“Hello, Gretchen,” said Mary calmly. “Why don’t you take Theodore for a walk while I finish my sketch?”

It was late in the afternoon before they got back to the inn. Nobody had talked much. But as they entered one of the guests in the hall told them there’d been trouble on Manhattan that morning. News had come with the afternoon ferry.

“What happened?” asked Theodore.

“The Draft Office up at Forty-seventh was attacked. Set on fire, I believe.”

After supper, the landlord said that there had been some more trouble in the afternoon. He’d heard it from the hotel along the street. There had been several fires.

“The telegraph isn’t working,” he reported, “so we haven’t any details. It’s probably nothing much.”

The day had been hot and humid. Out here, with the sea breeze wafting in from the Atlantic, the humidity had been of no consequence, but over in the streets of New York, it must have been unpleasant. And even out on the porch after supper, it began to feel rather oppressive.

After a short while, Gretchen went inside for a few minutes.

“I’m going for a walk to look at the sea,” Theodore announced, taking out a cigar.

“I’ll come too,” said Mary.

It was quiet on the beach.

“I’m sorry Gretchen came,” said Mary.

Theodore nodded. “Yes.”

“Are you staying a few more days?”

“I’d like to,” he said. “Though I have work at the studio.”

“Oh,” said Mary.

They stared out over the water. Banks of clouds were gathering now, promising rain, and relief.

“We’ll see what tomorrow brings,” said Theodore.

That night, Gretchen and Mary went to bed as usual. Gretchen didn’t say anything about Theodore. Just after dark Mary thought she was going to cry. She was glad that, moments before, the rain had begun to fall outside the window, masking all sounds.

It was the middle of the night when she awoke, and realized that Gretchen wasn’t there. She waited a while. Not a sound. Then she got out of bed and went to the window. The rain had stopped, and the stars were visible again. Looking out, she saw nothing at first. Then she made out a pale shape, moving about on the little patch of grass. It was Gretchen, in her nightdress, pacing up and down in front of a bank of reeds.

Mary did not want to call to her in case it woke the household. She stole quietly out of the room, down the stairs and outside.

“What are you doing?” Mary whispered. “You’ll get soaked.”

“I can’t sleep,” Gretchen said. “I’m worried.”

“Why?”

“The children. Those fires in the city.”

“They said it wasn’t serious.”

“They don’t know. You can’t even see the city from here.”

Mary felt her heart sink, but she only paused a moment or two.