of ; and she is infinitely interested in the 
 scene around her. Everything is a novelty to her 
 rustic eyes : the odd, low-swung wagons, with their 
 piles of goods ; people running here and there, as 
 if they had not a minute to spare ; even the wharf- 
 boys and the hack-drivers, those intolerable nui 
 sances to respectable travelers, amuse Milicent by 
 their eagerness, as they stand in line, with beckon 
 ing whips in hand, along the slope of the wharf : 
 for the Boston steamer has just come in. 
 
 There is a railing along the top of the wharf, 
 and a line of spectators gathering there, looking at 
 the lauding of the travelers. The tide has fallen 
 its twenty or thirty feet, and the bridge of the 
 wharf swings down to meet it ; and upon either 
 hand of the steep incline by which the passengers 
 mount, as they come ashore, the wooden walls 
 tower up, green with seaweed and white with bar 
 nacles. Between them sweeps the stream of pret 
 tily dressed women, prolonging their visit to the
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 173 
 
 seashore by this fashionable rush up through the 
 Provinces ; gorgeously adorned nurses, half wild 
 with their efforts to keep from sudden death re 
 fractory children, who have no fear but of doing as 
 they are bidden ; men in absurd costume, gotten 
 up, it is supposed, for comfort at the seaside. Is 
 the gay steamer a pest-house they are all eager to 
 escape from, so remorselessly are they crowding 
 and pushing ? 
 
 It is all a grand panorama to Milicent ; and 
 though, with the arrogance of youth, she criticises 
 the appearance of the women, on the whole she is 
 not sorry to think she will some day or other be 
 like them. It is the children who appear to her so 
 odd and overdressed ; uncomfortable little mortals, 
 compared with the sturdy, ruddy fishermen s bairns 
 on the village street at home. 
 
 Milicent has seldom looked prettier than now, 
 as she stands leaning against the pile of boxes, her 
 great, earnest eyes taking in all these new scenes 
 and impressions. She is far too interested to feel 
 uncomfortable. Indeed, she has forgotten her own 
 existence : and her face, a perfect April sky, 
 now clouding and tear-gathering, and a moment 
 after bright and laughing, is a pretty study for 
 those who have an eye for this kind of picture. 
 
 " What a handsome girl, but horribly bold ! " 
 the ladies say as they pass poor unconscious Mili 
 cent. " Think of standing alone in all this crowd, 
 with no hat on ! " 
 
 " What, hide her pretty face ? Not she ! The 
 men will know her the next time they see her,"
 
 174 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 comes the spiteful answer from one whose head- 
 covering is hardly worn because of the angels : they 
 keep so aloof from her vicinity. 
 
 The men know much better what a really bold 
 woman is like. 
 
 Though some of the fortunate ones, who have 
 no luggage, and no customs-officers to look after, 
 nor any of their women-kind with them, collect in 
 a group uncomfortably near Milicent, she gives 
 little heed to them, as there is nothing picturesque 
 nor amusing in their appearance. If she were 
 listening, she might discover that they are discuss 
 ing her. Her hair, her eyes, her wild-rose bloom, 
 even her pose as she stands carelessly leaning 
 against the boxes, are freely commented on, much 
 as if she were a picture in an art-gallery. 
 
 Presently she looks towards them, but certainly 
 beyond them, and smiles and nods. 
 
 It is to Urquhart and Stephen, who are hurrying 
 to her. Urquhart sees the group of men ; and, 
 with a muttered expression of displeasure, strides 
 forward. 
 
 He is looking at and thinking of Milicent : or 
 he might avoid recognition. But in spite of the 
 growth of his beard, and his sunburnt face, as well 
 as his rough fisherman s suit, he is at once hailed 
 and captured as an acquaintance, yclept friend. 
 There is no getting away ; and Urquhart has to 
 shake hands, and explain that he has been yacht 
 ing all summer, and has just put into St. John : 
 though he takes good care not to tell how he was 
 picked up at sea this morning, and whom he has
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 175 
 
 with him as companions, neither in what waters 
 he has fished, this pleasant summer through. 
 
 " It must be you she is nodding to, that pretty 
 girl minus a hat. Who is she ? " asks one of the 
 men, who thinks watching Milicent better pastime 
 than questioning Urquhart about his travels. 
 
 " I rather think she is nodding to the man who 
 was with me, making the Undine safe," says Ur 
 quhart coolly, not even glancing towards Milicent. 
 
 " Then you don t know her. I hoped you did. 
 She is rarely beautiful." 
 
 " I thought you understood I have just landed," 
 returns Urquhart briefly ; and then answers some 
 query as to his luck as fisherman. 
 
 The man who had assisted to make the Undine 
 fast is just at Urquhart s elbow ; but he hastens 
 to Milicent. 
 
 " Are you very tired of waiting ? " he asks. 
 
 " No, I have been very much amused. Fancy 
 such fantastic dressing on the sea ! I can t imagine 
 how the women get on," says Milicent, forgetting 
 her own disappointment when he objected to just 
 such dressing on her part. 
 
 " I should n t think they could walk very far on 
 the cliffs, with such heels to their boots ; and there 
 would not be much chance of their balancing them 
 selves on the gunwale of a boat. But don t stand 
 any longer in the sun, Milly. Urquhart will come 
 as soon as he gets rid of his friends." 
 
 "But will he know where we are going?" Mili 
 cent asks, with a natural dread of separating in 
 such a crowd.
 
 176 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " We 11 not go far ; only out of the sun," Stephen 
 promises. 
 
 Round on the other side of the boxes, they are 
 not only out of the sun, but also out of view of 
 Urquhart s acquaintances ; and Milicent is just as 
 much amused with the scene on the water as she 
 has been with the panorama on the wharf. Before 
 very long, Urquhart joins them. 
 
 " Why did n t you get a carriage ? I am afraid 
 they have all driven off," he says to Stephen. 
 
 " I hope they have. I would much rather walk," 
 Milicent replies for him. "Did you see the way 
 they dashed up hill ? I should be frightened to 
 death." 
 
 " But you can t walk without a hat," objects Ur 
 quhart. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" Stephen asks 
 shortly, drawing Urquhart a little aside. He is 
 not at all pleased with Urquhart s cool way of 
 ignoring any knowledge of Milicent to his friends. 
 
 " I don t know yet. We can decide whilst we 
 are driving." 
 
 " I think we had better know before. Milly 
 might understand the dilemma. Of course none of 
 your fine hotels will take two fishermen in." 
 
 " I think Milicent, and our having no luggage, 
 will be our chief difficulty. Is there no chance of 
 our getting away from here at once ? " 
 
 " None whatever. You see, there is more amiss 
 with the Undine than we thought at first. We shall 
 have to hire a couple of men to sail her home when 
 she is put in repair ; and we must take the steam-
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 177 
 
 boat to Digby. Unfortunately, there is none until 
 to-morrow. Digby is our nearest point for home. 
 We can drive down the French shore ; and from 
 there, with a favorable wind, we shall have but 
 two or three hours sail across to Westport. The 
 Undine can come into St. Mary s Bay by Petite 
 Passage above Long Island, if she is ready for 
 us : if not, we can easily hire a boat to take us 
 across. But there is no means of getting away 
 from here until to-morrow." 
 
 " It s unlucky. But of course it can t be helped. 
 At twelve o clock last night, I would have been 
 glad to be cast on a desert island, so treacherous 
 I thought the sea. Miss Ursula must be slightly 
 worried." 
 
 " I don t believe any of the fishermen comforted 
 her, indeed. They have n t much faith in a brown 
 squall. But this is not deciding on our plans." 
 
 " Perhaps, then, we had better drive to the Duf- 
 ferin. I was there before I went to Grand Manan, 
 and I know the proprietor. If you will let me out, 
 and drive on a little way, I will explain our posi 
 tion ; and perhaps he can get the coast clear, so that 
 Milicent may be safely housed without being seen." 
 
 " It seems rather hard that we, who are doing no 
 wrong, should have to go to work surreptitiously," 
 Stephen remarks, dryly. " I much prefer the ways 
 of a rough fishing village, where one is not so par 
 ticular about the proprieties." 
 
 " No doubt you would : and you were angry that 
 I did n t introduce Milicent to that raft of idiots. 
 
 I never saw such a scowl as you gave them in pass- 
 12
 
 178 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 ing. As if I would permit her to be stared at, and 
 commented on behind our backs ! " 
 
 " I don t see what comments could be made, ex 
 cept that she has lost her hat," Stephen remarks, 
 shortly. " That was easily enough explained." 
 
 " Girls don t go roaming about with men not 
 related to them " 
 
 " I thought the squall was responsible for our 
 being here," interrupts Stephen. 
 
 " But not for our going to the island. The 
 whole trouble has arisen from that." 
 
 " Then I wonder you did not object to it at the 
 time " Stephen begins, hotly. 
 
 " Nonsense : there was not the slightest impro 
 priety in it. You would n t have dragged Miss 
 Ursula to your fete ? And if you had wished to 
 do so, it would have been beyond your strength. 
 Still, as things have turned out decidedly provok- 
 ingly, we had better adopt the little fiction as old 
 as Abraham, and pass Milicent off as the sister of 
 one of us. You may claim the relationship." 
 
 " Very well," Stephen says, shortly. " Milly 
 must be tired of waiting." 
 
 " Let me out at the Dufferin, and then drive 
 round King Square. Don t come back for me, but 
 stop at the corner above, and I will come to the 
 carriage," Urquhart directs the driver, as Stephen 
 hands Milicent to her seat. 
 
 There is not much talking to be done by a girl 
 who for the first time in her life finds herself in a 
 carriage. She clings to the strap a little breath 
 lessly, when the horses dash up the steep incline
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 179 
 
 of a street, as St. John horses have a knack of do 
 ing. But her momentary terror does not prevent 
 her eager observation of everything. She turns 
 from the forest of masts overhung by Prince Wil 
 liam Street, to wonder at the broad edifice of 
 creamy sandstone commanding the water with its 
 dome and towers a vast palace, it looks to her 
 inexperienced eyes, knowing only the frame cot 
 tages on the island : until she is told it is the Cus- 
 tom-House. What a pile of buildings ! and now 
 they are glittering in the sunset, with rows upon 
 rows of windows, tall and deep-set, the narrow 
 spaces between them quaintly ornamented with 
 crosses and diamonds done in bricks set corner- 
 wise into the wall. Now and again, in the well- 
 built, substantial streets, one comes upon a pic 
 turesque reminder of the great fire which a few 
 years ago swept the city through and through, and 
 smouldered in its ashes three months afterwards. 
 Now it is a ruined mass built high upon a rock, 
 with perhaps a flight of steps climbed by daisies 
 and buttercups ; or a square, like a half -crumbled 
 tower overgrown with vines. The living rock is 
 cut through to form the level of the street ; and 
 here and there a fine house, perched high on its 
 rocky base, sets its foot on the neck of its neighbor 
 in the street below. 
 
 But it is at the shops that Milicent is all wonder 
 and delight. Stephen laughs at her, insisting that 
 at least the mode of trade in the village is more 
 convenient, as everything to be bought is to be had 
 in one small shop.
 
 180 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " Just as Mrs. Piggott thinks it is so much bet 
 ter to live in one room with her dozen children. It 
 is so much handier for flogging the children, she 
 told me one day." 
 
 Stephen thinks the children would prefer longer 
 range ; and Urquhart reminds her, for the third 
 or fourth time, that she has no hat on, and must 
 keep in the corner of the carriage, out of sight. 
 
 " Bother the hat ! " Milicent exclaims each time ; 
 but submissively draws back into her corner, until 
 she forgets, and looks out again. 
 
 The drive round the square is much pleasanter : 
 Urquhart has gotten out, and Stephen encourages 
 her to look. And now there is subject for new 
 wonder : the trees of King Square, in the midst of 
 which a fountain is playing, with a sound as of 
 rushing rain. Milicent thinks the fountain a poor 
 substitute for nature s hydraulics on the cliffs ; 
 but she recalls the balm-of-Gilead at home, with 
 its scant, quivering crown of leaves ; and fortu 
 nately Urquhart is not at hand to suggest that 
 these trees might in their turn suffer by compari 
 son with others. Then the carriage draws a little 
 out of the way, to give Milicent a better view of 
 the quaint old burying - ground, which Stephen 
 points out to her as the gathering-place of many 
 in that night of raging flame which swept over 
 the whole city, and utterly destroyed a score of 
 streets, leaving thousands no other home than 
 this. Stephen was sailing up here in a Westport 
 schooner on that terrible twentieth of June ; and 
 he had long ago told Milicent the story of the
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 181 
 
 burning city on the rock, the lurid flapping cur 
 tains of the flames veering all over it ; the sea 
 aglow with the reflection, a red and brassy back 
 ground for the boats and rafts of refugees : one 
 such raft-load, showing out black against the ruddy 
 water, his schooner had picked up, as it was drift 
 ing helplessly out to sea, with its score of women 
 and children. 
 
 The two are talking it over now, as the carriage 
 moves on ; and half-way to the corner, Urquhart 
 comes across the green square, to meet them. 
 
 " The books were just crowded with names of 
 people I know. The whole of New York and 
 Boston seems to have been swept up here by the 
 hot wave of this week. I could not possibly have 
 kept out of their way," Urquhart says in a low 
 voice to Stephen. 
 
 " So large an acquaintance must be something 
 of a nuisance," Stephen returns, laconically. 
 
 " Of course it is. I wish you would stop your 
 platitudes, and suggest something." 
 . " That is n t as difficult as you think. There is 
 a hotel I generally put up at : not a grand house, 
 by any means. But I can recommend it as neat, 
 and kept by a landlady who knows me and will 
 make Milly comfortable." 
 
 " That will do finely. Why did you not mention 
 this hotel before ? " 
 
 " I thought you had better try your own way 
 first, and see if it succeeded." 
 
 Urquhart and Stephen have both a direction to 
 give the driver, and then they get into the carriage.
 
 182 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " I thought we were to stop here," says Milicent, 
 who has taken a decided fancy to the square op 
 posite. 
 
 " No, it was impossible for us to get in," says 
 Urquhart ; and Milicent fortunately does not ask 
 wherein lies the impossibility. She soon forgets 
 her disappointment, in looking at the shops. 
 
 Again the carriage stops : this time before a mil 
 liner s establishment ; and Urquhart alights. 
 
 " Does he expect to find lodgings there ? " Ste 
 phen asks, puzzled by Urquhart s shopping mania. 
 
 Milicent is not at all puzzled, but only says, 
 " He had much better have taken me with him : " 
 and begins to peer out of the window anxiously, 
 without being reminded by Stephen of her hatless 
 condition. 
 
 But Urquhart soon comes back, carrying a par 
 cel wonderfully fastened at the four corners, which 
 he casts into Milicent s lap, before taking his seat 
 by her side. 
 
 " I hope it will do," he says, with very much the 
 air that it will have to do. 
 
 Milicent unpins her parcel, and holds up to view 
 a small French hat, which has the appearance of a 
 large nosegay. 
 
 " It is ugly," says Stephen, very decidedly. 
 " But it will do until you get home." 
 
 " When you will give her straw for domestic 
 manufacture," returns Urquhart, sarcastically. 
 
 " It is a beauty," says Milicent, just as decidedly 
 as Stephen ; " but it will not do at all." 
 
 " Why not ? The milliner took a peep at you
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 183 
 
 through the window, and said it would just suit 
 madame ; and she is a French woman, and ought 
 to know." 
 
 " But she only had a peep," answers Milicent, 
 still regarding the hat half regretfully. 
 
 " Won t it be becoming? " asks Urquhart. " Put 
 it on. Stephen and I will be your mirror." 
 
 " Oh, no doubt I would satisfy you both in it. 
 But my dress would never do with it. It is flannel, 
 and rather the worse for the sea-water." 
 
 " What does it matter, so that you have a hat 
 on your head ? That seems to be the main point," 
 suggests Stephen. 
 
 " Perhaps you had better get a general outfit. 
 I assure you it can be done in a few minutes," 
 says Urquhart, eagerly. 
 
 "No, thanks," returns Milicent, with a blush 
 for her once accepting a general outfit, as he calls 
 it. " I suppose I must have a hat, but I can t 
 trust either of you to select it for me. Just stop 
 at a shop where I can find a straw one. Let me 
 see: we passed the London House and the Vic 
 toria House ; they both sound promising for any 
 thing one might want." 
 
 Urquhart gives the order. " Had n t the clerk 
 better bring the millinery to you ? " he asks. 
 
 " No, it is only a step ; no one will see me if I 
 am quick. You can sit still ; Stephen won t mind 
 going with me." 
 
 But both the men prefer going with her : and 
 Milicent quickly finds a hat that suits her. The 
 clerk tries to entice her to add a spray of flowers
 
 184 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 to the trimming. " It will be such an improve 
 ment," he declares. 
 
 " So it will, Milly. It is just as much too plain 
 as the other was too fine," says Stephen. 
 
 But Milicent shakes her head. 
 
 " White and red roses are quite fashionable," 
 the clerk says, smiling as he holds up the pale tea 
 buds, and looks down at the eager, blushing face ; 
 "and the pink will match your cheeks." 
 
 "Put on your hat, Milicent; we must be off," 
 says Urqubart, sharply ; and as he stops behind 
 to pay for the hat, the clerk infers that he is her 
 husband and grudges her the roses. He does not 
 suppose his compliment was offensive : indeed, 
 he imagines he was very polite in showing the 
 fisherman and his pretty \vife his flowers, though 
 of course they were not his handsomest, not even 
 French. 
 
 Nor does Milicent understand why Urquhart 
 was so suddenly out of temper, and thinks it was 
 because she had refused to wear the French hat. 
 She was sorry, but she never thought of censuring 
 the clerk. 
 
 The hotel Stephen recommended is in a much 
 quieter part of the town, and of the kind generally 
 patronized by farmers and country shopkeepers. 
 It is irreproachably clean ; and yet has an odor 
 of every dinner ever cooked in its precincts. But 
 it has one advantage, Urquhart gladly discovers : 
 which is, that, though kept by a woman, there are 
 none of her sex among her guests. Evidently the 
 farmers wives have different tastes from their
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 185 
 
 husbands, and when they come to town prefer 
 more fashionable quarters. 
 
 The landlady is delighted to see Stephen ; and, 
 being from the seacoast, she very soon understands 
 the circumstances of their case, and the great dan 
 ger he and his friends have passed through. She 
 is inclined to be rather oppressive in her hospi 
 tality ; but that is on Stephen s account, who is a 
 favorite of hers. 
 
 After their late dinner, the two men leave Mili- 
 cent in charge of the landlady, and go in search of 
 a couple of coasting sailors who would attend to 
 needful repairs, and sail the Undine to Westport. 
 It is not an easy thing to find trusty men to un 
 dertake this; and not until after dark do they 
 return to the hotel, having met with much annoy 
 ance, which Urquhart soon forgets in a fresh 
 grievance. The landlady reports that Milicent has 
 gone out. 
 
 " Why, where could she have gone ? Could 
 there have been anything madder than her going 
 out alone ? She has n t an idea of the place," ex 
 claims Urquhart, impatient with anxiety. 
 
 " Don t be afraid. Milly will find her way back. 
 She is too much of a sailor, not to have some mark 
 to steer by. No doubt she has gone to take a 
 nearer view of the shops that fascinated her so, as 
 she drove past them. You ought not to have 
 bought her a hat, if you wanted to keep her in 
 doors," says Stephen, laughing. 
 
 " We had better go and look for her," proposes 
 Urquhart, shortly.
 
 186 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " I don t think we need ; she would rather not, I 
 fancy. Besides, she will be here in a few minutes." 
 
 " It is far too late for her to be out. I wonder 
 she can be so silly." 
 
 " Rather set it down to ignorance," replies Ste 
 phen, gravely. 
 
 " Well, I must go and find her. If she conies 
 in before I return, you can tell her what a fright 
 she has given me," and Urquhart hurries off. 
 
 Stephen may possibly be right, and Milicent 
 has gone to look at the shops : or perhaps to King 
 Square, where strains of music are now mingling 
 with the fountain s plash. 
 
 Urquhart would not be surprised to meet her lin 
 gering somewhere there, listening to a band for the 
 first time in her life, most probably. Prompted 
 by this fear, he walks on rapidly, looking for her 
 carefully ; too carefully, for he almost runs into 
 the arms of some one who is crossing over from 
 the Dufferin, and who proves to be one of his ac 
 quaintances met that afternoon on the wharf. 
 
 Urquhart has to stop and speak civilly ; and be 
 fore he can plead pressing business as an excuse 
 for passing on, he has caught sight of Milicent 
 turning this way from King Street. 
 
 Urquhart s desire is to get rid of his friend be 
 fore Milicent corncs opposite to them. There is 
 good hope of his doing so ; for she is lagging at 
 every shop-window, and at her present gait may 
 be half an hour in making the progress of half a 
 square. But, unfortunately, she sees Urquhart 
 standing there under the street lamp ; and, think-
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 187 
 
 ing he is looking for her, she crosses over, smiling, 
 and wondering if he has been frightened about her. 
 
 " Ah, there is the little girl I saw on the wharf 
 this morning ! " exclaims Urquhart s friend, much 
 to his annoyance. " That is a face one can never 
 forget, the coloring is so perfect, and such sud 
 den changes of expression ! I was sure for a mo 
 ment she thought she knew one of us ; and then a 
 pretty look of disappointment came over her face." 
 
 No wonder a change comes over Milicent s face, 
 as she nears the two men, for Urquhart turns his 
 back on her. She is very sure he saw her. and 
 was ashamed of her ; for Milicent has gained some 
 ideas about dress and the fitness of things, in the 
 few hours she has spent in Vanity Fair. So she 
 passes by, with flaming cheeks, and bright, indig 
 nant eyes that are looking straight before her. 
 
 " Zounds, but she is a beauty ! " Urquhart s 
 companion exclaims. And he would have followed 
 Milicent, and perhaps have made some startling 
 discoveries, if Urquhart had not detained him. 
 
 Milicent s way lies round the next corner, and it 
 is not very long before Urquhart has overtaken her. 
 
 " You had better take my arm," he says, very 
 shortly. 
 
 " Thanks ; I would rather not ; " she answers, in 
 the same tone. 
 
 Just then some one walks in between them, and 
 they are separated for a second or two. When 
 they meet again, Urquhart is peremptory in his 
 desire that she shall take his arm ; and Milicent, a 
 little frightened at the crowd, obeys.
 
 188 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " I have been greatly alarmed about you, Mill- 
 cent. What induced you to come out?" asks Ur- 
 quhart, after securing her. 
 
 " I don t know what inducement there was for 
 me to stay in," she answers, with much defiance in 
 her voice. " I had no one to speak to, and noth 
 ing to do. It was certainly more entertaining out- 
 of-doors." 
 
 " But scarcely as safe. You will find the habits 
 here rather different from those you are accus 
 tomed to." 
 
 " I don t need to have you tell me so," breaks 
 in Milicent, with an increased glow in her cheeks, 
 and an endeavor to draw her hand away from his 
 arm : which she does not succeed in doing, for he 
 holds it fast. " I have discovered the difference 
 myself." 
 
 " I am sorry for it, Milicent. It was careless in 
 me. I should have warned you," says Urquhart, 
 evidently troubled. 
 
 " I don t think warning would have helped me 
 in the least." 
 
 " It would certainly have prevented your coming 
 out by yourself," answers Urquhart. 
 
 " It certainly would not. I am not going to stay 
 in a disagreeable, close room, just because you are 
 ashamed of me." 
 
 " Ashamed of you ! What are you saying, Mil 
 icent ? I thought some one was impertinent to 
 you ! " exclaims Urquhart in surprise. 
 
 " And so some one was, and it has happened to 
 me twice to-day," Milicent says vehemently, strug-
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 189 
 
 gling to free her hand : which Urquhart permits 
 her to do, as they have reached the hotel. 
 
 " What has happened twice to you to-day ? " he 
 asks, gravely. 
 
 " That you have refused to recognize me. All 
 on account of your grand friends ! " she adds, with 
 a scornful shrug of her pretty shoulders. 
 
 " Is that all ? But I could n t help myself," says 
 Urquhart, laughing, and feeling much relieved. 
 
 " Could n t help being ashamed of me ? " 
 
 " Ashamed ! Why, I was never prouder in all 
 my life of anything that was my very own ! " 
 
 The girl looks quickly up at him, a certain thrill 
 in his voice drawing her glance. The light from 
 a window, under which they have paused, shows 
 her his face ; and somehow, when their eyes meet, 
 it is not easy to doubt him, even when he says, as 
 if continuing : 
 
 " But the only thing I could do under the cir 
 cumstances was not to know you. You ought not 
 to be angry with me, for I was acting for your 
 own good." 
 
 " But I do not understand how not speaking to 
 me could do me any good." 
 
 " And I don t care that you should understand. 
 I only wish you to believe me." 
 
 " I hate blind belief," she cries impatiently. 
 " It is a mere weakness." 
 
 " I think it requires a prodigious effort of strength 
 on your part," Urquhart says, laughing. " How 
 are we to get on through life, if you are to have no 
 faith in me ? "
 
 190 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " I don t admit I have no faith in you. Only I 
 would like to be certain that it was not my old 
 flannel dress you were ashamed of." 
 
 " As if a flannel dress is not good enough for a 
 fisherman s sweetheart ! Did you think I cared 
 for such a trifle ? If I had any real cause to be 
 ashamed of you, I would not marry you; but I 
 won t refuse you on account of your dress." 
 
 He laughs as he speaks, and evidently expects 
 an answer from Milicent. 
 
 But she seems satisfied with his assurance, and 
 goes up-stairs to the parlor. Pie watches her un 
 til she is safely on her way, and then turns into 
 the office to give some directions relating to leav 
 ing in the morning. 
 
 Stephen is in the parlor, reading the evening 
 paper, when Milicent comes in. He was anxiously 
 watching for her, until he caught sight of her re 
 turning on Urquhart s arm : when he took up the 
 paper. 
 
 " I wish we had never come here ! " exclaims 
 Milicent, in a vexed tone, throwing her hat on the 
 table, a little too hastily, for it misses its in 
 tended resting-place, and goes spinning across the 
 room. 
 
 Stephen goes quietly and picks up the much- 
 abused hat, and then comes back to his seat, 
 before he says : 
 
 " I think this is better than risking death 011 the 
 ocean, Milly." 
 
 " Oh, I forgot that ! It is very ungrateful in me. 
 I thought last night if I ever got to land .again I
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 191 
 
 would be so very different. So gentle, and so 
 good. And I have been all day just as I always 
 am." 
 
 " Which is n t such a bad way," Stephen says, 
 gently stroking the hand that lies on the arm of 
 his chair. 
 
 " It is n t grateful in me. Stephen, I am afraid 
 I am of an ungrateful disposition." 
 
 " I always thought just the opposite. I have 
 always found you grateful even in trifles." 
 
 " Oh, in word, but not in deed. I suppose I 
 could say very easily, I thank God for sparing our 
 lives. But if I had to give up something just be 
 cause it was right, I would not do it." 
 
 " Yes, you would, if it were necessary," says 
 Stephen. 
 
 " I would if I were forced to, if I could n t help 
 myself. But I would never do as as you would 
 do, Stephen do it quietly and without fuss." 
 
 " Yes, you would. When we feel very deeply, 
 we don t care to be noisy about it. Where did you 
 go just now ? To see something pretty, I wager." 
 " And got a scolding for my venturesomeness. 
 Stephen, why is it that people who live in the 
 country are not fit to live in the city ? " 
 
 " I should transpose that sentence," Stephen 
 says, laughing. 
 
 " At home I am just like other people," she goes 
 on to explain. " But here, I m different from 
 every one. And such little things seem to put 
 people out. And it is just horrid I " she ends ener 
 getically.
 
 192 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 It is not a very clear insight into her troubles, 
 that Milicent is giving Stephen, and he does not 
 care to question her ; so he says hopefully : 
 
 " We 11 be at home to-morrow, and then you 11 
 not feel so lost." 
 
 " Do you know," she says, " I ve been won 
 dering all day if they are sorry at home." 
 
 " Are n t you sure they are ? I don t believe 
 there is a heart in the village that is not sore for 
 us." 
 
 " Yes, in the village. And Aunt Ursula is 
 grieved for you, for she is fond of you. But it is 
 different about me." 
 
 " She loves you better than you think, Milly." 
 
 " She does n t care very much for me : I am in 
 her way more than you know. But I shall be glad 
 to go back and do something to help her ; and 
 perhaps when I go away for always, she will miss 
 me a little. I should like her to." 
 
 " It is a hard burden to bear, to miss those we 
 love. But no struggling will rid us of it." 
 
 " I don t want you to miss me," says Milicent, 
 quickly. 
 
 " You want me to be different from all the 
 rest ? " he asks, a little pained, but thinking he 
 does not show it. 
 
 " You are, and always will be, different from all 
 others," says Milicent softly, and laying her hand 
 on his shoulder. " There is, and always will be, 
 but one Stephen in the world to me." 
 
