She woke one morning shocked by a sudden realization. Not only had she heard nothing from Aaron in nearly two months, but it had been a fortnight since she had received a letter from Joseph.

A faint unease oppressed her that day. She was restless and could not settle down. She tried to reason with herself. Letters from Aaron had been longer delayed than this. A packet might have encountered storms, or, if he had used the post, the mail might have been lost or stolen. As for Joseph's silence, there could be a dozen explanations. And yet it was surprising: he usually wrote her by every post. Perhaps he has gone to see the Sumters at Statesburgh, she thought, or unexpectedly to Charleston. That must be it.

For the moment she was relieved, but the relief did not last. She had been calmly happy, and now quite suddenly she was apprehensive. The sun that evening went down in a red haze. Fog rolled in. The 'Castle' was shrouded in dripping dampness. Theo ordered Hector to light a fire in her bedroom. She pulled a chair close to the driftwood blaze and settled herself with the baby on her lap for the nightly ceremony of lullaby-singing. His soft weight snuggled against her and quelled the sense of foreboding. She bent her head, resting her cheek on his bright curls.

'Sing "Robin Adair,"' he commanded, as he always did, looking up at her expectantly. She laughed, amused by the child's passion for this mournful ballad.

What's this dull town to me?

Robin's not here.

She followed the familiar song without conscious thought. But as she finished, Gampy asked, 'Why did she want Robin to be there?'

'Because she loved him, pet.'

He digested this in silence a moment; then he asked, 'Who do you love? Is his name Robin?'

She squeezed him, laughing. 'I love you and you're right here and your name isn't Robin.'

He accepted this and lost interest, but she sat silent, staring into the fire. Its blue-and-green flames blurred, running together like shaken jewels. Bitter longing stabbed her, as it had not done in months. Merne, my beloved, where are you? Oh, why does it have to be this way!

She shut her eyes. From without came the muffled boom of surf through the deadening fog. And otherwise—silence: heavy, creeping silence.

'Your face looks queer, Mama——Sing some more.'

She sighed, opening her eyes. 'I will if you'll go to sleep'. One by one she sang his favorites, 'The Silver Moon,' 'Au Clair de la Lune,' and 'Bye-Low, Baby Bunting,' until his lids drooped and his breathing quieted. Then she carried him to the trundle bed which was pulled out in readiness from underneath her own.