And now came the business side of his dilemma.
"It goes without sayin' ye best do as yer friend says," advised Jess, when Winn had read the letters to him, "'n' the sooner the better. Sell yer own stock fust, if ye kin, an' then mine if ye hev the chance, but don't worry if ye can't. I'll take keer o' matters here while ye're gone, an' when ye git back, we'll haul in the net 'n' see whar we stand."
"But how about the others here?" queried Winn, who had worried about them fully as much as about himself. "I must see that they are taken care of."
"Wal," answered Jess, slowly, "ye go ahead 'n' see how the land lays, 'n' mebbe I'll follow ye if ye send me word; 'n' if ye don't, an' things go to smash, I'll see none on 'em here is loser."
And this was Jess Hutton, the man above all others whom J. Malcolm Weston had urged his dupe to sell stock to! Never before did Winn feel so ashamed that he came there as manager for the Rockhaven Granite Company.
"Mr. Hutton," he said earnestly, "I shall always be thankful that I told you from the start how matters stood, and if the worst comes, you will know it was no fault of mine."
"I knowed ye war honest, the fust time I sot eyes on ye," responded Jess, cordially, "an' now ez ye're goin' soon, it won't do ye no harm to tell ye. An' more'n that, I'll tell ye I never doubted from the start this boss o' yourn was a rascal, an' the only reason I bought a little stock was 'cause I liked ye 'n' wanted to help ye."
Winn felt more ashamed than ever.
When he returned to his room late that evening, the moon, now a few days past its full, was just rising over Norse Hill and silvering the dark and silent houses along the way. No one was up, and so still was the village that his footsteps on the plank walk seemed to echo across the island. When he came to where Rock Lane joined the street, he paused. Just beyond he could see the little church and back of it the silent village of the dead, each stone distinct and ghostly in the moonlight, to the left the motionless harbor, a glittering field of silver, and beyond the old tide mill, spectral and solemn. And faintly whispered in the stilly night the ocean voice.
Many times afterward that picture returned to his memory.