 Urquhart comes in just then, and sees Milicent s 
 hand on Stephen s shoulder, and perhaps hears her
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 193 
 
 last words. Any one might have come into the 
 room as well. " Do you want any tea ? " he asks, 
 shortly. 
 
 He had intended to propose to her to walk after 
 tea. Under cover of night, he did not fear to 
 take her. 
 
 " No, thanks. I am going to bed," she answers. 
 And as neither of the men presses her to stay, she 
 says good-night, and leaves them. 
 
 Urquhart goes out, perhaps to meet his friends, 
 who do not mind being seen with such a rough- 
 looking fellow, when it is so easy to explain who 
 he is. He is too rich a man, not to be permitted a 
 few vagaries. 
 
 Stephen spends the evening alone. Urquhart 
 did not ask him to go with him : perhaps he did not 
 care to give any trace as to the whereabouts of his 
 fishing-ground, and it was n t at all likely Stephen 
 would refuse to say where he came from, for any 
 whim of Urquhart s. As he could not very well 
 explain to Stephen why he desires to keep both 
 Milicent and the little fishing-village from the 
 knowledge of his acquaintances, he avoids both ex 
 planation and companionship, and goes alone. 
 
 Stephen naturally thinks, with Milicent, that 
 many things are different in the city. But not be 
 ing inclined to study manners and customs, he 
 quietly smokes a peaceful pipe, chatting with the 
 landlady, and the few farmers and countrymen 
 who are inclined to keep moderately late hours, in 
 conformity to city ways. 
 
 13
 
 XL 
 
 " Henceforth 
 
 The course of life that seemed so flowery to me, 
 Becomes the sea-cliff pathway, broken short, 
 And ending in a ruin." 
 
 THE next morning the travelers make an early 
 start for home. Milicent laughs merrily at the 
 slip-shod, sleepy appearance of the streets, so gay 
 and full of fine people the evening before. Here 
 and there a baker s wagon is opening its queer, 
 low, cupboard-like back door, to dole out bread to 
 early customers ; but the shops look somnolent, 
 with their windows like great eyes fast closed. 
 Every now and then, the sun peers, with a white 
 face like the moon s, out of the dense folds of a 
 fog pushed for an instant aside, only to be drawn 
 down again. There is not much to be seen of the 
 harbor, save the masts rising up like spectre-ships 
 out of dim nothingness ; or a fishing-weir at low- 
 tide left bare on the Carleton side, a straggling V 
 of bushy brown boughs driven upright into the 
 brown flats. Back and forth, and in and out, the 
 sturdy tug-boats are darting ; to Milicent s amuse 
 ment, as she sits on the deck of the Empress, look 
 ing on. 
 
 Stephen stands talking to a knot of men, across 
 the deck ; Urquhart is beside her. His friends
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 195 
 
 having decided last night that they would not 
 cross the Fundy in a fog, and there being thus no 
 danger of a rencontre, he has fallen easily into 
 Stephen s views as to the return trip. 
 
 And indeed what could be more enjoyable, than 
 to sit thus on the deck with Milicent, and share 
 her fresh young wonder and delight in the busy 
 scene around her ? 
 
 It is very busy and crowded, to the girl whose 
 thoughts now and then flash back to the tiny piers 
 of the fishing-village, which once seemed bustling 
 enough. This grove of masts reminds her of the 
 dead belt of spruce-trees on the headland, which 
 the fire had swept by, with its blasting breath, once 
 on a time, and had left them standing wan and 
 melancholy against sea and sky. But this remem 
 brance lasts only an instant : there is the bustle of 
 lading ; and the throng, or so it seems to Milicent, 
 upon the wharf. The Boston steamer passes ; and 
 now the Empress is feeling her way out of the 
 harbor ; and the fog shuts down on Milicent s 
 parting view. 
 
 The sun, however, burns the fog up before 
 the opposite coast-line is reached, and Milicent 
 watches the land grow before her, with a thrill 
 which a more experienced traveler might have 
 missed. Little Bryer Island has no history ; or if 
 it had, its people have forgotten. But here, two 
 centuries and a half ago, how the earliest French 
 colonists hearts nmst have beat high on entering 
 this safe haven from stormy seas, never dream 
 ing that the waves of war would roll this way, and
 
 196 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 sweep them from their settlement at Annapolis, or 
 Port-Real, as their descendants still call it. But 
 how they could have passed by Digby downs, to set 
 tle at Annapolis above, it would be hard to know. 
 
 For Digby is so beautiful, as the Empress steams 
 through the Gut, the gap in the North Mountain 
 range, cleft for the Fundy, which here sweeps into 
 a broad blue basin set about with hills. Hard by 
 the strait, and where Ben Lomond in his fir robes 
 stands beriignantly to ward off Fundy fogs, pretty 
 little red and white and brown Digby under its 
 cherry-trees climbs the promontory between the 
 Baquette and the Joggin Indian for Snow-shoe 
 and Mitten, the shape of which the water takes, on 
 either side, spread out in blue amid green slopes. 
 
 Half the population of Digby, and all the sum 
 mer sojourners in the lovely little watering-place, 
 gather on the long pier to watch the coming and 
 going of the Empress. Milicent, in recalling the 
 scene a day later, will look back with a sort of 
 longing, as one who, swept along over the cata 
 ract, looks back at the smooth stretch of water 
 gliding on merrily up to the very brink. 
 
 For it is all so bright and sunny and cheery : the 
 lines of the North Mountain ; the village streets 
 climbing the downs in terraces, bowered in trees 
 that bring a blush to Milicent s cheek for her poor 
 balm-of-Gilead at home ; the dancing blue water, 
 with the Empress gliding away, the white-winged 
 fishing-boats swooping to the waves, and the In 
 dian canoe paddling in, to set its queer square sail 
 and take on board the young squaw and ho-d, or
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 197 
 
 little one, who have been selling baskets and moc 
 casins on the pier, and saying a few words to Mil- 
 icent, beginning with the soft Indian " Bazouli" 
 and ending with " Adieu" learned probably from 
 their French priests. 
 
 Milicent and Urquhart loiter on the pier, until 
 Stephen brings the carriage for the drive down the 
 French shore, just opposite Bryer Island, where 
 the Undine is to meet them. It is a long drive ; 
 but they choose it instead of the long waiting for 
 the evening train : the rather, as Milicent s eyes 
 widen with something like terror, when for the first 
 time she watches the engine panting to and fro, 
 bringing its passengers and freight for the Empress 
 to the foot of the pier. 
 
 They change horses at Weymouth, a village lying 
 like the Sleeping Beauty in the Wood, on her rum 
 pled couch of hills, her loosened silver girdle of river 
 trailing off across her lap. They have driven on, 
 down St. Mary s Bay, now distant and now nearer : 
 when presently the road becomes one village street, 
 one street of seventy miles length, that stretches 
 on with here and there thin spaces where some 
 habitant has added field to field about his house. 
 Elsewhere, the cottages straggle, one after the 
 other, along both sides of the road, which keeps 
 the undulations of the coast, green hay-slopes to the 
 right and left, with ripening grain-fields turning 
 golden in a snow-drift of buckwheat, and the dark 
 of the fir-wood behind. Under the verge of the bil 
 lowy-green bank lies blue St. Mary s Bay, edged 
 by Long Island, where the North Mountain range
 
 198 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 dwindles into steep, red-brown, wooded cliffs, sheer 
 to the water s brim. Dwindles and dwindles, un 
 til at Greenhead, on Bryer Island, it plunges be 
 neath the Atlantic. 
 
 Here and there, where smooth pebbles have been 
 strangely built up by the waves into a sea-wall 
 against their own encroachments, a beach thrusts 
 out a long, brown arm, with a pier in its grasp, or 
 a skeleton ship, half-built, its gaunt ribs standing 
 up against the sky. At Church Point, three iron 
 crosses, surmounting a structure of brown and 
 withered firs, mark where, on Corpus Christi Day, 
 green boughs and flowers point the line of proces 
 sion the French Walk from the church to the 
 seashore. First walks the priest, bearing the Holy 
 Eucharist, with banner and crosses, and followed 
 by a throng of white-robed children and white- 
 veiled girls, scattering flowers, and supported by 
 two lines of the devout. Hundreds and hundreds, 
 chanting as they go, they reach and pass the Holy 
 Stations, turn back again from the sea, and reach 
 the church and disappear within its open doors. 
 
 Sometimes the priest in charge here is French ; 
 sometimes Irish, with an Irishman s ready wit in 
 exhorting or rebuking. Such an one may be chat 
 ting with you on the roadside, as you stop to de 
 liver his mail, when one Pierre, well known for 
 a wife-beater, comes up to him. " One moment, 
 Pierre," he says in English, knowing the man un 
 derstands it ; then turns to you, as if continuing the 
 conversation : " As I do be saying, this man Peter, 
 in the old country, him that was well known for a
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 199 
 
 wife-beater, died at last, and his wife mourned for 
 him, though he was no great of a loss. One even 
 ing, she comes praying at the grave of him, and 
 to humble herself like, she ups with her skirts, and 
 goes down on her bare knees, right on a nettle 
 growing there. Och, Peter, Peter, she says, 
 though t is dead and gone ye are, the sting s 
 there still. " 
 
 The coachman tells the story, with a glance over 
 his shoulder for Milicent s approval. In the old 
 mail-stage days along this road, he was accustomed 
 to look out for the entertainment, as well as the 
 safety, of his passengers ; and stored away, for ready 
 use, many an anecdote anent the stage, with him 
 self always handling the reins. It was he, and no 
 one else, who was driving the crowded stage to 
 Yarmouth one pitch-black night, when the wind 
 was blowing fit to tear the luggage from the rack 
 behind, and one Mr. Campbell incessantly requir 
 ing to be assured of its safety there : until a fellow- 
 passenger condoled with him that he had not been 
 born an elephant rather than a camel, that he 
 might have had his trunk always before him. And 
 it was he and no one else, of course, to whom, when 
 driving the American lady-traveler out of Digby, 
 along the tide-drained chasm of Bear River, she re 
 marked that she had never known, before she came 
 to Nova Scotia, what an addition water is to a 
 river. 
 
 As he tells the story now, the day is waning ; in 
 the barnyards stand the oxen, staring idly as the 
 strangers pass ; yonder blue is alive with the white
 
 200 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 sails of homeward-flitting fishing-boats ; and the 
 fields ring out from time to time with cheery 
 French voices, as the hay is gathered in. The sun 
 drops behind Long Island ; the carriage rattles 
 down the one road-street of its final stopping-place. 
 Milicent is welcomed into the cottage " hotel " by 
 some bright - eyed, gentle - mannered Evangeline, 
 who inquires whether she has " travelld par le rail 
 road ; " while Stephen and Urquhart walk across 
 the hayfields to the seashore to see if the Undine 
 has come or is coming in. 
 
 But there is no sign of her. Instead, the fog is 
 creeping up, and neither wind nor tide gives any 
 encouragement to the hiring of a boat to-night. 
 There is nothing better to be done, than to wait 
 until to-morrow for the Undine. 
 
 There is a legend of a traveler astray in the 
 forest, who, in the silence round about him, hears 
 the morning-bells ring out, leading him on until he 
 comes upon a village sunken in fair meadows. A 
 village of the olden time ; out of whose cottages 
 stream a procession of mediaeval saints and sinners, 
 whom he follows (beckoned on, perhaps, by a swift 
 glance from some pair of bright eyes), until all 
 vanish under the church porch. Vanish, holy 
 bells and heavenward spire and quaint village, all 
 gone as a dream ; and the traveler stands rubbing 
 his eyes, staring in bewilderment upon the blank 
 of quivering greenery before him. 
 
 Oftentimes there is a grain of modern truth in 
 those old legends; and just here, on the French
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 201 
 
 Shore of Clare, it seems to Urquhart he has found 
 it, when, the next morning being Sunday, the 
 blessed bells ring out, and lo ! the old-time gather 
 ing at the church-door. 
 
 o 
 
 If among the groups there waiting is no white- 
 capped, red-juped Evangdline, there is more than 
 one in nun-like black, with gold cross on her 
 bosom, and the graceful black silk kerchief tied 
 three corner-wise over her head, the straight fold 
 drawn forward till it slightly shades the face, the 
 ends tied in a true French knot under the chin. 
 Perhaps only Evangeline, with her clear-cut fea 
 tures, her warm olive and peach bloom, and her 
 soft bright eyes, brown as the sloeberry, would 
 look her prettiest under that quaint head-gear. 
 But there is more than one Evangeline here. 
 
 Inside the church, it is difficult to believe one 
 has not entered into the midst of a congregation 
 of religieuses. A black-robed multitude, a thou 
 sand kneeling as one : not a sound, not a breath 
 from them breaking the silence. Only the swing 
 ing of the censer chains by one of the four white- 
 tunicked altar-boys ; the tinkling of the altar-bell ; 
 the rustle of the priest s silk vestment, thrown 
 over his shoulder with the great cross broidered 
 like a banner on his back; the murmur of his 
 voice at his Latin, and the chanting of the sweet, 
 fresh choir-voices in the Agnus Dei. The darken 
 ing of the spacious nave with all that black con 
 centrates the light about the altar, white and 
 gilded, with its twinkling candles and brilliance of 
 fresh flowers, Milicent is on her knees ; and pres-
 
 202 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 ently a shivering sob escapes her. Stephen, who 
 is next her, leans slightly forward to screen her. 
 He is very sure he understands : it is the reaction 
 after the long strain ; the sudden, overwhelming 
 sense, here in the outer court, of how nearly the 
 gates of the other world had opened to her on that 
 night upon the sea. 
 
 Yes ; but if he had known the thought which 
 choked the sob ? Is life as solemn a thing, after 
 all, as death ? Dying, she would fain have told 
 her lover all the truth about herself ; will she, liv 
 ing, venture to withhold it? 
 
 Urquhart knows nothing of her conflict. No 
 doubts are troubling him ; he has seen far finer 
 churches, with more glow and glitter, and is not 
 paying over much attention here, until the Latin 
 is put by for the French. In that, the priest ex 
 horts his people to the keeping of the Assumption 
 as the national Acadian fete, to the improving, 
 temporellcment, moralement, et spirititcllcmcnt, of 
 the Acadiens : a word of warning thrown in, as 
 to the danger of being tempted to stray from the 
 true faith, by intercourse with Boston, for instance. 
 Boston ways and fashions are called to mind, per 
 haps, by Milicent s new hat in a front pew, conspic 
 uous among the kerchiefed heads. Unconscious 
 Milicent, who misses Urquhart s amused glance. 
 
 The Undine is well in sight, white upon blue St. 
 Mary s Bay, when her passengers come out of 
 church ; and they are soon waiting for her, pacing 
 up and down the beach under the overhanging 
 hayfields.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 203 
 
 Presently Milicent stoops, with a little, eager 
 cry, for a handful of dulse flung up by the waves 
 at her feet. 
 
 " Who knows perhaps it came from home," 
 she says. " How far away it looks, a mere blur 
 on the blue ! " 
 
 She is balancing herself on a bit of rock on the 
 edge of the water, as she gazes wistfully across. 
 Urquhart follows her eyes, half jealously. 
 
 " Don t forget," he says, " it is going to fade 
 out altogether from your horizon, one day very 
 soon." 
 
 She looks round with a frightened blush. But 
 Stephen has walked on towards the landing place ; 
 so after a pause she remarks confidentially to Ur 
 quhart : 
 
 " Do you know, I am very sure I shall prefer 
 Venice to any other city in the world ? " 
 
 " Why Venice ? " he asks. 
 
 " Because, as there are no carriages there, one is 
 not forced to drive." 
 
 " It will be safer for you, as you will take the 
 gondolas, and not frighten me with the idea that 
 you have lost yourself, as you did yesterday even- 
 ing." 
 
 " Lost ! " exclaims Milicent, in infinite scorn. 
 " As if one could possibly be lost in such a place 
 as St. John ! With some one or something to set 
 one right every few steps, one cannot rightly be 
 said to be lost. It was much more like it, when 
 we were drifting over the wide Atlantic, the black 
 sky as much a howling wilderness as the black sea.
 
 204 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 But when the stars came out, and we could tell at 
 least the north from the south, it was not so very 
 dreadful. I was never in my life so glad to see 
 anything, as that north star." 
 
 " I must confess the sight of the schooner was a 
 much greater relief to me than the stars could pos 
 sibly be. The Undine seemed a mere cockle-shell 
 when you were not quite sure you were not on mid- 
 ocean. The relief you feel when safely over such 
 an adventure is so great, it is almost a repayment 
 for the anxiety." 
 
 "lam not sure I felt anxious to that extent," 
 replies Milicent. " Even now, I do not shrink 
 from the recollection as from something altogether 
 horrible. Some day, perhaps, we will both look 
 back to it almost with pleasure." 
 
 " It will be, then, when we have something worse 
 than death to face." 
 
 " I did not think there was anything worse than 
 death," says Milicent, with a shudder. 
 
 Urquhart sees it ; so he says lightly : 
 
 " Venice, shall it be, then, Milicent ? " 
 
 " Ah," with a long, happy sigh, " how much I 
 have to see ! and I shall see all, really, really?" 
 looking up at him wistfully. 
 
 Can anything be more delightful than to have 
 the world to show to this fresh little girl? As Ur 
 quhart answers her glance now, he forgets what he 
 may have wished some day or two ago : he would 
 not have her one whit less unsophisticated and 
 worldly-ignorant than she is. And so he begins, 
 as they walk on, to tell her some of the wonderful
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 205 
 
 things which he will have to show her. When 
 suddenly, as he looks into her face, he sees it has 
 turned very pale. 
 
 He stops short. " Milicent, you are tired ? This 
 is all too much for you ! You should not have 
 walked out this morning." 
 
 "No no." And then she says slowly: "Do 
 you suppose, if one should get one glimpse of para 
 dise, and then the gates were shut, it would all be 
 much worse than it was before, outside ? " 
 
 What man would not have drunk in the subtile 
 and unconscious flattery ? He draws her hand 
 with eager ownership into his arm, and keeps it 
 there as he leads her on. 
 
 " What do we care about the outside, sweet 
 heart ? You and I will be inside, together." 
 
 " Ah, but if " her voice is low and hesitat 
 ing "if there should be something that might 
 keep me outside ? " 
 
 " We would stay outside together, and that would 
 be paradise. Why, Milicent, do you think there 
 could be any paradise for me, without you ? Do 
 you not know there is nothing I would dread, but 
 being parted from you ? " 
 
 Milicent stands still on the beach, and clasps 
 her two hands over his arm, in a sort of hurried in 
 sistence. 
 
 " Say that again ! " she cries, breathlessly. 
 " Again ! if you can." 
 
 Of course he says it again. 
 
 Perhaps, if the girl s eyes were not looking up 
 straight into his, he might remember there are
 
 206 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 several other things he might have some dread of, 
 besides that parting which seems an impossibility 
 out of all reckoning. But as it is, he does not 
 remember ; still less, when Milicent lets her two 
 hands fall, with a soft-drawn breath ; and with the 
 color coming back into her face, begins : 
 
 " Then I may tell you " 
 
 A footstep sounds behind them : it is Stephen 
 coming to look for them. " The tide is turning," 
 he says ; " wind too in our favor ; and the sooner 
 we are off, the better." 
 
 Urquhart frowns. Why is the fellow always 
 breaking in at the wrong time ? and just now, 
 when Milicent has no doubt something to tell of 
 " the old old story that keeps the world from grow 
 ing old." 
 
 But Milicent has turned to meet Stephen ; a 
 smile, very like one of relief, dawning in her face. 
 
 It is near sunset when the Undine sweeps into 
 Grand Passage, between the foam-lashed light 
 house island and the high red bluffs and cottage- 
 sprinkled green slopes of Long Island : and the 
 white street of Westport curves in front. 
 
 Stephen is steering ; Urquhart, lying on a sail 
 in the bow of the yacht, is asleep or very drowsy. 
 Milicent is glad to see the old fish-houses, and 
 says so. 
 
 " I always thought if I were once away, I should 
 never care to come back. But now I am sure 
 that, no matter where I go, I shall think of the old 
 place with a sort of longing. Looking back may 
 become in time as pleasant as looking forward."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 207 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so, Milly. I never 
 liked to think you were willing to forget so much 
 of your life as you said you were. It has not been 
 altogether miserable ? There have been some bright 
 hours ? I used to think, when you were a little one, 
 you never heeded anything except a rainy day." 
 
 " Oh, they were wretched trials ! and I was so 
 dreadfully naughty every time a long storm came, 
 that Aunt Ursula had a horror of them too. I 
 never felt, until now, that I would be sorry to leave 
 Aunt Ursula. She has never cared in the least 
 for me ; but that is from no fault of hers." 
 
 "It seems to me a fault not to care for you," 
 says Stephen, glancing at the young, eager face, 
 whose very earnestness makes it beautiful. 
 
 " But you never judge of me as others do. Be 
 sides," she adds with a laugh, " I do not think Aunt 
 Ursula has ever seen me in her life." 
 
 " You mean she judges you hardly. I think it 
 is a common fault with people as they grow older, 
 and especially if they have passed through great 
 trouble, to judge young people hardly. It always 
 seems to me, Milly, Miss Ursula has gone through 
 some great trial that has made her different from 
 every one else in the world. Something you and 
 I know nothing about." 
 
 " But that is not the reason Aunt Ursula dis 
 likes me. My chief sin in her eyes is that I am 
 like my mother." 
 
 " That is very unreasonable in Miss Ursula, I 
 must say. How can you help your looks ? " asks 
 Stephen, smiling.
 
 208 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " I do not mean my face," she says, impatiently. 
 " How much you men think of our appearance. 
 Aunt Ursula disliked my mother, and in many 
 ways she thinks I resemble her." 
 
 " I have heard that sisters-in-law are apt to have 
 an aversion for each other ; though I never under 
 stood the cause of it," remarks Stephen in excuse 
 of Miss Ursula, of whom he is fond, despite her 
 forbidding manner, and her evident coldness to 
 Milicent. " Why did Miss Ursula dislike your 
 mother, Milly?" 
 
 " I think Aunt Ursula s chief cause of displeas 
 ure was that my mother could not live through 
 troubles as she did, but died and left them behind 
 her." 
 
 There is such an unnatural ring of bitterness, 
 one might say of cynicism, in Milicent s careless 
 words, that Stephen is at once moved to defend 
 Miss Ursula. " No doubt Miss Ursula thought if 
 your mother had been braver, she would have out 
 lived her troubles. It is difficult for strong hearts 
 to sympathize with those who are weaker," he says, 
 apologetically. 
 
 " She thought at least she could live without 
 showing she was hurt," says Milicent, not at all 
 resenting his warmth. " Aunt Ursula is of the same 
 stuff martyrs are made of. She will never flinch, 
 no matter how one tortures her ; and, moreover, 
 she has no patience with any one who has not just 
 her amount of courage. Sometimes I wonder if I 
 should die, as my poor mother did, if a great 
 trouble came to me?"
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 209 
 
 " I do not think you would, Milly. You have 
 more of Miss Ursula s spirit in you than you 
 think. Perhaps that is just the reason she is hard 
 on you at times : you hold out too bravely." 
 
 " I, like Aunt Ursula, indeed ! " exclaims Mili- 
 cent, derisively. " Why, the other night I cried 
 myself to sleep, for no reason but because the 
 world seemed so very big, and people so difficult 
 to understand. Fancy Aunt Ursula crying herself 
 to sleep ! " 
 
 " I have no doubt she has, many a time, only she 
 is not so honest in confessing it. Has the world 
 grown smaller to-day ? " asks Stephen, glancing 
 over where Urquhart is making some sign of rous 
 ing himself. 
 
 " Yes, there are but three people in the world 
 to-day," declares Milicent, merrily. " It was fool 
 ish in me to fancy I would like a crowd, the 
 world, I mean. I am afraid I never can. I hope 
 I will find Aunt Ursula a little worried about us, 
 so that I may have a chance to tell her I am glad 
 to get home." 
 
 " Of course she has been anxious and unhappy 
 about you, Milly." 
 
 " I hope she will say so, then." 
 
 " See what a crowd there is on the piers ! I 
 wonder if there is anything the matter ? " says 
 Urquhart, coming towards them. 
 
 " They have caught sight of the Undine. You 
 don t suppose they will go on quietly drinking tea, 
 when they know we are coming ? " 
 
 " Vastly kind in them : though I don t think I 
 
 14
 
 210 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 ever observed they took very much interest in us 
 before." 
 
 " "Why should they ? " says Milicent. " As long 
 as we were just like every one else around us, I 
 can t see what possible interest they could find in 
 us." 
 
 " Interest meaning curiosity," suggests Urquhart, 
 coming to where they are sitting. 
 
 " Generally ; but not with that little crowd on 
 the piers," says Stephen. " They have been very 
 anxious about us ; and a fisherman is always glad 
 when the sea is cheated of its prey." 
 
 " It being his habit to rob the sea, he does not 
 like to pay it back," Urquhart supposes. 
 
 " He very often has to do it. There is nothing 
 more pathetic than a fisherman s funeral, when the 
 poor fellow is drowned, and the body found. Per 
 haps that is because it so seldom is found." 
 
 " I don t see Aunt Ursula, nor Thomas," says 
 Milicent, scanning the crowd. " I wonder if any 
 one has told them ? " 
 
 They are at the pier now, and Urquhart and 
 Stephen are occupied in bringing the Undine 
 round handsomely. 
 
 A few minutes more, and they have all landed, 
 and are receiving the heartfelt, though somewhat 
 rough greetings of the little crowd. Certainly 
 there are as many gathered together as on the Sat 
 urday of Urquhart s arrival with the fishing-boats. 
 He recalls the scene of that day, with the odd im 
 pression of one s ignorance of what will happen to 
 one in the course of but a very few weeks. A
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 211 
 
 rather doubtful pleasure-trip, which was to have 
 lasted as many days, has managed to shape the 
 whole of his coming life. The rest of his days, 
 though he might live long in the land, could never 
 bear with such influence upon his happiness, he is 
 very sure. 
 
 " We d made up our minds the fish had got you. 
 They are as greedy folk after us, as we are after 
 them," says one of the fishermen, pressing forward 
 to shake hands with him. 
 
 " We have fooled them this time," answers Ur- 
 quhart, lightly. " Though I can t see much .dif 
 ference between fish and worms, if one has to be 
 devoured." 
 
 " Don t say it, sir, don t say it. It s bad luck to 
 be uncivil to the finny folk where they can hear 
 you." 
 
 " So, you re one of the lucky ones," remarks an 
 other fisherman, who has been attentively listening 
 to Stephen s account of the squall. " A man who 
 weathers a brown squall in these waters, in a craft 
 like yon, is likely to die in his bed. And it s a 
 heap more comfortable for the breath to go out of 
 one little by little, than to have it choked out by 
 a great, ugly wave. A quiet death-bed, with one s 
 folks decently crying round, does a power of good, 
 more than the parson s sermon. No matter how ill 
 a man lives, he 11 do his best to die respectably, if 
 he has half a chance. But if one is drowned in 
 the sea " 
 
 " Then God himself preaches," interrupts old 
 Angus. " And it s a solemn, awesome sermon, of
 
 212 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 the same kind the thunder and lightning is made 
 of. You 11 never think, while struggling with the 
 sea, what folks are saying or thinking about you. 
 It s just wonderful for knocking the conceit out of 
 you ; for you are as good as nothing at all, when 
 the big waves are tossing you about, as if you were 
 no more account than a wisp of straw. I was 
 picked up once for dead, on the shore over there," 
 he adds, as if apologizing for knowing so much 
 more about drowning than the rest of them. 
 
 " Mrs. Featherstoiie," asks Miliceut of the vil 
 lage shop-keeper, who, with the broadest of smiles 
 on her round, rosy face, but the water standing in 
 her friendly blue eyes, has been the foremost with 
 her greetings, especially for Urquhart, " have 
 you seen or heard anything of Aunt Ursula ? " 
 
 " Not I. She is too handily in black to need 
 anything of me at short notice. It has its draw 
 backs, though : for when afflictions come, folks are 
 apt to overlook you, if you wear the gown they re 
 used to see you in," and she smoothes down her 
 own black sleeve with a plump hand that trembles 
 a little. " I thought may be Miss Ursula would 
 need a yard or so of black ribbon ; but she did n t." 
 
 " Not quite so soon as this ! Aunt Ursula can 
 not have given up all hope of us so soon ! " says 
 Milicent, hastily. 
 
 " I can t say there was much of what you call 
 hope about it. It blew fit to leave the island bald ; 
 and such a sea as d bother a fish ! It was n t so 
 long : but none of the men put much faith in yon 
 pleasure-boat, she d turn turtle in the squall,
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 213 
 
 they knew. But then, men always know so much, 
 
 more than the Almighty himself at times. Not 
 that the women are far behind them. They make 
 cocksure the prints are going to fade white before 
 they are in the suds : unless they come out all right, 
 and then they are ready to swear they knew they 
 were fast colors. And that reminds me," adds 
 Mrs. Featherstone, dropping her voice confiden 
 tially, with what she would have called a lee wink, 
 
 " there s that beautiful a-white muslin the Do 
 minion fetched a-Saturday, by Miss Ursula s or 
 ders. I d hardly the heart to unpack my boxes, 
 thinking upon the storm, I was like a buoy 
 that s gone adrift, till I sighted that white muslin. 
 And then I turned to, and clapped the scissors into 
 it, and put on a puff here, and a flounce fore and 
 aft, as it might be. Wheel there, steady ! says I 
 to myself : we 11 make for the wedding-port, and 
 that 11 be a lucky omen for the Undine. And it s 
 a mighty proud woman I am this day, that it s the 
 white that is wanted, not the black." 
 
