“But he wouldn’t have it so.  ’I used to know Anse Coffin in New Bedford,’ he says.  ’Knew him well’s I know you.  And when we was in port at Havre I dropped in at a gin mill down by the water front and he come up and touched me on the arm.  I thought same as you, that he was dead, but he wa’n’t.  He was three sheets in the wind and a reg’lar dock rat to look at, but ’twas him sure enough.  We had a long talk.  He said he was comin’ back to Trumet some day.  Had a wife there, he said.  I told him, sarcastic, that she’d be glad to see him.  He laughed and said maybe not, but that she knew he was alive and sent him money when he was hard up.  Wanted me to promise not to tell any Cape folks that I’d seen him, and I ain’t till now.’

“Well, you can imagine how I felt when Cahoon spun me that yarn.  First I wouldn’t b’lieve it and then I did.  It explained things, just as you say, John.  I could see now why Keziah gave me my walkin’ papers.  I could see how she’d been sacrificin’ her life for that scum.”

“Yes.  She wouldn’t divorce him.  She said she had taken him for better or worse, and must stand by him.  I tried to show her she was wrong, but it was no use.  She did say she would never live with him again.”

“I should say not.  Live with him!  By the everlastin’! if he ever comes within reach of my hands then—­there’s times when good honest murder is justifiable and righteous, and it’ll be done.  It’ll be done, you hear me!”

He looked as if he meant it.  Ellery asked another question.

“Did you tell her—­Aunt Keziah—­when you met her at the Narrows?” he asked.

“No.  But I shall tell her when I see her again.  She shan’t spoil her life—­a woman like that! by the Lord!  What a woman!—­for any such crazy notion.  I swore it when I heard the story and I’ve sworn it every day since.  That’s what settled my mind about Grace.  Keziah Coffin belongs to me.  She always has belonged to me, even though my own pig-headedness lost her in the old days.”

“She cares for you, Nat.  I know that.  She as much as told me so.”

“Thank you, John.  Thank you.  Well, I can wait now.  I can wait, for I’ve got something sure to wait for.  I tell you, Ellery, I ain’t a church-goin’ man—­not as dad was, anyway—­but I truly believe that this thing is goin’ to come out right.  God won’t let that cussed rascal live much longer.  He won’t!  I know it.  But if he does, if he lives a thousand years, I’ll take her from him.”

He was pacing the floor now, his face set like granite.  Ellery rose, his own face beaming.  Here was his chance.  At last he could pay to this man and Keziah a part of the debt he owed.

Nat stopped in his stride.  “Well!” he exclaimed.  “I almost forgot, after all.  Keziah sent a note to you.  I’ve got it in my pocket.  She gave it to me when she left me at Cohasset.”

“Left you?  Why! didn’t she come back with you on the night train?”