"All you men clear out," said Caddie Sills, faintly. "Leave me here with
Jethro Rackby."
They set themselves in motion, pushing one against the other with a rasp
and shriek of oilskins--and Peter Loud last of all.
The harbor master, not knowing what to say, took a step away from her,
came back, and, looking into her pale face, cried out, horror-struck, "I
damned ye." He dropped on his knees. "Poor girl! I damned ye out and
out."
"Hold your horses, Mr. Happen-so," said Cad Sills. "There's no harm in
that. I was damned and basted good and brown before you ever took me
across your little checkered apron."
She looked at him almost wistfully, as if she had need of him. With her
wet hair uncoiling to the floor, she looked as if she had served,
herself, for a fateful living figurehead, like her mother before her.
The bit of coral was still slung round her throat. The harbor master
recalled with what a world of meaning she had caught it between her
teeth on the night of his rescue--the eyes with a half-wistful light as
now.
"Come," she said, "Harbor Master. I wasn't good to you, that's true; but
still you have done me a wrong in your turn, you say?"
"I hope God will forgive me," said the harbor master.
"No doubt of that, little man. But maybe you would feel none the worse
for doing me a favor, feeling as you do.
Pages:
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354