 Milicent colors like a rose, and says hurriedly, 
 
 " The men were wrong if they gave us up for 
 lost. And as to the Undine, she behaved beauti 
 fully," she adds, with pride. 
 
 " You re safe because you had Stephen along," 
 declares one of the men standing near. " What 
 ever made him a farmer, when he is a born sailor, 
 I can t say ; only I always maintain it s against 
 nature, and so it s all wrong." 
 
 " Mr. Urquhart was skipper," says Milicent 
 stiffly, as she walks away. She would not confess
 
 214 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 that all the risk they had run was through Ur- 
 quhart s headstrongness. 
 
 Apparently, Stephen and Urquhart have no 
 chance to escape until they have given a minute 
 account of their many vicissitudes, and listened to 
 many remarkable comments upon them. The 
 whole world might have been convulsed by some 
 great throe, physical or political, and the little vil 
 lage would have been perfectly indifferent. But 
 that a boat from its own harbor, and carrying some 
 of its own people, should have been in imminent 
 peril, is of vivid interest to the whole community. 
 
 Milicent has slipped away, unseen, from the 
 group surrounding her two companions. It is very 
 evident their return is a resurrection from the 
 dead, to the people on the pier : and though she is 
 anxious, perhaps a little curious, to see what effect 
 the ill tidings had upon her own household, she 
 does not wish for any spectators when she an 
 nounces herself alive and well. Nor does she wish 
 the news of her safety to reach her aunt before her. 
 So she hastens on, with all the imprudent desire of 
 youth to see things just as they are. 
 
 And Milicent is satisfied : for Miss Ursula, who 
 seldom goes to the front of the house, has not seen 
 the unwonted gathering of the village people on the 
 pier, but is busy with her usual household avoca 
 tions when Milicent comes into the kitchen. 
 
 Miss Ursula has her back to the door when the 
 girl enters, who, feeling very much as if she were 
 the ghost of herself, and might startle the living, 
 calls out softly :
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 215 
 
 " Aunt Ursula " 
 
 Miss Ursula turns, with a perplexed look in her 
 eyes, as though she suspected herself of being ner 
 vous, or under a delusion. 
 
 But the bodily presence of Milicent standing in 
 the doorway is of itself convincing. 
 
 A look of relief sweeps over Miss Ursula s face ; 
 but it passes so quickly that Milicent is not sure 
 it was not a delusion on her part. 
 
 Miss Ursula s sharp voice is none, as she asks : 
 
 " Where have you been, all this time? " 
 
 " At the bottom of the sea, where I fancy you 
 would rather I had stayed. Are you so very sorry 
 to see me at home again, Aunt Ursula? " 
 
 " Sorry ! Why should I be ? It is for you to 
 judge whether your life is worth living or not." 
 
 " I have a little faith in its wholesomeness. At 
 any rate, I prefer being alive, to undergoing the 
 fish-devouring process our neighbors were fancying 
 for us," says Milicent, carelessly, though inwardly 
 deeply hurt by her aunt s cool reception. 
 
 " You believe so now ; nevertheless, the day will 
 come when you will think a quick death preferable 
 to a long life. But you never fished up a new hat 
 from the bottom of the sea," continues Miss Ur 
 sula, with a glance at Milicent s head-gear. 
 
 " Oh, we have been shopping in St. John, and 
 have had a rare good time of it," says the girl, 
 lightly. " I cannot imagine why you never say one 
 kind word for the great world, when it looks so 
 pleasant." 
 
 " On the surface, perhaps. But you were scarcely
 
 216 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 so imprudent as to go to St. John in the yacht ! I 
 cannot see how Stephen could have consented to 
 anything so rash and indiscreet," adds Miss Ur 
 sula, with marked displeasure. 
 
 " He did, however, and was glad when a schooner 
 offered to take us in tow. I do not see why you 
 should care, since you were not anxious about us." 
 
 " Why should I be, if, as you say, you were en 
 joying yourself, and shopping for a new hat ? If 
 you had been in any great danger, you might have 
 expected me to be anxious about you." 
 
 " I don t know that I would. It was Stephen 
 who expected it. I could have told him you wasted 
 nothing, not even so cheap a thing as pity," says 
 Milicent, bitterly. 
 
 She does not wait to hear Miss Ursula s reply, 
 but turns from the kitchen to go up-stairs to change 
 her dress ; perhaps, too, to hide the bitter tears 
 flashing into her eyes. She had hastened home, 
 thinking to find some trace of sorrow or anxiety ; 
 and instead, everything is going on as usual in the 
 great, dismal house. 
 
 It never occurs to Milicent, that, as she appeared 
 in the doorway, smiling and wearing a new hat, a 
 great fear died out of Miss Ursula s heart ; and the 
 natural feeling of irritation after what one deems 
 a waste of pain is apt to make one sharp. 
 
 If Milicent had given only a hint of the great 
 danger just passed through, she would not have 
 been so cruelly hurt and mortified. Is it only 
 years, which separate these two ? the one think 
 ing the other light and frivolous ; and the other
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 217 
 
 very sure her aunt is always unjust and hard on 
 her. Is it only the score of years between them ? 
 Or is it something they will not or cannot forget, 
 and which belongs to the past ? 
 
 As Milicent crosses the hall to the stairs, the 
 open door shows her Urquhart coming to the house ; 
 he having followed her as soon as he had missed 
 her. She goes out to him ; and they are standing 
 together at the gate, when Thomas comes up. 
 
 The Undine was riding at anchor, when Thomas s 
 little fishing-boat sailed into the harbor. The crowd 
 was dispersing ; but there are always some strag 
 glers ready to impart either good or evil news, so 
 that Thomas had an opportunity to hear many ver 
 sions of Milicent s adventure before he reached 
 home. 
 
 He comes forward now, hastily, the lines which 
 anxious hours have graven on his face not yet 
 erased by the sudden good news. 
 
 "You are safe ! " he exclaims, never heeding Ur 
 quhart s presence, and stooping to kiss the pretty, 
 flower-like face, that blooms into a sudden scarlet 
 under the unwonted caress. " We have had a fine 
 scare about you, and I have been to the island to 
 look for you. And lo and behold, you have been 
 making a voyage to the world ! " 
 
 Thomas does not offer to shake hands with Ur 
 quhart, who has shared Milicent s peril ; but walks 
 round to the back of the house, and disappears. 
 
 " I do not understand why you should refuse me 
 your kisses, and yet give them freely to a fisher 
 man," remarks Urquhart, with displeasure.
 
 218 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " I thought that was taken, not given," says Mil- 
 icent, still deeply flushed, but trying to laugh it 
 off. " You forget this is no common occasion, and I 
 have been kissed by all the women in the village." 
 
 " But not by the men, that I perceived," remarks 
 Urquhart, dryly. 
 
 Milicent half turns away ; then she turns back, 
 with a trembling pallor in her face where the color 
 has died out : and her lips quivering. There is an 
 air of hesitation about her. One might fancy she 
 is trying to speak, and is afraid. 
 
 " You do not understand," she begins, falter- 
 ingly. " I remember him always ever since I was 
 so high," marking the distance with her hand 
 from the ground. " And and " 
 
 A voice is heard calling her just then : Miss 
 Ursula s. 
 
 " I must go," she says, hastily. " Why will you 
 never learn that you must not come here after sun 
 set ? That Aunt Ursula does not like it? " 
 
 " What do I care for Miss Ursula ? Let her 
 call." 
 
 " Presently she will come out and order you 
 away : which you will not like in the least, for you 
 will have to obey her. Discretion is much better 
 than blind courage." 
 
 " The knowledge that this state of things will 
 not last much longer, helps me to be discreet. 
 Soon you will be all my own, with no Miss Ursula 
 to interfere." 
 
 " And you will have the monopoly of fault-find 
 ing which Aunt Ursula enjoys. You will not deny
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 219 
 
 that you will profit by it. The few hours we were 
 in St. John proved your capabilities." 
 
 " But our position was so very peculiar, and you 
 were so vastly ignorant," begins Urquhart. 
 
 " Which is to say I am a sad dunce. No matter ; 
 I shall learn so quickly, I will astonish my master, 
 and soon set up theories of my own. I don t mean 
 always to be in leading-strings. There, do not 
 grow really angry, for Aunt Ursula wants me, and 
 I cannot stop to explain myself." 
 
 It is Thomas who wants Milicent, though Miss 
 Ursula has called her. He is anxious to know 
 something of her adventure from her own lips. 
 
 But he is not to do so ; for Urquhart has stopped 
 her. 
 
 " One moment, Milicent." 
 
 He is looking at two men who are coming over 
 the hill this way, together. Stephen, and 
 Urquhart recognizes the new-comer at once. 
 To find more friendship than one is expecting 
 may chance to be irritating. Urquhart has been 
 looking for a letter from his former guardian, the 
 only person whom he considered it necessary, as a 
 mere act of courtesy or friendliness, to inform of 
 his speedy marriage. Mr. Raymond no doubt con 
 sidered it an equal act of friendliness on his part 
 to remonstrate with his former ward against such 
 an unfortunate step as this marriage would most 
 certainly be. With his position and money, Ur 
 quhart ought to make a brilliant match ; and that he 
 should throw himself away on a fisherman s daugh 
 ter, for such Mr. Raymond supposed Milicent,
 
 220 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 that gentleman was not inclined to contemplate 
 for an instant. He was too wise to write his re 
 monstrance. Urquhart might read a letter or not, 
 as he pleased ; but he would be obliged to listen : 
 and if his friend s eloquence or good common-sense 
 view of the position failed to convince the young 
 man, no doubt it would be possible to buy off the 
 girl s relations, so that they would interfere. For 
 Mr. Raymond had divined that poverty was a 
 marked feature of Milicent s surroundings. 
 
 He had arrived the day before, by the weekly 
 steamer from Yarmouth, which also brought, in 
 Mrs. Featherstone s stores, the white muslin dress 
 Miss Ursula had promised for the wedding. He 
 had shared, albeit silently, the anxiety of the village 
 for the missing Undine ; and being late on the pier, 
 and meeting Stephen there, he had been put under 
 his care, to be shown the house where Urquhart 
 was most likely to be found. 
 
 " I had no idea there were any gentry living in 
 these parts," Mr. Raymond had begun by remark 
 ing, as the two men crossed the hill, to Miss Ur 
 sula s. " I thought fishermen were too rough to 
 make pleasant, or even safe neighbors. But there, 
 over the fields, is a pretty place, evidently a farm 
 house. By the way, Mr. Ferguson, what is Ur- 
 quhart s fianceVs father ? " 
 
 " She has none." 
 
 " Indeed ! nor mother ?" 
 
 " No ; only an aunt." 
 
 Mr. Raymond does not say that is fortunate, 
 though his tone of voice implies as much.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 221 
 
 " Of course she is pretty : the girl, I mean, not 
 the aunt." 
 
 " She is here at the gate," says Stephen, shortly : 
 and it is now that Urquhart sees the two men com 
 ing, and stops Milicent. 
 
 He need not have done so. He could have gone 
 forward alone, to meet Mr. Raymond ; and Mili- 
 cent s late arrival would have been excuse enough 
 to postpone the introduction for a more convenient 
 season. But Urquhart is too proud to make a 
 sign as if he feared to introduce his friend to Mili 
 cent. He takes both the visit and the hour with 
 perfect coolness; though how he wishes Milicent 
 could appear in the dove-colored dress and cherry 
 ribbons she wore one evening, to his great satisfac 
 tion ! Yet fortunately she has the merit of being 
 beautiful in any guise; and it is as well they 
 should meet here, out-of-doors, rather than in that 
 barn of a parlor. 
 
 But there is not the smallest use in Urquhart s 
 hinting, when Milicent invites her visitors in, that 
 it is pleasanter out-of-doors, and that the sea-view 
 is perfect. Milicent will not understand him. It 
 is not hospitality, to keep this friend of Urquhart s 
 outside the house-door. She is not ashamed of 
 her poverty, and she will not let her lover be. 
 
 There is one step too far in every course in life ; 
 and Milicent, instead of pausing to see her way, 
 has recklessly gone forward. 
 
 When she opened the door and invited Mr. Ray 
 mond to enter, she expected to find the parlor 
 empty. Instead, there is a bright fire of drift-
 
 222 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 wood on the hearth, before which Miss Ursula is 
 sitting with her work; near her, Thomas, loung 
 ing in a great rocking-chair, reading a newspaper, 
 and smoking a cigar. 
 
 It is such a novel sight in the parlor, that no 
 wonder Milicent pauses on the threshold for a mo 
 ment, before she recovers from her astonishment, 
 and makes way for the visitors to follow her into 
 the room. 
 
 Of the four who enter, Urquhart is the most an 
 noyed. How could he ever hope to explain to Mr. 
 Raymond the primitive mode of life in this out-of- 
 the-way fishing-village, where Miliceiit s aunt is on 
 such terms with her hired fisherman that she not 
 only permits him to share the parlor with her, but 
 to fill it with tobacco smoke, tobacco smoke from 
 a cigar, forsooth, of unexceptionable aroma ! In 
 congruous situations are always the most difficult 
 to explain. 
 
 After the first shock of surprise, Milicent is not 
 in the least disconcerted. " Aunt Ursula," she 
 says, in her clear voice, " Mr. Urquhart has 
 brought a friend to see us." 
 
 Miss Ursula is painfully embarrassed. She has 
 scarcely lifted her eyes from her work, after the 
 one glance she gave when they came into the 
 room ; and instead of receiving her guests, she 
 makes a hasty apology or explanation to Milicent : 
 something about the chimney in the kitchen smok 
 ing, and forcing her to make a fire in the parlor. 
 
 " So much the better," the girl says coolly. 
 " This room is usually damp and uncomfortable."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 223 
 
 No one but Stephen notices Miss Ursula s per 
 turbation ; for both Mr. Raymond and Urquhart 
 are looking at Thomas, who rose to his feet when 
 they entered, and is now slowly folding his paper, 
 as if preparatory to leaving the room. 
 
 Urquhart has never seen Miss Ursula s fisher 
 man without his hat ; and, between its slouched 
 brim and his heavy beard, there was scarcely any 
 thing of his features to be seen. That Thomas is 
 a remarkably handsome man no one could deny ; 
 but it is not that which strikes Urquhart, so much 
 as something very familiar in the fellow s face, 
 which not only puzzles, but for some reason irri 
 tates him. 
 
 Mr. Raymond also is looking at the fisherman, 
 with a perplexed expression of countenance : which 
 quite suddenly lightens into one of recognition, 
 and he starts forward, exclaiming, as he lays his 
 hand familiarly on Thomas s shoulder : 
 
 " Is it really you, Chaudron ? You are the last 
 person in the world I expected to see here." 
 
 " Is it not far enough out of the way? I might 
 naturally be more surprised at seeing you in such 
 an outlandish place as this," responds Thomas, with 
 a short laugh. 
 
 " The impression is that you are abroad." 
 
 " So I was for a time. But I was not born un 
 der a lucky star. No doubt the impression also is 
 that I am living like a prince ; and lo, you find me 
 a fisherman." 
 
 " One in disguise," says Mr. Raymond, smiling 
 significantly.
 
 224 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " Not at all, but one actually. There is nothing 
 to eat here but fish and potatoes ; so I catch cod 
 and herring to keep my family from starving." 
 
 " You are not alone, then ? " asks Mr. Raymond, 
 with evident curiosity. 
 
 Until this instant, some spell of lang syne has 
 held his attention riveted on Thomas. There has 
 been no slightest movement to distract it to the girl 
 standing apart in the window; nor to the spare, 
 elderly figure of the woman bent closely over the 
 work in her lap, so closely, that none could see 
 the gray and rigid face, into which for one instant 
 a startled look came, as of one suddenly confronted 
 with the ghost of a dead past. 
 
 Now, as Mr. Raymond speaks, he half turns. 
 But Thomas is answering him : 
 
 " I am not alone. Of course you know my wife 
 is dead. You may also remember I had a daugh 
 ter. It is she who brought you here." 
 
 " That is false ! " exclaims Urquhart, angrily. 
 An intolerable annoyance seizes him at the mere 
 idea that this rough-looking fisherman claims Mili- 
 cent as his daughter. Urquhart has been watch 
 ing with some interest Mr. Raymond s recognition 
 of him ; but never for a moment connecting him 
 in any way with Milicent. 
 
 " I beg pardon for contradicting Mr. Urquhart," 
 says Thomas, with mocking politeness ; " but 
 though a gentleman has occasionally been known 
 to cheat, he is never known to lie. Perhaps if 
 Milicent vouches for our relationship he will ac 
 knowledge that at least his assertion is a hasty 
 one."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 225 
 
 All four men turn to look at Milicent. She is 
 standing at the window, her back to them, her 
 brow pressed against the glass. Though they can 
 not see her face, her hands, which are clasped to 
 gether in a strained, passionate way, give a strong 
 hint of the mighty effort she is making to gain 
 control over herself. 
 
 Stephen quietly moves near her, near enough 
 to touch her ; but he does not, nor does he speak to 
 her. Urquhart also makes a motion to go to her ; 
 but checks himself. He cannot bring himself to 
 question her before so many witnesses ; therefore 
 he draws a little farther from her, and is silent. 
 
 "There has been a mistake somewhere," says 
 Thomas, very quietly. " Or perhaps a complica 
 tion would be a better rendering of our position. 
 Milicent no doubt thought that her being the 
 daughter of a fisherman would perhaps shock you ; 
 and that marrying her as such would have some 
 effect upon your social standing. Of course that 
 was her ignorance. Thomas the fisherman s daugh 
 ter, perhaps only Mr. Raymond would have ob 
 jected to, as your wife. But Mr. Chaudron s 
 daughter holds a slightly different position." 
 
 " I never have heard the name, except as be 
 longing to a banker who was both a forger and a 
 swindler," says Urquhart slowly, looking at Mr. 
 Chaudron as he speaks. 
 
 " So the newspapers said. They took great pleas 
 ure in the small spite of calling me names. How 
 ever, this last swindle, which you are so fortunate, 
 through the good offices of our friend Mr. Ray- 
 
 15
 
 226 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 mond, to discover, I must protest I had nothing 
 to do with. I warned Milicent that her engage 
 ment was a rash and foolish one, and would end 
 disastrously. But," he adds with a shrug, " it is 
 in vain to argue with a girl in love. As to with 
 holding my name, even you who blame me for 
 a too free use of it must see that, under the cir 
 cumstances, this was only common prudence on 
 my part." 
 
 Mr. Chaudron is standing with his back to the 
 fire, his newspaper and long-extinguished cigar in 
 one hand. His attitude is that of one who expects 
 the interview to be a short one, though he in 110 
 way hurries his guests. 
 
 " If you had advised your daughter to tell me 
 her parentage, you might have been sure I would 
 have respected your incognito. A little honesty on 
 your part would have done you no harm " be 
 gins Urquhart. 
 
 "I am sure you are very good to say so," in 
 terrupts Mr. Chaudron, with irritating suavity. 
 " But one may be a little particular about the use 
 of one s name. My advice to my daughter was 
 exactly the contrary to your wishes." 
 
 What answer Urquhart might have made it is 
 not difficult to guess. Yet it is not Milicent s be 
 seeching eyes (for she turns her face round when 
 her father begins to speak) that silences him ; 
 neither is it Mr. Raymond, who has tried more 
 than once to gain a hearing, but Miss Ursula. 
 
 She has risen from her obscure corner in the 
 wide hearth, and now comes forward. " Gentle-
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 227 
 
 men," she says, coldly and haughtily, " you must 
 pardon my breach of hospitality, if I ask you to 
 leave us to ourselves. We have long been unused 
 to visitors, and would be alone." 
 
 The effect of Miss Ursula s words would have 
 been exceedingly chilling and embarrassing, if Mr. 
 Raymond had not turned towards her when she 
 began to speak. " Are you here too, Ursula ! " he 
 exclaims. 
 
 " Where else should I be ? " she asks, haughtily. 
 
 She stands with the western light from the un 
 curtained window slanting in upon her, broken 
 only by the shadow of the girl, who, at the sound 
 of her aunt s voice, turns aside again to resume her 
 former isolated posture. That roseate glow tries 
 to soften the hard and toilworn hands folded to 
 gether before Miss Ursula; the straight folds of 
 the black dress ; the angular lines of the forbid 
 ding figure : and fails so utterly, that it does not 
 attempt to reach up to the gray face, so still and 
 set that it might be a mask. 
 
 Mr. Raymond, out of his comfortable ease, draws 
 a hurried breath. 
 
 " I never dreamed of Chaudron s being here, of 
 all places in the world," he begins, in haste to ex 
 culpate himself. 
 
 " The bow was drawn at a venture," answers 
 Miss Ursula, bitterly. " It was intended only to 
 wound a girl ; but no doubt it was guided to its 
 destiny. I never did believe in blind chance." 
 
 " I came here, I confess, to try to free my ward 
 from what I feared would be a foolish marriage ;
 
 228 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 but I had not the slightest idea who the young 
 lady really is. I ought not to have called your 
 brother by his name ; it was a mistake my surprise 
 caused me to make. I meant no malice, Ursula, 
 you surely believe me," he breaks out suddenly. 
 
 " Is not Mr. Raymond s word always to be 
 trusted ? " replies Miss Ursula, in so quiet a tone 
 that it is difficult to detect even the shadow of a 
 sarcasm. 
 
 Yet Mr. Raymond flushes like a school-boy, and 
 says in an aggrieved voice : 
 
 "You are always keen in your thrusts, and 
 never inclined to mercy. But now, even against 
 your will, you will have to trust me as a friend." 
 
 " Having lost all I once deemed friends, I re 
 gard every one now as an enemy," answers Miss 
 Ursula, coldly. 
 
 " That is a harsh creed," begins Mr. Raymond ; 
 but Miss Ursula interrupts him : 
 
 " We are detaining Mr. Urquhart. He can 
 hardly be interested in our meeting." 
 
 Urquhart is feeling his position awkward. He 
 could not talk with Milicent, having so many wit 
 nesses ; and he is too angry just now to trust him 
 self to speak to her alone, even if she would agree 
 to a private interview. Her manner does not tend 
 to pour oil on the troubled waters of his temper ; 
 for she has again turned her back upon him, and 
 seems absorbed in looking out of the window. He 
 would give much, wrathful as he is, to see if there 
 is pain, or only anger, in her face ; but she is far 
 too uncertain for him to use any rash means to
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 229 
 
 make the discovery, even if his hurt pride would 
 have permitted him to do so. 
 
 Urquhart s irritation is increased by the pres 
 ence of Mr. Chaudron, who has made himself such 
 an immense barrier between him and Milicent. 
 Thomas the fisherman could have been quietly 
 kept in the background, and need never have been 
 heard of ; but Mr. Chaudron is far too notorious 
 to be hidden in a corner. 
 
 Miss Ursula s words have recalled Mr. Raymond 
 to the fact that there are others in the room, and 
 that Urquhart s position is unpleasantly awkward. 
 " We had better go. There is nothing to be 
 done at present," he suggests to Urquhart, in a low 
 voice, as if the proposal were his own, not Miss 
 Ursula s. 
 
 Not waiting for Urquhart s answer, he shakes 
 hands with Mr. Chaudron, and would, if he had 
 dared, have offered the same civility to Miss 
 Ursula. But instead, he bows to her, and to Mili 
 cent, a bit of courtesy the girl never sees, for her 
 back is still towards them. 
 
 Urquhart leaves the room with Mr. Raymond, 
 not noticing any one. He is too sore and wrath 
 ful to care for, or even think of, an ordinary act 
 of politeness. Mr. Chaudron merely shrugs his 
 shoulders at Urquhart s evident want of presence 
 of mind ; then signs to Miss Ursula, and the two 
 leave the room together. 
 
 Still Milicent keeps her station by the window. 
 She must have forgotten Stephen; for she starts 
 violently when he comes closer to her, and speaks.
 
 230 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " Urquhart is taken by surprise, Milly. It will 
 not be long before he comes back to tell you so," 
 says Stephen, very gently. 
 
 " Are you sure he will ? " asks Milicent, turning 
 on him two despairing eyes. 
 
 "Yes, I am very sure. It is not altogether un 
 natural that Urquhart should feel hurt and angry 
 at first, especially as you turned your back upon 
 him, and would say nothing in your defense. But 
 after a while, when his anger dies out, he will be 
 sorry." 
 
 " What could I say in my defense ? " interrupts 
 Milicent, hopelessly. " It is perfectly true I de 
 ceived him. I have known for months now, that 
 that I have a father." 
 
 "It would have been better if you had told 
 Urquhart ; but of course it was a difficult thing 
 for a daughter to do," says Stephen, sympatheti 
 cally. 
 
 " I was not silent on my father s account. He 
 would have let me speak to Mr. Urquhart. He 
 would never permit me to confess everything to 
 you : though he wanted me to marry you, and I 
 told him I never would, unless you knew every 
 thing." 
 
 " Then it was not because you loved Urquhart, 
 that you refused me, Milly?" asks Stephen, ea 
 gerly. 
 
 " No, I did not care for him then. I wanted to 
 get rid of my life here, that was all ; and I did 
 not think it made much difference to him whether 
 he knew or not, as we would go away, never to
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 231 
 
 come back again. But ray father did not keep me 
 silent. Indeed, once he advised me to tell Mr. 
 Urquhart everything ; but that was because he be 
 lieved he would go away, and and not take me 
 with him. I was afraid of other things ; I was not 
 afraid of that : at least, not until that glimpse I 
 had of his world, of city ways. And then he said 
 something that made me think I need not fear. 
 Yesterday, is it only yesterday ? " she cries out 
 suddenly, wringing her hands together, and turn 
 ing upon Stephen, her eyes widening with a look 
 of terror of the long, long coming days and days. 
 
 Stephen s eyes could keep back his own pain. 
 
 " Milly, Urquhart will get over it. You must 
 not be surprised that he was hurt by your not 
 trusting him with your secret. All want of trust 
 in those we care for is a slight put upon us. But 
 Urquhart will get over it," 
 
 " Are you sure ? " breaks in Milicent, willing to 
 catch at any hope. " May he not go away without 
 seeing me again ? " 
 
 " No, no, Milly, you must not think so hardly of 
 Urquhart. He loves you far too much to give you 
 up so easily. He may blame you a little, and if 
 he does, do not turn your back upon him as you 
 did just now. You looked as if you did not care 
 whether he were hurt or not, the action, I mean ; 
 for no doubt your eyes spoke differently, they 
 often do, I find. Only let Urquhart see that you 
 do care a little, and I am very sure all will be 
 well." 
 
 " How could I speak, with that strange man
 
 232 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 there, and and every one looking at me ? If he 
 wanted to speak to me, he should have seen me 
 alone, or at least have sent away his friend," says 
 Milicent, losing her unwonted humility. 
 
 " He will, next time," promises Stephen. " And 
 all will be right, Milly. You may be sure it will. 
 What your father did cannot have any influence 
 upon his love for you," argues foolish Stephen.
 
 XII. 
 
 " I say, as I fynde, 
 
 Love is but a blast, 
 And torneth with the wynde." 
 
 MR. RAYMOND and Urquhart were both inclined 
 to be silent while walking away from the old house 
 on the hill. Each had received a heavy blow, 
 though of a very different nature. With Mr. Ray 
 mond, it had sent him reeling back into the past : 
 while with Urquhart, it had as certainly thrown 
 him off from it. 
 
 For the one, Memory, with no great tax upon 
 her, was fast shaping the past once more, a kalei 
 doscope, with every bit and fragment taking defi 
 nite shape : a shape he could not help seeing was 
 distorted and unnatural. While Urquhart could 
 find nothing to piece out even an action on his 
 part, now that the present was so changed that 
 the past was useless. 
 
 If Milicent had hidden from him only that she 
 was Thomas the fisherman s daughter, Urquhart 
 felt he could easily have forgiven her. He had 
 so long intended to exile himself, at least for a 
 time, on her account, that her humble parentage 
 would not have changed a plan. Of course he 
 would have preferred that she had been frank with 
 him ; and yet, if she had been silent only through
 
 234 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 fear of losing him, the flattery would have been 
 sweet enough. She had been coy and uncertain 
 during his whole wooing ; and any evidence of a 
 desire to hold him was pleasant. Besides, she was 
 too artless and unaffected for one act of deception 
 to change her nature ; and he would not have dis 
 trusted her always, because once she had, through 
 love of him, deceived him. 
 
 But with Mr. Chaudron s daughter, it is quite 
 different. 
 
