Ellery stood still in the rain and watched her. He saw her pass the lighted windows and open a door. Into the yellow radiance she flashed and disappeared. A minute more and the bulky form of Eben Hammond, lantern in hand, a sou'wester on his head and his shoulders working themselves into an oilskin coat, burst out of the door and hurriedly limped down toward the shore. On the threshold, framed in light, stood his ward, gazing after him. And the minister gazed at her.
From the bay came the sound of oars in row-locks. A boat was approaching the wharf. And suddenly from the boat came a hail.
“Halloo! Ahoy, dad! Is that you?”
There was an answering shout from the wharf; a shout of joy. Then a rattle of oars and a clamor of talk. And Grace still stood in the doorway, waiting.
The lantern bobbed up the slope. As it reached the tavern gateway, the minister saw that it was now carried by a tall, active man, who walked with a seaman's stride and roll. Captain Eben was close beside him, talking excitedly.
They entered the yard.
“Grace! Grace!” screamed Captain Eben. “Gracie, girl, look who's come! Look!”
The tall man ran forward.
“Hi, Grace!” he cried in a deep, hearty voice. “Is that you? Ain't you got a word for your old messmate?”
The girl stepped out into the rain.