Lights shone cheerfully through the uncurtained windows of the Sailor's Safe Anchor, and the stranger could see the inmates of the dwelling gathered about the tea-table, looking comfortable enough to make a strong contrast to the chill and darkness without.

"There is not the least change," he muttered, drawing his cloak more closely about him; "I could almost think I had been gone only since morning, instead of two years."

He hurried on to the house, and hardly waiting for his imperative knock to be answered, pushed open the door and entered the kitchen. The old fisherman looked tranquilly up at the intruder, keeping his knife poised in one hand, not easily ruffled in his serenity, while the younger members of the family stared with all their might at the tall man, whose garments were dripping wet, driven by the storm into their dwelling.

"Good evenin', sir," said the old man; "it's a dark, wet night—wont you sit down?"

"I want a horse and a man," said Mellen, betraying by the haste in which he spoke, and his impatient movements, that he was too hurried for much attention to the old man's attempt at civility. "I want to go to the other end of the bay—can you let me have a horse and some one to look after my luggage?"

"What, to-night?" demanded the old man. "Why you can't want to go round the bay to-night."

"I should not have come for a horse if I had not wished to get home," said Mellen, impatiently. "Get one out at once, Benson; I am in great haste."

"'Taint a decent night to put a dog out o' doors," returned the fisherman; "it's a good deal mor'n likely you'd get swamped in the marsh, if I let the hoss go."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mellen. "I know this part of the country too well for that. There is no more risk than in this room."

The old man's obstinacy was roused, and he had a full share of that unpleasant quality when he chose to call it into action.

"Mebby you know more about it than I do," he grumbled; "but I've lived here a goin' on thirty years, and ort to be acquainted with this coast, and I say I ain't a going to risk my critters sich a night. If there ain't no danger 'taint fit to send any horse out in a storm like this anyhow."

"I can't stand arguing here," Mellen began, but the old man unceremoniously interrupted him.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked.

"Over to Piney Cove."

"Mr. Mellen's place! Why it's good three miles, and he ain't to hum, nor hasn't been, nigh on to two years."

"Don't you know me, old friend?" exclaimed Mellen throwing back his cloak.

The old fisherman rose in astonishment, while his married daughter, who kept his house and owned the flock of children, called out:

"Why, pa, if it ain't Mr. Mellen!"

"I thought I knowed your voice, but couldn't make out who it belonged to; but Californy ain't so nigh as some other places," said the fisherman. "So you've got back! Wal, wal! You've been gone a good while."

"So you can't wonder at my impatience when I find myself so near home," said Mellen.

"In course, in course," replied the old man. "But, dear me, you'll have to wait till Jake comes in, and I expect he'll grumble awful at having to start out agin."

"I will pay him his own price——"

"Oh, you allays was freehanded enough, I'll say that, Mr. Mellen. But sit down by the stove; Jake'll come in a few minutes. Mebby you'd try a cup of tea?"

But Mr. Mellen refused the proffered hospitality, and though he walked up to the fire, neither sat down or paid much attention to the questions the old man hazarded.

As Mellen stood there, though his restless movements betrayed great impatience, there was little trace of it visible in his face, whose cold pride seldom revealed the emotions which might be stirring at his heart. He was dressed in his sea clothes, which hung about him in wet masses. His face was bronzed by the exposure of a long sea voyage, but he was still a man of imposing presence, and retained his old, proud manner so thoroughly, that even the old man in his fever of curiosity, felt the same hesitation at questioning him too far which had always awed the villagers when Mr. Mellen formerly dwelt among them.

"I s'pose you've seen a sight sence you went away," said the old man, as he pushed his chair towards the fire. "All them gold mines; though I don't s'pose you went to work at them. People will talk you know, and they wondered at your going off in such a hurry——"

"Do you think that man will be here soon?" interrupted Mr. Mellen.

The fisherman felt ruffled and injured at having his gossiping propensities cut short in that manner, but that instant a step sounded on the stone porch without, and he said, grumblingly:

"There he is. I 'spect there'll be a touse about getting him to go."

But Mr. Mellon took the matter in his own hands when the man entered, and the liberal offer he made speedily put Jake in excellent spirits for the expedition.

"My baggage must be disposed of first," said Mr. Mellen. "Some one must get it from the pilot-boat."

"Jake and I'll fetch it in here," returned the old man.

"I will send for it in the morning," observed Mr. Mellen.

While they went down to the shore and were bringing in the trunks Mr. Mellen stood by the fire, quite regardless of the curiosity with which the children regarded him, and unconscious of several modest attempts at conversation made by the old man's daughter:

"Your clothes are wringing wet; hadn't you better get some things of father's and start dry?"

"No," answered Mellen, glancing at the water-proof carpet-bag which he had seized on leaving the boat, remembering that it contained important papers. "I have some things in here, and they will find my macintosh in the boat."

He left the room while speaking, and, knowing the house well, went upstairs, in order to change his wet garments. The young woman uttered a little cry of dismay and ran a step or two after him, but turned back, seized with terror of the dead body, about which she would gladly have given warning.

Mellen had taken a candle from the table when he left the kitchen, and entered the little room upstairs with it flaring in his hand. It did not illuminate the whole chamber, but a cold feeling of awe crept over the man as he stepped over the threshold, and a shudder, which sprang from neither cold nor wet, passed to his heart.

With a trembling hand he set the light on a little pine table and looked around. A bed stood in the further corner of the room, a great and coldly white bed, on which a human form was lying in such awful stillness as death alone knows.

Breathless and obeying a terrible fascination, he went up to the bed and drew down the coarse linen sheet. A beautiful face, chiselled from the marble of death, lay before him, with a cold smile on the lips, and the blue of the eyes, that had been like violets, tinging the white lids that covered them. Masses of rich chestnut hair were gathered back from the face; and over the bosom, struck cold in the bloom of life, two white hands were folded in an attitude of solemn prayerfulness.

As Mellen gazed on this cold vision his lips grew white with terrible emotions, for he knew that face, notwithstanding all the changes that years and an awful death had left upon it. Moment after moment crept by and he did not move. At last, reaching forth his hand, he touched the woman's hair, then a convulsion of grief swept over him, his eyes filled, his lips quivered and he fell upon his knees crying out:

"Oh, woman, woman, has he driven you to this?"

The stillness, which was his only answer, crept to his heart. He arose, covered the face of his false love, and quitted the room, leaving the candle behind. He could not bear to think of her lying alone in that grim darkness.

"Oh, sir, I am so sorry. It was dreadful to let you go upstairs to dress and find that," cried the woman, in a tumult of self-reproach.

"When did it happen?" he questioned, in a hoarse voice. "When and how?"

"Day before yesterday. It was washed ashore from the wreck."

Mellen turned away and asked no more questions. Enough for him that the woman he had once loved to idolatry, had passed out of his life forever and ever.