foundations of the castle; then old Fog spoke. 'I am quite well now,
quite strong again; you must go to-day, or you will find yourself
frozen in here. As it is, you may hit a late vessel off the islands
that will carry you below. I will sail over with you, and bring back
the boat.'

'But you are not strong enough yet,' said Waring, bending over his
work, a shelf he was carving for Silver; 'I cannot go and leave you
here alone.'

'It is either go now, or stay all winter. You do not, I presume,
intend to make Silver your wife,--Silver, the daughter of Fog the
wrecker.'

Waring's hands stopped; never before had the old man's voice taken
that tone, never before had he even alluded to the girl as anything
more than a child. On the contrary, he had been silent, he had been
humble, he had been openly grateful to the strong young man who had
taken his place on sea and shore, and kept the castle full and warm.
'What new thing is this?' thought Waring, and asked the same.

'Is it new?' said Fog. 'I thought it old, very old, I mean no mystery,
I speak plainly. You helped me in my great strait, and I thank you;
perhaps it will be counted unto you for good in the reckoning up of
your life. But I am strong again, and the ice is forming. You can have
no intention of making Silver your wife?'

Waring looked up, their eyes met. 'No,' he replied slowly, as though
the words were being dragged out of him by the magnetism of the old
man's gaze, 'I certainly have no such intention.'