The minister set his teeth. At that moment he felt an intense desire to bid the Daniels family mind their own business. Then another thought struck him.
“Possibly your Uncle Eben might be somewhat—er—surprised if he knew you were with me. Perhaps he might have something to say on the subject.”
“I guess he would. We shall know very soon. I ran away and left him with Mrs. Poundberry, our housekeeper. He doesn't know where I am. I wonder he hasn't turned back to look for me before this. We shall probably meet him at any moment.”
She seemed to enjoy the prospect of the meeting. Ellery wondered what on earth he should say to Captain Hammond—that is, provided he was allowed to say anything.
Suddenly a heavier gust of rain and wind beat upon them. The minister struggled with the umbrella. The gust passed and with it the fog. An instant before it had been all about them, shutting them within inky walls. Now it was not. Through the rain he could see the shadowy silhouettes of bushes at the road side. Fifty yards away the lighted windows of the Hammond tavern gleamed yellow. Farther on, over a ragged, moving fringe of grass and weeds, was a black flat expanse—the bay. And a little way out upon that expanse twinkled the lights of a vessel. A chain rattled. Voices shouting exultingly came to their ears.
“Why!” exclaimed Grace in excited wonder, “it's the packet! She was due this morning, but we didn't expect her in till to-morrow. How did she find her way in the fog? I must tell uncle.”
She started to run toward the house. The minister would have followed with the umbrella, but she stopped him.
“No, Mr. Ellery,” she urged earnestly. “No, please don't. I'm all right now. Thank you. Good night.”
A few steps farther on she turned.
“I hope Cap'n Elkanah won't know,” she whispered, the laugh returning to her voice. “Good night.”