The girl was not thinking of the old people just then.  Their need entered into her determination to remain if she could.  But this night was one time when Sheila Macklin thought almost altogether of herself and her personal difficulties.

Her present and acknowledged love for the young captain of the Seamew had been of no mushroom growth.  She might not say, as Tunis did, that she had fallen in love at first sight.  But very soon after meeting the young shipmaster from Big Wreck Cove she had appreciated his full value and realized that he was far and away the best man she had ever met.

Indeed, in that moment when Tunis Latham had caught Sheila in his arms as she had slipped in front of the restaurant on Scollay Square, the girl’s mind had been stabbed through by such a poignant feeling, such a desire to know more about him, that she was actually frightened by the strength of this concern.

She knelt before her north window with the frosty air breathing in like a balm upon her fevered body, and strained her eyes for a glimpse of the light that always burned in Tunis’ window when he was at home.  It was a long time before she saw it.  For Tunis Latham had walked about the fields a long time after she left him, and it was late when he finally entered the big brown house behind the cedars.

Aunt Lucretia, who had been expecting him, after she had seen the Seamew heading for the cove that afternoon, was still sitting in the kitchen when her nephew entered.  Composed as the man’s features were, there was still an expression upon them which startled the woman.  It brought her out of her chair, even if it did not bring an audible question to her lips.

“I was delayed, Aunt ’Cretia,” he said.  “No; nothing new about the Seamew or about business.  It’s—­there’s trouble up to the Balls’.”

He knew her first thought would be for the health of the two old people, and he had to explain a little more.

“They are all right—­Cap’n Ira and Aunt Prue.  It’s about Sh—­Ida May.”

“Tunis!  Nothing has happened to the girl?”

He must take Aunt Lucretia into his confidence—­at least, to some extent.  Just how much could he tell her?  How much dared he tell her?

From somebody, he felt sure, she would hear about this other girl who had appeared to claim kinship with the Balls and demand that Sheila give over to her the place she had with Cap’n Ira and Prudence.  For Ida May Bostwick was going to talk.  Tunis knew that well enough.  Although he had warned her sternly that evening against talking, he knew well enough that after the girl had recovered from her first fright she would spit out the venomous tale that she had already concocted in her mind about Sheila and himself.

He could not bring himself to confess to Aunt Lucretia all the truth about his first meeting and subsequent association with Sheila.  Indeed, he hoped he would never be obliged to tell it.