out of that busy little life in castle-building or in crying.  One day there came a letter with Victoria’s head and the Liverpool stamp upon it:  she knew it by heart presently, and wore it next her heart by night and day; and even if she had known that Miss Frarnie Maurice received one in the same handwriting by the same mail, it would hardly have made much difference to her; and one day the Sabrina, all freshly coppered and painted and repaired, with new masts and sails, and so much else that it was not easy to say what part of her now represented the old brig, came round to her old wharf and began to take in cargo.  Louie ran down one evening with her father, and went all over her from stem to stern, only one old sailor being aboard; and she could have told you then every rope from clew to ear-ring; and, as if it were all the realization of a dream, a thousand happy, daring thoughts of herself and Andrew then filled her fancy like birds in a nest; and so swiftly after that did one day flow into another for Louie that the Frarnie lay in the mid-stream once more before she had more than begun to count the days to that on which her Liverpool letter had promised that she should see its writer come walking into her father’s cottage again.

But she never did see him come walking into her father’s cottage again.  That promised day passed and the night, and another—­a long, long day that seemed as if it would never quench its flame in sunset, and a night that seemed as if it would never know the dawning; but the threshold of the fisherman’s cottage Andrew Traverse crossed no more.

For Mr. Maurice, on his notable errand of circumventing Heaven, had been ahead of Fate, and had gone down on the pilot-boat to meet the Frarnie—­with no settled designs of course, but in his own impatient pleasure; and, delighted with the shipmaster’s report and with the financial promise of the voyage, the cargo, the freights, and ventures and all, had greeted Andrew with a large-hearted warmth and after a manner that no churl could withstand; and unwilling to listen to any refusal, had taken Andrew up to the mansion-house with him the moment the ship had touched the wharf.

“You don’t ask after her?” said Mr. Maurice when they were alone in the chaise together.  And knowing well enough what he meant, Andrew blushed through all his bronze—­knowing well enough, for had he not gone below in a mighty hurry and tricked himself out in his best toggery so soon as he understood there was no escape from the visit?  Louie would have been glad enough to see him in his red shirt and tarpaulin!

“Oh, you scamp!” said Mr. Maurice, quickly then detecting the blush.  “Don’t say a word!  I’ve been there myself:  I know how you’re longing to see her; and she’s been at the window looking through the glass every half hour, the puss!”