Frant

A storm was gathering over Cape John. Thin fog rose from the sea,and, at flrst, driïted hither and yon at the spert of the light wind. Then they grew thicker and thicker, till the revolving lights at Biïminertown were almost lost to view, and even the great Fresnel burner on the headland shone dimly. A man and a woinan who were sitting on the edge of the cliff talking earnestly began, at last, to observe the threatening aspect of the sky tnd sea, and rose slowjf Md unwillingly to depart. 'It's been like the oíd times, Frant,' said the man tenderly. 'Ay, like the oíd times,' responded the woinan, in a yoice at once sweet yet full of power. 'Now that we are fairly settled in the new cabin, l'hilly, we'll have many an evening out here together.' 'It's easier coming when we are so near,' said Philip Darrow aflecüonately. 'To think we've spent tlie last day in the old shanty, Frant! But it's a happy time we've had iliere after all.' 'Happy, enongh,' said Francés Darrow, whose speech, like lier husbands, bore the broad but not unpleasant accent of the Cape. 'It's live years since you married me, l'hilly. I wisli I wasn't so niuch older! - But you've been happy, haveu't you PhillyV' ■What talk, Frantie!' said the young fellow, his liandsome, sunburnt lace. darkening. 'Vin twenty-live.and growing older every day. There isn't a girl on the Cape could wean me away from you. Haven't I been true to you for live years, Frant? And why shouldn't it be so always?' 'I don't know.' The woman's grave face grew even graver. It's ten years siuce I was twenty-live, Philly, and seems like 1 gnnv old f aster; bui Hkely,' and herlips parted in a smile whieli ti uisi'oriuöd heffplain face into actual beauty, 'likely it's just becaii3e l'm tired that I feel so, - we've worked so hard getting the new house to rights. 'And yoit like it, don't you?' asked l'hil Darrow for thelumdredth time. 'Ay, lad,' brightly. 'Maybe, in spite of my being so sad-like to-night, we'll have happy times theretoo. ' But look! how'll we ever get back to the cabin, Philly?' - for the storm luid gathered laster than they knew. She stood erect, resumiiig the strong, quiet manner that was habitual to her. 'The itorm's right near.' As she spoke, she put out her hand to him and swept the Western horizon with her keen, dark eyes. The pallor of her steady face.the pallor of an intense vitality aud not that of weakness, showed strikingly under the angry light. A gust of wind and rain blew in their laces. He look her hand, and they hurrled on together, till, just as they entered the broád, low doorway of their new home, the storm broke f uil over the headland. As they entered. Phillip Darrow laughed joyously; a man, you would have said, without any of the finer qualities, eft'ectionate and playful, like a Jiandsome yotmg Newfoundland, but coarser and weaker than the womau who walked beside him. It was her more aspiring soul, one could seeplainly, that bound and held him to something higher than his own ideáis. Yet she was evidently not a cultured woman, tltuugh bearing the tnarks of native reBnement and of latent f orce, lier print dress was coarse and faded, but spotlessly neat, and her, rich redbrown hair, which matched her ful eyes, was gathered smoothly back iuto a knot beliind. Her f orehead was low, broad, and picturesque; but there her beauty ended. Her nose was irregular, her mouth large, though kind and deéided, and her cheekbones high and prominent. When she smiled, lio wever, her wliite teetli shone, and a new and charming look overspread her wliole face. But she smiled seldoni, and the harder and deeper lines of middlelife liad driven away from the features the roundness of youth. Yet she had au intiuence over her docile husband which the vulgar flsh-wives of the Point wondered at and emulated, but could never attaiu; for, added to lier strong and noble character, she loveil nim witli au uuandonment or devotion that only woman of lier stamp can know, - witli a strange blendingol' wife-loveand mother-love. - as all kind, w.mn-hearted, large-brained creaturen love whatever is young and clinging and comely. ïheir new home was, after all, only an old and weather-beaten eabin, whicli by careful saving and contriving, they liad at last succeeded in buying and litting up in a style far superior to anything that they had ever enjoyed before. The storm raged on but Phil and FraTit had built a blazing lire, and luid heated water in the btïght new teakettle with a view to a social cup of tea before they should go to bed. While they were drinking it, a man knoeked at the door. 