"Why is it she always goes to the island at such times?" said Christie, curiously.
The man's face clouded.
"There is a long story connected with that, my daughter—a sad story of wrong and crime. Some day I will tell it to thee, if thee reminds me of it."
"How long has she been insane?"
"Nearly fourteen years."
"A long time, indeed. I should like to hear her history very much. Do you not fear she has gone to the island now? I saw her go into the woods an hour ago."
"No; she has only gone for a stroll through the trees, or to look for berries; she will soon be back—and here she is," he added, as the woman Bertha abruptly entered, her kitten still in her arms; and, without looking or speaking to either of them, she sat down on a low stool and began sorting some pine cones held in her lap.
All this time the man Reuben had been getting dinner and setting the table, proving himself to be as good a cook as a nurse. In a few minutes it was smoking on the table, and then he went over, and, touching the woman on the shoulder, said gently:
"Is thee ready for dinner, Bertha?"
"Yes," she said, rising promptly and taking her seat.