 The whole country had rung with the great bank 
 er s default and forgery ; and though it had hap 
 pened more than a dozen years before, yet his 
 standing had been so high, and his fall so very low, 
 that his name was still a slang term for an act of 
 deep dishonesty. To connect himself with this 
 man, even by the slender tie of son-in-law, would 
 require an amount of moral courage, as well as the 
 sacrifice of a large degree of family pride, which 
 Milicent would not be at all likely to understand, 
 much less appreciate. 
 
 Mr. Raymond s thoughts, being less involved by 
 his feelings than are Urquhart s, are the first to 
 shape themselves in words. 
 
 " Great heavens ! Who would have expected to 
 find Chaudron, of all men in the world, in such a 
 place as this, and actually turned fisherman as a 
 means of living ! He must have lost immensely 
 abroad. I cannot see why he did not take to some 
 thing there, rather than run such a huge risk by re 
 turning." 
 
 " We are in Her Majesty s dominions," suggests 
 Urquhart.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 235 
 
 " Unfortunately for him, there is such a thing as 
 the extradition treaty, and forgery comes under 
 it." 
 
 Urquhart winces, but says nothing. 
 
 " And that I should have found Ursula here," 
 Mr. Raymond goes on to say. " She has grown 
 into an old woman ; but not one I would care to 
 offer a bribe to, in order to break off your unfortu 
 nate entanglement with her niece ; as was my in 
 tention when I came here. I fancy you were too 
 small a boy to remember how the town rang with 
 her folly, or heroism, as people chanced to call 
 it, when she gave up her handsome property to 
 be made ducks and drakes of, in paying off her 
 brother s indebtedness, as she may have chosen 
 to call it. She must regret it. She could not 
 possibly help doing so," adds Mr. Raymond, with 
 much asperity. 
 
 " Did she decamp with her brother ? " 
 
 " No, she must have joined him abroad. At 
 least she disappeared, no one knew where, until I 
 find her here. Chaudron s wife had not half of 
 Ursula s pluck. Certainly she did not follow her 
 husband ; and I never heard that he made the 
 slightest effort to persuade her to do so. Of course 
 she disappeared from society ; and I heard she was 
 very poor. But she did not live very long ; and 
 the child disappeared. It was an awkward bit of 
 business for the whole of them." 
 
 " It could scarcely have been expected to turn 
 out well," remarks Urquhart, sarcastically. 
 
 " I know some equally objectionable people who
 
 236 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 are at this present moment flourishing like green 
 bay-trees," replies Mr. Raymond, dryly. " I never 
 could have any doubts as to the doctrine of future 
 rewards and punishments. It is the only way of 
 accounting for the seeming caprices of fate. Well, 
 life is odd, very odd ! I venture to bet a cool thou 
 sand, that if I asked any of Chaudron s friends, 
 or quondam friends, when I go back to town, 
 whom I met hei*e, in this little fishing-village, not 
 one of them would think of guessing Chaudron." 
 
 When Mr. Raymond begins to speak of his own 
 theories and experiences, Urquhart s attention flags. 
 It seems to him Milicent is again walking by his 
 side, over the road where they had first walked to 
 gether. It is as if he heard her voice pleading 
 that she had nothing to do with her father s sin. 
 That, like her mother, she loathed it : though, un 
 like her, she could not leave him, or die. 
 
 The few times Urquhart has ever seen Milicent 
 with her father, he remembers she appeared either 
 angry or frightened. Once only to-day on their 
 return from St. John, when Thomas kissed her 
 had Urquhart thought she had submitted to an un 
 necessary familiarity. Now he recalls that she had 
 laughed at him for his fastidiousness. Why did 
 she not tell him then that Thomas was her father? 
 Was it only a false, foolish shame ? Or was it a de 
 liberate act of deceit ? Poor Urquhart ! All his 
 thoughts and memories end in that overwhelming 
 doubt. 
 
 " She is wonderfully like him." It is Mr. Ray 
 mond s voice which breaks Urquhart s reveries.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 237 
 
 "She? Who is she like?" asks Urquhart, 
 sharply. 
 
 " Chaudron s daughter. She is wonderfully like 
 her father." 
 
 " What nonsense ! Milicent s eyes are brown, 
 while his are gray." 
 
 " It is their expression, not their color, I sup 
 pose. The girl puzzled me as soon as I saw her, 
 she was so like somebody. It was the improba 
 bility of Chaudron s being here that misled me. 
 Yet I wager if I showed her at the club, and said : 
 Whose daughter is she ? nine out of ten would 
 reply : The daughter of our Prince of Swindlers, 
 Chaudron. You need not resent my speaking of 
 the likeness ; for Chaudron was considered a hand 
 some man, by men as well as women : and their 
 tastes do not always agree, I assure you," says Mr. 
 Raymond, didactically. 
 
 To this Urquhart makes no answer. He thinks 
 his old friend tiresome, but he does not suspect him 
 of probing his wound for the purpose of proving its 
 painf ulness. 
 
 They have walked a little way in silence along 
 the quiet road-street, when Mr. Raymond says, 
 with studied abruptness : " Of course this exposi 
 tion will put an end to your engagement to the 
 young lady." 
 
 " I do not see why it should," answers Urquhart, 
 coldly. 
 
 " She can never hide her parentage. Chau 
 dron is plainly written on her face ; and not only 
 that "
 
 238 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " I never intended living in this country, so that 
 would not influence me," interrupts Urquhart. 
 
 " You do not imagine you could keep your wife 
 hidden? Such things will creep out: as witness 
 to-day. My dear fellow, never try to conceal what 
 is personally disagreeable. It is always best to 
 mention such things yourself. It would be con 
 foundedly awkward for some one to say : What a 
 fine-looking fellow Chaudron was ; and how much 
 your wife is like him. Such a remark might be 
 made, you know. And it is difficult to be always 
 on one s guard." 
 
 " There are not many men who would expect to 
 insult me with impunity," replies Urquhart, coolly. 
 
 " It is deplorable when truths are insults," says 
 Mr. Raymond. " And then, Urquhart, such a fa 
 ther-in-law as Chaudron is certain to prove troub 
 lesome. He must be very low down in the world ; 
 and men in his plight are not easily shaken off. I 
 am sure the young lady herself did not expect you 
 to keep faith, after you knew of her father : or she 
 would not have been so anxious to conceal him 
 from you." 
 
 " I doubt very much whether Milicent knew the 
 whole truth," answers Urquhart. " She was a 
 mere baby when the occurrence took place ; and 
 110 one would be so cruel as to tell her the unvar 
 nished facts." 
 
 " Yet it is evident she was holding something 
 back from you. Rely upon it, she knew every 
 thing, and was anxious to keep you in ignorance. 
 It is bad blood, dishonest from the fountain-head.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 239 
 
 I am a firm believer in blood ; and Chaudron s 
 daughter could not possibly be worthy of trust," 
 says Mr. Raymond, emphatically. 
 
 " You forget Milicent had an honest mother to 
 inherit from ; and Miss Ursula, though a Chau- 
 dron, you yourself have said was foolishly nice as 
 to honesty." 
 
 " My poor fellow ! I am vastly sorry for you," 
 says Mr. Raymond, ignoring Urquhart s last re 
 marks, perhaps discreetly. " She is pretty enough 
 to turn an old man s head, let alone a young one s. 
 Yet, as your father s friend, you must promise me 
 not to see that unlucky girl again." 
 
 " I cannot promise that," replies Urquhart, 
 hastily. "I must see Milicent. She shall have 
 the chance to clear herself of all the dishonesty 
 you so kindly impute to her ; and to prove to me 
 she knew nothing worse of her father than that he 
 is a poor fisherman." 
 
 " She will never tell you that, unless she tells 
 you a falsehood. It is a very bad bit of business, 
 very bad, indeed ; and the only thing is to get quit 
 of it as soon as possible. I acknowledge it is not 
 easy work ; and tugging at one s heart-strings does 
 not make pleasant music. But we all go through 
 it some time in our lives ; and then after a while 
 we congratulate ourselves that we had the courage 
 to make the break." 
 
 " What may be a matter of congratulation to 
 one is not to another," remarks Urquhart, tritely. 
 
 " Not at first, I admit ; but it will be eventually. 
 I speak what I know ; for I have gone through this
 
 240 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 thing myself, and can recall every wrench I suf 
 fered : and, thank heaven, I conquered." 
 
 Does Urquhart believe him ? Is it not the cry 
 of every heart, if there be any sorrow like unto 
 my sorrow ? Can it be possible that this middle- 
 aged, successful man, suitably married, and with 
 children grown up around him, understands what 
 a wrench from happiness he, as his father s friend, 
 and brimful of worldly wisdom, is requiring of Ur 
 quhart ? 
 
 " Let me explain myself," says Mr. Raymond. 
 " It is not always pleasant to go back into the 
 past ; but experience may prove profitable. Now 
 see if our cases are not similar. I was engaged to 
 be married to Ursula Chaudron, and very much in 
 love with her too, I can tell you : when her brother, 
 who was looked upon as one of the most upright, 
 honorable men in New York, was discovered to be 
 a miserable villain. You cannot imagine the ex 
 citement his forgery made (for in those days they 
 were uncommon occurrences), nor how many peo 
 ple were ruined by him. My engagement with 
 Ursula was not announced, but I was willing to 
 abide by it on two conditions, both of w r hich she 
 scorned. One was, that she should give up en 
 tirely her worthless brother, and hold no inter 
 course with him : the other, that she should not 
 carry out her insane intention, which she had de 
 clared as soon as she heard of his villainy, of giv 
 ing up her own fortune to his creditors. There 
 were some stormy scenes ; Ursula was obdurate, 
 so they ended in a complete rupture between us.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 241 
 
 We have never met since, until to-day. She did 
 not choose the firm, smooth road for herself ; and 
 I am shocked to see how much she shows the 
 struggle. To think of her being 1 an old-looking 
 woman, so changed I did not know her, though I 
 was in the room with her, until she spoke ! " 
 
 Are Mr. Raymond s love reminiscences comfort 
 ing to Urquhart ? Is it possible for him to be 
 consoled by the thought that a dozen years hence 
 Milicent will be a prematurely old woman, show 
 ing signs of a hard, brave struggle he had stood 
 aloof from ? Would it give him any comfort to 
 know that if life had gone hard with her it had 
 been proportionately easy with him ? Verily, some 
 people are over-easily made happy. If they escape 
 unscathed, is not everything well? 
 
 "Urquhart," says Mr. Raymond, finding his 
 retrospection, tragic as he thought it, has brought 
 out no response, " you can understand now why 
 I ask you not to see Chaudron s daughter again. 
 An interview will not do the slightest good, and 
 will be painful to both. Let me entreat you to 
 forego it." 
 
 " No," says Urquhart, with decision. " I am 
 determined to see Milicent. Notwithstanding there 
 is much that seems against her, I am convinced she 
 can explain most of it." And then, observing that 
 Mr. Raymond s shoulders lift themselves in a shrug 
 of good-natured forbearance, he adds, irritably : " I 
 owe it to both Milicent and myself, to see her. I 
 do not care to be haunted all my days by the 
 thought that I have made a premature old woman 
 
 16
 
 242 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 of her, because I had not the nerve to face what 
 you are pleased to call a scene." 
 
 " As you will, my poor young friend," says Mr. 
 Raymond, with undisguised pity for his weakness. 
 " See your beautiful siren, if you will, and learn 
 her frailty. But do not for a moment give me the 
 credit of Ursula s mutations. Chaudron can very 
 well bear the responsibility of both his sister s and 
 his daughter s."
 
 XIII. 
 
 " A gray sky and a gray sea, 
 
 And two who stood together 
 With hands close-clasped, as hands are grasped 
 
 That are parting, parting forever. 
 Two whose pale lips quivered to say 
 The words the world hears every day 
 As, for all we struggle and weep and pray, 
 Young hearts must break in life s fever-play, 
 
 And links are light to sever." 
 
 UNTIL that night closed in hopelessly, Urquhart 
 walked on the brow of the cliffs, carefully keeping 
 himself in view of Milicent s windows. If he ex 
 pected that the mere sight of him would bring the 
 girl to him, he was disappointed ; and certainly he 
 was chagrined, when, after pacing back and forth 
 until he was tired, he returned to his lodgings, and 
 had to explain to Mr. Raymond that he had not 
 had the interview he desired. Milicent s supposed 
 avoidance of him had the unfortunate effect of 
 confirming any doubt he may have had of her ; 
 and Mr. Raymond judiciously let fall a word or 
 two now and then, to add to rather than diminish 
 them. 
 
 Next day Urquhart wrote to Milicent, asking 
 her to meet him on the cliffs, only a few words 
 of cold request, which he sent to Miss Ursula s 
 house by a boy from the village. 
 
 This was half an hour ago ; and now Milicent
 
 244 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 is coming slowly down the path which Urquhart s 
 feet have helped to wear in the grassy slope from 
 the gate to the cliffs. He does not go to meet her 
 now, as usual ; but stands waiting, and watching 
 her slow approach. 
 
 It is this waiting that chills Milicent. She was 
 glowing to the very finger-tips that let the gate 
 swing out of their trembling hold glowing with 
 hope, glowing with shame. For she is deeply 
 ashamed of her deception, because of its cow 
 ardice. That it would have sacrificed Urquhart, 
 she never guesses. Whether she were Mr. Chau- 
 dron s daughter, or Thomas the fisherman s, or 
 only Miss Ursula s niece, it could make no differ 
 ence, since they love each other. All her fears 
 have arisen from her dread of her father s inter 
 ference. During Mr. Raymond s unfortunate visit 
 Milicent had felt bitterly ashamed that Urquhart 
 should have made the discovery in the way he did. 
 The whole scene was terrible to her ; and that Ur 
 quhart should be hurt and angry was the most 
 natural thing in the world. But Stephen had 
 given her comfort ; Stephen who believed in the 
 love which " endureth all things " and is kind. 
 Stephen had told her to be meek and gentle, and 
 all would be well with her. And she had intended 
 to be both : only, while she walks down the path 
 and sees Urquhart stand quite unmoved, waiting 
 for her, she turns cold and still ; for she thinks : 
 " If he loved me, he would come at least half way 
 to meet me. He is a judge who will vouchsafe 
 me his forgiveness."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 245 
 
 " You will pardon me for giving you the trouble 
 of coming to me," Urquhart says, when they stand 
 face to face. " It is very necessary that I should 
 speak to you ; and yet I could not seek you at the 
 house." 
 
 " I thought you would send for me if you wished 
 to speak to me," answers Milicent, her stiff for 
 mality being a copy of his own. 
 
 " Is it King Ahasuerus and the golden sceptre ? " 
 asks Urquhart, bitterly. " Are you waiting for per 
 mission to speak? Ah, Milicent, this unwonted 
 meekness bodes me no good." 
 
 Milicent does not answer him, does not even look 
 at him, as they turn and walk slowly down to the 
 lower level of the rocks, for some fishermen are 
 coming towards them. 
 
 This enforced silence is unfortunate, since it 
 gives them both time to feel the bitterness of their 
 position towards each other. 
 
 " Milicent," asks Urquhart, as soon as the men 
 are out of hearing, " what am I to think ? That 
 you designedly deceived me ? " 
 
 " If I did, am I without excuse ? " she asks. 
 
 " That I am unable to answer, unless you tell 
 me what you wished to conceal. Was it the so 
 cial position of your father ? I mean his being a 
 fisherman ? " 
 
 " Would you have considered that a sufficient 
 cause for our separation ? " asks Milicent. 
 
 " Most assuredly not. I did not suppose you 
 were of much better birth when I asked you to 
 marry me ; though I confess I did not regret to
 
 246 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 learn from Miss Ursula that your family origi 
 nally was a good one." 
 
 " A good one ! " repeats Milicent, with a hard, 
 short laugh. "Perhaps you prefer Mr. Chau- 
 dron s daughter to an honest fisherman s ? " 
 
 " It seems you did not care to give me any choice 
 in the matter. Both you and Miss Ursula led me 
 to believe you had no father." 
 
 "Neither of us said so," interrupts Milicent. 
 
 " Not in so many words, perhaps ; but neither of 
 you gave me a hint that there was such a personage 
 in your family. The fact would have been of in 
 terest to me under ordinary circumstances ; under 
 such extraordinary ones, your silence was unpar 
 donable." 
 
 To this Milicent makes no answer ; and Ur- 
 quhart adds, with feigned urbanity, " It would be 
 of much interest to me if you would deign to tell 
 me how far it was your intention to deceive me." 
 
 Milicent, instead of answering, suddenly takes 
 her seat on a detached stone lying at the foot of an 
 old sea-ruin, which, just beyond, looks sheer down 
 over the withdrawing tide. She is pale enough to 
 plead weariness ; or, it may be, she does not care to 
 prolong her walk so far as to be at a distance from 
 home. 
 
 Urquhart does not take a seat, but stands leaning 
 against the rough stone wall towering over against 
 her. lie has no doubt chosen the position for the 
 view of Milicent s face. 
 
 But evidently she has no desire to meet his gaze. 
 She averts her head as much as possible ; yet a
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 247 
 
 faint pink tinge, which slowly mounts to her tem 
 ples, proves her fully conscious of his scrutiny. 
 
 " Milicent, had you any idea who your father 
 really is? " asks Urquhart suddenly, determined 
 to learn the whole truth, even though he arrive at 
 it painfully. 
 
 " I knew he was not a fisherman." 
 
 " But you knew nothing more than that bare 
 fact ? Pardon me for asking questions you show 
 reluctance to answer. If you wish it, I will ask no 
 more. But I warn you, it will be impossible for 
 me not to draw my own inferences from your si- 
 leiice." 
 
 " I came here to answer any question you might 
 please to ask," replies Milicent, still not turning to 
 him. " You need draw no inferences. I knew per 
 fectly well who my father is, also why he is hid 
 ing here, and why he has become a common fisher 
 man. Shall I tell you," she continues, in a slow, 
 monotonous voice, as if fearful that if she raised it 
 a tone she would forget her task, " my father 
 forged his partner s name, and besides used for his 
 own purposes money intrusted to him, thereby 
 ruining hundreds of persons who had placed un 
 bounded confidence in his probity." 
 
 " Great heavens, Milicent ! Who could have 
 had the cruelty to tell you this ? You were far too 
 young to have known anything of it at the time," 
 exclaims Urquhart, shocked at her speaking truth 
 undisguised by any of the soft epithets used for 
 crimes in this polite age. 
 
 " Aunt Ursula told me ; so my authority is un-
 
 248 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 questionable. You need not doubt her, though. 
 It was far more prudent for her to give me plain, 
 unvarnished facts than only partial ones, as my 
 conduct through life was to be governed by them." 
 
 " Blame her ! I can only commend her pru 
 dence. Yet yours is even more praiseworthy," 
 says Urquhart, bitterly. " Miss Ursula could trust 
 you for an emergency ; there were no circum 
 stances, even the most sacred, that could tempt 
 you to speak." 
 
 Milicent makes no answer. Perhaps she is 
 thinking that, now that she has spoken, he is more 
 shocked than sorry for her. 
 
 " Perhaps," says Urquhart, more gently, " your 
 father would not permit you to tell me. It seemed 
 an immense risk on his part, as I am a perfect 
 stranger ; and he could not be expected to trust 
 me as you might." 
 
 " On the contrary," answers Milicent at once, 
 but in the same forced monotone, "he one day ad 
 vised me to tell you. lie said you were a gentle 
 man, and would not under the circumstances con 
 sider it honorable to inform on him." 
 
 " It is a pity you were not amenable to advice," 
 says Urquhart, with ironical politeness. " If I had 
 known something of the antecedents of your fam 
 ily I could at least have prevented that rather 
 unpleasant scene } r esterday, when Mr. llaymond 
 discovered Mr. Chaudron. I must acknowledge, 
 however, it is remarkable that your father was anx 
 ious I should know a secret he was guarding so 
 jealously," adds Urquhart, not without suspicion.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 249 
 
 " The desire that you should break with me and 
 leave here was much stronger than any fear of the 
 risk. He was very sure you would not care to 
 marry me if you knew his history," explains Mil- 
 icent. She has lost the hard, monotonous ring in 
 her voice, and makes her unpleasant explanations 
 eagerly, as if unburdening her conscience. 
 
 " He was very good," says Urquhart, ironically. 
 It is rather hard on him to find such a man as this 
 Chaudron objecting to his daughter s marrying him, 
 for any other reason than that of personal fear, or 
 some latent feeling of honor. " I should think your 
 relatives might have made some excuse for break 
 ing off a match they found disagreeable, without 
 telling unpleasant facts. They have certainly not 
 forgotten all their knowledge of the world." 
 
 " But I would not have allowed them to make 
 an excuse which might have made me seem in 
 fault, when I had nothing to do with it," says 
 Milicent with decision. 
 
 " I might feel immensely flattered by your con 
 stancy, if I had any faith in your love for me." 
 
 " Do you mean to say you do not believe in 
 that ? " asks Milicent, turning round for the first 
 time to face him. 
 
 " I think I have very good ground to found a 
 doubt upon. It appears to me that when a man 
 tells a girl he loves her enough to wish to marry 
 her, if she has a true feeling of love for him 
 she will tell him of any just impediment to their 
 engagement. Deception, then, certainly is not 
 prompted by love."
 
 250 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " Then you consider my father an impediment ? " 
 asks Milicent, quickly. 
 
 " I assuredly think I ought to have had the poor 
 privilege of judging whether he is or not. And I 
 infer that you thought the same, or you would not 
 have been so discreetly silent. Unless you were 
 really ignorant of how men look upon your father s 
 conduct," Urquhart adds as a saving clause. 
 
 But Milicent will take no benefit of it. 
 
 " I knew it had separated my mother from my 
 father, and had killed her. That told me far more 
 of its guilt than the mere disfavor of strangers. I 
 never had a doubt how you would look upon it." 
 
 " And I suppose you will tell me you were silent 
 because you were in love with me," says Urquhart 
 scornfully. 
 
 "Not at first. Certainly not the evening we 
 were in the boat together, and you told me you 
 wished to marry me. You tempted me sorely then. 
 I was so wretched and miserably unhappy, and you 
 opened to me a door of escape out of my troubles. 
 If you had not said so much of the life we would 
 live abroad, and had not promised that I should 
 never come back here, I should have refused you 
 at once." 
 
 " Do you mean to say I bribed you to engage 
 yourself to me ? " asks Urquhart, indignantly. 
 
 " I don t know that you really meant to bribe 
 me ; though I suppose you must have had some 
 reason for dwelling on the subject so much." 
 
 " My only object was to make our marriage fea 
 sible," he begins.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 251 
 
 " Aunt Ursula said you wished to live abroad 
 because you were ashamed of me. That made but 
 little difference to me then," interrupts Milicent. 
 
 " Why did it make but little difference to you ? 
 Most girls are sensitive as to their lover s opinions 
 of them." 
 
 " Did I not say my great desire was to get away 
 from here? And that was what you offered me." 
 
 "And I imagined I was so very fortunate in 
 winning you ! I was so sure you knew nothing of 
 worldly advantages, that you would marry me 
 entirely for the love of me. I congratulated my 
 self upon winning a fresh, unsophisticated heart, 
 which it was my privilege to teach to love." 
 
 She answers nothing. She is looking not at 
 him, but past him, far out over the sea, where the 
 fog draws a veil of distance. 
 
 It is gray enough, blank enough. And yet it is 
 the same sea that glowed and sparkled all about 
 her, that first evening when he told her of that 
 fairy-tale she was to live : the very waves then 
 seemed to take the story up, and rippled past the 
 boat s prow merrily. Now, she is listening to their 
 long withdrawing moan along the ledges that more 
 and more stretch out before her, black with the 
 wet kelp. And now the moaning silence is broken 
 by Urquhart s bitter voice : 
 
 " What egregious fools we are, ever to trust 
 you ! I, who had run the gauntlet of all the match 
 making mammas and their well-trained daughters, 
 and had managed to pass unscathed, was at last 
 fooled by a pretty face, which I forsooth thought
 
 252 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 knew nothing of masks, much less dreamed of 
 wearing one." 
 
 " I did not tell you then that I loved you. On 
 the contrary, I only promised to learn from you," 
 says Milicent, flushing scarlet under his bitter sar 
 casm. 
 
 " When a girl promises to marry, a man nat 
 urally infers she is in love with him, though he 
 sometimes may think she is too shy to confess it. 
 I acknowledge that was my mistake. If I had 
 known you were Mr. Chaudron s daughter, I might 
 have pressed for a stronger avowal of your feel 
 ings." 
 
 " At least our cases are parallel so far," says 
 Milicent, quite calm under this taunt, though there 
 is an evident effort on her part to be so. " You 
 were not so very open with me, or you would have 
 told me it was on my account you intended to 
 exile yourself. That you were ashamed of me, 
 and"- 
 
 " Not ashamed, Milicent ; that I never was, in 
 the sense you use it," interrupts Urquhart ; " I was 
 exceedingly proud of you." 
 
 " Of my appearance, perhaps : that is, when I 
 was properly dressed. But as I am, you would 
 never have cared to introduce me into your society. 
 And I I desired to get rid of a life I detested. 
 We both had something we did not care to speak 
 of." 
 
 " I must say I fail to see any parallel, simply 
 because there is such an immense difference in the 
 degree and kind of deception. I was deeply in
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 253 
 
 love with you, and, rather than part from you, 
 was willing to make a sacrifice which, if I had ex 
 plained to you, you would not have understood. 
 Whereas, you, by your own confession, did not 
 care in the least for me, and only wished to marry 
 me to get rid of a life you detested. And the 
 thing which made it detestable to you, you were 
 bound in all honor to tell me." 
 
 "I grant all you say," says Milicent, wearily. 
 "I acknowledge that all I did was wicked and 
 cowardly. I ought to have said ; My father is 
 dishonest, and in hiding. I could not do it, that 
 is all." 
 
 The simple logic of those last words might have 
 been enough for Urquhart, if he could have seen 
 the dead-white face that is a comment on them. 
 But it is averted ; and presently she says, in a 
 quite steady voice : 
 
 " I never touched one penny of that money, 
 and have lived hard and scantily all my life, but 
 honestly ; and so ignorant am I of what you call 
 honor, I never guessed how wickedly I have be 
 haved to you, until now that you tell me so. At 
 first my feelings were purely selfish. I don t be 
 lieve I thought very much about them. I was un 
 happy, and impatient under my trials. After 
 wards, when I had learned to love you, I saw fully 
 my mistake or crime, as you may please to call 
 it. But I grew frightened at my father s secret. 
 My love for you made me all the more timid." 
 
 " Timidity is the last weakness I would expect 
 in you ; and as to your love for me "
 
 254 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " That at least you do not doubt," Milicent says 
 quickly, turning towards him. 
 
 " It did not seem very much as if it were acted ; 
 and yet, when one loses confidence " 
 
 " Not in that," she says, interrupting again. 
 " I have deceived you in much but not in that." 
 
 " But what a paltry love it was, when you could 
 not trust me with your father s secret." 
 
 " It was not lack of trust that kept me silent," 
 explains Milicent. " I was afraid that words be 
 tween you and my father might separate us. In 
 fact, I feared that something very much like what 
 happened yesterday would be a barrier between us." 
 
 " How long did you intend to observe this si 
 lence, may I ask? " says Urquhart, still feeling on 
 unsafe ground. 
 
 " Only until after our marriage. My father 
 could not have separated us then," she answers 
 simply. 
 
 " And did you suppose it would strengthen my 
 love for you, to hear you make such a confession 
 when you had robbed me of all power of action?" 
 asks Urquhart, in surprise. 
 
 " I never thought you would care to act on it. 
 I considered anything would be preferred by you 
 to the risk of losing me. You had said so more 
 than once, and I foolishly believed you," says Mil 
 icent, with much of her old asperity. " I have not 
 the slightest curiosity about your father. If he 
 were hung, it would not make any difference to 
 me," adds Milicent, with growing irritation. " I 
 never thought of your family."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 255 
 
 " You forget I was ready to give Miss Ursula 
 full particulars on that head," says Urquhart, 
 gravely. 
 
 " And if you had told her you had father and 
 mother and a dozen brothers and sisters, it would 
 not have made the slightest difference to me. I 
 expected to marry you, not them." 
 
 " Not an uncommon mistake," says Urquhart, 
 quietly ; and then, suddenly bending down to look 
 into her face, " Tell me the truth, Milicent. 
 Was there never a time when you had a desire to 
 be frank and honest with me ? " 
 
 " Yes. I longed to speak that night we were 
 driven out to sea, the night of my birthday. I 
 could not bear to think I might die, and some one 
 else would tell you ; or that we both might die, and 
 you would in some way discover it. I fancy every 
 one who has a painful secret must feel so at times ; 
 at least on one s death-bed." 
 
 She has lost her petulance, and says this softly, 
 almost dreamily. 
 
 " Why did you not speak ? You must have felt 
 sure I would not reproach you then." 
 
 " You forget Stephen was with us." 
 
 " Stephen would have held sacred what you say 
 was as a death-bed confession." 
 
