“Go nowhere,” answered Aunty Bell in decided tones. “Stay where ye be. I’ll go see him. ’T ain’t nothin’, child, only somethin’ for the cap’n.” She had long since given up all hope of Caleb’s softening.
As she spoke the diver’s slow and measured step could be heard sounding along the plank walk.
Aunty Bell let down her apron and stepped to the door. Betty crept behind the panels, watching him through the crack, stifling her breath lest she should miss his first word. Oh, the music of his voice at the gate! Not his words, but the way he spoke,—the gentleness, the pity, the compassion of it all! As this thought surged through her mind she grew calmer; a sudden impulse to rush out and throw herself at his feet took possession of her. He surely could not repel her when his voice carried such tenderness to her heart. A great sob rose in her throat. The measured, slow step came closer.
At this instant she heard the outer gate swing to a second time with a resounding bang, and Captain Joe’s voice calling, “Git yer dress, Caleb, quick as God’ll let ye! Train through the Medford draw an’ two men drownded. I’ve been lookin’ fur ye everywhere.”
“Who says so?” answered Caleb calmly without moving.
“Mr. Sanford ’s sent the yacht. His nigger’s outside now. Hurry, I tell ye; we ain’t got a minute.”
Betty waited, her heart throbbing. Caleb paused for an instant and looked earnestly and hesitatingly toward the house. Then he turned quickly and followed Captain Joe.
Aunty Bell waited until she saw both men cross the road on their way to the dock. Then she went in to find Betty.
She was still crouched behind the door, her limbs trembling beneath her. On her face was the dazed look of one who had missed, without knowing why, some great crisis.
“Don’t cry, child,” said the little woman, patting her cheek. “It’s all right. I knowed he didn’t come for ye.”