“I am so glad the captain is coming,” Nan said presently, to break the painful silence.  “I do hope that he and Dr. Leslie will know each other some time, they would be such capital friends.  The doctor sent his kind regards to you in last night’s letter, and asked me again to say that he hoped that you would come to us before the summer is over.  I should like so much to have you know what Oldfields is like.”  It was hard to save herself from saying “home” again, instead of Oldfields, but the change of words was made quickly.

“He is very courteous and hospitable, but I never pay visits nowadays,” said Miss Prince, and thought almost angrily that there was no necessity for her making a target of herself for all those curious country-people’s eyes.  And then they rose and separated for a time, each being burdened less by care than thought.

The captain came early to dine, and brought with him his own and Miss Prince’s letters from the post-office, together with the morning paper, which he proceeded to read.  He also seemed to have a weight upon his mind, but by the time they were at table a mild cheerfulness made itself felt, and Nan summoned all her resources and was gayer and brighter than usual.  Miss Prince had gone down town early in the day, and her niece was perfectly sure that there had been a consultation with Mr. Gerry.  He had passed the house while Nan sat at her upper window writing, and had looked somewhat wistfully at the door as if he had half a mind to enter it.  He was like a great magnet:  it seemed impossible to resist looking after him, and indeed his ghost-like presence would not forsake her mind, but seemed urging her toward his visible self.  The thought of him was so powerful that the sight of the young man was less strange and compelling, and it was almost a relief to have seen his familiar appearance,—­the strong figure in its every-day clothes, his unstudent-like vigor, and easy step as he went by.  She liked him still, but she hated love, it was making her so miserable,—­even when later she told Captain Parish some delightful Oldfields stories, of so humorous a kind that he laughed long and struck the table more than once, which set the glasses jingling, and gave a splendid approval to the time-honored fun.  The ducklings were amazingly good; and when Captain Walter had tasted his wine and read the silver label on the decanter, which as usual gave no evidence of the rank and dignity of the contents, his eyes sparkled with satisfaction, and he turned to his cousin’s daughter with impressive gravity.

“You may never have tasted such wine as that,” he said.  “Your grandfather, the luckiest captain who ever sailed out of Dunport, brought it home fifty years ago, and it was well ripened then.  I didn’t know there was a bottle of it left, Nancy,” he laughed.  “My dear, your aunt has undertaken to pay one of us a handsome compliment.”

“Your health, cousin Walter!” said the girl quickly, lifting her own glass, and making him a little bow over the old Madeira.