“Well, how does the old sailor feel this morning?” Donald queried casually, seating himself opposite the old man.

“Poorly, Mr. Donald; poorly.”  He turned, satisfied himself that Nan was busy in the kitchen, and then leaned toward his visitor.  “I’ve got my sailing-orders,” he whispered confidentially.  The man who had won a Congressional medal of honor, without clearly knowing why or how, had not changed with the years.  He advanced this statement as a simple exposition of fact.

“Think so, Caleb?” Donald answered soberly.

“I know it.”

“If you have no desire to live, Caleb, of course nature will yield to your desires.  Remember that and buck up.  You may have your sailing-orders, but you can keep the bar breaking indefinitely to prevent you from crossing out.”

“I’ve done that for a year past.  I do not wish to die and leave her, for my three-quarter pay stops then.  But I suffer from angina pectoris.  It’s the worry, Mr. Donald,” he added.

“Worry as to the future of Nan and the child?”

“Aye, lad.”

“Well, Caleb, your worries are unnecessary.  I feel it my duty to tell you that I love Nan; she loves me, and we have told each other so.  She shall not suffer when you are gone.  She has indicated to me that, some day, this—­this mess may be cleared up; and when that happens, I shall marry Nan.”

“So Nan told me this morning.  I was wondering if you’d speak to me about it, and I’m glad you have done so—­promptly.  You—­you—­honor us, Mr. Donald; you do, indeed.  You’re the one man in the world I can trust her with, whether as good friend or husband—­only, her hushand you’ll never be.”

“I see breakers ahead,” Donald admitted.  He had no desire to dissemble with this straightforward old father.

“We’re poor folk and plain, but—­please God!—­we’re decent and we know our place, Mr. Donald.  If your big heart tells you to dishonor yourself in the eyes of your world and your people—­mark you, lad, I do not admit that an alliance with my girl could ever dishonor you in your own eyes—­Nan will not be weak enough to permit it.”

“I have argued all that out with myself,” Donald confessed miserably, “without having arrived at a conclusion.  I have made up my mind to wait patiently and see what the future may bring forth.”

“It may be a long wait.”

“It will be worth while.  And when you have sailed, I’ll finance her to leave Port Agnew and develop her glorious voice.”

“You haven’t the right, Mr. Donald.  My girl has some pride.”

“I’ll gamble a sizable sum on her artistic future.  The matter will be arranged on a business basis.  I shall lend her the money, and she shall pay me back with interest.”

“Nan has a woman’s pride.  The obligation would remain always, even though the money should be repaid.”

“I think we’ll manage to adjust that,” Donald countered confidently.