"For you, dear little goose. He'd face earthquakes, volcanoes, tornadoes, cyclones, and even his father before this well-deserved shaking converted him, for your sake."
"Cousin," whispered the girl, "I'm so glad. Is it wrong to be glad at such a time?"
"Wrong to be glad when God loves you and a good man loves you? I reckon not. All the quakes that ever shook this crazy old earth are bagatelles compared with such facts."
"Oh, cousin, you are such a tower of strength and comfort!"
"I'm a leaning tower," replied the old lady, whose vein of humor ran through all her thoughts, "but I'm leaning on what won't fail me. Nestle down by my side, dear child. You are shivering, and this extra blanket will do us both good. Now be comfortable, and believe with me that nothing in the universe can or will harm you."
"Poor Mara!" Ella sighed.
"Yes, I've been watching and grieving over her. I never saw any face more expressive of suffering than hers. I don't understand her unless—unless—well, time will show, that is, if there is much more time for me."
"Oh, cousin, we never could spare you!"
"That is what I used to think about my husband, but he always went when sailing orders came, and I survived. I feel to-night as if he and the boys were just waiting off shore, if this tossing and pitching earth can be called shore, for me to join them."
Captain Bodine sat through the shock without moving a muscle. His eyes rested wistfully on Mara. With an indescribable pang he saw that in the supreme moment of general terror her eyes turned not to him but to Clancy, and that she made a half involuntary movement as if to go to him. The glance, the act, combined with what had gone before, were too significant, and Bodine buried his face in his hands that she might not see his trouble. She knew it all the more surely, yet felt how powerless she was to console him.