'There's a bad surf, Phil,' he said, 'an' there's boats in the offin', bad driv'. A schooner's just gone to pieces, an' a big steamer she's lost her smoke-stack, an' she's aip.M,l,in' an' fU.bASi.Hn' TIïav -wMiit. vmi ' wv ivtl u UV14V1 II _■_ 11 V T TT Ctli V J S Kit Phil Darrow was as brave as he was strong and handsome. The liglit changed in bis eye. Til be there,' he said, He kissed Fraut - he always kissed Frant when he went and when lie carne - and was gone. The cabin was tucked neatly into a little depression in the cliff. Across a wild, sea-worn gully, close at hand, a mile of northern shore was plainly visible from its Windows, but the southern, where stood the hotel and the pier, was liidden by the projecting height of the headland. Frant busied herself for a few minutes about her work. ïhen she lixed her fire and her light, puton her waterproof cloak, drew the hood over her head, and started up the headland, hoping to see soniething of what was go ing on below. The rays from the great light-house made the darkness gray around her, but, thougli she eould hear the sound of voices in the occasional pauses between the gusts, she could see nothing. Aceustomed as she was tostonns, ho wever, she could readily supply the scène hidden beneath the pall of fog. She could see the bending masts of the schooners and the pitching of the dismantled steamship. She could hear in imagination the wails for help, and could see the life-boat pulling off to the reliaf of the sufferers. For au hour she strained eyes and ears to see and hear something beyond the bafliïug mist and the deafening foghorn and the gatheringand bursting of the mighty waves. She feit as though tkere was work to do; she wantedto do it, and, though she was dreuched through, she determined to feel her way down the cliff. There, at least, she could see the great waves. The cliff was rough, and she found plenty of points to cling to in her descent, till at last she stood face to face with the gray-green thunders, whieh flungtheir wh'te spray all over her. Suddenly her eye caught something on an incoming wave, thrown out into a feeble relief by the rays of the headland-light. Was it a box, or a fragment of ship-timber, or - something else? in came the wave again, tuinbling fiercely almost against Frant's brave feet. Again she saw the light, white barden borne back by the retreating tide. She clambered up a little higher, and waited for the waveto come again. This time it cleared the beach, and, bearing on its crest the same white burden, crashedpast her into the gully. When it went back, tnere was nothina; buL foain on its shiuing surface. Slie ruslied in upon the track of the wave ;uid feit distractedly about the irround. .Suddenly lier hand caug-ht in iomething. It was a mass of dripping 'unían liair, - the long, fine hair of a woman. Frant gave a shriek oí' horror and lrew herself away, but it was only for m instant; the wave was coming. ■Mie seized the vvoman by her arms.and liegan to drag lier through the wild pliimb-biishes and over the rough stones out of the reaeh of the hungfy water. She was thinking hard all the time. Perhaps the woman was not dead. S)ie had seen people revived aft er they had been a long time under water, and, though there was no feeling of Ufe in Llie woman, she deterinined to try and save her. Olí for a light ! Oh for Philly! But she began to drag hur liinp, wet burden, hall' earrying it up tlie sleep, rough bank. It was a plump young ligure, but not large, while Frant was strong and tall; and in a little time it lay in Frant's new wint bed, and Frant herself, with a tiush on her pale, steady face and her kind eyes glowing, was rapidly stripping off Ui e shreds that remained of the poor giiTs clothing and applying restoratives. At last the wannth aii(J motion penetrated to the numb young heart, ■ind jast as Phü's step sounded at the loor, Frant's task was done; for the girl, whose face, even in its death-like pallor, was very lovely, opened lier eyes f eebly. Phil came in, noisy and staring, but Frant lifted her flnger. "Wliat - what is it V' he stammered. 