"But ye will ef ye looks long enough!" said Hagar, cheerfully; "he'll come out ob de darkness to ye: bimeby. Bress ye, chile, dis ole woman was lookin' an' seekin' an' stribin' in mis'ry till she was 'bout ready to give up in 'spair; but I foun' him at las', an' he nebber 'sook Hagar,—nebber!"
The sea was growing calmer with every hour that passed. But it was rough and thunderous still, and its wave-crests gleamed whitely under the starlight. Trafford at last remembered the lateness of the hour, and said, "Come, Hagar, this is no place for us. We will go in."
The two slowly made their way along the shore up to the dark and deserted stone house. Hagar smothered the sigh that rose up from her heart as the silence and loneliness smote upon it, and led the way around to her kitchen-door.
"Poor chile! ye habn't had nuffin to eat dis day," said she, after they were once within her little dominion and she had kindled the fire; "go into de libr'y, honey, an' I'll hab ye sumfin' purty quick."
But Trafford shook his head, saying, "Not there!—not there, yet!" and sat down on the bench by the fire.
Hagar moved wearily about from the cupboard to the table, saying to herself,—
"What ye t'inkin' ob, Hagar, to tell him dat? Dar's all poor Mas'r Noll's books an' t'ings lyin' 'bout eberywhar, an' how ken de poor chile stan' it? De Lord's han' is heaby upon him, an', O good Lord Jesus, jes' come an' bress de poor chile an' sabe him!"