 " But I had promised Aunt Ursula not to tell 
 Stephen ; and then, of all times, I dared not break 
 my promise." 
 
 " So you acknowledge you understand the sacred- 
 ness of a promise ! " says Urquhart, with bitter 
 ness. " Why was it that Stephen was not to know
 
 256 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 what neither your father nor Miss Ursula objected 
 to your telling me ? " he adds, with ill-concealed 
 curiosity. 
 
 " It would have been difficult for my father to 
 have continued his disguise, if any one on the isl 
 and knew his history ; and Aunt Ursula would 
 have been wretched about him : so many of the 
 fishermen in the village dislike my father, and 
 some of them are poor, and perhaps one might not 
 mind making a little money on the misfortunes of 
 others, and they would gain something upon in 
 forming against him, would they not ? " Milicent 
 asks anxiously. 
 
 Urquhart nods yes. 
 
 " There were other reasons," she says, releasing 
 him from her anxious gaze, and looking straight 
 before her. 
 
 " What were they ? " asks Urquhart, more eager 
 to hear since she appears reluctant to speak. 
 
 " Both my father and Aunt Ursula wished me 
 to marry Stephen," she begins ; and then sits look 
 ing at a vessel in the offing. 
 
 " And feared, if he heard anything of your fa 
 ther s history, he would decline to do so ? Their 
 dread ought to have taught you how to act in re 
 gard to me," says Urquhart, reproachfully. 
 
 " Stephen would not have cared in the least ; but 
 I could not make them believe he would not," she 
 answers quietly, not taking her eyes off the incom 
 ing vessel. 
 
 There is much in her voice, as well as in her 
 manner, that causes Urquhart to ask sharply :
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 257 
 
 " Why are you so sure Ferguson would not have 
 cared ? I know by his own confession that he was 
 in love with you." 
 
 Then, bending towards her so that he can see her 
 face the better, he adds, " Was there ever any 
 thing between you and Stephen?" 
 
 "Yes," she says slowly, returning his glance. 
 " We were engaged to each other." 
 
 " For how long ? " asks Urquhart, the old look 
 of determination to know everything returning to 
 his face : a suspicious look, as well as a stubborn 
 one. 
 
 " When we were small children, we had an idea 
 that some day we would grow up and be married," 
 replies Milicent, with evident evasion. 
 
 " But after you were 110 longer children ? " asks 
 Urquhart, bluntly. 
 
 Finding Milicent disinclined to answer him, he 
 shapes his question differently : 
 
 " Was your engagement with Ferguson broken 
 before or after I came here ? " 
 
 " After, but not very long after." 
 
 " Of course you had a sufficient reason for break 
 ing with him ? " 
 
 " I had promised Aunt Ursula not to tell Ste 
 phen of my father," begins Milicent. 
 
 " And it was because of this promise that you 
 would not marry him ? " 
 
 Milicent s stiff silence is affirmation enough; 
 and Urquhart continues with increasing bitterness, 
 " You would have married me without considering 
 it worth while to give me a hint of the mystery you 
 
 17
 
 258 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 lived in, though you were under no promise bind 
 ing you to silence. Pray do not trouble yourself 
 to make an excuse," he adds, seeing she is about to 
 speak. " There is nothing you could urge that 
 could in the smallest degree palliate your conduct 
 to me. I could have forgiven your having kept 
 from me your father s name, if fear for him had 
 prompted your deceit. I might have thought the 
 peculiarities of your life here had well, had 
 biased your ideas of right and wrong. But in 
 stead, I find you have the very nicest sense of 
 honor where Ferguson is concerned ; and that I 
 am only so unfortunate that you cannot treat me 
 openly. You must pardon me if, on my soul, I 
 can draw but one conclusion; which is, that you 
 had much better marry Ferguson than me." 
 
 " Did you send for me to give me this advice ? " 
 she asks, icily. 
 
 " I sent for you, hoping you could make even a 
 paltry excuse for your conduct. I was willing to 
 take one so threadbare that it could scarce serve 
 as a covering to your error " 
 
 " And you failed to find one ? " interrupting 
 him. 
 
 " I failed to find even the shadow of one. Your 
 desire to get away from here seems to have been 
 so great you never chose to consider whether I 
 might object to being made a fool of. In com 
 monest honesty " 
 
 " If dishonesty is a taint in the blood, you ought 
 not to be too hard on me," interpolates Milicent, 
 with a mocking assumption of humility.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 259 
 
 " You sin with a full knowledge of your guilt, 
 only you choose your victims. Ferguson you would 
 not be persuaded to deceive : while you had not the 
 slightest compunction where I was concerned." 
 
 " Yet there was a difference between you and " 
 
 " I never imagined for a moment that there was 
 not a difference between us," interrupts Urquhart ; 
 " only I flattered myself that if you had to make 
 a choice between us, I would not be the one you 
 would sacrifice. But it appears that I have been 
 egregiously in the wrong." 
 
 " There was a difference, if you will let me ex 
 plain it," Milicent begins again, in a hard, forced 
 voice. " Stephen, living here and knowing my 
 father, and not knowing of the relationship be 
 tween us, disliked him ; and I never could have 
 kept the peace between them, for every sign of 
 displeasure to me on my father s part Stephen 
 would have resented. I had foolishly promised 
 Aunt Ursula not to tell Stephen ; and I could not 
 possibly have lived on, day after day, deceiving 
 him." 
 
 " I can very plainly see the difficulties in your 
 life as Ferguson s wife," Urquhart replies, sarcas 
 tically. " My stupidity is in not discovering how 
 marrying me would not have been at least quite 
 as awkward." 
 
 "Abroad, no one would ever know I have a 
 father "- 
 
 " Do you imagine that your father s reputation 
 has not traveled ? That Mr. Chaudron is not as 
 well known and remembered as Thomas, Miss Ur-
 
 260 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 sula s fisherman, is known in the village ? Are you 
 aware of the very strong likeness you bear to your 
 father ? That three months skulking from place to 
 place would, short of a miracle, be as much as I 
 could reasonably expect to hide your parentage ; 
 and Mr. Chaudron s daughter would be far better 
 known than my wife, I not having the distinc 
 tion " 
 
 " Stop ! " she cries out vehemently, and raising 
 both hands as if to ward off a blow. " I see it all 
 now. I was terribly blind." 
 
 One instant s gasping pause, in which her color 
 flickers from white to red, and red to white again. 
 But when Urquhart, startled, would have spoken, 
 she stops him. 
 
 " I do not wonder you are shocked at the magni 
 tude of my offense. I only thought to deceive you 
 as to my father, whom I presumed the world had 
 long forgotten, and would never dream I had any 
 thing to do with. I did not know his name was 
 written on my face, and you would blush to own 
 me. I never thought I would be a reproach to 
 you. A little rusticity and awkwardness was the 
 worst I feared : and never even that, until I went 
 for that little while to St. John. I cannot expect 
 you to pardon me," Milicent goes on to say, her 
 eyes all ablaze with some feeling not akin to con 
 trition. " And I do not wonder that you have said 
 to me all you have." 
 
 Urquhart is aghast. His jealousy of Stephen 
 has goaded him into speaking words he would 
 gladly have Milicent forget. She was so quiet
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 261 
 
 under much of his merited reproaches that he is 
 utterly dumfounded by her sudden indignation 
 under his unmerited one. 
 
 " I did not mean to reproach you for being like 
 your father," he begins, with an uncomfortable 
 assurance of his absurd position. 
 
 "No, that would be rather unjust," interrupts 
 Milicent, so quietly that one would never suspect 
 her ebullition of wrath just a minute before. 
 " One difficulty has been our seeing everything by 
 so different a light, I by the light of a penny 
 candle, and you by the sun s full glare. No 
 wonder I overlooked all the corners you saw so 
 plainly." 
 
 " And now you are looking at the shadows," 
 says Urquhart, quickly. "You should not recall 
 my inadvertent words. I was angry jealous, if 
 you will. I have always been jealous of Stephen." 
 
 " Jealous of Stephen ! " repeats Milicent, with 
 unfeigned surprise in her voice. " I cannot see 
 how you could fancy that I could appreciate such a 
 man as Stephen. None but a woman as unselfish 
 and as good as he is himself could do so." 
 
 " It is infinitely pleasant to hear the girl one is 
 engaged to so very appreciative of one s friend," 
 says Urquhart, politely. 
 
 " But we are no longer engaged," protests Mili 
 cent, with ill-suppressed vehemence. " Have you 
 not told me you have no desire to marry Mr. Chau- 
 dron s daughter ? Unfortunately, I cannot deny 
 my father." 
 
 " I am very sure I said nothing of the kind. I
 
 262 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 was naturally angry to find you had deceived me, 
 and perhaps I did not weigh my words sufficiently. 
 But of course, if you would like to make a choice 
 again, and Ferguson is willing " 
 
 " Why do you mention Stephen s name, or any 
 thing but the fact that we have met to say good- 
 by ?" interrupts Milicent, hotly. u I will not say 
 I am sorry you came here : but I will ask you to 
 leave at once." 
 
 " Thank you. At last you deign to be frank 
 with me." 
 
 " I am not so stupid that I cannot learn the 
 lesson you set me," says Milicent, with a slight 
 lifting of her shoulders. " I shall certainly never 
 try to deceive you again." 
 
 " If you had learned the lesson sooner, we should 
 both have been spared this scene," remarks Ur- 
 quhart. 
 
 " If it were what you please to call my deceit, 
 that separated us, I should but reap of the seeds 
 of my own sowing," says Milicent, more quietly. 
 " But it is my being my father s daughter that has 
 divided us. I cannot tell what it is, in what you 
 call the world, that makes such cowards of other 
 wise brave men ; but I see it would require great 
 courage in you to say, My wife is Mr. Chaudron 
 the famous forger s daughter. For myself I would 
 rather live on here alone " 
 
 "Alone, Milicent?" 
 
 " I could scarcely ask you to come here to live. 
 Thomas the fisherman would be no more to your 
 liking than Mr. Chaudron is."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 263 
 
 " Milicent, be careful ! " says Urquhart, sharply, 
 as if she were in some sudden peril. 
 
 " I shall run no risk," she answers calmly. " It 
 is needless to lose patience, and Aunt Ursula is 
 constantly warning me I am too hot-tempered. 
 Why should we tax each other s politeness ? There 
 is nothing left to us but to shake hands and say 
 good-by." 
 
 " Could we not even dispense with the formality 
 of the hand-shaking ? " asks Urquhart, ironically. 
 
 " Certainly." Milicent places her hands out of 
 all danger, by clasping them behind her. " Good- 
 by, Mr. Urquhart, and may you and the Undine 
 have a safe voyage." 
 
 Nettled, indeed stinging with anger as if Mili 
 cent had given him a blow in the face, Urquhart 
 lifts his hat politely, and walks away. This daugh 
 ter of Mr. Chaudron s should not treat him so. 
 One would fancy he was in fault, not she. She 
 was glad of a quarrel, glad of the smallest 
 chance to break with him. Stephen 
 
 He puts away the thought before it has more 
 than suggested itself to him. Just now he cannot 
 harbor it. 
 
 Urquhart strides on, over the rocks. Once he 
 turns to look back, and sees that Milicent has not 
 moved. Her girlish figure stands out sharply de 
 fined against the pale autumn sky, such a for 
 lorn, lonely little one, sitting there amidst all that 
 dreary waste of rock and water. Could he leave 
 her so ? Leave her to battle alone against such a 
 cruel fortune as hers must be ? Has she not said
 
 264 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 she deceived him because of her love for him? Be 
 cause she feared just what has come to them, their 
 separation ? After all, would it not be easier to 
 forgive her than to walk away, as he is doing now 
 to leave her ? Would not anything be better 
 than this parting in utter bitterness and anger ? 
 It is small comfort to think it is Milicent s own 
 fault, not his, that has sundered them. 
 
 Still Urquhart walks on, not back. He cannot 
 in his heart forgive Milicent, and her sharp words 
 cannot be forgotten in a moment. As he said, he 
 is by no means sure of her love for him ; and he 
 could not overlook that she has been far more loyal 
 and tender to Stephen than to him. He glances 
 back no more, to see what has become of Milicent. 
 
 It is impossible to hear a footfall, for the thun 
 der of the waves : but presently he hears some one 
 calling his name. 
 
 He stops, and looks back. 
 
 Milicent is coming towards him. After all she 
 has said, she could not let him go ! Poor little 
 Milicent ! this is her love for him. He wronged 
 her cruelly when he said not only to her, but also 
 to himself that she does not love him. 
 
 He stands still, waiting for her. In his eyes, 
 she had never looked fairer, not even when she 
 wore the dove-colored silk, than she does as she 
 comes to him, her paleness all gone, her eyes bright 
 with eagerness. She has taken off her hat, and 
 the sea-wind has played roughly with her hair, 
 which she has to push out of her eyes with her two 
 hands, as she stands quite near him.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 265 
 
 Urquhart could have caught her in his arms and 
 kissed her ; but knowing her coyness, he takes the 
 wiser part of standing to wait for her. 
 
 "We must not part in anger," says Milicent, 
 never looking up into his face when she comes to 
 him. " As we shall never see each other again, 
 we should not have only bitter words to remember. 
 It is much easier to ask forgiveness than to go 
 through life uncertain whether it has ever been 
 granted us." 
 
 " Will you forget the hard things we have said 
 to each other ? " asks Urquhart, eagerly. 
 
 He wishes he had been less harsh ; that if they 
 must part, there should have been no anger, only 
 sorrow. 
 
 " Yes. I shall forget them." 
 
 Urquhart looks at her wistfully. He does not 
 know how to take the sting of utter coldness out of 
 this parting. Could they shake hands as friends 
 would, and go their several ways, never hoping to 
 meet again in life ? It was easier to part in anger 
 than in cool friendliness. But Milicent comes to 
 his help. 
 
 " Do you remember," she says, " the evening you 
 told me you loved me, I was angry with you be 
 cause you kissed me, and you said the next time I 
 should ask you myself ? Will you kiss me for 
 good-by? " 
 
 Urquhart s answer is to take her in his arms. 
 
 He knows perfectly well that she not only means 
 it for their farewell, but also for a sign and seal of 
 mutual forgiveness. But as he rains down kisses
 
 266 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 on her mouth, her brow, her eyes, while she lies for 
 one little moment passive in his arms, there is no 
 farewell in his heart. 
 
 He could no more have left her there and then 
 than he could have turned his back on heaven, if 
 he had had a glimpse of its joys. What to him 
 were the sneers of a few worldlings, in comparison 
 with Milicent s love ? Even Mr. Chaudron might 
 become bearable as father-in-law, if Milicent were 
 the bond between them. 
 
 "Milicent," says Urquhart, softly, "I cannot 
 live without you. Let it be as it was between us." 
 
 She has freed herself from his embrace, and 
 moves a pace or two from him. " No," she an 
 swers, firmly. " That was our farewell ; we can 
 not go back now." 
 
 " Why can t we ? Who is to say us nay ? " 
 
 " It never would have done," Milicent goes on, 
 never heeding his questions. " Even if there had 
 been nothing else, I never could have borne the 
 knowledge that your friends pitied you for being 
 caught by what you considered a pretty face." 
 
 " I am not going to listen to such nonsense as 
 that," interrupts Urquhart, hastily. " I care very 
 little for the sympathy of those you call my 
 friends." 
 
 " But you care for mine," says Milicent. " I 
 should feel sorry for you, if your friends thought 
 lightly of you. Sorry for you and much more for 
 myself. Every time you were quiet or sad, I should 
 think some one you liked had slighted you on my 
 account. If you found fault, or suggested a change
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 267 
 
 in my dress or manner, I should torment myself 
 with fear that you were ashamed or weary of me. 
 I could never be meek and gentle except fitfully, 
 for it is not my nature ; and I should tax myself 
 with being wicked and ungrateful, every time I was 
 cross and unreasonable. I should fail so utterly in 
 my new life that you could not help feeling tram 
 meled and burdened with me." 
 
 " Do you imagine your love will grow colder by 
 being with me ? " asks Urquhart, half tenderly, half 
 beseechingly. " Do you think I intend you shall 
 not love me more than you ever have loved me be 
 fore?" 
 
 " It would never increase in that big world of 
 yours. The little time I spent in St. John proved 
 that to me. I cannot tell you how it irked and 
 chafed me ; and you seemed changed and unnatural, 
 scarcely kind to me. I would have tried to make 
 myself like the women I saw ; and no doubt I should 
 have succeeded in a measure then. But it would 
 be impossible now : for there is far more for me to 
 overcome than a few gaucheries. I should much 
 oftener recall the fact that I am my father s daugh 
 ter, than your wife. Here, I can live without shame 
 at least." 
 
 " How can you talk of a future without me, Mil- 
 icent? " asks Urquhart, reproachfully. 
 
 "Because it will be better for you to be free from 
 me. Yet you will not altogether forget your sum 
 mer here ? " 
 
 " I want you, not a memory," says Urquhart, sul 
 lenly.
 
 268 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " Not if I would do you a harm ? You will not 
 ask me to do that," she says gently. "People 
 must not say of your wife, that she was even less 
 honest than her father. That he only took money : 
 but that I tricked you into marrying me." 
 
 Urquhart would have replied indignantly, but 
 Milicent stops him. " It would be all true, you 
 know. Let me be honest, now that I see how dis 
 honest I was. And won t you say good-by ? " she 
 pleads, in a weary, broken voice. " I cannot tell 
 why, but I am so very, very tired." 
 
 Unconsciously, to Urquhart at least, they have 
 in their slow walk reached the little path down 
 which Milicent came alone from her own gate to 
 meet him. It is here that she intended to part ; 
 and here she stops, and holds out her hand. 
 
 But Urquhart is not inclined to say good-by 
 now or at any other time. He has no idea of 
 abiding by this too hasty decision of Milicent s ; 
 even though a little while before he expected only 
 so much grace at her hands. 
 
 He has changed his views of many things in the 
 last ten minutes ; and so he would as flatly have 
 refused to shake hands as he had before, and would 
 have gone on arguing his points, if he had not 
 chanced to look into her face. 
 
 It is a pale, weary face, with a strange, strained 
 expression about the mouth, which tells that the 
 poor child cannot bear very much more just now. 
 
 He must wait a little ; giving her time to think, 
 and grow calmer. 
 
 " I will not say good-by. I must see you
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 269 
 
 again. You look sadly tired, and I am cruel not 
 to have seen it before. You must go home and 
 rest, my darling. It shall be good-by until to 
 morrow ; and then " 
 
 Milicent smiles, in as near an approach to her 
 old saucy way as she is able to do, and then holds 
 out her hand, which Urquhart clasps, and lightly 
 kisses, not as a sign of farewell, but as an earnest 
 of the next day s meeting. 
 
 Then he watches her pass through the gate, and 
 over the path that leads her home ; and it is not 
 until he has lost sight of her altogether that he 
 goes back to his lodgings and tells Mr. Raymond, 
 much to that gentleman s disgust, that he had bet 
 ter return in the Dominion s next trip, without 
 him : as his, TJrquhart s, stay in the fishing-village 
 is necessarily indefinite.
 
 XIV. 
 
 "A faint sea without wind or sun, 
 A life-like nameless vapor dun, 
 
 A valley like an unsealed grave 
 Tliat no man cares to weep upon." 
 
 ME. RAYMOND could not be persuaded to leave 
 without making one more effort for Urquhart s 
 emancipation. What was to be that master-stroke 
 which was to free his friend he gave no hint ; but 
 certainly he had great faith in it. Urquhart s in 
 terview, according to his own showing, had termi 
 nated most unfortunately, Mr. Raymond thought. 
 He naturally dreaded another : his great desire was 
 to prevent it, if possible. So he chose the cowardly 
 mode of writing a letter to Milicent, in which he told 
 her in plainer words than he would have had the 
 courage to speak, how Urquhart s friends and Ur 
 quhart s world would regard his marriage with her. 
 
 It was not a very pleasant letter for Mr. Ray 
 mond to write to Ursula Chaudron s niece ; yet 
 he was closely following the golden rule, for he 
 did for Urquhart very much what, in like cir 
 cumstances, he had done for himself. He never 
 guessed that Milicent had taken her final leave of 
 Urquhart. That it was an unnecessary wound, he 
 never suspected ; for Milicent was silent under it ; 
 and Mr. Raymond for the rest of his life is under
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 271 
 
 the hallucination that this last effort of his has 
 been a great success, a bit of well-performed duty 
 on his part to TJrquhart, of which he is willing to 
 enjoy the fruits, without hinting how they were 
 produced. 
 
 But the letter has driven Milicent out of doors. 
 The sparks are flickering out of that harmless- 
 looking bit of cindery ashes on her hearth, as 
 the flash dies out of her eyes ; but somehow the 
 fumes of the burnt paper seem to fill the room, 
 and she does not breathe freely until she has shut 
 the house door on them. 
 
 There is no fear that any one will see her : the 
 fog gathers so closely about her, as she clambers 
 down, the nearest way, upon the cliffs. The fog 
 horn has been moaning on the Fundy side of the 
 island the whole morning, showing that the fog 
 was lurking in that bay ; and by the time the sun 
 is well overhead, it is no longer sun, but moon, 
 floating silverly in the warm haze. 
 
 Milicent has gone far out ; far out of sight of 
 any one who might be skirting the cliffs. She is in 
 a strange, still world all her own, with everything 
 shut out in the silver-gray of the mist blending 
 with the silver-gray encircling sweep of waters. 
 Everything, that is, but the wild rock-world in 
 which she sits and listens to the shrill cry of a fog- 
 hidden sea-bird ; the tinkle of a sheep-bell on the 
 cliff s green brow ; the lapse of almost sleeping ed 
 dies round the rocks. 
 
 She is staring far down into the clear water of a 
 pool; down on the manifold tints the dark rocks
 
 272 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 have taken on, with their long tangle of rock-weed, 
 the golden-brown, the vivid green, the long, 
 broad ribbons of the kelp, that float in and out, 
 upon the least stir of the water, with brown-fingered 
 dulse clinging about them. Now and then, one of 
 the long ribbons turns over in the eddy, like some 
 strange sea-thing, and catches one glint from the 
 sun that just now opens a round, dim, yellow-white 
 window, peering into that strange underworld, 
 which has its mystery and its fascination for us 
 all. Here wave, far under the deep water, brown- 
 green tossing tips, which might be the close-press 
 ing tops of some weird sunken forest. And there 
 a pool lies sullen and still, until some breaker leaps 
 up, curving itself for the plunge over a low, white- 
 barnacled rock : until the rock seems slowly to up 
 heave itself, and to move forward, a huge gray- 
 green sea-monster. 
 
 Miliceiit watches it all ; and, for the first time in 
 her life, the sea looks to her a terrible thing, full 
 of all hidden cruelties. It is going to isolate her 
 here forever ; and fate, like that stealthy wave, has 
 crept about her, until, as it roots up her garden of 
 delight, she finds out for the first time how many 
 hopes were budding there. 
 
 Yes ; but what right has she to their blossoming ? 
 
 Ought she not to have known, that evening 
 when she drifted with Urquhart upon yonder 
 golden sea now blotted out that she had no 
 right ? But her shame was so new to her then : it 
 seemed something apart from her ; something she 
 could leave behind her on this wave-washed rock,
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 273 
 
 while her gay lover sailed away with her into that 
 new world he promised her. 
 
 Miss Ursula would never have trusted her broth 
 er s perilous secret to a child ; and the girl had 
 grown up with a shrinking dislike of her aunt s 
 fisherman, which now and again, though rarely, 
 some familiarity, or touch of authority on his part 
 increased. Then, suddenly, chance as it were tore 
 away the mask ; and Miss Ursula had to tell her 
 the whole story. Was it one that, like a magic 
 word, could make the tender blossoms of love and 
 faith spring up from such bitter seeds as had been 
 carelessly sown in the girl s heart ? 
 
 She is not thinking all this ; she is but feeling 
 it, and feeling it only dimly and blankly, as the fog 
 drifts round her like a windy veil. She hears the 
 fog-horn s long three moans across the island, and 
 the longer repetition of the echo on the rock-bound 
 coast ; and then suddenly there is the brisk rock 
 ing sound of oars upon the water. Her world is 
 no longer blank to Milicent. 
 
 She sits there, quivering in a breathless expect 
 ancy, half hope, half dread. What if it were Ur- 
 quhart s boat? What if he were to come this 
 way, and find her here ? 
 
 She will not make a sound, not a movement, to 
 call him to her. But if he comes 
 
 He does not come. 
 
 That long, long waiting which is in truth so 
 brief a space is over : not a footstep breaks upon 
 the coming and retreating of the waves about the 
 rocks, and the long-drawn approach of the tide-rip 
 
 18
 
 274 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 in the distance. Now a sheep-bell tinkles out, as 
 it were overhead ; and then there is no more. The 
 boatman, whosoever he may be, has gone by on 
 the other side. 
 
 The girl throws her arms against the rock be 
 side her, and buries her head on them. She is not 
 weeping. She is only hiding her face, as the man 
 fallen wounded by the wayside might have hidden 
 his, in his despair, when the priest and the Levite 
 passed him by upon the other side. Wounded, al 
 most unto death, and no one coming near her ! 
 
 After a while she grows impatient of her pain. 
 She will not lie prostrate under it : there is no 
 Good Samaritan coming to her by the wayside. 
 She will stagger to her feet, and keep the road, 
 and hide her wounds as best she may. 
 
 But now that she is literally, as well as metaphor 
 ically, on her feet, she finds it impossible to turn 
 homeward, and to face at once the old life there. 
 Somehow the sea soothes her with its strange, mys 
 terious voice : she longs to get nearer to it still. 
 
 She flings herself down from rock to rock, 
 lightly, and not as if her heart lay so heavy within 
 her. Her foot falls without a sound that can be 
 heard for the waves gurgle in and out among the 
 pools. The tide is far out still, only just beginning 
 to turn; and she knows the cliffs directly under 
 Greenhead are accessible. 
 
 But Milicent is in no rambling mood ; she goes 
 no farther now than to the ledge which juts out, 
 facing the outer one. She sits in a roomy elbow- 
 chair at its entrance, and turns her face towards
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 275 
 
 the sea, and means to wait until it steals round 
 her, and but just leaves her a narrow stairway in 
 the rocks to climb back by the way she came. 
 
 As she sits there, and gazes blankly out into the 
 fog which is so like her life, so dull and gray and 
 dim, she thinks how well for her it would be if 
 the tide were to creep up and up, hemming her in, 
 past flight, sweeping her out into the wide sea 
 of eternity. One gurgling struggle, perhaps 
 
 Nay, she knows she would never do it ; she has 
 started up, as the first tiny wavelet creeps sighing 
 to her footstool. Not many moments now, and 
 the full tide, that here sweeps in so rapidly, will 
 be covering the great rock-pile about her, broken 
 columns and pinnacles and beaches and all, beneath 
 those inaccessible cliffs. 
 
 As she starts from her seat, half frightened, as 
 if her wicked thought had taken shape and men 
 aced her, the memory of the last time she was 
 here with Urquhart keeps her lingering ; and pres 
 ently draws her to pass round the near cliff into 
 the next cove. 
 
 Once more she will see them all ; once more 
 and then, she thinks, never again. 
 
 As she passes through the sort of gateway lead 
 ing behind one of the buttresses, she starts back. 
 She is not alone. A man in the dress of a fisher 
 man is lying prone, face downward, on the shingle, 
 his head hidden on his arms. 
 
 At first, the girl s heart stands still within her. 
 Is he dead, drowned, cast up by the sea here, 
 that he lies so motionless ?
 
 276 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 But her second glance shows her his clothing is 
 not wet : his slouched hat is pulled down to shade 
 his eyes. He is asleep, perhaps ? 
 
 At her second glance, her pale face grows yet 
 paler ; she goes a step nearer, and says : 
 
 " Father " 
 
 Her voice is low, hardly above the hoarse mur 
 mur of the incoming wave. Perhaps he does not 
 hear it ; for he does not stir. 
 
 A little nearer. " Father ! " 
 
 He lifts his head then, with a start. 
 
 "Milly!" 
 
 She is quite near him now, but he looks up at 
 her with a far-away look in his eyes. " Milly ! " 
 
 He never calls her " Milly." 
 
 He has raised himself upon his elbow, and is 
 looking up at her so strangely. The girl has never 
 seen that soft look in his eyes before. 
 
 " The tide is coming in so fast. It is hemming 
 us in. You must come away, at once ! " 
 
 He has not moved, save when he raised himself 
 to look at her. A gray dimness like a cloud has 
 risen in his eyes and shadows his face. Milicent 
 grows frightened. When again she speaks to him, 
 and still he gives no sign, she goes to him, and 
 puts her hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 " Come ! " 
 
 It is her left hand, which chances to be nearest 
 to him as she stands with her back turned on the 
 sea. He puts his up, and draws the small hand 
 down, and looks at it, stroking it gently as it lies 
 in his toil-hardened palm ; lingering over it, as if
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 277 
 
 he were groping half blindly for a ring on the 
 third finger. All Milicent s blood rushes to her 
 face ; then ebbs again as suddenly, for he is say 
 ing: 
 
 " Milly s hand would have had my ring upon it. 
 I must have been dreaming, child. I took you for 
 your mother, as I saw you standing there in the 
 mist between heaven and earth." 
 
