Then they slowly made their way back to the tents, and sat down to the
evening meal. Sereno seemed content, and Mrs. Pike was bustling and
triumphant; the familiar act of preparing food had given her the
feeling of home.

"Well, father, what think?" she asked, smiling exuberantly, as she
passed him his mug of tea. "Does it come up to what you expected?"

Eli turned upon her his mild, dazed eyes.

"I guess it does," he said, gently.

That night, they sat upon the shore while the moon rose and laid in the
water her majestic pathway of light. Eli was the last to leave the
rocks, and he lay down on his hard couch in the tent, without speaking.

"I wouldn't say much to father," whispered Hattie to her mother, as
they parted for the night. "He feels it more 'n we do."

"Well, I s'pose he is some tired," said Mrs. Pike, acquiescing, after a
brief look of surprise. "It's a good deal of a jaunt, but I dunno but I
feel paid a'ready. Should you take out your hair-pins, Hattie?"

She slept soundly and vocally, but her husband did not close his eyes.
He looked, though he could see nothing, through the opening in the
tent, in the direction where lay the sea, solemnly clamorous, eternally
responsive to some infinite whisper from without his world. The tension
of the hour was almost more than he could bear; he longed for morning,
in sharp suspense, with a faint hope that the light might bring relief.
Just as the stars faded, and one luminous line pencilled the east, he