But Mayo did not reflect with much enthusiasm on Captain Wass's metaphorical summons to combat.
Returning to Maquoit, the young man decided that he was more like a beaten dog slinking back with canine anxiety to nurse his wounds in secret.
His experiences had been too dreadful and too many in the last few days to be separated and assimilated. He had been like a man stunned by a fall—paralyzed by a blow. Now the agonizing tingle of memory and despair made his thoughts an exquisite torture. He tried to put Alma Marston out of those thoughts. He did not dare to try to find a place for her in the economy of his affairs. However, she and he had been down to the gates of death together, and he realized that the experience had had its effect on her nature; he believed that it had developed her character as well. Insistently the memory of her parting words was with him, and he knew, in spite of his brutal and furious efforts to condemn her, that love was not dead and that hope still lived.
He swung aboard the Ethel and May one afternoon, after he had waited patiently for her arrival with her fare.
“I have come back to fish with you, Captain Candage, until my troubles are straightened out—if they ever are.”
Captain Candage was silent, controlling some visible emotions.
“I have come back to be with folks who won't talk too much about those troubles,” he added, gloomily.
“Exactly,” agreed the skipper. “Nothing is ever gained by stirring up trouble after it has been well cooked. Swing the pot back over the fire, I say, and let it simmer till it cools off of itself. I thought you would come back.”
“Why?”
“Well, I knew they had taken away your papers. Furthermore, Polly has been saying that you would come back.”