'I found her,' said Frant brielly and pointing to tli e girl. 'A great wave tossed lier into the gully, and so I got her.' 'You got her?' said Phil, with a straiu of awe creephig into bis voice. There was no awe about Frant. She was very practical. 'Lift her head, Philly,' she said, 'while I change her wet pillow.' The girl opened her eyes again and tried to speak. The neatness, the warmth, tlie light, Frant's clinging, tender touch, the strong look on her face, all seemed to combine to soothe and quiet her. 'Thank you,' she whispered. Then she went off again to sleep. Phil stood like a inan under a spell. "She looks just like an angel" he whispered. 'She isn't' said Frant, laughing a trille uncomfortably. 'She's only a poor gïrl that 1 lugged up the gully myself. 1 had gone dowu the clifE to see if I eouldn't find somethiiig of you. The tide brought her in, and I lugged her up.' Phil, however, did not seem to think of Frant, of her peril or of herheroism. iris gaze was still lixed upon the faif face on tlie pillow wilh rapt adtniration. Frant wished vaguely that he wouldn't look any more. Soinehow, herholdof hitn seemedto slip. 'I'hilly!' she cried, at last. 'Oh, Frant!' he said, turning toward her; 'she"s as pretty as an angel, isn't she ?' 'V es. 'said Frant, a sudden faintness coming over her. '1 ain very tired, l'hilly.' ïhen he remembered what she hád been througn. 'Voushouldn't go down in the dark to tlie shore, Frantie,' he said tenderiy. 'The sliore's different here from what it was over by the old slianty. The waves don'tcoine inalike, ei Uier.' , 'But if 1 hadn't' said Frant. stroking the damp. tightly-curling hair from his foreliead, 'if I hadn't 1 sliouldn't have savedthegirl.' 'Sure enough,' said Thil fondly, 'It's a brave one you are, Frant. 'Tisn't inany wonien can save a life like tliat. An' who'd a thought of working over her af ter she'd had sucli a tussle witli the break ers! 'I was bound l'd do my best,' said Frant modestly; 'and -with a pang,- 'then she's young, Philly. Voung people can bear a good deal.' The next day the girl, though weak md feverish, wasconseious and ableto ;ake food. She asked how she jaine there, and Frant explained some.liing of it brieüy. 'Oh, yes,' she said with a shudder; I remember. The boat broke up. Oh, t was awful!' 'JJon't think of it,' said Frant, smoothng her white foreliead tenderiy. 'You , ire safe now; and l've the sense to kno w .hat you sliouldn't talk.' And she sat , ♦eside her, soothing and comforting ! Uie tireil youug tlung, till she went olí into another quiet sleep. In the mean time, the news spread over the Cape what Frant liad done, and she became a neighborhood heroïne, as, in fact, she always liad been, in a sinall way. Phil Darrow was very proud of her. 'And, oh, the girl's a a purty one!' he said to the clump of rough flshermen who gatliered about him to her the story. 'A purtier gul never was seen on Captí-John. 'Hey!' said one of the men coarsely, 'What do you know, Phil Darrow, of what's purty? Naught- by the looks o' yer wife. Smart slie s, but no purty!' The men laughed, and Phil Darrow, tuining a flery red, flung a stoiae after the retreating flgure of the man who had dared to speak so lightly of bis wife. ïhen, muttering under bis breath, he went crossly to bis home. But he had feit for a moment, what be had never feit before, ashamed of his roble, true-hearted Frant. On the third day af ter the 'resurrection,' as Phil called it, Frant's patiënt came walking slowly into the little kitchen. 'You'll be well enough to go home soon,' said Frant pleasantly. 'Where do you live ?' The girl sank gracefully into the low chair which Frant placed for her. 'My name's Norah - Norah Ilarney,' she said, with a slight Irish accent, and with a faint color mounting into her pale face. 'Bot I don't - live- anywhere.' Toor girl!' l'rant's big heart swelled within her at the sadness of the poor ghTs tone. 'Yes, it would have been justas well if I had died,' the girl went on in a kind of despairing way. 