As for the child of Cad Sills, people who did not know her often said
that her eyes were speaking eyes. Well if it were so, since this voice
in the eyes was all the voice she had. She could neither speak nor hear
from birth. It was as if kind nature had sealed her ears against those
seductive whisperings which--so the gossips said--had been the ruination
of her mother.
As she grew older, they said behind their hands that blood would tell,
in spite of all. Then, when they saw the girl skipping along the shore
with kelp in her hands they said, mistrustfully, that she was "marked"
for the sea, beyond the shadow of a doubt.
"She hears well enough, when the sea speaks," Zinie Shadd averred. He
had caught her listening in a shell with an intent expression.
"She will turn out to be a chip of the old block," said Zinie Shadd's
wife, "or I shall never live to see the back of my neck."
Jethro Rackby heard nothing of such prophecy. He lived at home. Here in
his estimation was a being without guile, in whose innocence he might
rejoice. His forethought was great and pathetic. He took care that she
should learn to caress him with her finger tips alone. He remembered the
fatal touch of Cad Sills's kiss at Pull-an'-be-Damned, which had as good
as drawn the soul out of his body in a silver thread and tied it in a
knot.
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