Miss Zerviah laughed. "Have it your own way," she said, rising to go. "I must be getting up along."
"Don't be in a hurry," said Miss Phosie politely.
But Miss Zerviah had gleaned all that she could, and so, picking up her milk bucket she went out. She passed by Ora and Manny walking slowly. Further on she met Luther Williams, who answered her "Good evening" with a slight bow, but who did not stop, although Zerviah slackened her pace. She stood still altogether when he had passed and looked after him as he took the path to the shore. "Now, ain't that like him?" she murmured. "I don't believe there's another man on the island that would go wandering off among the rawks after night. He's queer, there ain't a doubt of it." And she turned her face toward her own low brown house under the hill where she lived with her father old Cap'n Dave Hackett, now too feeble for a fisherman's life, but once a fearless battler with wind and waves.
Gwen, too, was out in the soft June night. She could not be content to remain in the stuffy house, and had followed Miss Zerviah's way as far as the road. One could feel perfectly safe anywhere on the island, she well knew, and she therefore wandered on till she had reached the lower path leading along the cove. There was still light in the sky which was reflected in the water, turning it to silver. The cove was quiet enough but along the reefs outside the water was beginning to dash noisily. Lights twinkled from several yachts which had put into harbor, and were rocking, amid a small company of dories, at anchor. A big fishing schooner, however, lay darkly silent, her crew ashore making merry.
Gwen paced slowly along, her thoughts on many things. She met few persons. A boy on a wheel sped swiftly by. Two lovers, lost to everything but themselves, wandered ahead hand in hand. The dark figure of a man, looking off across the water, was silhouetted against the faint primrose of the sky where an opening in the bordering pines gave a glimpse of the further side. Presently Gwen noticed the approaching figure of some one who stepped firmly and with the swing of a city-bred person, rather than of one used to country roads and unsteady decks.
Seeing her he drew up suddenly, and doffed his cap. "I beg pardon," he said, "but can you tell me the way to one Captain Ben Tibbett's?"
Gwen looked up with a smile. "All roads lead to Rome, Mr. Hilary," she answered. "Keep straight on and you'll get there."
He bent down to observe her more closely, for the dim twilight stealing over land and sea shadowed still more duskily the pathway already dimmed by the overhanging trees.