'If you had known, you needn't have dragged me over the stones and bushes and nearly killed yourself. I'm a poor, unhappy girl!' And she began to sob afresh. 'I don't think so,' said Frant, who was a meinber of the Methodist church at Rritntnertown. You ought to thank God for saving you. It's for some good purpose. J)on't you ever pray?' 'I'm a Caüiolic,' said Norah Ilarney, 'or I used to be. 1 am not a good Catholic, now. 1 haven't been ta confession for years.' 'Never mind,' said Frant; 'God can love you just the sanie. Yon have a great deal to be thankful for, - your good looks and your youth,' - Frant's voice tremblèd; 'and then you've had some education - I can teil that.' 'No, said the girl bitterly, 'my good looks and my youth have ali been against me, and I've had no edueatiun, only I was brought up and lived as waiter-girl in a nice family in the city, and so I've picked up their ways. üh, I'd like to be educated!' 'So would 1,' said Frant eagerly, inclining more and more toward this Crank young stranger. 'I've read all there is over on the shore here, and sometimes the minister at Briininertown lends me books. Hut i'hilly don't like to read.' 'Is 'Philly' your - your' - The gin was not to blame. She had not been off her bed since she had been laid there, but Frant feit that she could not bear to hear lier say, 'your son.' 'lie is my husband,' she broke in hastily. 'üh!' The girl spoke in a little surprised way. 'Ile is very tall and strong and handsome,' she added. '1 like to watch liim from the window.' 'Yes.' Frant's little thrill of pride was somehow, vaguely modifled; but she had taken the girl right into her great heart, and wasdeterminedto love her. There was a paus?. 'You see,' said Norali Ilarney, 'you see, I was going - you saved my life, and you have a right to know - I was going to run away.' 'To run away ?' Frant was a good deal startled. 'You see, I lived with the Blairs - do you know about them? Oh, weren't you ever in the city? Well, they are grand people, - and, oh, you never will teil ?' 'No,' said Frant, gazing steadfastly at her tvith her truthful brown eyes, TB never teil. - You wouldn't mind my telling Philly V' Just then she heard Phil'squick step approaching. 'No, no,' said the girl nervously; 'not anybody. Ile ïuight flnd me.' 'He? Who?' But TTtffah Ilarney lifted lier hand, for just fhen Phil broke in upon tliem. The young girl looked more beautiful than ever in Frant's neat, plain wrapper, her blue eyes briglit and lier cheeks pink with returniug health, and her long light-brown hair wound neatly about her small head. At sight of her, Phil stopped short and beamed withaduiiration. ïhen he metFrant's earnest gaze, and, shaking olí the spell, he said heartily, "Guess you'er getting b'etter. Fraut's great on nursing.' 'Thank you,' said the girl wistfully. '] shall be well soon. I don't know what I shall do when I'in well. 1 had a little uaouey saved np, but now li;i en't any inoney, and ['ve no home. Frant looked at Phll. 'Xever mine fchat,' she said softly. I guess we can íixit.' Vou saved niylife,' said the girl, her lieautiful eyes growing liquid witl feeling: '[ want to do something for you, but I've lost all my clothes on the steamer. I suppose you don't need me to work for you ?' 'No,' said Frant doubtfully; 'I can do all my work alone, and inore. ] help them at the hotel sometinies. Maybe you could do something for the hotel folks.' „ 'That's it,' said the girl in a pleaseil way. '111 go uptliere to-morrow; .1 shall ,ba stiong enough.' ïhen she rose and left tlie room with a certain lady-like grace whieh Frant feit powerfully and which struck Jhil dumb. He heaved a great sigh. 'Oh, Frant,' lin said, "it's a great thing to be purtv la that.' The woman's fase turned a vivid red; but he was still looking at the ioorway through which the girl had vanished, and did notseem to notice it. Ihen the red died down, but there was i weary look left in lier beautiful eyes. The next morning Frant prepared a limpie breakfast and took it in to her riatient. The girl had slept soundly all ïight for the tirst time since herrescue. he looked round and dimpled and night. Frant set lier little tray down i trille nervously and said, 'You didn't ;ell me all your story, l'hilly's gone. Who wasit'i" 'Oh, yes.' The girl fiushed slowly, md went on finishing the braid of her ong light hair. 