There was much to tell that astonished him, but he could not be depressed; everything must be arranged to suit us.  He would buy the house, provided he could pay for it in instalments.  Did I know that his mother had docked his allowance as soon as she knew that he would marry Verry?

“How should I know it?”

I had not heard then that Desmond’s was doubled, when she heard his intention of going to Spain.

“How should I know that?”

One thing I should learn, however—­and that was, that Desmond had begged his mother to make no change in the disposition of her income.  He had declined the extra allowance, and then accepted it, to offer him—­Ben.  Was not that astonishing?

“Did you take it?”

“No; but pa did.”

All he could call his was fifteen hundred a year.  Was that enough for them to live on, and pay a little every year for the house?  Could we all live there together, just the same?  Would we, he asked father, and allow him to be an inmate?

Father shook hands with him so violently that he winced; and Verry crumpled up a handful of his tawny locks and kissed them, whereat he said:  “Are you grown a human woman?”

About the wedding?  He could only stay to appoint a time, for he must post to Belem.  It must be very soon.

“In a year or two,” said Verry.

“Verry!”

“In three weeks, then.”

“From to-day?”

“No, that will be the date of the wreck of the Locke Morgeson; but three weeks from to-morrow.  Must we have anybody here, Ben?”

“Helen, and Alice, Cassandra?”

“Certainly.”

“I have no friends,” said Verry.

“What will you wear, Verry?” I asked.

“Why, this dress,” designating her old black silk.  Her eyes filled with tears, and went on a pilgrimage toward the unknown heaven where our mother was. She could only come to the wedding as a ghost.  I imagined her flitting through the empty spaces, from room to room, scared and troubled by the pressure of mortal life around her.

“I shall not wear white,” Verry said hastily.

The very day Ben went to Belem one of father’s outstanding ships arrived.  She came into the harbor presenting the unusual sight of trying oil on deck.  Black and greasy from hull to spar, she was a pleasant sight, for she was full of sperm oil.  Little boys ran down to the house to inform us of that fact before she was moored.  “Wouldn’t Mr. Morgeson be all right now that his luck had changed?” they asked.

At supper father said “By George!” several times, by that oath resuming something of his old self.  “Those women can now be paid,” he said.  “If I could have held out till now, I could have gone on without failing.  This is the first good voyage the Oswego ever made me; if another ship, the Adamant, will come full while oil is high, I shall arrange matters with my creditors before the three years are up.  To hold my own again—­ah!  I never will venture all upon the uncertain field of the sea.”