'
"That afternoon, Bernard McKey for the first time told me of himself,
and what the two years in Redleaf had done for him. One month more, and
he should leave it. He put into words the memory of that first look
across the dead. He talked to me, until the sea lost its sunlight
sheen,--until I no longer heard its beat of incoming tide,--until I
forgot the hour for Abraham's coming. It was he who reminded me of it.
Once more we paced the sands, already sown with our many footsteps,
that the advancing waters would soon overwhelm. After that we went
village-ward. The gloaming had come down when we reached home.
"'Abraham must have been an hour here,' I thought, as alone I went in.
"He met me in the hall.
"'Where have you been, Lettie?' was his greeting.
"'On the sands.'
"'Not alone?'
"'No, Abraham; Bernard McKey has been with me.'
"'By what right?' he demanded, with that mighty power of voice that is
laid up within him for especial occasions.
"'By the right that I gave him, by the right that is his to walk with
me,' I said; for I grew defiant, and felt a renewal of strength, enough
to tell Abraham the truth.
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