 He has never before spoken to her of her 
 mother. 
 
 Milicent stands voiceless, breathless ; but per 
 haps her eyes press him, for he says hoarsely : 
 
 " I thought it was all over, child, and that Milly, 
 your mother, that she had come to tell me she 
 forgave me, for the little one s sake." 
 
 " All over, father ? " There is something in his 
 face, in his voice, that terrifies the girl. " Come," 
 she cries, with a glance over her shoulder at the 
 hurrying water. 
 
 He flings her hand almost roughly from him, as 
 he rises to his feet. "Yes, I am coming. But 
 you do not know, you foolish girl, what you have 
 done. You cannot get free now from the past, its 
 blots, its stains. A few short moments more, and 
 the sea would have washed away would have 
 washed away " 
 
 But Milicent is clinging to him in a very frenzy 
 of terror. 
 
 "Father! father!" 
 
 Is it possible that what she idly dreamed of 
 for a moment, as the end of all these doubts and 
 dreads, he had deliberately set himself to bring
 
 278 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 
 about? Death, that would put his grim finis to 
 the ill-told story 
 
 Chaudron understands her cry. He puts out his 
 hand to lift her to a higher rock the water is 
 creeping up to their feet now, laying its white, 
 treacherous hands about them. " I was half mad, 
 I think," is what he answers her. " It would have 
 been well for you if you had not come, my girl. 
 Chaudron safe out of the way, his daughter woidd 
 be no worse than many a nameless girl besides. 
 And Milly might have forgiven me, for the child s 
 sake." 
 
 He has half forgotten that he is speaking his 
 thought aloud. Face to face with death and with 
 despair as he was a moment since, it is not all at 
 once that he can feel the healing virtue that goes 
 out of those small hands clasped tightly round his 
 arm. 
 
 And Milicent 
 
 As they together climb up the wet rocks, into 
 that gray and foggy life of theirs, the silent tears 
 come dripping down over her white cheeks. 
 
 A hand has touched, but gently, and not smiting 
 it, that heart of hers which lay cold and hard as a 
 rock within her ; and the waters have gushed out, 
 not bitterly, but as a healing flood. 
 
 With the heavy tread of the climbing waves 
 upon the rocks no lighter footfall can be heard. 
 
 Thus, if some one passes her by, not very far 
 upon the other side, only with that dense wall 
 of fog between, Milicent does not know.
 
 XV. 
 
 " Break, break, break, 
 
 At the foot of thy crags, sea ! 
 But the tender grace of a day that is dead 
 Will never come back to me." 
 
 THE passer-by is Urquhart, who has just come 
 away from the house, where Miss Ursula coolly 
 told him Milicent was out. He has come away an 
 gry and disappointed, very sure that Miss Ursula 
 and her brother are keeping Milicent from seeing 
 him. He does not believe she is out ; and yet, in 
 the slight hope it gives him of meeting her, he 
 wanders through the fog in every direction he 
 thinks it in the least possible for her to have taken. 
 
 The fog baffles him at first ; then the sun dis 
 perses it. Then later, after long and aimless wan 
 dering, he finds himself in the road near Stephen s 
 cottage. 
 
 Urquhart opens the gate, intending to take the 
 shorter path across the field to the village. He 
 has not seen Stephen since the day Mr. Raymond 
 came to Miss Ursula s house to be introduced to 
 Milicent. That day seems very long ago. If all 
 the rest of Urquhart s life is to lag like these four 
 days, his allotted threescore years and ten will be 
 interminable. 
 
 The frost has stripped the vines against the cot-
 
 280 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 tage, which stands out a white blot in the gather 
 ing twilight. It is a hint to Urquhart that he has 
 no time to dally. For though the sea lies before him 
 unchanged, as if for it the cold had no death-touch, 
 yet he knows from the fishermen s well-spun yarns, 
 that not very many weeks off the sail to St. John, 
 even, would be not only uncomfortable, but haz 
 ardous, and in the fogs and storms the Dominion 
 could not be trusted to steam out of her way to 
 seek the difficult harbor of the little village. And 
 yet Mr. Chaudron and Miss Ursula are both using 
 their influence, if not their power, to delay Mili- 
 cent s seeing him. 
 
 Suddenly it occurs to Urquhart that Stephen is 
 the very best person to bring about an interview 
 with Milicent, the very one he could send a mes 
 sage by. No doubt it is the sight of Stephen cross 
 ing over the field that suggests to Urquhart the 
 idea of using him as a medium of communication 
 with Milicent. But it is not until after tea, 
 Stephen s mention of which substantial meal re 
 minds Urquhart that he has eaten nothing since 
 early breakfast, when the two men are smoking 
 before the bright wood fire, that Urquhart broaches 
 the subject. 
 
 " Have you seen Milicent lately ? " he asks, 
 stooping over the hearth, to knock the ashes off 
 his cigar. 
 
 " Not since we were at the house together," says 
 Stephen in reply. 
 
 " Then you do not know what is going on there ; " 
 indicating the direction of Miss Ursula s house by
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 281 
 
 a motion with his cigar. " They are preventing 
 the poor child from seeing me, and I hoped you 
 could tell me something of her." 
 
 " I do not understand how they could prevent 
 Milly from seeing you " begins Stephen. 
 
 " Nevertheless, it is a fact. I have tried in vari 
 ous ways to get access to her. I wrote, and got no 
 answer. I even went to the house, but was not per 
 mitted to see her. If you don t call that coercion, 
 I don t know the meaning of the word." 
 
 " Do you mean to say you have not seen Milly 
 since the day we were at Miss Ursula s together ? " 
 asks Stephen, sharply. 
 
 " I have seen her but once. Then she came to 
 the cliffs, by my request, and " 
 
 "Perhaps, then, it is your own fault that you 
 have not had a second interview." 
 
 " Not at all : for though we had a little squally 
 weather at first, Milicent calmed down, and was 
 reasonable, and well, you know what she can be 
 after a quarrel." 
 
 " Then of course things are as they were between 
 you," says Stephen, not sparing himself. 
 
 " Not altogether," admits Urquhart. "Milicent 
 understood, much better than you seem to do, that 
 our marriage will at least bring me some annoy 
 ance, as well as herself. Not that I believe she 
 thought of herself : women so seldom do when they 
 are in love." 
 
 " The more reason their lovers should think first 
 of their happiness," rather curtly. 
 
 " Exactly," returns Urquhart, in the same tone.
 
 282 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " But unfortunately Milicent looked so very pale 
 and weary that I did not dare to keep her longer ; 
 so we parted with the understanding that we were 
 to meet next day. So you see, Ferguson, in any 
 case, I must see her. You must acknowledge it is 
 better for Milicent to marry me ; and I am willing 
 to put up with a good deal, rather than lose her. 
 If she is Mr. Chaudron s daughter, she is by far the 
 most lovable and bewitching woman I ever met." 
 
 " Perhaps, as you think so much of blood, the 
 Chaudron stock is happier in its females. Miss 
 Ursula is certainly a most uncommon person." 
 
 " Most uncommonly uncomfortable. I hope Mil 
 icent will avoid growing like her aunt, as well as 
 like her father. Yet that Miss Ursula once loved 
 is not easily forgotten," his thoughts reverting 
 to Mr. Raymond. " I ought to be off," he adds. 
 " Poor Raymond, who is putting himself to all kinds 
 of inconvenience for my sake, must be wondering 
 what has become of me." 
 
 Nevertheless, he makes no movement to go ; but 
 comes forward, staring moodily into the dancing 
 firelight. He has not yet made his request of 
 Stephen. 
 
 " I am quite sure," Urquhart says again present 
 ly, " the poor child has very confused ideas of the 
 wrong she was doing me in deceiving me." Then, 
 apologetically, " One must make allowances for her 
 bringing up, and her surroundings, as well as for 
 her strong feelings." 
 
 " Those are a great many allowances to make," 
 Stephen remarks, dryly.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 283 
 
 " I never did think women ought to be judged 
 by our standards. They are far more impetuous 
 in their feelings than we ; and their happiness is 
 so much in the hands of other people, no wonder 
 they grow restive." 
 
 " Weaker vessels, in other words." 
 
 " Because finer in their texture. I, for one, 
 would not have them stronger and tougher," says 
 Urquhart, lightly. 
 
 " I should not call Milly weak," says Stephen, 
 gravely, as if resentful of Urquhart s good-hu 
 mored laugh. " She has twice the strength of pur 
 pose that I have." 
 
 "It was you who used the word. What sur 
 prises me is to find that Miss Ursula, with that 
 peculiar spite common to middle-aged single wo 
 men, has told Milicent the whole story of her 
 precious father s villainy. And she must have had 
 to explain the full force of his crimes, to make her 
 niece understand them ; for they could never come 
 under her observation in such a community as this. 
 She must have known Thomas the fisherman was 
 her father ; yet neither you nor I, who saw them 
 so often together, ever suspected the relationship." 
 
 "A heavy secret for so young a heart to carry." 
 
 " But which she managed to do," replies Ur 
 quhart, the more coldly because of Stephen s low, 
 pitying tone. " The fact is, it would have been 
 far better for both of us if Milicent had been less 
 strong. The oddest part of all to me is that in 
 all these years you have had no suspicion of this 
 Thomas."
 
 284 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " There has been nothing more to arouse sus 
 picion in the past years than in the last few 
 months, where your opportunities have been equal 
 if not superior to mine. And if there had been, 
 I should not have tried to discover what both 
 Milly and Miss Ursula desired to keep secret." 
 
 " All right and highly honorable in you, under 
 ordinary circumstances. But a man s intention 
 to marry a girl makes a world of difference. Mili- 
 cent has told me you were engaged," he adds in 
 parenthesis, not choosing to notice that Stephen 
 winces under Milicent s frankness to her last 
 lover. " Then I think it not only natural, but 
 your duty, to know all you could of her." 
 
 " Of her, yes, I grant you that. Milly was 
 right to tell you of me, for instance. But as to 
 her family, that s another matter ; for what her 
 father is or was does n t touch her." 
 
 " Does n t it, though ? I only wish her father s 
 act did n t touch her. Do you suppose Mr. Chau- 
 dron s daughter is not branded, only in a lesser 
 way, as Cain was ? No hand will be raised against 
 her for any other purpose than to point her out. 
 But she will feel keenly the sneers that will be 
 flung at her." 
 
 " Are there no right-judging, charitable people 
 in your world ? " 
 
 " Very few, I fancy. When I marry Milicent, 
 all my acquaintances will consider me a fool ; my 
 friends will tell me so ; and my few relations will 
 treat me as one," says Urquhart, concisely. 
 
 " I am very glad my list of acquaintances is so
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. . 285 
 
 small that I do not dread their criticism ; my 
 friends too far away to express their opinion of 
 me ; and that I have no kinsfolk." 
 
 " All of which advantages I did not appreciate 
 a week or so ago," replies Urquhart, coolly ; and 
 then adds, relighting his cigar, and speaking more 
 confidentially than before : " Of course it is a 
 thing a man hates to talk about : but there is no 
 use in disguising the fact that there is a deal that 
 is disagreeable before me. When Raymond croaks, 
 and points out unpleasantnesses, it is human na 
 ture to pretend to be blind. Nevertheless, I see 
 much more clearly than is at all agreeable to me." 
 
 "Then I would not look," says Stephen, with 
 more shortness than is natural to him. 
 
 " There is one thing that I have determined 
 upon," continues Urquhart, in his desire to give 
 his own opinion of the situation, rather than to 
 take the opinion of others, " and that is, not to 
 make a mystery of Milicent s parentage. Raymond 
 thinks her wonderfully like her father, which I 
 must say I fail to see. I could not bring a wife 
 back with me, and people not be curious to know 
 who she was. I do not say it from vanity : it is 
 the question one always hears, when a man mar 
 ries. So I am determined to give at once the fact 
 that my wife is Mr. Chaudron s daughter." 
 
 Urquhart says this with the pleasing sensation 
 of unburdening himself of a well-matured course 
 of action ; while Stephen is listening to what he 
 considers the most natural thing in the world, 
 that a man should acknowledge who his wife was.
 
 286 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " It will be much harder on Milicent than on 
 me, I am afraid," Urquhart goes on to explain. 
 " She is not one to overlook small impertinences, 
 but will blaze up grandly at a mere trifle. It will 
 be the women : they being non-combatants, you 
 cannot make them responsible for their words, or 
 insolent actions. If I could only take the poor 
 child abroad, as she expects me to do, she would 
 have much more peace and comfort." 
 
 " Why cannot you ? " 
 
 " Because of my will-be father-in-law. For his 
 own reasons, he will ignore what you call the 
 States ; but one could never be sure of not meeting 
 him in Europe, Asia, or Africa." 
 
 " If you did, I do not see that any harm could 
 come of the meeting." 
 
 " Some unpleasantness. If Milicent wishes to 
 help her father in a pecuniary way, I shall never 
 object ; but I do not intend that there shall be any 
 other intercourse between them." 
 
 " Perhaps Milly will object." 
 
 " Object ! when you remember what her father 
 is, the sacrifice cannot be immense ; and I fancy 
 she would be willing to make some sacrifice for 
 me," says Urquhart, coldly. 
 
 Stephen is not inclined to argue the question, so 
 he changes the subject somewhat abruptly by ask 
 ing, " Why did you suppose Milly coerced ? " 
 
 " When we parted, I told her I would certainly 
 see her again ; and though she understood me per 
 fectly, she has not been able even to answer any of 
 the notes I have sent her. A further proof : to-
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 287 
 
 day, when I went to the house, Miss Ursula told 
 me she was out which is not at all likely." 
 
 " I do not see why Miss Ursula should say 
 so" 
 
 " Nor do I, unless upon the ground that she did 
 not wish Milicent to meet me. Miss Ursula does 
 not come of such upright, honorable blood that 
 one shrinks from doubting her." 
 
 " Be careful, Urquhart ! " exclaims Stephen, 
 sharply. " If you permit yourself such speeches, 
 you may chance upon them before Milly, and 
 wound her cruelly. Besides, you cannot blame 
 others for saying what you say yourself." 
 
 " I admit that is the worst feature in the case : 
 for what we resent as a wrong, our righteous in 
 dignation makes more bearable. However, I had 
 no intention to discuss this question ; but, instead, 
 to ask a service of you." 
 
 " Of me ! " Stephen shrinks back slightly, as if 
 dreading a blow. " You do not wish me to be 
 best man, I hope ? " 
 
 " I am hardly the brute you take me for," says 
 Urquhart, quickly. " I must see Milicent ; and 
 I cannot get word to her. Miss Ursula is not 
 afraid of you, and I want you to take a message to 
 Milicent. Nothing written ; only a few words. 
 When will you go ? " 
 
 " To-morrow, I suppose. It is too late to-night," 
 Stephen adds more cheerfully, as if glad of the 
 respite. 
 
 " Will you remind Milicent that winter is near 
 at hand, and that we have very little time to lose ?
 
 288 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 And, Stephen, pray be particular to impress upon 
 her that our not seeing each other has not been my 
 fault. That I even braved the dragon in her den, 
 and went boldly to the house." 
 
 " I can t understand, if Milly still intends to 
 marry you, why there should be any difficulty 
 about your seeing her," says Stephen, with that 
 persistency of unbelief which is so irritating. 
 
 " That is because you absolve Miss Ursula of 
 all interference. There is not the slightest diffi 
 culty between Milicent and myself. There was, as 
 I said, at first ; and we even went to the absurd 
 extreme of saying good-by. But we made it up 
 between us." 
 
 Urquhart has risen to go, and is standing with 
 his back to the fire. He does not explain to Ste 
 phen the process of " making it up ; " but it seems 
 to him that the child, with her pale, upturned face, 
 is once more in his arms. 
 
 Many a time afterwards in his life he holds her 
 thus again ; but the sweet face is never a shade 
 older, nor less pale.
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Oh, I have fire within 
 But on my will there falls the chilling snow 
 Of thoughts that come as subtly as soft flakes, 
 Yet press at last with hard and icy weight." 
 
 LAST night, when Urquhart left him, Stephen 
 sat a long while over his fire, thinking, thinking. 
 Urquhart s love was so much more selfish than his 
 own, that it was difficult for Stephen to believe it 
 deep and lasting. And if it was not ? If Milicent 
 believed it was not, would it be well to urge her to 
 test it once more ? 
 
 But when the fire had died entirely out, and the 
 new day began to dawn, chilly and bleak, and he 
 went up-stairs to try to get an hour or two of 
 sleep, he had determined to go to Miss Ursula s, 
 and give Milicent Urquhart s message. For a 
 great dread had come to him, that perhaps the 
 poor child thought Urquhart had deserted her, and 
 that she was left alone to bear the bitter fruits 
 of her father s sin. If the rest of her life were 
 a long regret, for which he, Stephen, no matter 
 with what good intention, was responsible 
 
 No, that he will not bear ; and so the early 
 morning finds him walking over to Miss Ursula s. 
 
 There is nothing unusual about the house. Miss 
 Ursula, always an early riser, is busy getting break- 
 
 19
 
 290 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 fast ready ; and she tells him, as she has dozens of 
 times in his life, that Milicent has not come down 
 stairs yet, but that if he will wait in the parlor, 
 she will tell her he is there. There seems nothing 
 like harshness nor coercion on Miss Ursula s part 
 towards Milicent ; and as Stephen sits in the great 
 bare room, his doubts of Urquhart s inferences 
 strengthen. 
 
 Milicent is not long in coming to him. 
 
 Stephen is greatly shocked to see the change so 
 few days have made in her appearance. It is 
 more than a hint of the struggle she has gone 
 through. 
 
 "Are you ill, Milly ?" asks Stephen, coming for 
 ward and taking the hand she holds out to him. 
 
 " Yes," she answers, with hesitation. " That 
 is, I suppose I am. I don t sleep, and I am more 
 restless than I need be. Yesterday I could no 
 longer be in the house, and walked out on the 
 cliffs. But it did not help me in the least," she 
 adds, with a weary little sigh. 
 
 " Then you were really out when Urquhart 
 called." 
 
 "Yes. Did he think we had put on grand, 
 worldly ways, and told falsehoods if we did not 
 wish to see him ?" asks Milicent, unconsciously to 
 herself showing an interest as soon as Urquhart s 
 name is mentioned. 
 
 " He thought perhaps Miss Ursula did not wish 
 him to see you. He never doubted your truth, 
 Milly," Stephen hastens to assure her. 
 
 " Why should Aunt Ursula have cared ? But I 
 would not have seen him, if I had been at home."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 291 
 
 " He is very anxious to speak to you " begins 
 Stephen. 
 
 " Did he send you to tell me so? " 
 
 "Yes. You do not mind my coming?" asks 
 Stephen, deprecatingly. 
 
 " Oh, no. I am glad you came, no matter for 
 what purpose. I thought he had seen it is best to 
 go away," she adds, in a voice far from steady. 
 
 " You did not think it would be so easy for Ur- 
 quhart to go away ; for you know, Milly, that 
 is the same as giving you up." 
 
 " But he knew I had said good-by to him. He 
 could not have thought I meant it for anything 
 but that," says Milicent sharply, a flush mount 
 ing into her cheeks, and then suffusing her whole 
 face. 
 
 " Meant what, Milly ? " asks Stephen, bewil 
 dered, and then regretting his question. 
 
 " Nothing," she answers, with a face as pale as a 
 moment ago it was crimson. " Only, Stephen, he 
 must go. Cannot you warn him if he lingers he 
 will be weather-bound ? You must frighten him 
 with the winter storms, which you know are often 
 terrible. I could not bear to have him here in the 
 winter ; you must not let him stay," she adds 
 sharply and impatiently, as if the very thought 
 were unendurable. 
 
 " He knows all about the storms, and the peril 
 of lingering, Milly. He wants you to marry him 
 at once, and go away with him." 
 
 " But you do not tell me to go ? That is not 
 your advice ? " she asks quickly.
 
 292 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " I can but think of your happiness first, Milly. 
 And so I beseech you to be careful how you de 
 cide : it is not only for now, but for always. If 
 you regret it, dear, no matter which way, there is 
 no turning to the right hand nor to the left." 
 
 Stephen speaks gently, but firmly and with em 
 phasis, as if he would have his words make all the 
 impression they are capable of. 
 
 " I know," she says slowly. " If I went with 
 him, and he tired of me, what then ? " 
 
 Milicent has slipped down into a chair by the 
 table, near which she was standing; and resting 
 her elbows upon it, she shades her eyes with her 
 hands : though indeed she is really watching Ste 
 phen s face, as she propounds her difficult question. 
 
 " You have no cause to distrust Urquhart, Milly." 
 
 " I do not distrust him : at least not in the way 
 you mean. I know he will be sorry to give me up ; 
 and if he married me, he would be kind, and try 
 to make me happy. Do you not think, Stephen," 
 she goes on to say, no longer shading her eyes 
 from him, but making a frame for her face with 
 her two hands, " that if one feels perfectly sure 
 that by doing a certain act, one would wrong an 
 other, it is God Himself who has given the fore 
 knowledge, to keep one from the act ? And is it 
 not selfish, as well as wicked, to do what you like, 
 or some one urges you to do, when you are confi 
 dent that in the end it will bring trouble ? " 
 
 Milicent asks these questions eagerly ; so eagerly, 
 that it is plainly to be seen she has long ago given 
 herself the task of answering them.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 293 
 
 " Of course one ought not to be selfish," Stephen 
 replies, gently and gravely. " But, Milly, unselfish 
 people very often unwittingly sacrifice others un 
 necessarily and cruelly. It is not only wicked 
 people, who do wrong; but often those who are 
 anxious to do their best." 
 
 " But he told me just how it would be. How 
 people would sneer at him and think slightingly 
 of him, on my account. And," she adds, her eyes 
 contracting as if in pain, " I have no right to his 
 love, for I never gained it fairly. If from the first 
 he had known who my father is, he would have 
 taken care not to fall in love with me. Even when 
 there seemed nothing against me but my poverty 
 and my not being exactly what he called a lady, 
 his friend came all this distance to remonstrate 
 against his folly ; and I think this Mr. Raymond 
 is a little glad to find an acquaintance in my fa 
 ther, to add more to break what he and his kind 
 consider an unfortunate affair. Ah, Stephen, you 
 and I know nothing of the world, his world. 
 We know where the sun rises and sets, and the 
 wind blows from. We understand the fishing 
 seasons, and when our village is pinched or com 
 fortable. But neither you nor I quite understand 
 why the daughter of my father would bring shame 
 to the man who loves her ; and why good, honest 
 gentlemen who live in the world frown upon her. 
 And yet it is all an indubitable fact." 
 
 Stephen stands looking uneasily at Milicent, 
 who speaks with flushed face, and a ring of bit 
 terness and wrong in her voice. But both color 
 and bitterness die out before she ends.
 
 294 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 He finds it impossible to answer her at once ; 
 for he recalls much that Urquhart said about the 
 sacrifice he would make in marrying Milicent, 
 a sacrifice, at least, in the eyes of his friends. 
 
 Milicent detects his hesitation, and adds quickly : 
 
 " You must not judge hardly of him, because, in 
 deed, you do not comprehend him. I too thought 
 him cruel at first ; and that he was making more 
 of even my own wrong-doing, than there was any 
 necessity for. Of course, when he was angry he 
 naturally said more than he intended to. But," 
 this with a quivering little smile that seems 
 on the verge of tears, " there are true words 
 spoken in anger, as well as in jest. I am con 
 vinced, now, that it would have been unbearable 
 to me to marry and then to discover that a heavy 
 sacrifice had been made for me. Indeed," with 
 a flash of her own willful self, "I would have 
 died of it. It is better to part at once." 
 
 " But you have not entirely decided ! " exclaims 
 Stephen, somewhat startled to find she has come 
 to a definite decision. 
 
 " Yes. I am quite determined. Do not think I 
 have been hasty. It was not so easy to see at first 
 what was best for both of us, because he wished it 
 different. But his friend wrote to me. Don t 
 mention it, Stephen. It was not an unkind letter ; 
 only it showed me I could do him little or no good, 
 and very much harm." 
 
 " Milly, no one but Urquhart has a right to 
 show you that. I would not permit any one to 
 meddle with me in that manner ; and I am certain 
 Urquhart would not."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 295 
 
 " I told you he knew nothing of the letter, and 
 he must not," says Milicent, a little impatiently. 
 " And after all, Mr. Raymond s words were not 
 very different from his own, when he was angry 
 with me. I have no wish that his friends should 
 say he did a foolish thing when he married me." 
 
 " They will not, when they know you," answers 
 Stephen promptly. 
 
 " He is not so sure as you are, and Mr. Raymond 
 thinks differently. Stephen, it is not like you 
 to persuade me to turn away from a good resolu 
 tion." 
 
 " I wish you to be very sure it is a good one, be 
 fore you act upon it, Milly." 
 
 " I am very sure. There is a stronger Hand 
 than mine steering the boat. Let us trust to a 
 safe guidance." 
 
 Stephen turns away, and walks to one of the 
 many windows. He must find another argument ; 
 and there comes no suggestion from the sullen sea, 
 and no less sullen sky above it. 
 
 In a little while he returns to the table, at 
 which the girl is still sitting. 
 
 " I must take Urquhart some message, Milly. 
 He trusts so much in seeing you again. Will you 
 not speak to him, even for a few minutes ? " 
 
 She shakes her head ; and there is a pause of 
 utter silence between them. 
 
 Then her words come, very slowly : 
 
 " Tell him that it is far better for us both not 
 to meet again. That I thought he understood our 
 parting on the cliffs was to be our final one, or
 
 296 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 or I would never have been so bold. And Stephen," 
 more quickly " take care that he does not go 
 away thinking me so very lonely and unhappy as I 
 must be : it will do him harm to feel too sorry for 
 me. And for myself, it will do me no good, and I 
 do not wish it." 
 
 She buries her face in her arms folded upon the 
 table. Stephen stoops, and gently kisses the warm 
 brown hair : kisses it as he has many a time when 
 he wished to comfort her in some burst of childish 
 sorrow. 
 
 Milicent looks up at once. 
 
 " Thank Heaven, you are not going away too, 
 Stephen. You will not forget your promise to help 
 me in my need?" 
 
 " You may always be sure of my help," Stephen 
 says quietly. 
 
 He recalls the day he made Milicent the prom 
 ise. He wonders, had he then withheld his sanc 
 tion to her engagement with Urquhart, if it would 
 not have been better for her ? She has since con 
 fessed that she did not then care very much for her 
 new lover ; only she was weary and impatient of her 
 life with Miss Ursula, the life Stephen had been 
 so blind to, in the great, windy house. Now that 
 he has the key to her unhappiness, he wonders 
 why he needed it to unlock what he had never 
 thought a mystery. 
 
 Milicent seems to have nothing more to say ; and 
 again her head sinks down upon the table. Stephen 
 stands and watches her a moment or two ; then goes 
 softly out of the room, closing the door after him.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 297 
 
 He does not go towards the village, where he is 
 sure Urquhart is waiting for him. He walks in 
 quite a contrary direction. He must gain his 
 wonted calmness, before he gives Milicent s mes 
 sage.
 
 XVII. 
 
 " The sea of ill, for which the universe, 
 With all its piled space, can find no shore 
 . . . the billowy griefs come up to drown." 
 
 STEPHEN is some time in gaining his composure ; 
 it is fully an hour later, before he goes to the vil 
 lage in quest of Urquhart, who, evidently on the 
 watch, meets him not very far from his lodgings. 
 
 " You have seen Milicent ? " Urquhart asks at 
 once, heedless of any other greeting. 
 
 " Yes. She was really out yesterday. It was 
 no subterfuge of Miss Ursula s." 
 
 " Where will she see me ? I hope she has not 
 named the house ; it would be worse than awkward 
 to meet Mr. Chaudron. I should have told you 
 to suggest the beach, or somewhere else out of 
 doors," says Urquhart, impatient at his own want 
 of thought. 
 
 " It does not make the smallest difference " 
 begins Stephen, dryly. 
 
 "Not to you. But then you are not about to 
 marry the fellow s daughter, so you have only to be 
 coolly civil. I shall find it deucedly awkward to 
 meet my future father-in-law." 
 
 " Milly thinks it best that all should be over be 
 tween you," says Stephen, not finding it as embar 
 rassing to speak as he had feared, or as if Urquhart
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 299 
 
 had taken a different view of his position. And 
 Stephen, as gently as he can, gives Milicent s mes 
 sage. 
 
 " What nonsense ! " exclaims Urquhart, sharply. 
 Pie is bitterly disappointed, and has misgivings as 
 to the loyalty of his messenger. " Has Milicent 
 no idea that I am suffering, as well as she ? If I 
 could only get at her, I could soon persuade her 
 that it is best, for both of us, not to part. I did 
 think, for Milicent s sake, you would have helped 
 me a little," he adds, reproachfully. 
 
 " I did all I possibly could, for her sake, as 
 you say," replies Stephen, quietly. 
 