'Kothing, only I lived ffith these people f rom the time I was i little girl. They were very good to ne. There was a man who used to ;ome there, and he took me to ride.and wice he took me to the theatre, and 1 .hought it was fine, for he was a grand gentlemen, till I found he had a wife md big house on a grand avenue. I miu iiiuugiiE ie was strange, too, that lie wouldn't let me teil my mistress that I went with him, and that he always met me at the corner. When I found out, I was very angry, for l've been brought up well; I have indeed,' protested Norah Harney gently. 'I told him to leave, but he said I must go with him, and one day he followed me and teased me and threatened me, and I didn't dare teil anybody, and I was afraid to go out any where, and I coukln't stand it. I cried all niglit, - oh! many nights,- and then I went to the doek, and bought my ticket, and took just a few things in bundies, and ran away. I thought in a new city I'd get a place and never see him nor be afraid of him again. Oh, I hate him so!' The girl stamped her foot and sobbed passionately. 'Here,' said Frant soothingly, - 'here's some breakfast. I shouldn't have made you teil me till af ter your breakfast, but I wanted so to know. I lliouglit of it all night. I'm your friend. Don't cry.' She had indeed dreamed that the mysterious man liad come and deinanded Norah Ilarney, but that slie had bought him off. 'Yes,' said the girl, pressing Frant's large, wanu palm bet ween her small hands, 'I like you. Somehow, I depend on you. I like to think how you dragged me up the hill in the rain and the storm, and how you worked over me. IIow tired you must have been! You seem like a dear, kind mother to me!' Frant's lieart sauk. 'It is because,' her heart whispered, 'because I arn old. qIi, I am much older than Philly. It seems as though 1 grew old faster, - a great deal.' And a pang deeper than slie could account for wrung her great, gentle heart. The girl went on, unconscious of the feeliug that slie had aroused. 'Yes,' she said, 'J'll go up to the hotel right away. You'll go with me?' '1 went up yesterday and s:nv the house-keeper." said Prant slowly, 'and she knows all about your being nearly drowned, and wants to help you; they all want tolielp you.' 'I can do fine ironlng and all light work, and I can do young ladies' hair and line sewing,' said Norab Harney eagerly. 'I hope l'll get sorae money and be ableto payyou something.' 'Oh, uo!' quickly; 'I'm paid to see you do well, The extreme youth oí the girl, - she could not have been eighteen, Frant knew, - the way she leaned upon Frant's strengt h andgoodness, her honest desire and eagerness to work, and the beauty ol' her girlish face and iorm aj)pealed more strongly than ever to the eider woman's feelings. 'I love her,' she said to herself as she went back to the kitchen. 'I believe she has told me true. She can stay with Philly and me.' Than thfl pang that had wrung her before came again. Phil's look - she could not forget it; but she reinembered how coinpletely he had always deserved her conlidence. She would not believe that any one could wean him away froin her. He would get used to Norah's beauty. She would be like a sister to him, or like his own ehild. Oh, if God had only sent tliem ehildren! Frant hadgrieved over this many a time; now she grieved more than ever. 'But J'hilly's very, very fond ef me!' she murmured to herself; 'yes. he is very, very fond of me.' And she began to sing a low song as she went about her work. The girl came in, borro wed Frant's hat and startèd out with a steady step for the htel. Frant went to the door and looked out at the sea; she stepped to the ed-ge of the gully and looked into its rough, yawnlng mouth. How strange that she should have happened to go down there on the night of the storm! How strange that she should have happened to see that mysterieus white burden on the waves! How strange that any life should have been left in the tender young thingl IIow strange that Philly and she should have moved just that day into their new house! An expression of quiet joy came over the plain face of the woman as she thought what a blessed thing it was to save a human life! Just then quiek steps came run ning around the foot of the headland and a girl flevr into the gully and be gan to climb wildly upits ragged face It was Norah Ilarney, and, before Fraat could ad vanee to help her tremb Hng steps, the girl was by her side am hurrying her into the littlecahin. 