I could not answer yes frankly and freely.  It seemed a sheer impossibility for me to root out this new love, which I found in my heart below all the old loves and friendships of my whole life.  Mad as I was with myself at the thought of my folly, the folly was so sweet to me, that I would as soon have parted with life itself.  Nothing in the least resembling this feeling had been a matter of experience with me before.  I had read of it in poetry and novels, and laughed a little at it; but now it had come upon me like a strong man armed.  I quailed and flinched before the painful conflict necessary to cast out the precious guest.

“Martin,” urged Captain Carey, “come up to Johanna, and tell her all about it.”

Johanna Carey was one of the powers in the island.  Everybody knew her; and everybody went to her for comfort and counsel.  She was, of course, related to us all; and knew the exact degree of relationship among us, having the genealogy of each family at her fingers’ ends.  But, besides these family histories, which were common property, she was also intrusted with the inmost secrets of every household—­those secrets which were the most carefully and jealously guarded.  I had always been a favorite with her, and nothing could be more natural than this proposal of her brother’s, that I should go and tell her all my dilemma.

The house stood on the border of L’Ancresse Common, with no view of the sea, but with the soft, undulating brows and hollows of the common lying before it, and a broken battlement of rocks rising beyond them.

There was always a low, solemn murmur of the invisible sea, singing like a lullaby about the peaceful dwelling, and hushing it into a more profound quiet than even utter silence; for utter silence is irksome and fretting to the ear, which needs some slight reverberation to keep the brain behind it still.  A perfume of violets, and the more dainty scent of primroses, pervaded the garden.  It seemed incredible that any man should be allowed to live in such a spot; but then Captain Carey was almost as gentle and fastidious as a woman.

Johanna was not unlike her home.  There was a repose about her similar to the calm of a judge, which gave additional weight to her counsels.  The moment we entered through the gates, a certainty of comfort and help appeared to be wafted upon the pure breeze, floating across the common from the sea.

Johanna was standing at one of the windows in a Quakerish dress of some gray stuff, and with a plain white cap over her white hair.  She came down to the door as soon as she saw me, and received me with a motherly kiss, which I returned with more than usual warmth, as one does in any new kind of trouble.  I think she was instantly aware that something was amiss with me.

“Is dinner ready, Johanna?” asked her brother; “we are as hungry as hunters.”

That was not true as far as I was concerned.  For the first time within my recollection my appetite quite failed me, and I merely played with my knife and fork.