 " She has gotten into her head that it would be 
 better for me to lose her than to have her. It can t 
 be that you repeated to her any of the nonsense I 
 said last night," exclaims Urquhart, stopping short 
 in his walk, and looking suspiciously at Stephen. 
 
 " I repeated nothing. But I doubt whether you 
 were as judicious ; for she said some of your own 
 words to her made her see that it would be better 
 for you not to marry her. She did not seem to 
 blame you in the least." 
 
 " It is hard to have the words we say in anger 
 brought up against us," Urquhart says, bitterly ; 
 then adds, tenderly : " If I could only see the poor 
 child, and could judge for myself how much she is 
 suffering. I shall be forever tormented with fears 
 if I do not see her. Poor little Milicent ! How 
 shall I ever be sure she is not breaking her heart ! 
 How is she looking, Stephen ? " 
 
 " She is very pale, and says she does not sleep
 
 300 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 well. That was her reason for going out yester 
 day. But her walk was not of much service." 
 
 " That I should have had such bad luck as not 
 to meet her, though I walked in every direction ! 
 No wonder I believed that old witch, Miss Ursula, 
 had misled me. But see her I must. I will write 
 to her. Perhaps I can manage to say more to per 
 suade her, even on a bit of paper, than by another 
 man s lips, eloquent though they be," adds Ur- 
 quhart, sarcastically. 
 
 To this Stephen cares to make no answer ; and 
 Urquhart strides off to his lodgings, to write the 
 note that is to have more influence than Stephen 
 has over Milicent. A note which, if he can only 
 get duly delivered, he has no fears of finding fruit 
 less. It is such a small thing he asks for, only 
 that she would see him again. Another farewell, or 
 a promise never to part from him. lie is not afraid 
 of her decision, if he can but speak with her. 
 
 Urquhart s note is diplomatic, in so far as that 
 it dwells on his own feelings rather than on Mil- 
 icent s, thereby hoping to touch her pity. It is his 
 last request. Not such a great one ; only to see 
 him for the briefest moment. If she sends him 
 away then, he will not say a word, but silently do 
 her bidding. 
 
 He walks over to the house with his messenger, 
 to be sure of no delay, and stands at the gate, 
 watching his progress to the house. Indeed, he 
 even waits until the boy returns, and reports the 
 note given into the hands of Miss Ursula, who 
 promised to deliver it at once.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 301 
 
 So there could be nothing more for Urquhart to 
 do, but to return to his lodgings, and feed his ex 
 pectation on the peppery diet of impatience and 
 disappointment, as every sound of an approach 
 ing footstep promises a note from Milicent, which 
 never comes. The only relief he has is in smok 
 ing, and talking to Mr. Raymond, who proves a 
 good listener, only now and then dropping some 
 covert remark upon the wisdom of society in keep 
 ing such men as Chaudron in the background, 
 with a reminiscence of the excitement the great 
 banker s fall made when it was discovered. But 
 Urquhart is restive under all such attacks ; which 
 makes his friend think him as sensitive as he 
 wishes him to be. Indeed, Mr. Raymond has good 
 hopes of his quondam ward, if he can only get him 
 away at once. 
 
 Mr. Raymond is watching the whole proceeding 
 with curiosity, as well as with anxiety. He is 
 fearful that this daughter of Chaudron s may not 
 be able to hold out. She is trying to do well; 
 and if Urquhart would only let her alone, she 
 might succeed ; but it isn t in her sex to be so very 
 strong of purpose. Possibly he forgets that Mil 
 icent is Miss Ursula s niece. Perhaps for time 
 does dull the past, almost to obliteration, with 
 some minds he thinks of himself as more of 
 an actor in those few painful scenes in his life 
 than he actually was ; and draws comparisons as 
 to the strength of his own will, and the shilly 
 shally weakness of poor Urquhart s. 
 
 And so the hours go by. The morrow s sun is
 
 302 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 glinting on Grand Passage ; two or three laggards 
 of fishing-boats are skimming towards the Fundy 
 entrance of the harbor ; and Mr. Raymond, who 
 stands watching them from between the tall gera 
 niums in Mrs. Featherstone s bow-window, is se 
 cretly regretting that this favorable wind to St. 
 John should be a sheer waste, so far as the Undine 
 is concerned. Why should this girl keep his poor 
 friend so long on the tenter-hooks of indecision ? 
 
 His poor friend is walking restlessly about the 
 small parlor, where the breakfast-table still stands 
 in the middle of the floor, bearing witness to his 
 preoccupation, as well as to Mr. Raymond s calm, 
 untroubled appetite. The door opens unheeded 
 by either: until, instead of Mrs. Featherstone, 
 entering to remove the cloth, the shock-head of 
 the landlady s youngest child is thrust in, with 
 the announcement that " somebody s coming to 
 speak to them." 
 
 Urquhart starts forward eagerly : Milicent has 
 come to him. He forgets the awkwardness of 
 such a visit with Mr. Raymond as witness. He 
 has only the delicious feeling that he is to see her 
 again, and that he has conquered. 
 
 Mr. Raymond, who has made no such flight of 
 the imagination as to suppose that Milicent is 
 here, is surprised, when, as soon almost as she is 
 announced, Miss Ursula stands in the doorway. 
 Her entrance might have been awkward to a guest 
 who looked for a welcome ; but Miss Ursula has 
 no such desire, and coldly refuses the chair which 
 Urquhart tardily bethinks himself of offering.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 303 
 
 " I shall not detain you a moment," she says, 
 turning to Mr. Raymond rather than to Urquhart, 
 who nevertheless asks hastily : 
 
 "IsitaboutMilicent?" 
 
 " Not directly. Though of course it will affect 
 her." 
 
 She almost turns her back on Urquhart after 
 giving him this small bit of satisfaction, and takes 
 a step or two towards Mr. Raymond. 
 
 " Is it with me you wish to speak? " he asks, 
 with ill-concealed agitation. " Do you wish to see 
 me privately ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. A witness is rather to be de 
 sired, since I have come to ask a favor." 
 
 " Times have changed," Mr. Raymond says. 
 " I remember hearing you say once, Ursula Chau- 
 dron would never stoop to ask anything of me. 
 Rash vows are brittle things." 
 
 It is an ungenerous reminder, which perhaps 
 escapes him unwittingly ; or her reference to a 
 witness may have provoked it. 
 
 But Miss Ursula does not appear to care in the 
 least. That straight, angular figure, with the nun- 
 like black falling in stiff folds about her, would 
 never hint to a stranger of a past less cold and 
 rigid and precise, of luxurious surroundings, the 
 brilliant setting to the picture of a young Ursula 
 Chaudron. And yet it is that picture at which 
 Mr. Raymond is looking, with a bewildering light 
 in his eyes, though he stands in the window with 
 his back to the sunshine which streams in on her. 
 There is no apparition out of the past, it seems,
 
 304 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 to her, in the fine and somewhat portly presence 
 opposite ; the voice in which she answers is calm 
 and unfluttered, not that of a ghost-seer : 
 
 "All vows are worth the keeping whole that 
 are worth the making," she says. " I at least keep 
 mine to the letter. The favor I spoke of is not 
 for me, but for another." 
 
 Urquhart at once supposes she means Mili- 
 cent, and eagerly draws a little near her ; while 
 Mr. Raymond, who has recovered his nerve, says, 
 blandly : " I would much prefer that the favor, if 
 indeed it is one, had been for yourself. Though 
 I will gladly be of service to any one in whom you 
 are interested." 
 
 " You have most unexpectedly discovered our 
 home, I was going to call it our hiding-place," 
 Miss Ursula goes on to say, not heeding his polite 
 ness. "Of course it can no longer be one to us; 
 and what I request is for my brother s safety. It 
 is not so very much," she adds, smiling sarcastically 
 at Mr. Raymond s eagerness. " I only wish you 
 not to mention, for the next two weeks, whom you 
 have met here. Two weeks of silence are not very 
 much to ask of a man. There is a superstition 
 that to a woman it would be onerous." 
 
 " Do you think I have turned into an old gos 
 sip ? " Mr. Raymond is smiling, though angry at 
 heart. " Why do you not ask Urquhart there the 
 same remarkable favor ? " 
 
 " He will be silent on his own account. A love- 
 affair with Mr. Chaudron s daughter is enough to 
 keep him dumb."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 305 
 
 " "We will both be dumb, if you so desire. You 
 need not leave here on our account," replies Mr. 
 Raymond, decidedly curtly. 
 
 " Of our movements you are not perhaps a very 
 good judge," answers Miss Ursula, coldly. " Your 
 visit here has excited the curiosity of the village 
 people, and curiosity is a sharp wedge for forcing 
 a secret. Prudence is a wise protector, and cer 
 tainly points to our leaving." 
 
 " Where will you go, Ursula ? " asks Mr. Ray 
 mond, with a strange blending of interest and 
 curiosity. 
 
 " To Europe," she answers, without hesitation. 
 " One is more easily lost in a crowd than in a 
 desert." 
 
 " And when ? " 
 
 " To-morrow, if possible." 
 
 " It will be much safer for for Louis. Ursula, 
 if I can help you, advance you any money, for 
 instance, I will gladly do so. These sudden 
 moves are often difficult to compass," he adds, 
 without explaining that the convenient money was 
 to have been used to buy off Milicent. 
 
 " Thank you," says Miss Ursula, with studied 
 politeness. " I have long learned always to have 
 a sum of money ready by me in case of an emer 
 gency. All I wanted was your word pledged for 
 a two weeks grace." 
 
 " For a year, or forever." 
 
 " Two weeks are all-sufficient. I have no desire 
 to hamper your conscience." 
 
 " But a great desire to wound me by an in- 
 
 20
 
 306 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 nuendo," answers Mr. Raymond, sharply. " Your 
 brother is as safe with me as with you." 
 
 " I was not thinking of my brother, but of Mrs. 
 Raymond, who might feel aggrieved if she did not 
 know some time or other that you have seen us. 
 Will you tell her, in a fortnight s time, that you 
 saw Ursula Chaudron, and that she has grown into 
 quite an old woman ? " 
 
 " But in many things unchanged," he says, with 
 a meaning smile. 
 
 " In more than you think. Time is a great dis- 
 peller of illusions. I must thank you for giving 
 me what I came to ask for. I am too young a 
 beggar to have learned the trick of calling down 
 blessings from Heaven for a dole." 
 
 Miss Ursula has turned to leave the room, when 
 Urquhart stops her. " Does Milicent intend to 
 go to Europe with you ? " he asks. 
 
 " Certainly. What else could she do ? " 
 
 " Several other things, I should think," an 
 swers Urquhart, bitterly. " At least she might 
 have hinted her plans, instead of keeping me here, 
 waiting her pleasure." 
 
 " I thought there was nothing between you now ? 
 I heard her tell her father so," returns Miss Ur 
 sula, in surprise. 
 
 " She might have answered my letter, at any 
 rate," Urquhart says, deeply hurt. 
 
 " Ah, so she did ; but she came very near being 
 unfortunate in her messenger. She is nearer right 
 in parting with you than you think," adds Miss 
 Ursida, almost gently. " She is not fitted for your
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 307 
 
 life ; and, believe an old woman s experience, you 
 will get over this disappointment." 
 
 Urquhart smiles as he takes the note she hands 
 him. " You will pardon me if I prefer not to 
 make the trial you advise. And you will also 
 pardon Milicent if she does not go abroad with 
 you." 
 
 For has he not Milicent s consent to see him, in 
 his hand ? It would be hard indeed, if he could 
 not persuade her to make a different arrangement. 
 
 Miss Ursula does not answer him : she seems 
 in haste to go. 
 
 Mr. Raymond follows her to the front-door of 
 the cottage. He would willingly detain her for a 
 longer parting. It is scarcely possible that they 
 will ever meet again ; and he feels inclined to 
 linger over the farewell. 
 
 But Miss Ursula is in haste, and walks away 
 with swift, firm steps. " Poor Ursula ! " Mr. 
 Raymond says, pityingly, as he stands watching 
 her. " If she could only walk over people as she 
 does over the road, she would be satisfied." 
 
 Urquhart has time to read Milicent s note while 
 Mr. Raymond is politely seeing Miss Ursula out of 
 the house. 
 
 It is a poor little note ; so very short, that he 
 reads it over two or three times in the few min 
 utes of Mr. Raymond s absence. 
 
 Two or three times; not because it is hard to 
 understand, but because he had expected a conclu 
 sion so different. 
 
 He is dull in taking in the fact that she refuses
 
 308 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 to see him. It would do neither of them any good, 
 she says, as their parting is inevitable. It would 
 be only a grief to her to see him again ; and he 
 had better go away at once. 
 
 " I did not intend to persecute her," Urquhart 
 tells himself, bitterly. " If she wishes me to go, 
 I will." 
 
 There is no sign of weakness in that poor little 
 note, in his eyes. It never hints to him that Mil- 
 icent is afraid to see him. There are some soldiers, 
 it is said, who do not know when they are whipped ; 
 and there are others, who cannot tell when they 
 are conquerors. 
 
 Urquhart has turned his back to the door, and 
 is looking out of the window, when Mr. Raymond 
 comes in. " We had better sail by dawn to-mor 
 row, if this wind holds out," Urquhart says, with 
 out turning round. 
 
 Stephen is on the pier when the Undine is ready 
 to sail. 
 
 "Tell her you saw me off," says Urquhart, as 
 they shake hands at parting. " It was a sweeter, 
 fairer dream, than I ever imagined ; but scarcely 
 paid for such a rough awaking. After all, Mil- 
 icent is to have her wish, and live abroad ; but she 
 will scarcely have the life there, which I intended 
 she should have." 
 
 " Live abroad ! what do you mean ? " asks Ste 
 phen, sharply. 
 
 " Have n t you heard ? Miss Ursula told me, 
 yesterday, that they are going to hide themselves
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 309 
 
 in Europe. Chaudron has a fright on him. It is 
 by no means uncommon under his circumstances. 
 I understood they will leave at once." 
 
 Stephen makes no answer. He stands stunned 
 under this bit of news, given with such good au 
 thority for its truth as Miss Ursula. Urquhart, 
 glancing at him, is conscious of a satisfaction al 
 most amounting to a pleasure. If he must lose 
 Milicent, Stephen will have no hold on her as her 
 friend. It is not a very noble feeling on Ur 
 quhart s part; but very few of us, when we are 
 beggared, like to see another enjoying even a 
 moiety of our past wealth. 
 
 As for Mr. Raymond, he is beaming with satis 
 faction, as he comes forward to shake hands with 
 Stephen. Mr. Raymond may well congratulate 
 himself upon freeing Urquhart from his unfortu 
 nate entanglement. Once safe in the world after 
 his many weeks of exile, there need be, his some 
 time guardian is very sure, no fears for the future. 
 Even if, in years to come, Urquhart should meet 
 Milicent, he would see her in the disenchanting, 
 tawdry glare of a make-shift foreign life. 
 
 It is a light which shows everything in very dif 
 ferent proportions from those revealed by the sun 
 shine here, which darts over wave and rock, to 
 twinkle on the window-pane of the bleak old house 
 upon the hill. Though Mr. Raymond, on Ur- 
 quhart s account, does not regret his discovery 
 of Mr. Chaudron there, he turns sharply away 
 from this reminder. Some old wounds, ill-cured, 
 have made themselves felt, and have proved more
 
 310 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 troublesome and painful than he imagined they 
 could possibly be. It is to be hoped he will be 
 a more skillful surgeon for Urquhart than he has 
 been for himself. 
 
 The sun is shining, but "the sullen rear" is 
 threatening ; a low, dull bank behind it. 
 
 " We 11 have a storm before another sunrise," 
 an old sailor declares. 
 
 " Ay ay, it s piping up." 
 
 But the wind is fair for the Undine to reach 
 her haven first. Stephen helps to cast off the 
 ropes that hold her to this rock, where, for all her 
 bonny looks, her master has suffered shipwreck. 
 A knot of men, with a proper proportion of small 
 boys, are lingering on the pier to see her off. A 
 handsome vessel will always receive her full quota 
 of admiration, not coming a whit behind a blooded 
 horse, or a beautiful woman, in the sight of a con 
 noisseur. The Undine courtesies and dips grace 
 fully and coquettishly ; until, the wind puffing her 
 sails, she turns her back upon her small crowd of 
 admirers, and shows her heels in the most ap 
 proved style. 
 
 But just as she is slipping past the pier, Ur- 
 quhart from the stern calls to Stephen. 
 
 " There is something I had forgotten," he says ; 
 and Stephen leans over to catch the undertone : 
 
 " The box of dresses, you know what I mean. 
 I left them at my lodgings. Distribute them 
 among the village girls. They will like them, per 
 haps, better than Milicent seemed to."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 311 
 
 From her window Milicent is watching the sun 
 rising. As she leans with arms folded on the sill, 
 she can hear the heavy thud of the waves against 
 the cliffs, and the sweep of the tide-rip toward 
 Grand Passage, as the tide begins to turn, in yon 
 der long white line, outside. Far in the distance, 
 a sea-gull, in its flickering pause against the sky, 
 looks like a star that lags behind to twinkle after 
 dawn. The low pile of heavy gray clouds in the 
 horizon has shorn the sun of his rays, and he comes 
 up looking like a pale, round moon. Then he 
 brightens, and shows Milicent on the nearest pier 
 quite a crowd of the fisher-people. Doubtless some 
 of the fishing-boats are going out ; so the storm is 
 not as imminent as Milicent had thought, when 
 she first glanced at the sky from her window. 
 
 As she stands there listlessly, watching, she gives 
 a sudden cry. The poor child had not seen the 
 Undine, until now that she has slipped past the 
 pier, and is sailing swiftly away before the wind. 
 
 After all, Milicent discovers that Urquhart said 
 truly, when he told her there were some sorrows in 
 life much worse than death. 
 
 Milicent makes no other sound, after that one 
 sharp cry of astonishment. She stands quietly at 
 the window, watching the yacht sailing away under 
 a pressure of canvas which the fishermen are dis 
 cussing ; or reprobating, if one might judge from 
 their gestures. And now the water seems to have 
 swallowed her, leaving no trace of the pretty pleas 
 ure-boat. 
 
 It is what Milicent asked Urquhart to do, to
 
 312 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 go away. She has thought it would be less pain 
 ful to them both, when they knew there was no 
 hope of a meeting. And now that that hope is 
 really gone, all others have slipped away with it. 
 
 She turns from the window with a moan, as if in 
 pain. The inevitable is seldom a source of strength 
 to young hearts. 
 
 Urquhart has gone, and seemingly has left no 
 trace behind him. He has gone, " as a ship that 
 passeth over the waves of the water, which, when 
 it is gone by, the trace thereof cannot be found, 
 neither the pathway of the keel in the waves ; or as 
 when a bird hath flown through the air, there is no 
 token of her way to be found, but the light air be 
 ing beaten with the stroke of her wings, and parted 
 with a violent noise and motion of them, is passed 
 through, and therein afterwards no sign where she 
 went is to be found." So the memory of him also 
 vanishes from the village. 
 
 When Stephen some days afterwards recalled 
 Urquhart s last request, there was one thing he did 
 not find in the box : the only one he could have rec 
 ognized. The dove-colored silk, with its cherry 
 ribbons, which Milicent had worn for one evening, 
 was missing. Whether Urquhart had destroyed 
 the dress, or whether he had taken it away with 
 him, Stephen could not guess. If the latter, how 
 it must keep Milicent s poor little story before him. 
 It would be like the nail with which the woodman 
 fastens some quivering, transfixed victim in his 
 sight.
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " As the foain flew fast on the bitter blast 
 That tore the waves asunder." 
 
 " COME in, Stephen." 
 
 It is Miss Ursula s voice that bids him enter : 
 though it is Mr. Chaudron, who, as Stephen 
 pauses at the parlor door, gives him the ready 
 greeting : 
 
 " Come in, Stephen. We are in a dilemma, and 
 perhaps you can advise us. I am not generally in 
 favor of a multitude of counselors ; but just now 
 we want a suggestion." 
 
 Miss Ursula had taken up her knitting when she 
 heard Stephen s knock. She gives Mr. Chaudron 
 a startled glance, as he asks for Stephen s advice, 
 and her needles work nervously. She is losing 
 the self-control she has exerted for years. 
 
 " Our difficulty is this," Mr. Chaudron goes on 
 to explain. " Raymond knows my whereabouts, 
 so it is wiser in me to decamp. Not that I think 
 for a moment he will formally inform on me ; but 
 he is a tremendous talker, very fond of giving his 
 personal experiences ; a propos of something or 
 other, his meeting with me will slip out. Besides, 
 Ursula would never feel comfortable, since so many 
 know her fisherman is really her brother."
 
 314 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " Then what Urquhart told me is true, and you 
 are all going to Europe." Stephen comes to this 
 conclusion the instant he knows there is a dilemma 
 to discuss. 
 
 "You see I was right, and that already they 
 have spoken of our plans ! " cries Miss Ursula to 
 her brother, with that inflection of voice which says 
 so plainly " I told you so." "Not that we are 
 at all troubled by your knowing," she adds, turn 
 ing to Stephen, " but it proves they are impru 
 dent." 
 
 " Urquhart only wished to explain to me why 
 he left so suddenly," Stephen apologizes. 
 
 " He may chance to have another explanation to 
 make," says Miss Ursula, dryly. 
 
 " Well, it can do no harm, as we have no idea 
 of trusting either of them. Our difficulty is not 
 my leaving : that is decided upon. But unfortu 
 nately there is not money enough in our purse to 
 take both Ursula and Milicent," Mr. Chaudron 
 adds, turning to Stephen. 
 
 " If you will let me advance you what you need, 
 I can do so," says Stephen ; but slowly and reluc 
 tantly. It is not the money he regrets ; but it 
 seems always the poor fellow s luck to be able to 
 further the plans and wishes of others at the ex 
 pense of his own. It is not so easy, cheerfully to 
 open a path to take Milicent away from him for 
 ever. 
 
 No doubt Miss Ursula thinks he does not wish 
 to part with his money ; for she says at once : " I 
 could not think of accepting "
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 315 
 
 " Oh, the money is nothing," interposes Stephen, 
 hastily. "It is whether it will be wise in you to 
 leave here." 
 
 " The practicability is the question, not the wis 
 dom," replies Miss Ursula, shortly. 
 
 " And unfortunately the question has two sides 
 to it ; for I cannot think how you and Milicent can 
 live on here alone " 
 
 " Let Miss Ursula and Milly come to the cot 
 tage. That would overcome all obstacles," ex 
 claims Stephen, with eager hospitality. 
 
 But Miss Ursula will not have the difficulty so 
 easily done away with as the two men are inclined 
 to wish, and curtly refuses. " Poor Ursula ! " 
 says Mr. Chaudron, laying his hand half tenderly 
 on her shoulder. " Is it so very hard to give up a 
 good-for-nothing brother ? " 
 
 Miss Ursula makes no answer ; but her needles 
 work rapidly. " Who will knit your socks, Louis ? 
 or look after your comfort ? " she says presently, 
 looking up at him. 
 
 " You do not expect me to wear yarn socks in 
 Paris ! " says Chaudron, laughing. " You forget 
 my role of fisherman is played out." 
 
 " If it were not for Milicent, you would not be 
 forced to leave me. Could you not send her to her 
 mother s relations ? " 
 
 " Do you judge from the past that they want 
 her ? " asks Mr. Chaudron, bitterly. " No, I will 
 keep her from their cold charity, if I have to starve 
 the child in doing so." 
 
 " It is hard that she should separate us "
 
 316 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 begins Miss Ursula. But it is useless to argue 
 against the inevitable. The hard, set lines about 
 Miss Ursula s mouth deepen, and she drops her 
 eyes and goes on with her knitting as if she were 
 in haste to finish it before her brother leaves. 
 
 Stephen is inexpressibly sorry for her. " Miss 
 Ursula," he says, " you must not be separated. I 
 have n t the money in the house, but I will write to 
 St. John for it. Surely such an old friend as I 
 can be permitted to advance a little money." 
 
 She shakes her head sadly. " There must be no 
 delay. Louis must leave to-day, and so he must 
 go alone." 
 
 " No, he shall not go alone. "VVe must not per 
 mit that, Aunt Ursula." 
 
 It is Milicent s clear voice that makes all three 
 turn toward the doorway. 
 
 How long she has been there, how much she has 
 overheard, no one can tell from the startled young 
 face. The little flush of resolve in it makes its 
 wanness only the more apparent, as she glances 
 across the great, bare room lit up rather by the bit 
 of drift-wood fire on the hearth than by the dull 
 day staring through the uncurtained windows. 
 
 She glances in, just as she did on that evening 
 of her coming home how long ago ? only Ur- 
 quhart is not with her now, and Stephen turns 
 from his leaning posture against the mantel-shelf, 
 to look at her. The rest of the picture is the same : 
 the gray, straight figure in the chimney-corner, 
 with the knitting on her lap, and Mr. Chaudron, 
 leaning forward in his arm-chair.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 317 
 
 It is he who breaks the silence ; answering for 
 Miss Ursula, as if there had been no pause, 
 
 " I don t see how it can be helped. I cannot 
 bear to cross Ursula ; and yet I cannot leave you 
 alone." 
 
 " Of course you must not cross Aunt Ursula, 
 Aunt Ursula who has done so much for you, while 
 I am but a burden. If only one of us can go with 
 you, it must be my aunt. Unless," she adds, 
 trembling, " it is my duty to go." 
 
 " I can dispense with duty," answers Mr. Chau- 
 dron, with a short laugh. " The truth is, Milicent, 
 that pretty face of yours would be sadly in my way, 
 for it would be continually attracting attention. 
 No ; as Ursula can t leave you, I must go alone." 
 
 " But Aunt Ursula must leave me. Not here, 
 not in this house " 
 
 It is involuntary, the meaning glance which 
 Chaudron turns upon Stephen, who, with his eyes 
 fixed on Milicent, cannot see it. But the girl does. 
 An intolerable blush overspreads her face, and she 
 turns angrily on her father. 
 
 " The old thorns will grow out of the old stem." 
 That root of bitterness between these two had 
 struck too deeply down, through years of growth, 
 to be all plucked up in one such moment as theirs 
 under the cliff, in the grasp of the threatening 
 waters. That moment might well seem unreal to 
 the girl in the face of the man s customary mood 
 of careless cynicism. But, that once swept aside 
 like a mask, she could not long forget the bleak 
 face of despair that had looked out at her from
 
 31& PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 under it. Her wrath dies out as quickly as it 
 flashed ; she answers quietly, 
 
 " You would never guess my plan unless I told 
 you. It is to live with Mrs. Featherstone. She 
 can t manage to keep her accounts straight, and 
 often brings them to me to add up for her. She 
 will willingly give me the little room behind the 
 shop, if I will help her with her figures, and in the 
 shop. And for the rest, I can sew for the women, 
 or net fishing-nets for the men. 
 
 Miss Ursula has dropped her knitting, to watch 
 her brother. 
 
 He is walking up and down the room, his hands 
 clasped behind his back, his head bowed on his 
 breast. 
 
 Milicent also is watching him. Stephen has 
 gone behind Miss Ursula s chair. " Milly shall 
 never want as long as I live," he whispers. 
 
 Presently Mr. Chaudron stops before Miss Ur 
 sula. He has determined that she shall decide. 
 He owes her far too much to set even his daughter 
 before her. One debt at least he will honestly ac 
 knowledge ; and if this poor pay of following him 
 satisfies his sister, she shall have it. 
 
 "Ursula," he says gently, "you shall decide. 
 Will you go with me or stay ? " 
 
 He has made his question as simple as possible, 
 so that his words shall not bias her judgment. 
 
 " Let me go with you, Louis. I am getting old, 
 and have nothing in life but you. Milicent is 
 young yet, and may have much in the future." 
 
 " One must be satisfied to live day by day,"
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 319 
 
 Milicent answers, sharply. " What is the future 
 to either of us ? " 
 
 " Then it is decided," interposes Mr. Chaudron, 
 abruptly. " Ursula and I go together ; and Mil 
 icent is to sell sugar and tobacco to the fishermen. 
 Milicent is right about the uncertainty of the 
 future. That Louis Chaudron s daughter should 
 peddle out small groceries to fishermen seemed 
 scarcely possible a dozen years ago. Well, at least 
 you ll get an honest livelihood" with bitterness. 
 
 " It will not be long, Louis. We can send for 
 her in a little time. Once in the world again, you 
 must find some employment which will better our 
 fortunes." 
 
 " So we will," returns Mr. Chaudron, hopefully. 
 " Keep a look-out for a check, Milicent. Stephen 
 will see you started to us. But, Ursula, we must 
 get off as soon as possible, if we would catch the 
 next steamer from Halifax. Will a couple of 
 hours be enough for you ? " 
 
 " There is a storm coming up," suggests Ste 
 phen. " You had better wait until it is over." 
 
 " No time to lose. Ursula and I have weathered 
 many a storm together, and are not afraid. Is it 
 not so, Ursula ? " 
 
 " No, I am not afraid. It is harder to sit still 
 and fear for others than to run great risks." 
 
