There was no answering humor to this in Neil's eyes.
"I wish we might!" he said quietly.
"We can!" exclaimed Nathaniel. "My ship—"
"It is impossible. I am speaking of Winnsome. Arbor Croche's house is in the heart of the town and guarded by dogs. I doubt if she would go, anyway. She has always been like a little sister to Marion and me and she has come to believe—something—as we do. I hate to leave her."
"Obadiah told me about her mother," ventured Nathaniel. "He said that some day Winnsome will be a queen."
"I knew her mother," replied Neil, as though he had not heard Nathaniel's last words. He looked frankly into the other's face. "I worshipped her!"
"Oh-h-h!"
"From a distance," he hastened. "She was as pure as Winnsome is now. Little Winn looks like her. Some day she will be as beautiful."
"She is beautiful now."
"But she is a mere child. Why, it seems only a year ago that I was toting her about on my shoulders! And—by George, that was a year before her mother died! She is sixteen now."