Chapter 20 - Page 2

appeared to have settled on him, and his niece
had privately consulted Dr. Sage on his case. The excellent girl was
grieved to find that the mind of her uncle grew more worldly, his desires
for wealth more grasping, as he was losing his hold on life, and was
approaching nearer to that hour when time is succeeded by eternity. All
this while, however, Deacon Pratt "kept about," as he expressed it
himself, and struggled to look after his interests, as had been his
practice through life. He collected his debts, foreclosed his mortgages
when necessary, drove tight bargains for his wood and other saleable
articles, and neglected nothing that he thought would tend to increase his
gains. Still, his heart was with his schooner; for he had expected much
from that adventure, and the disappointment was in proportion to the
former hopes.

One day, near the close of November, the deacon and his niece were alone
together in the "keeping-room,"--as it was, if it be not still, the custom
among persons of New England origin to call the ordinary
sitting-apartment,--he bolstered up in an easy-chair, on account of
increasing infirmities, and she plying the needle in her customary way.
The chairs of both were so placed that it was easy for either to look out
upon that bay, now of a wintry aspect, where Roswell had last anchored,
previously to sailing.

"What a pleasant sight it would be, uncle," Mary, almost unconsciously to
herself, remarked, as, with tearful eyes, she sat gazing intently on the
water, "could we only awake and find the Sea Lion at anchor, under the
point of Gardiner's Island! I often fancy that such _may_ be--nay,
_must_ be the case yet; but it never comes to pass! I would not tell you
yesterday, for you did not seem to be as well as common, but I have got an
answer, by Baiting Joe, to my letter sent across to the Vineyard."

The deacon started, and half-turned his body towards his niece, on whose
face his own sunken eyes were now fastened with almost ferocious interest.
It was the love of Mammon, stirring within him the lingering remains of
covetousness. He thought of his property, while Mary thought of those
whose lives had been endangered, if not lost, by the unhappy adventure.
The latter understood the look, however, so far as to answer its inquiry,
in her usual gentle, feminine voice.

"I am sorry to say, sir, that no news has been heard from Captain Daggett,
or any of his people," was the sad reply to this silent interrogatory. "No
one on the island has heard a word from the Vineyard vessel since the day
before she sailed from Rio. There is the same uneasiness felt among
Captain Daggett's friends, as we feel for poor Roswell. They think,