At last he said abruptly-- "Pleasant dreams to 'ee, sir: an' two knacks 'pon the floor ef I be wanted.

Good-night, sir." And with this he was gone.
Mr.Fogo stood for some moments listening to his footsteps as they shuffled down the stairs.

Then with a sigh he turned to his writing-case, pulled a straw-bottomed chair before the rickety table, and sat for a while, pen in hand, pondering.
Before he had finished, his candle was low in its socket, and the floor around him littered with scraps of torn paper.

He sealed the envelope, blew out the candle, and stepped to the window.
"I wonder if she has changed," he said to himself.
Outside, the summer moon had risen above the hill facing him, and the near half of the creek was ablaze with silver.

The old schooner still lay in shadow, but the water rushing from her hold kept a perpetual music.