Aaron chanced at dinner-time to let fall his eyes on the door, swinging in the wind.  Turning, he looked at me.  I, divining the questioning intent of his eyes, answered,—­

“It is I, Aaron.  I’ve left the key in the door.  I resign ownership of the tower.”

The grave minister looked pleased.  Sophie said,—­

“Oh, I am so glad, you are growing rational, Anna!”—­and Anna Percival did not tell these two that she had emptied the tower of all its mystery, and thrown the cup afloat on the future.

Aaron and Sophie were doomed to wonder why I came to Redleaf.  Sophie begged my longer stay; Aaron thought, with his direct, practical way of looking at all things, save Sophie, that I “had better not have come at all, if only to stay during the day-journey of the sun.”

The stars were there to see, when I bade good—­bye to Chloe at the parsonage, and went forth burdened with many messages for Jeffy.  Aaron and Sophie went with me to the place of landing.  It was past Miss Axtell’s house.  Only one light was visible; that shone from Miss Lettie’s room.  Aaron said,—­

“I saw Mr. Axtell this morning.  He was going across the country, he said.”

No one asked him “Where?” and he said no more.

We were late at the steamboat.  I had just time to bid a hasty farewell, and hear a plank-man say, “Better hurry, Miss, if you’re going on,” and in another minute I was at sea.

I had so much to think of, I knew it would be impossible for sleep to come to me; and so I went on deck to watch the twinkling lights of Redleaf and the stars up above, whilst my busy brain should plan a way to keep my promise to Miss Axtell.  I could not break up her fancied security; I could not deprive her of the “time to think” before crossing the great bridge, by telling her of the stranger sick in Doctor Percival’s house, and so I let her dream on.  It might be many weeks, nay, months, ere Mr. McKey would recover, hence there was no need that she should know; by that time she would be quite strong again.

Once on deck, and well wrapped from the March sea-breeze, blowing its latest breath over the sea, I took a seat near a large party who seemed lovers of the ocean, they sat so quietly and so long.

My face was turned away from all on deck.  I heard footsteps going, coming, to and fro, until these steps came into my reverie.  I wished to turn and see the owner, but, fearing that the charm would vanish, I kept my eyes steadily seaward.  I scarcely know the time, it may have been an hour, that thus I had sat, when once again the footsteps drew near.  The owner paused an instant in passing me.  I fancied some zephyr of emotion made his footsteps falter a little.  Nothing more came.  He walked, as before, and once, when I was certain that all the deck lay between my eyes and him who so often had drawn near, I turned to look.  I saw only a gentleman far down the boat, wrapped in an ordinary travelling-shawl.  Neither form nor walk was, I thought, familiar, and I lost my interest.