'Ilidt me!' she said assionately; 'oh, hide inel he is at the hotel,- that bad man. He is coming; oh, I know he saw me! I rau out as soou as I caughi a glimpse of him, and ran down the clifïandkept close under it, but I know he saw me! The girl begon to cry bitterly. 'I told you it would have been better for me to die!' she sobbed. 'Oh, if 1 only dared to throw myself into the sea!' 'ïhat's wicked,' said Frant soberly, but with alarge sympathy in her heart with theliauiited young creature. '] will go up to the hotel,' she continued kindly, 'and see where he is' 'What if he should come while you are gone!' cried the girl, her eyes wide with terror. 'I can get here bef ore he does, I know,' sata Frant, smiling, 'and he would have to meet me. Teil me his name, and I '11 lindoutsoinethingabout him.' Norah Ilarney told her, and Frant started off. IIow ready shefelt to help thia girl, wlio- Frant could not deny it to lierself - was coming to be a hunden to her! 'I wonder,' thought thewoman, with a dim preception of the angelic quality i 11 lierself, 'I wonder is it rather grand in in e, - or haven' c I spirit, or what? Why don't I let the man come, and the girl go, and not lift a tinger ? IIow do I know that she has told me the truth ? Jiut I couldn't. l'd light for the innocent little thiáf. I wonder does Philly know how 1 feel. I wonder does he onderstand.' The vague pain at the woman's heart deepened as she thonght; but soon slie reached the hotel and fouad the housekeeper. The man, even then, was going away. Norah Harney need not be troubled. He had not seen her. He had run lown frota the city for a day's fishing, ;he housekeeper had leafned, - as she earned in some inscrutable way the business of everybody under her temporary clfkrge, - and Frant hurried ïome to teil the good news to the disracted girl. But the occurrence made Norah Harney very nervous, and she clung to Frant and Phil th an almost touching timidity. As the fall advaneed e' setletl down into the calm ; lvvays lervaded it except during; h heated erm or when an occasional storm dtrewed the shore with wrecks. A hammock had been swung for Norah in ''lant's little attic, and she had become a regular inmate of the lowly fisherman's family. She was a happy, bird-like thing, and ooked at Frant and talked with her as hough the unsophi .ticated woman were ' a being of superior order. With Pliil she woald romp and play, racing with him through the gully, and even into the surf. lt did not seem to occur to her that Frant - sober, elderly Frant - could ever feel disturbed at the foiidness she undeniably íelt for Phil, and Phil's ardent devotion to her; and every day the fresh sea breezes brought a brighter color to her eheeks, deepened the blue of her liquid eyes, and rounded the curves of her light and exquisite figure. Fraut did not wonder that the bad man had coveted her. She did not wonder, in the heavy, weary monients when the jealous pain at her heart seemed about to break it, that Ph 1 would rather walk or run with Norah than sit quietly with herself o i the door-stone or cut on the headland. IIow can you be so contented here with us T said Frant to her kindly one day. 'Oh, I love you and Philly- and l'm afraid wlien 1 get far away from you,' said Norah ingenuously. 'But don't you want to see soine of your friends?' 'No; 1 don't want to see the pe.ople I used to live with, for he would flnd me; andtliey took me outof theasylum, you know; so l've no relatives. No, I love you and Philly better than anybody else.' 'But if you were, in the city you could have companions of your own ige, and go to parties,' urged Frant. 'But Philly is about my age - and you,' the girl added quickly. Frant would not not ice it. 'Yon'iN want to be married by and by,' she said, and tliere's noboily line enough foryou here.' 'Why should 1 want to get married V' laughed Ñorah. 