He was such a good fellow, honest as the day, and always ready to help anybody in any way.

And yet, ever since his mother died, and that must have been ten years ago at least, he had lived all alone in his house at La Vauroque, though he had prospered in various ways, and was reputed well to do.

He lived very simply--made his own coffee of morning, and for the rest depended on an old neighbour woman, who came in each day and cooked his meals and kept the house clean.

Yes, I had often wondered why, and not until this night did I begin to understand.
Long afterwards, when he was telling me of other matters, it did not greatly surprise me to learn that he had waited all these years in hopes of my mother coming round to him at last.

And the wall of division that stood between them and stirred him to bitterness at times--not against her, but against what he counted her foolish obstinacy--was the fact that long ago my father had gone down to the sea and never come back, as many and many an Island man had done since ever time began.