 " Than even the risk of shipwreck ? Stephen 
 looks as if he thought us foolhardy," says Mr. 
 Chaudron, laughing. 
 
 " If that is to be your fate, I would rather share 
 it than live to hear it," answers Miss Ursula, 
 briefly.
 
 320 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 "It won t be as bad, as that. I have always 
 been lucky in escaping death. People who have 
 very little to live for generally are. We will 
 start before the storm comes, and reach Halifax 
 before it." 
 
 The two men go out together : Mr. Chaudron to 
 get his fishing-smack ready for the short voyage ; 
 and Stephen to see Mrs. Featherstone. 
 
 Stephen is glad Miss Ursula needs her niece s 
 help, so that she has to let him go alone to arrange 
 matters with Mrs. Featherstone. For he has de 
 termined that if Mrs. Featherstone wishes to make 
 a good bargain for herself, he will permit her to 
 do so, and will go surety, with her promise to be 
 discreetly silent. 
 
 Miss Ursula and Milicent have their hands full. 
 The scanty furniture Milicent may dispose of after 
 wards ; but there is the cooking of provisions for 
 the voyage, and then the packing. 
 
 As Milicent is kneeling over an old trunk, Miss 
 Ursula stoops and kisses her. It is such an un 
 common action on her part, that Milicent in her 
 surprise does not return the embrace. " God will 
 reward you, Milicent. I never will be able to. A 
 kind, brave act is a debt to Him." 
 
 " Then there is some little good in me ? " Mil 
 icent says, half crying. " I was afraid I should 
 only feel bitter and unkind to every one, now that 
 I have no one to take care of me. If I had not 
 been sure that only you could have been of use to 
 my father, I am not so certain that I would have 
 said I would stay here."
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 321 
 
 They have not much time for talking. Mr. 
 Chaudron sends a boy to tell them to come ; and 
 Stephen follows quickly, to hasten them. The sky 
 is darkening with clouds ; the sea reflects the dull 
 shades dismally. The fishermen are standing to 
 gether in groups, predicting a blow; their fore- 
 warnings have infected the man hired by Mr. 
 Chaudron for the run to Halifax ; he grows faint 
 hearted, and refuses to leave. Miss Ursula waxes 
 sharp and impatient, but Mr. Chaudron seems un 
 ruffled. " It is a pity you are not going, Milicent. 
 You would be useful in steering," he says, lightly. 
 
 " It is too late now," interposes Miss Ursula in 
 haste, as if afraid at the last minute Milicent 
 would go in her place. 
 
 But there is a young sailor who is willing to join 
 them for a free passage to Halifax, and Mr. Chau 
 dron gladly closes with his offer. 
 
 " Now we must be quick." 
 
 Miss Ursula is swifter than her brother s hint. 
 She has kissed Milicent hastily, and Stephen helps 
 her on board. " We will write from Halifax," she 
 promises. 
 
 Milicent stands on the edge of the pier watching 
 Miss Ursula, who is busied in placing her baskets 
 and packages so that they shall not be wet by sea 
 or threatening rain. Already she seems to have 
 forgotten the fishing-village and its inhabitants, and 
 is altogether absorbed in her arrangements for the 
 voyage ; never even heeding the wind, which is 
 blowing her black dress about her, and which is 
 damp and chill enough to be shivered under. 
 
 21
 
 322 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 Milicent hurriedly takes off her plaid shawl, her 
 only possession of value. " Put it around Aunt 
 Ursula," she says, as her father kisses her good-by. 
 " The wind is much too cold for her." 
 
 " We will send you another from Paris," Mr. 
 Chaudron promises, hastily. 
 
 There is no time for separate leave-takings ; he 
 has only a moment to speak to Stephen, while he 
 keeps the girl s hands still in his. " I leave her in 
 your charge," he says. " I know she is safe." 
 
 A moment more and the sails are set, and the 
 little sloop darts off. " It s a foolhardy voyage," 
 Milicent hears old Angus grumble, as she brushes 
 past him. " A body might think they were run 
 ning away from a bigger storm than the sea will 
 give them." 
 
 Mr. Chaudron, in the boat, is waving a farewell. 
 His hand falls, but his eyes are still on Milicent. 
 There deepens a yearning pain in them, as once 
 when he stood and watched the light figure flitting 
 from roCk to rock beyond Green Cove, with the 
 young stranger of the Undine at her side. He had 
 turned sharply away then, as if there were something 
 in the bright picture defined against the rosy sky 
 which he could not bear. The picture is none too 
 bright now. The lonely, wind-swept figure stand 
 ing forward on the pier against a background of 
 gray, weather-beaten fish-houses ; at her feet, the 
 gray sea, chafing sullenly on the black rocks and 
 the gaunt piles that lean about in the water, stained 
 a dull, yellow-brown by the sea-weed. Behind lies 
 the white village ; the green ridge rises beyond the
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 323 
 
 gray, bleak, empty old house upon the knoll, to 
 where the smoke from Stephen s homestead lays a 
 white touch on the low, brooding skies. But Mr. 
 Chaudron s haggard eyes fall short of that. Only 
 there comes some gleam of light across their gloom, 
 when he sees Stephen quietly draw nearer to the 
 girl upon the pier. 
 
 Miss Ursula never once turns to look back. 
 
 It is the second boat Milicent has watched sail 
 ing away to-day. 
 
 The first went laden with her future ; this one 
 with her past. 
 
 Has it altogether vanished, yonder in the dis 
 tance ? or is it her tears that have blotted it 
 out? 
 
 " Shall we go, Milly ? " It is Stephen s voice 
 behind her. " You forget you have no shawl, and 
 the wind is keen." 
 
 She turns to him at once. Then there is some 
 one to think of her, to care for her ? 
 
 They pass through the village together, stopping 
 at Mrs. Featherstone s to look at the box of a room 
 Stephen has secured for Milicent. He sends for 
 one of his carts to move her possessions ; and then 
 they go back to the old house, where their voices 
 sound loud and startling in the silent rooms. 
 Stephen seems to fear to leave Milicent by herself, 
 and follows her closely, making excuses to keep 
 her in sight. And she makes no effort to get rid 
 of him ; indeed, she would have broken down ut 
 terly, if it had not been for that sense of com 
 panionship.
 
 324 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 It is sunset, the hour for tea in the village, when 
 the two come out of the house together, and Mill- 
 cent locks the door on her old life. 
 
 The rain begins to fall, and the wind is moaning 
 as if impatient of being restrained. 
 
 When Stephen returns to Mrs. Featherstone s, 
 later in the evening, he finds Milicent weighing 
 sugar for a customer, under Mrs. Featherstone s 
 supervision. 
 
 Milicent brightens when she sees Stephen come 
 in ; and asks how she can serve him, so exactly 
 like Mrs. Featherstone, that she might have cheated 
 him into the belief that she is amused with the 
 novelty of her position, had she not looked so worn 
 and weary. 
 
 "You come in good time," says Milicent, lightly, 
 as this last customer goes out. " For here is Mrs. 
 Featherstone flatly accusing figures of lying and 
 stealing." 
 
 " It s Wilkins s account," explains Mrs. Feather- 
 stone, looking up from her books at the other end 
 of the little counter. 
 
 " Any fool could tell," she goes on, " that the 
 cod, which are as thick in the sea as the pebbles 
 on the shore, could never balance the weight of the 
 groceries and dress-goods his folks manage to use. 
 I don t say they could n t be more saving ; but I 
 do say when things square to a penny I have my 
 doubts as to the figures. Even a penny over, on 
 one side or the other, makes a better looking ac 
 count, to my thinking. But that Wilkins ! he 11
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 325 
 
 never have enough till his mouth s full o mouls, 
 as ray Scots grandam used to say." 
 
 " I am sure you have the right on your side. I 
 can soon prove it by your figures," says Milicent, 
 soothingly. 
 
 " Oh, as to the figures, they slip out of one s 
 head like herrings out of a rent net. But come 
 into the parlor, the two of you. There won t 
 any more customers be in to-night : and I 11 bring 
 you a cup of tea ; Miss Milicent there took next 
 to nothing at tea-time." 
 
 She has come out from behind the counter now, 
 and stands before them, her plump hands on her 
 hips, her comely, friendly face wearing an expres 
 sion of concern. 
 
 " Next to nothing," she repeats, shaking her 
 head over it. " But we 11 get her over that. She 11 
 soon be working on to a level keel again. There s 
 nothing like feeding up. Why, look at me ! and I 
 knew the day when I did n t weigh a quintal of 
 hake. No more than missy there " nodding at 
 Milicent. 
 
 The girl laughs, just the ghost of her old merry 
 laugh; and Mrs. Featherstone bustles away to 
 bring the tea in here, as Stephen proposes, he 
 having divined that Milicent is afraid of the par 
 lor, this first night. The parlor, where she has 
 never set foot, since the day Stephen led her 
 through it to see Urquhart in the room behind. 
 
 Poor little Dickon ! Milicent s eyes follow the 
 mother wonderingly. Can she have forgotten, so 
 soon ?
 
 326 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 She does not know a mother s heart is fashioned 
 somewise in the image of its Maker s : one day is 
 as a thousand years in its sight, and a thousand 
 years as one day. 
 
 There is one little cup which is hidden away, to 
 be used nevermore ; but her best tea-things Mrs. 
 Featherstone brings out in honor of her guests. 
 Milicent, seated on the broad sill of the shop- 
 window, with Stephen leaning against the near 
 end of the counter, sips her tea out of a cup on 
 which the Queen, in the purple, and the Prince 
 Consort, look down from the throne upon the 
 Princess Royal in pea-green frock and pantalettes, 
 trundling her hoop with the small Prince of Wales. 
 As for the gingerbread, the hostess declares the 
 plate must speedily be cleared, that Milicent may 
 see the jolly shepherd in the centre, with the 
 posy : 
 
 " When I had one sheep, 
 Your heart I could not keep : 
 So now that I ve a flock, 
 At you I mock." 
 
 The lamp upon the counter does not shed too 
 broad a glare on Milicent ; whom Stephen watches 
 with a great longing in his heart to have her at 
 his own fireside, even though there were a cloud 
 on her young face which he could not chase away. 
 After a while, when Mrs. Featherstone, who has 
 been dozing off comfortably for some time, rouses 
 herself, and begins to close the shop, Stephen 
 goes away. The storm is rising now with vio 
 lence ; and Milicent reproaches herself for not 
 having sent him home some time before.
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 327 
 
 With, wet eyes, Milicent glances round her nest 
 of a room under the eaves, when Mrs. Feather- 
 stone sets down her lamp on the small white dress- 
 ing-table, and leaves her alone, with a cheery 
 good-night. The kind soul has evidently been 
 bent on doing honor to the desolate girl s coming. 
 The home-made carpet is brightened by the newest 
 mats, done in such roses and fuchsias as one could 
 hardly believe had blossomed out of strips of 
 colored rags, hooked through a coffee-bag, and 
 clipped into the semblance of a Persian rug. The 
 gayest prints are on the sloping walls ; and the 
 Queen herself, in royal robes, looks down a wel 
 come from what seems to be the post of honor 
 the square white chimney-shaft, which runs up al 
 most through the middle of the room, like the 
 mainmast in a cabin. The wooden paneling of 
 the walls also suggests a ship s cabin; and tae 
 creaking and straining of the vines under her 
 window in the wind puts Milicent drearily in 
 mind of the rough night at sea. 
 
 But it is not until Milicent has fallen asleep, 
 worn out with the excitement and fatigues of the 
 day, that the full force of the storm comes. The 
 small house rocks in the gale ; and the sea seems 
 wildly endeavoring to break its bounds, making a 
 dreadful tumult in its useless efforts. Milicent 
 lies listening ; praying, as only those on the coast 
 can, for the imperiled sailors. It is not for Ur- 
 quhart she prays : she is sure he has reached St. 
 John long ago. But whether her father and Miss 
 Ursula have outsped the storm is doubtful.
 
 328 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 Towards morning, she falls asleep, and dreams 
 she is with Urquhart in the Undine again, and 
 they are drifting put to sea before the wind. It is 
 the night of her birthday; Urquhart s arms are 
 around her, and she has no fears. 
 
 In the morning, she finds that the wind has died 
 out. Only, to remind one of the storm, the sea 
 rises and falls in the great throb of the ground- 
 swell ; and all the village street is heaped with 
 kelp and dulse, which the villagers are gathering 
 together for their fields. 
 
 Such poor spoils, the ravening sea has not cared 
 to keep back ; but for the more precious things, 
 the lives, the faithful hearts 
 
 The days grow into weeks, and Milicent begins 
 to get used to the changes in her life. She makes 
 no complaint ; and the toil which was once so in 
 tolerable to her proves now a help. Even the 
 weeks are gliding by ; and yet there is no letter 
 from Halifax, neither does the new shawl arrive 
 from Paris. Milicent s anxiety and fear have 
 grown so great that there is no room in her heart 
 for even a longing to hear something of Urquhart. 
 Secretly Stephen hires a boat and sends it to Hal 
 ifax to make inquiries ; but it can find no tidings 
 of Mr. Chaudron s little fishing-sloop there, nor 
 at any of the smaller ports it stops at, on its way. 
 
 The fishermen of the village say it was- a tempt 
 ing of Providence, to start when such a storm was 
 gathering ; and they knew very well how it would 
 all end. But the sea keeps her secret for the 
 Judgment Day. Whether the brother and sister,
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 329 
 
 who let no earthly trouble separate them, had 
 clung together even in the mighty throes of death ; 
 or whether the water had divided them asunder 
 for a little time, until they " had crossed the waves 
 of this troublesome world," and stood side by side 
 in the one safe haven, no one could tell.
 
 XVIII. 
 
 "Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered." 
 
 A LONELY, wind-swept figure, standing on the 
 green crest of the tiny lighthouse island, shading 
 her eyes with the hand that holds the bunch of 
 bluebells and buttercups, and dandelions as small 
 as buttercups, just gathered from the springy turf 
 under her feet. 
 
 Shading her eyes from the level rays of the set 
 ting sun. It is going down in flames ; and the 
 harbor glows blood-red, as though Moses rod were 
 lifted over it. But there are heavy, ominous banks 
 below, on the horizon; a ragged black cloud is 
 driving up, with fringes fluttering in the wind ; 
 the tide-rip turns with a hoarse threat, along the 
 whole line of its yeasty sui ges from St. Mary s 
 Bay. And Milicent is standing, half afraid, upon 
 this sea-lashed rock, of which she and a helpless 
 invalid within yonder lighthouse cottage are the 
 only inhabitants just now. There is no sign of 
 the keeper s boat returning homeward ; the girl is 
 watching vainly for it. 
 
 Over there, from Long Island, it ought to be 
 putting out. Milicent s glance wanders past the 
 low, deep cove of Freeport, to the high red bluff 
 with its green slopes besprent with cottages ; and
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 331 
 
 then across the harbor, to Westport, and to the 
 old gray house upon its stony hill. 
 
 Sea-gulls are drifting over it, like white waves 
 set free from the ocean-bed. But there are waves 
 enough left : great sheets of foam, that scale the 
 ledges, and are flung from them high into the air, 
 in drifts through which the sun strikes, tinting 
 them, and giving to the swirling green upon the 
 rocks its complementary shade of lilac. 
 
 Milicent is watching ; gazing across so far that 
 she does not quite at once see, near at hand, a 
 skiff, with sides painted in black and white squares 
 like a checker-board, shoot in on the rising tide of 
 the tumultuous passage between this islet and the 
 Bryer Island point of rocks. 
 
 When she does see : 
 
 " Stephen ! " she cries, under her breath : " Ste 
 phen ! " 
 
 There is something of terror in her voice ; but 
 more of eager gladness. That passage might be 
 perilous to any one but Stephen : Stephen who, as 
 his strong frame bends to the stroke of the oars, 
 and the westering sun is on his fair hair and his 
 resolute face, looks, Milicent fancies, like one of 
 those old-time sea-kings for whom the waves held 
 no threat. 
 
 The sun which lights him up lights up the girl s 
 slight figure as well. 
 
 Thrice has the summer come, since Milicent 
 locked the door of the old house behind her, on 
 that stormy evening, to reenter it no more. Thrice : 
 bringing changes gradually, as time is sure to do,
 
 332 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 even though we may fail to mark them as they 
 come. 
 
 At last is laid aside the black dress which Mili- 
 cent s first fishing-net bought her, and which Ste 
 phen disliked, though he said nothing, for it 
 made more evident the extreme pallor of the 
 young, sad face, with the dark circles under the 
 eyes, which told of long fits of weeping. That 
 black dress was to Stephen not merely the badge 
 of mourning for her dead ; he was sure Urquhart 
 had his share in the tears Milicent shed in the 
 little room above Mrs. Featherstone s shop : tears 
 which Stephen s long patience and unselfish love 
 have staunched, and which Urquhart at least has 
 now no power to call forth again. There are 
 no traces of them, iri the clear eyes watching 
 Stephen s progress now. 
 
 He has lifted his head just once, to look at her ; 
 and then his whole attention is strained to reach 
 her, over the stormy passage rushing like the rapids 
 of a mighty cataract. 
 
 Just across it is the point of rocks upon the 
 Bryer Island side, where Urquhart pushed his boat 
 and landed Milicent, the day he went to the rescue 
 of the drowning boy and nearly lost his own life 
 in the attempt. 
 
 Many of us have felt, at least once in our lives, 
 when we have returned to an old haunt where we 
 lived through some great personal tragedy, or even 
 a mere happiness, and have found those who were 
 equally interested passing tranquil days, unruffled 
 by a memory which stirs us to the very depths,
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 333 
 
 we have felt angry and hurt by their indifference. 
 We forget they have long lived in the remem 
 brance ; and the scenes which come before us so 
 painfully vividly have been daily before them, and 
 have been blurred by many a touch of passing 
 time since then. There are many scenes which 
 Milicent can conjure up, on the cliffs or in the 
 harbor, that have happened in these two years 
 since Urquhart s wooing and farewell, and have 
 quite blotted out both. Urquhart, whenever he 
 sees in memory the little fishing-village, the cliffs, 
 the bay, the harbor, lives over the past again ; but 
 Milicent looks, and sees Stephen now. 
 
 He has beached his boat, and comes over the 
 rocks and the green crest, to where she stands and 
 waits, an expectant smile in her brown eyes. 
 
 " Stephen, you have not come to take me back ? 
 Did not Mrs. Featherstone tell you I was to stay 
 with poor Ellen until her brother gets home from 
 Freeport ? He went to see the doctor for her." 
 
 Stephen takes her hands, and draws her back a 
 little from the spot where she is standing the 
 smooth brink of a gash in the turfy crest, a black 
 chasm where the waves that enter unseen flash up 
 with a wild, hoarse moan, then are dragged back, 
 out of sight. 
 
 " No, I have n t come to take you back, Milly," 
 he says, when he has her in safety. " On the 
 contrary, what do you say to turning lighthouse 
 keeper ? " 
 
 She looks up at him, a pretty, puzzled gleam in 
 her eyes.
 
 334 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 " Because, though the tide has helped me in 
 through the strait (my boat was in Green Cove, 
 and Mrs. Featherstone told me you came over here 
 this morning), to cross from Long Island would be 
 impossible, in the teeth of wind and tide, and the 
 storm that is fast coming up. I doubt Dixon s 
 being able even to attempt the passage ; indeed, I 
 propose to let the lighthouse send him an early 
 message that he is not wanted. What do you say ? 
 Shall we two tend the light? When he sees its 
 first flash, he will understand the lighthouse has a 
 keeper, and his sister is not alone in the storm." 
 
 Milicent looks up at her old friend, with a smile. 
 
 "You would serve very well for a lighthouse 
 yourself, Stephen. Whatever we think on sun 
 shiny days that we might do, in stormy nights 
 you send out such rays of help and hope, that we 
 could never make the harbor without you." 
 
 With a glow in his face, Stephen listens to the 
 pretty plagiarist ; as unconscious as she, that a 
 modern poet has said much the same thing. But 
 after all, do not true thoughts dwell in many 
 hearts, before they find their way to the one pair 
 of inspired lips that gives them fitting utterance ? 
 
 When Stephen comes down to the cosy family- 
 room, after sending his kindly message from the 
 lighthouse tower to the absent keeper, the table is 
 set for the nondescript tea. To the inevitable fin 
 nan haddies and dish of potatoes steaming with 
 mealy promise, Milicent has added a plate of Mrs. 
 Featherstone s famous lemon patties ; and, fringed 
 round with bluebells and buttercups, there is a
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 335 
 
 glass bowl of small crimson wild-strawberries in 
 the midst, of so powerful a fragrance that the 
 room is full of it. 
 
 There is a tiny driftwood fire, for good cheer ; 
 Milicent throws on another stick, which catches 
 and blazes up at once. She stands on the hearth, 
 dreamily watching the bright flame. She is still 
 wrapped in the soft folds of her Shetland shawl, 
 and she looks wonderfully pretty, as she stands 
 there, smiting her hands gently together, to free 
 them from the fibres of the wood. She is thinking 
 pleasant thoughts ; for there is a smile on her 
 mouth, and the wild-rose flush in her cheeks comes 
 and goes too fitfully to be the effect of the blazing 
 fire. 
 
 There is no need of a lamp here, for the long 
 northern twilight ought to last a couple of hours 
 more; and Stephen, as he mounts the few steps 
 from the outer room, and pauses in the open door 
 way, takes in the whole picture at a glance. 
 
 It is a homely scene enough ; but the girl lends 
 spirit and life to it. The other occupant of the 
 room sits at the window looking seaward ; the 
 gray, fading light resting on a gray and fading 
 face, where pain has set its seal of patience. It is 
 a face not yet past youth ; but pain and patience 
 know no youth ; and the mouth has that plaintive 
 wistfulness which, just as surely as the stooping 
 shoulders, tells of spinal curvature. The busy 
 hands for once lie idle in her lap ; but it is they 
 (her stalwart brother the keeper would tell you, 
 with hearty pride in them), it is they which have
 
 336 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 made the pretty rugs that lie about the room ; 
 they which have knitted that wonderful, tall bunch 
 of worsted flowers under the glass case ; they which 
 sometimes, opening the parlor organ in the corner, 
 let loose simple melodies that go floating all about 
 the twilight harbor. 
 
 There is no such peaceful sound this evening : 
 the crash of the great waves flinging themselves 
 madly about, among the rocks, grows loud and 
 louder as the hours go by. 
 
 Once, when Stephen has gone anxiously into the 
 little tower where the lights are burning steadily, 
 he hears in the lull a faint sound behind him, and 
 turns, to see Milicent at the head of the stair. 
 
 " I could not help coming, Stephen," she says, 
 apologetically. "Ellen is used to it all, and she 
 has fallen asleep in her chair: but I could not 
 help thinking suppose those waves " 
 
 She catches her breath : up to this moment, the 
 foremost of them, pressing on, could only reach to 
 lay white, angry hands about the foot of the cot 
 tage and the tiny lighthouse tower. But this one, 
 gathering strength, and urged more fiercely on, 
 leaps up, and sends a shower of spray against the 
 windows, in the midst of Milicent s words. 
 
 Swift as thought, she is at Stephen s side ; catch 
 ing by his arm, holding by him as he sits in the 
 elbow-chair, under the lamps, which glow on their 
 stand above, a circle of great student-burners 
 reflected far out through the Passage, to St. Mary s 
 Bay. Milicent s eyes, glowing as much with ex 
 citement as with fear, flash out with them ; while
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 337 
 
 the mighty billows hurl themselves against the 
 glass, and go hissing past, overhead, in great glit 
 tering handfuls of prismatic diamonds now, and 
 now in showers of wind-driven sparks. 
 
 It is too beautiful to be all terrible. 
 
 Milicent says as much, presently, in one of those 
 treacherous pauses before the coming onslaught, 
 when her clear voice can make itself heard above 
 the more distant muffled thunder on the ledges. 
 
 " What a night ! Stephen, are you sure there is 
 no danger, as Ellen declares? But she can t 
 know anything about it ; I m sure this is a much 
 worse storm O Stephen!" stopping short, and 
 then beginning again : " Did not that shake your 
 very heart ? I am sure it did mine ; and all the 
 place swayed." 
 
 "It is founded upon a rock, Milly," he says, 
 smiling up at her. 
 
 She has to wait for another crash and long with 
 drawing boom ; and then she responds softly to his 
 hidden thought : 
 
 " Upon a Rock. " 
 
 Presently he shows her his watch. 
 
 " The tide is beginning to turn ; we won t have 
 many more such onslaughts as this last. Sit down, 
 Milly ; you are just a thought pale, and this hand 
 is not so steady as it ought to be," he says, as 
 he lifts it from his arm, and puts her in the chair 
 from which he has risen. 
 
 She takes it, and turns her back upon the sea 
 ward-looking panes, idly drawing towards her the 
 newspaper he thrust aside when she came to him. 
 
 22
 
 338 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 He makes a hasty movement, as if to take it 
 from her. But she does not see, and has gone on : 
 
 " What were you reading, Stephen, when I came 
 in ? You looked so grave over it that the storm 
 frightened me." 
 
 " An American paper," he answers, hurriedly, 
 " which Dixon probably got from some trader in 
 the village. It is not very late, and 
 
 He stops : his hand, extended for it, falls to his 
 side. He is too late. For she sees already. 
 
 It is a " Herald " : Urquhart s name in the list 
 of American arrivals in Paris. 
 
 Milicent has a strange look in her eyes, as if she 
 saw a ghost, not a ghastly corpse, but a vision. 
 
 Then she lifts her eyes straight to Stephen. 
 
 " And you thought it would startle me ? " she 
 says. " And so it has. I had a vision of the sun 
 set bay, and of the fairy-tale I listened to there, 
 of sailing awav and away into shining foreign 
 bays. It would never have done," she cries, 
 breaking off. " Such a voyage is for light sum 
 mer breezes ; but there must come storms like 
 this " 
 
 She turns to him with a half smile ; and Stephen 
 stretches out his hands to her. 
 
 " Milly, if we might slip back into our old moor 
 ings " 
 
 The smile dies out of her eyes ; there comes a 
 startled look into them. 
 
 "Safe in harbor, Stephen? Is that what you 
 are thinking of, for me ? No : when I left the 
 good holding-ground "
 
 PILOT FORTUNE. 339 
 
 If she means his heart, he has drawn her mas 
 terfully back to it. 
 
 " Milly, I loved you when you were little Milly, 
 my one playmate and friend, and I have never 
 found any reason why I should not love you. It is 
 not in the nature of some women to be forgotten." 
 
 " Not in the nature of some men to forget." 
 
 But they have both forgotten as the storm is 
 now withdrawing, and they make their way back 
 to the lighthouse parlor and Ellen they have 
 both forgotten Urquhart, and the paper that has 
 fluttered to the floor, with his name on it. 
 
 Neither of them gives one thought to him ; but 
 it is a question whether Urquhart has never a 
 thought of Milicent, as he wanders idly, and cer 
 tainly a little wearily, to and fro along the Paris 
 thoroughfares. He assuredly has never dreamed 
 of her as still in the little fishing-village. Living 
 abroad with her father a life far worse for her 
 than that which she had detested in the old house, 
 he has often pictured to himself. While, for all 
 the friendship of his world, of which, though 
 fond of and kind to him, he has yet a little dread, 
 it is in vain he strives altogether to blot from 
 his memory that Fundy summer-tide, when he, if 
 not the Undine, suffered shipwreck in port. 
 
 Not that he may not find another woman to love ; 
 but it will not be another Milicent. 
 
 And, after all, that huge bugbear with which 
 Mr. Raymond had managed to frighten first Urqu 
 hart and then Milicent would never have existed.
 
 340 PILOT FORTUNE. 
 
 They could have married, with no objectionable 
 father-in-law to start up at inopportune moments 
 to annoy Urquhart ; and Milicent s parentage would 
 have been forgotten, after the story of her father s 
 violent death had been worn threadbare through 
 excessive handling. If Urquhart could only have 
 foreseen this future, but prevision is not a hu 
 man attribute. 
 
 " And the cottage, Milly ? " Stephen is saying, 
 staying her hand on the latch of the door down 
 stairs. " It has waited so long for its mistress." 
 
 " But poor Mrs. Featherstone ? " says Milicent, 
 breathlessly, and opens the door. 
 
 She has been lingering so long in the pleasant 
 border land, the Debateable Ground between 
 Friendship and Love, that she is in no haste, 
 now, to cross the line. 
 
 Only, when the two are standing together before 
 the flickering fire, the invalid s regular breathing 
 from her easy-chair by the window filling the 
 pauses of the retreating waves, Milicent glances up 
 at her lover, with a shy little laugh in her eyes. 
 
 " I 11 tell you what I will do. I will teach one 
 of Strainer s girls to keep accounts. Besides," she 
 adds, " I don t think Strainer s new wife treats 
 Victoria well. I found her the other day sitting 
 by herself and crying. She would not tell me why, 
 but I could guess. So, when she knows the ropes, 
 as good Mrs. Featherstone would say, the cot 
 tage" 
 
 " Shall have its mistress ! "
 
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