'I've gotyou and Philly, and 1 eau niake eaongh fiere to pay you Bomething and buy my clothes.' This was true. Norah waa alwrys ready to work, and the ladies in Brimuiertown had heard' of lier skill and often brought her sewing and einbroidery to do, while from the hotel and the ■liore village she received the pay for an honest day's work. lier money she almost always gave to Frant. 'lt's youra.'she would say, caressing her in her own demonstrative fashion. l'in your girl, you know, Frant.' Every day when Philcamein, strong witli the smell of lish and of the sea, he would kiss Frant, - who was always at the door to meet him, - and was more careful now than ever bef ore to do all her wifely duties and to claim all lier wifely privileges, - and "then, looking eagerly around, he would say, "Where's Norah 't' 'Ah!' Frant would say to herself wearily, 'I thought Philly appreciated my love.' But she saw now that the love of almost any other kind, neat, careful woman would have been much the same to him. One day Norah stood in the door as Phil climbed up the cliff In a mild December twilight. He had a net in Iris hand to be mended, and he held it up before him. 'Pil inend it,' shouted Norah, springing to meet him. She stumbled, and he caught her, and they came up together, his arm around her, and her face looking up into his, laughing and rsy. Frant watched them from within, breathlessly, and as Phil entered he caught the almost stern look in her eye. Ilis arm dropped, nul a dogged red look carne over liis face. Then h approached lier slowly and kissed her but it seemed to Frant that life anc love had died out of bis kisses. 8he rose and went about her work 'Diere was a vague effort witliin lier to rouse and set in motion the kim sopbistrlea whicli she had devised anc with which she had quieted herself before; but no suclï effort could ever sucoeed again. She had seen that da a ne vv look in their faces. 'It is over,' said Frant to herself as she walked slowly and heavily about her little kitchen, - the kitchen that had looked so brig-ht to her on that fatal night when she and l'liil had drank their ürst cup of tea there together,- 'it is all over:' and a hundred times she said to heraelf that night, quite unconsciously, 'It is all over.' The next day slie aróse as usual, and when her niorning work was done she went out on tlie elilï. Phil liad gone over to Brimmertown with one of .liis matea, and the "Francés Darrow," his sail-boat,lay at anchor down beside the pier witli a dozen other fishing-boats. There was no ice yet, and there was an Indiari-summer softness in the air. Norali had gone up to the hotel to do a day's work. Frant was alone. As she sat on the cliff she talked aloud with herself- something which was not habitual to her, and which seeuied quite atvariance with hereharacter. 'I think I ani a little crazy.'ahé said dreauiily, 'but sotnehow I can't seem to see any other way. God will understand it. 1 can't stand in the way oí' their happiness.' A moment later she added, "I saved her; yes, and l'd save her again. She's so innocent and pretty; I've nothing against her. Oh, nol l'd save her; but 1 didn't save lier for this,- no not for this!' There were sonae ships in the distance. 'I think,' said Frant, 'I tliink tliat when those sails go out of sight, I tliink that'll be the time. But L must steer for a buoy and tie the boat. Philly'll wan't it, for it's a good boat. lie said he wouldn't have named it the Francés Darrow' ií it hadn't been a ood boat. The shipa glided slowly out of sight, ?rant strained lier eyes, but she could íot folio w themany longer. Then she went into tlie house and wrote on a ittle pieee of paper: - "Good-by, Philly, I love yon. That's why I go away. 1 tliink I am a little crazy; but I love you. I am dcad, 'hilly, so don't look for me. The boat s fastened to the harbor-buoy. Goodby, Norah. Do not leave Philly. Your loving Fkant.' The shore was very still when Frant loisted quietly the sail of the 'Francés Darrow,' and rnade tor the buoy at the notith of the little harbor. There she 'astened the boat. That night Phil carne home, read the ittle note, turned palé as death, and tarted with all liaste for he buoy and ;he boat. But when he drew up alongide of it. it was empty.