“I didn't, at first. It has been only lately since I began to feel so tired and my head troubled me so. Daniel, I'm not sure that our coming here wasn't a mistake.”
The captain was perfectly sure. He sprang to his feet.
“That's all right, Serena,” he cried. “If it was a mistake it's one that can be straightened out in two shakes of slack jib sheet. You stay here and rest easy. I'll be back in a few minutes.”
“Where are you going?”
“I'm going to make arrangements for our trip to Trumet. 'Twon't take me long.”
“Daniel, stop! Sit down. I didn't say I was going. I said I should like to go.”
“That's the same thing. Now, Serena, I know what's frettin' you. You're thinkin' what'll become of this house and all the fine things in it. They'll be all right. We could rent this house in no time, I know it. I ain't sure but what we could sell it if we wanted to. That real estate fellow, the one Barney—B. Phelps, I mean—introduced me to down street one time, met me t'other day and told me if I ever thought of sellin' this place to let him know. Said he had a customer, or thought he had, that knew the house well and always liked it. He believed that feller would buy, if the price was right. Course I didn't pay much attention then; I judged you wouldn't think of sellin', but—”
“Stop! stop, Daniel! You are so excited it makes me nervous again to hear you. I wasn't thinking of the house at all. The way I feel now I had as soon sell it as not. But that isn't it. I can't leave Scarford. I can't!”
Daniel's enthusiasm faded. There was determination in his wife's tone. He sat down again.
“Oh!” he observed wistfully, “you can't? You're sure you can't, Serena? You know what the doctor said. Why can't you go?”