Captain Pott's Minister Part 48

"Thanks, Josiah. But I guess I got what I really come for. G.o.d bless you both!"

With that she was gone.

"Now, ain't that the strangest you ever see?" observed the Captain.

He was cut short by the sound of a familiar toot out in the harbor. He stared at the housekeeper in dumb amazement.

"Clemmie, did you hear that? What in tarnation was it?"

"It sounded like your power-boat."

"But it ain't round here."

Together they went outside. Together they stood on the stoop and watched a boat nose its way to the old mooring of the _Jennie P._

"It's her!" whispered the seaman hoa.r.s.ely. "It's my _Jennie P._!"

He did not move from his place beside Miss Pipkin, but held tightly to her hand as John Peters came up from the wharf.

"Here's a paper for you, Josiah. A girl come into my place about noon yesterday and made me sign it."

Captain Pott was too surprised to even reach out for the piece of paper offered him.

Miss Pipkin took it, and unfolded it carefully.

"Read it for me, Clemmie."

"It only says that the _Jennie P._ was bought back by Josiah Pott."

"But I never----"

"That girl said she'd come to represent you, and paid cash."

Without a word the three went down to the wharf, and John Peters rowed the dory, with two pa.s.sengers aboard, out to the _Jennie P._

It was late in the afternoon when Mr. McGowan left the house. Fall permeated the air with an invigorating tw.a.n.g. Here and there the landscape showed the touch of frost. The marsh gra.s.s was turning brown.

Among the trees and shrubbery color ran riot. The Fox knoll was a blend of beauty. As the minister pa.s.sed the estate he sought for a glimpse of the Elder's daughter among the trees, or in the garden. But she was not to be seen.

For a long way he kept his course up the beach. He was thinking. How could he explain to Elizabeth the meaning of his actions last night?

Would she listen after he had refused to give heed to her explanation?

Suddenly, he became aware that he stood on the spot where he had turned his ankle the night she had come to him from the water's edge, and his thoughts were choked in the furrows of his brain. He seemed to hear her voice again as she had spoken that night of the impossibility of his love. He looked about. Far up the peninsula he recognized her. She was coming to him as straight as the line of the beach permitted. He started in her direction. She waved him back. He waited. On she came. Neither attempted to speak till she had reached his side.

"I've been waiting for you," she said. "I thought you would never come."

"You still want to see me after the way I treated you last night?"

"Please, don't speak of that. I knew Uncle Josiah would tell you everything."

"He did tell me all. I want you to forgive me for not taking your word that there was nothing in my past which would prevent our love, or mar it. I didn't realize that you knew what you were saying. I feared that I had no right to love you after your father had spoken as he did of my parentage."

With intense antic.i.p.ation he held out his hands, but she drew away.

"Not now. I did not understand what Father's obligation to you would involve."

"Elizabeth, dear, do you mean you won't forgive me?"

"I have nothing to forgive in you, Mack." In her eyes was a return of the warmth of love she felt, but her att.i.tude was one of firm resolve.

"I have come to you to-day because I want to tell you that just for the present we must be only good friends. I've been thinking all night long about you, and now that you know who you are, and what my father has done against your father----"

"But that is all past!"

"Not for me. Father ruined your father, and has grown rich on your money. Not till every cent of that is paid back can I think of marrying you." There was the weight of dead finality in every word.

"But, Elizabeth----"

"Please, Mack, don't make it harder for me than you must. This is not easy, but you will see where it is best, when you have taken time to think it over."

"You have not talked this over with your father, or with Harold?"

"No. Father was ill last night, and Harold was so tired that he has been sleeping all day. It would make no difference what either of them might say. I am doing this because it is right."

"You do not know of the arrangements that are to be made?"

"All I know is that Father owes you the money, and that it is yours and must be paid back to you."

"Elizabeth, there are papers to be drawn up, and----"

"Mack, please don't! I'm tired, and can't stand much. Don't try to change my decision."

"But those papers which Harold is to draw up must alter that decision.

That is the only ground on which I shall accept the terms. Your father is to be given all the time he needs to pay me back. At first I flatly refused. I didn't want to take any of his money. But Uncle Josiah made me see that it was the only thing to do."

"Of course, it is the only thing to do. You are going to let Harold draft those papers because Father must give up what does not belong to him."

"I'll not permit one stroke of the pen unless----"

"But, Mack, you must! This is your duty to make Father----"

"Elizabeth, dear, it is not your father's money I want. All that means nothing to me. I am consenting to the arrangement simply because I believe it will be best for him to pay it back. It's you I want!"

She turned from him to look out over Long Island Sound. The sun was completing its daily journey by tossing up glorious hues of gold, splas.h.i.+ng the western sky without stint from its unseen pot of blending colors. Her face seemed to catch and hold the glory of the sky.

"Beth, we must not sacrifice the love which G.o.d has given us. That is something which all the money in the world cannot buy."

She turned about to face him. Her eyes were filled with the reflection of the fire that glowed on the inner shrine of her heart.