Jane put her hand to her head and looked out of the window toward the sea.  All her life seemed to be narrowing to one small converging path which grew smaller and smaller as she looked down its perspective.

“I understand, captain,” she sighed.  All the fight was out of her; she was like one limping across a battlefield, shield and spear gone, the roads unknown.

The door opened and the doctor entered.  His quick, sensitive eye instantly caught the look of despair on Jane’s face and the air of determination on the captain’s.  What had happened he did not know, but something to hurt Jane; of that he was positive.  He stepped quickly past the captain without accosting him, rested his hand on Jane’s shoulder, and said in a tender, pleading tone: 

“You are tired and worn out; get your cloak and hat and I’ll drive you home.”  Then he turned to the captain:  “Miss Jane’s been up for three nights.  I hope you haven’t been worrying her with anything you could have spared her from—­at least until she got rested,” and he frowned at the captain.

“No, I ain’t and wouldn’t.  I been a-tellin’ her of Bart’s comin’ home.  That ain’t nothin’ to worry over—­that’s something to be glad of.  You heard about it, of course?”

“Yes, Morgan told me.  Twenty years will make a great difference in Bart.  It must have been a great surprise to you, captain.”

Both Jane and the captain tried to read the doctor’s face, and both failed.  Doctor John might have been commenting on the weather or some equally unimportant topic, so light and casual was his tone.

He turned to Jane again.

“Come, dear—­please,” he begged.  It was only when he was anxious about her physical condition or over some mental trouble that engrossed her that he spoke thus.  The words lay always on the tip of his tongue, but he never let them fall unless someone was present to overhear.

“You are wrong, John,” she answered, bridling her shoulders as if to reassure him.  “I am not tired —­I have a little headache, that’s all.”  With the words she pressed both hands to her temples and smoothed back her hair—­a favorite gesture when her brain fluttered against her skull like a caged pigeon.  “I will go home, but not now—­this afternoon, perhaps.  Come for me then, please,” she added, looking up into his face with a grateful expression.

The captain picked up his cap and rose from his seat.  One of his dreams was the marriage of these two.  Episodes like this only showed him the clearer what lay in their hearts.  The doctor’s anxiety and Jane’s struggle to bear her burdens outside of his touch and help only confirmed the old sea-dog in his determination.  When Bart had his way, he said to himself, all this would cease.

“I’ll be goin’ along,” he said, looking from one to the other and putting on his cap.  “See you later, Miss Jane.  Morgan’s back ag’in to work, thanks to you, doctor.  That was a pretty bad sprain he had—­he’s all right now, though; went on practice yesterday.  I’m glad of it—­equinox is comin’ on and we can’t spare a man, or half a one, these days.  May be blowin’ a livin’ gale ’fore the week’s out.  Good-by, Miss Jane; good-by, doctor.”  And he shut the door behind him.