The only desire that possessed her was to be alone again, to make Love show his face as well as make his mysterious presence felt.  She was thankful for the shelter of the crowd, and went on, wishing that the short distance to her aunt’s home could be made even shorter.  She had felt this man’s love for her only in a vague way before, and now, as he turned to speak to her from time to time, she could not meet his eyes.  The groups of people bade each other good-night merrily, though the entertainment had been a little tiresome to every one at the last, and it seemed the briefest space of time before Miss Fraley and Nan and their cavalier were left by themselves, and at last Nan and George Gerry were alone together.

For his part he had never been so happy as that night.  It seemed to him that his wish was coming true, and he spoke gently enough and of the same things they might have talked about the night before, but a splendid chorus of victory was sounding in his ears; and once, as they stopped for a moment to look between two of the old warehouses at the shining river and the masts and rigging of the ship against the moonlighted sky, he was just ready to speak to the girl at his side.  But he looked at her first and then was silent.  There was something in her face that forbade it,—­a whiteness and a strange look in her eyes, that made him lose all feeling of comradeship or even acquaintance.  “I wonder if the old Highflyer will ever go out again?” she said slowly.  “Captain Parish told me some time ago that he had found her more badly damaged than he supposed.  A vessel like that belongs to the high seas, and is like a prisoner when it touches shore.  I believe that the stray souls that have no bodies must sometimes make a dwelling in inanimate things and make us think they are alive.  I am always sorry for that ship”—­

“Its guardian angel must have been asleep the night of the collision,” laughed young Gerry, uneasily; he was displeased with himself the moment afterward, but Nan laughed too, and felt a sense of reprieve; and they went on again and said good night quietly on the steps of the old Prince house.  It was very late for Dunport, and the door was shut, but through the bull’s-eyed panes of glass overhead a faint light was shining, though it could hardly assert itself against the moonlight.  Miss Prince was still down-stairs, and her niece upbraided her, and then began to give an account of the play, which was cut short by the mistress of the house; for after one eager, long look at Nan, she became sleepy and disappointed, and they said good-night; but the girl felt certain that her aunt was leagued against her, and grew sick at heart and tired as she climbed the stairs.  There was a letter on the long mahogany table in the hall, and Nan stopped and looked over the railing at it wearily.  Miss Prince stopped too, and said she was sorry she had forgotten,—­it was from Oldfields, and in Dr. Leslie’s writing.  But though Nan went back for it, and kissed it more